Troubled Waters Read Online Free

considering the villagers for a moment, the man headed directly toward Doman. Zoe was impressed. That quickly he had assessed his entire audience and determined who might speak for the group.
    He said, “My name is Darien Serlast, and I am looking for someone I believe lives in your village.”
    At the name Serlast , Zoe caught her breath. There were five great families in the country of Welce—powerful clans that for generations had amassed wealth, consolidated property, and advised royalty. Depending on the generation, depending on the king, different clusters of the Five Families had risen to greater prominence or fallen to disgrace. The Serlasts—all of them hunti , all of them unyielding as wood and bone—had been among the favorites of the current king since before Zoe and her father fled Chialto.
    The only person a Serlast could possibly be looking for was Navarr Ardelay.
    “Too late,” Zoe whispered, so quietly not even Miela could hear. “He is already dead.” He could no longer be forgiven and reinstated, or condemned and executed. He was safe from the king’s wrath, out of reach of the king’s remorse.
    Doman nodded gravely. He did not seem at all discomposed by the elegant visitor; he wore his usual somber dignity without unease. “Who are you looking for?”
    Zoe braced herself to hear her father’s name, and so she did not immediately recognize the name Darien Serlast actually spoke.
    “Zoe Ardelay.”
    Slowly, as if she moved through a medium as sticky as mud, Miela turned to stare at Zoe. She even took a step sideways, so Zoe was no longer hidden by her body. Just as slowly, all the other villagers shifted in her direction, their eyes wide and blank, their faces slack. Only Doman did not bother to turn in her direction, but instead kept his gaze on the stranger’s face.
    “What do you want with her?” Doman asked.
    Darien Serlast’s restless gray eyes had noted where the crowd was staring, and now he, too, was focused on Zoe, standing alone and frozen in the muddy road. There was nothing at all to be read on his narrow face. “I must take her back to Chialto with me,” he said, “so she can marry the king.”

TWO
    T he conveyance traveled over the muddy, rocky road as if it were a length of silk passing over a piece of polished glass. Zoe supposed its elegant design included an incomparable suspension system invisible to the casual viewer.
    If so, it was the vehicle’s only invisible luxury. Once Darien Serlast had handed her up the carpeted steps, she had found herself inside a small chamber whose opulence rivaled anything Zoe could remember from the houses she had visited in Chialto. The floor was covered with a profusion of gaily colored rugs, and the whole space was stuffed with plush furniture layered with pillows and cushions and embroidered blankets. Real crystal was displayed in glass cabinets; wall sconces burned with flickering fire, fed by oil or some other fuel. Despite the outside chill, the interior of the coach was warm, rich with incense, and sybaritically comfortable.
    Zoe had scarcely said a word since Darien Serlast had installed her inside the coach. She had scarcely said a word since he had pronounced her name and all the villagers had gasped, and Doman had said, “Zoe does not leave this place unless she agrees to go with you.” She had not been able to articulate to him how much she appreciated his gesture even as she recognized that it was useless. Darien Serlast was the king’s ambassador and a man of wood; not even Doman would be able to stand against him.
    Besides, Miela was appraising her with wide, thoughtful eyes and nodding her head. Miela was afraid of no one—not a king, certainly not a Serlast—but she had already decided Zoe needed drastic change to break through her lethargy and grief. “Zoe wants to go,” Miela had said. “She needs to go.”
    “She has no choice in the matter,” Darien Serlast had replied. He was so supremely confident that