We were secret lovers, or so we thought, though many people would smile when I would leave the barracks to spend an evening out, or when Kiyan would have me attend her for an afternoon of personal instruction. My two years in the City of Ships were happy ones. I became an instructor of sorts, teaching the palace guards what I knew of the Warrior-Saint’s Art and learning other techniques from those who knew them. When Kiyan’s mother died and she became the Sea Queen, she sent for me. We met in Kiyan’s bedroom. When I moved to kiss her, she held up her hand between us, offering a heavy coin purse without comment or expression. “What’s this?” I asked, taking it. “Your pay.” “Ah.” “I’m going to marry.” “And this isn’t a dowry.” She smiled and caressed my cheek. “No, Rifkin. I’ve decided to marry one of the western princes. It’s for the good of Istviar. It’ll strengthen the Alliance.” “Ah. For the good of Istviar. I understand.” “I still care for you, Rifkin.
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