Page 8 of The Rising Wave

“I hope your Commander got away.” She couldn't help it. She wanted to poke at him a little in revenge for forcing her to change her plans.

He gave her a sharp look, as if he was suspicious of her question, and she lowered her gaze, folded some bread over a piece of cheese, and put it in her mouth.

She had never tasted anything so good.

“Why do they call your leader the Turncoat King?”

He was silent, and she risked a quick glance at him.

He was chewing thoughtfully as he stared at her face. “He was part of the Chosen.”

She hadn't expected that. She met his gaze. “He turned against the Kassian army?”

“He turned against them,” Luc said. “And he took every Chosen on the battlefield with him.”

“When was this?” She couldn't believe she hadn't heard of it. It was breathtaking in its implications.

“Just under two years ago.” He was still watching her, looking for any sign of deception in her expression, but he would find none. She would have taken such heart from the idea of the Chosen rebelling.

Herron would have known that.

He would have made certain she didn't hear of it.

The whole sick and twisted Chosen program was the worst thing her aunt had ever done. Even her aunt had known it.

Ava didn't think the queen had ever been the same after it.

“How long were you a Chosen?”

“Who says I was?” He had finished his share of the bread and cheese, and lifted the apple to his lips to take a bite.

“You said the Commander is your leader. I assumed you were in the Chosen with him.”

He bit down, then held the apple out to her.

She took it without breaking eye contact.

Eventually, just as she bit in, he inclined his head.

“I was. From the age of fourteen.”

He seemed to be in his mid to late twenties, so she guessed he'd been in the indentured servitude program for almost ten years before he had managed to break free.

“And the Herald calls your Commander the Turncoat King because he turned on the Kassians during a battle the Chosen were fighting for Kassia?”

“He did more than that. He got word to the Kassian's enemies the night before the battle that the Chosen would turn on their keepers, to avoid more of his people dying for Kassia than necessary.”

“Oh.” She thought of it with wonder. A field of warriors the Kassian generals thought were fighting for them turning to strike a blow against them, and the enemy hanging back, their participation unnecessary. “I wish I had seen it.” She truly did.

Luc's expression was surprised, as if he hadn't expected her enthusiasm.

“Who were the Chosen supposed to fight?”

“The Venyatu.”

“Oh,” she said again, unable to hold back her smile. Carila, her weapons and fight master from a young age, had been Venyatux. She could speak the language fluently, and loved the fighting style. “They must have loved everything about your plan.”

“Not my plan,” Luc said. “The Commander's plan.”

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