She stared at him, stunned by the depth of his reaction. “I—I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re mine again.” Gritting his teeth, he added, “Except he had you first.”

“Jax, please—”

“Please, what?” Then he slapped her across the face.

“No!” Kamoj tried to lift her arms, to protect herself, but he held her wrists down with the cord. “Don’t!”

“You want me to stop?” He hit her again. “How could you do it?”

“Jax, no!” Kamoj stuttered as he struck her a third time. “Stop. Please.”

Reaching to his boot, he pulled a knife out of it. “Whether it happens again is up to you.”

“What are you doing?” She tried to jerk away from him, but he held her in place by the belt around her wrists. With methodical strokes he sliced up the belt, shredding the gift until it was no more than a pile of raveled glittering threads.

Her voice caught. “Jax—”

“No.” The blade glinted as he lifted it in front of her. Then he cut the shoulder straps of her dress. “I will hear no more.”

Staring at the knife, Kamoj swallowed and remained silent. Jax laid her on the bed. His blade felt like ice as he cut away her dress. She stared at the tent overhead, at the cloth shaking with falling snow. A tassel hung from its highest point, bobbing back and forth. She focused on it, trying to numb her mind to the blowing snow of Jax’s touch.

Some time later he fastened the gold chain with its ruby roses around her hips. His hair brushed her face, the scent of his astringent shampoo wafting in the air, mixed with the tang of his sweat. His clothes scratched her skin, the buckle of his loosened belt scraping back and forth on her thigh. She built a dome of ice in her mind, a place where she hid in numbing cold.

Later, he lay still. Eventually he rolled off her and sat on the edge of the bed, his booted feet planted on the ground, his elbows on his knees while he stared across the tent, lost in thought. Then he undressed and laid his clothes in a neat pile on the nightstand. Numbly, Kamoj wondered if he always undressed afterward instead of before, or if this was a game he played with her emotions.

When he saw her looking at him, he smiled. “Curious?” His voice had quieted, as if he had spent his rage with his passion. He pulled down the covers under Kamoj and slid into bed with her, then drew the soap-scented velvet over them both. She felt an absurd relief that the blankets were Argalian wool and the sheets spice-cotton, instead of exotic silks.

That was when she started to shake. Why, she didn’t know. It was over. Done. Yet now her icy protective numbness cracked wide open and she shook like a vine during a storm.

“It’s all right,” Jax murmured absently, pulling her into his arms. After a while he added, “Perhaps Lionstar did me a favor.”

“A favor?” Her voice sounded hollow.

“I got you two years earlier than I expected.”

“Oh.”

“What will he do now, do you think?”

“I don’t know.”

“Attack Ironbridge. Perhaps he will be killed.” A chill edged his voice. “Imagine it, Kamoj. Your marauding lover from the stars stabbed through the way he stabbed my stagman.”

She knew the Ascendant would never let Vyrl risk his life. But she couldn’t rid her mind of the image: Vyrl in agony on the battlefield, bleeding to death.

Jax turned her over onto her side, with her back spooned against his front, a bitter parody of her wedding night. He drifted to sleep with his thumb hooked in the chain around her hips.

“Something is wrong with her,” Jax said. “She won’t wake up!”

Another voice said, “She’s tired, Governor Ironbridge.”

Kamoj opened her eyes. Sunlight filtered through the sides of the tent. A rumpled Jax stood by the bed, looking as if he had thrown on the first clothes he found, a white shirt, black pants, and black boots. She recognized the stocky man with him: Elixson, an Ironbridge healer.

“When did she last eat?” Elixson asked.

“Yesterday morning?” Jax asked. “I don’t know.”

Elixson stared at him. “That’s at least sixty hours. Probably longer, I would guess. She needs food.”

Jax looked unconvinced. “I’ve gone longer without eating and not even noticed.”

“She only has one stomach. She’s needs sleep too. If you keep her up—”

“Your opinions are noted,” Jax interrupted, his voice cold.

The healer flushed. “Yes, sir.”

“You may go.”

Elixson bowed to Jax, then headed for the entrance of the tent. But as he was lifting the flap, Jax said, “Healer.”

Elixson turned back. “Yes, sir?”

“What should I feed her?”

Relief flickered over the healer’s face. “Bland foods, for now. Bread. Tea. Anything more exotic and she could get sick.”

“Very well,” Jax said. “Go tell the cook.”

After Elixson left, Jax sat on the bed next to Kamoj. When he saw her looking at him, undisguised relief poured across his face. He hadn’t even fastened his shirt yet, leaving it open to the icy air. Had her inability to wake so rattled him? Whatever the reason, it relieved her that his mood had gentled.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Hungry,” she admitted.

“When did you last eat?”

“The day before yesterday.”

“When did you last brush your hair?”

Her hair? What was wrong with her hair? “I don’t know.”

“Rest as long as you need. The cook will send breakfast.” He kissed her, then stood up next to the bed. “I’ll be back this afternoon.”

Kamoj fell asleep even before he put on his cloak. She woke when a bondsgirl left her a tray with food. She ate the grain, rolls, and soup, then went back to sleep.

Cramps woke her the next time. Curled under the covers, she held her stomach until the pain subsided. Then she slept again. When next she awoke, the light had dimmed, and the roof sagged, heavy with snow. The braziers had gone dark. The air on her cheeks felt cold, but under the covers she stayed warm.

She rolled over to see Jax sleeping on top the covers. It wasn’t his presence that surprised her: many people slept during early afternoon. But his cloak had fallen open and all he wore under it were his thin clothes. He still hadn’t laced his shirt, leaving his chest exposed to the chill air. Did he even feel the cold? Such people existed, those almost unaffected by the killing climate. Vyrl claimed they had been bred for it, to better serve their owners. It suggested part of Jax’s heritage came from slaves. No wonder Vyrl’s people dreaded these Traders they fought, if Jax was a watered-down version of them.

He opened his eyes. For a moment he simply watched her. Then he sat up, rubbing his face. He got off the bed and went to the chest again, this time pulling out an armload of clothes.

Self-conscious, Kamoj sat up, holding the covers around her body. Jax came over and dropped the clothes on the mound of her body in the bed. The scent of spice-soap and new cloth wafted around her, fresh and clean.

“I need a bath,” she said.

He nodded, then went to the tent entrance and spoke to someone outside.

Soon a bondsgirl appeared, carrying a vat of steaming water, towels and wash cloths, and a tray of soap. After the girl left, Kamoj looked at Jax, wishing he would go too.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Can you—” She stopped. Would he hit her if she asked him to leave? “I’m cold.”

Jax touched her arm. “You’ve ice-bumps.” He slopped a cloth in the steaming water, then wrung it out and pressed it against her face. Warmth spread its relief through her skin. But then Jax pulled away the blankets, letting in the chill of the air.

As Jax soaked the cloth again, Kamoj crossed her arms over her torso. “You don’t have to wash me,” she said.

“I know.” He soaped up the cloth. “I like to.”