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“Chancellor?” K’Nar finally interrupted his own chatter about the water reclamation system.

She turned, focusing on her adjunct as a new thought occurring to her. K’Nar. Of course. Why hadn’t she thought of him before?

Her adjunct had surprised her yesterday with his knowledge of the city's back streets, his apparent sympathy for her relationship with Zexx. Could he be trusted? Or was his helpfulness merely a more subtle form of betrayal, designed to lull her into a false sense of security?

No, her instincts said he was loyal—and after doubting her instincts about Zexx with such disastrous results, she was inclined to trust them now.

She spun around, pinning the Crestek with a fierce gaze. “You told me yesterday that you came from the darker parts of the city and worked your way up.”

K’Nar nodded hesitantly. “That is true.”

“But I have a feeling that your loyalties—at least some of them—still lie with the people. Am I right?”

K’Nar opened his mouth and then closed it again without answering.

“It is right that you should care about the people,” Linnea continued. “I care about them too, even though I was high born. And I care about the peace with the Dothveks. Mostly because I think it’s the right thing for our peoples, but also because I care about the Dothveks. Well, mainly one Dothvek.”

K’Nar fought a grin. “I am aware, Chancellor.”

Linnea released a breath. “Then you know I can’t let him get hurt because some in leadership want me out.”

K’Nar’s entire countenance changed, his shoulders squared, and his spine snapped straight. “You are not the only one working to protect the Dothvek and save your position.”

Linnea saw her adjunct in an entirely new light. “I hope you know that you can trust me.”

He gave a curt nod. “I do. I did not at first. As you said, you’re a highborn, but I took this position so I could watch you and see if you were what you claimed to be.”

“And?” Linnea prodded.

“You have earned my loyalty and the efforts of the underground movement to keep you in power and maintain the peace.”

Linnea’s mouth fell open. “There is an underground movement working to keep me in power?”

K’Nar stepped closer, as if someone might overhear them. “Yes, but the challenge does not come from the citizens. It comes from your advisors.”

Just as Linnea had suspected and Zexx had claimed. She should not be surprised to have this confirmed, but it pained her, nonetheless.

“I have a plan to get more assistance, but I’ll need your help.”

K’Nar’s chest swelled. “Anything, Chancellor.”

She touched a hand to the adjunct’s arm, glad to have another ally in the den of vipers.

ChapterThirty-Four

Zexx burst into Linnea's office, his heart pounding against his ribs with the urgency of what he needed to tell her. He’d meant to find K’Nar first, but he’d realized with some embarrassment that he did not know where the adjunct slept. His feeble wanderings looking for the Crestek during the night had been fruitless and frustrating, to say nothing of the curious glances he’d drawn from guards.

He'd fallen asleep planning what he’d tell Linnea as soon as light broke, but her office was empty. The morning light streamed through the high windows, illuminating the desk where just hours before they had lost themselves in each other. Her documents were arranged in neat stacks, her seal placed precisely at the edge, but there was no sign of Linnea herself. No sign of K’Nar either, who was typically at her side during the early hours, briefing her on the day's agenda.

"Chancellor?" he called, knowing it was futile. The stillness of the room made it clear no one would answer.

He tried to quell the panic rising in his chest. Perhaps she had slept in. Perhaps she was meeting with other officials elsewhere in the tower. There were countless innocent explanations for her absence.

Yet none of them felt right. Linnea was nothing if not predictable in her routine—a discipline born of years navigating the treacherous waters of Crestek politics.

He turned and strode from the office, his bare feet silent on the stone floor as he made his way to her private chambers. The corridors seemed unnaturally quiet, the usual bustle of attendants and officials reduced to the occasional guard who stiffened at his approach, their gazes following him with poorly concealed suspicion.

Without bothering to knock, he pushed open the door to her quarters, relief flooding through him when he saw no signs of struggle—no overturned furniture, no evidence of force. But his relief was short-lived. The room was empty, and the bed already made.