The thought put a stab of anger through my heart, and I froze at the feeling. Ridiculous, Izolda. To be jealous of women who had no more say in this than you did. To think you owned any part of him and could feel threatened by another’s claim. Foolish. To want to own any part of him. Foolish and more foolish. I was falling down a fool’s hole that I’d dug for myself, and the thought of that made me shake my head at myself.
Just to prove that I wasn’t jealous, I opened the nearest book at random. It belonged to a woman who stood right beside Princess Margaretta. She had a very impressive figure clad in a silky dress that clung to every curve. I felt my cheeks growing hot just looking at her there, encased in his magic. It was like she might come to life and outshine me right here and now.
I opened her book at random and read a page from it.
I have always been considered a beauty. Desired by all.
Well, that part wasn’t very surprising.
Princes from faraway lands had already come just to dance with me. Just to exchange heated looks and hidden kisses. So, when a lord of the Wittenbrand came to steal me away to be his wife, I was not surprised. An exquisite bride requires a rare groom.
I looked up at her again. She certainly thought a lot of herself.
Imagine my shock at discovering I was his fourteenth bride. To say it was an affront to my dignity would not be enough. I was horrified.
I felt a pang of sympathy. I had been horrified, too.
But I was not a fool. I never have been. I read the journals kept by those before me and I saw no hint of real attachment between them and their master.
Now that, actually, was quite interesting. And there had only been one more bride after her. Had he really not loved any of them? Not even a little?
So, I did what any thinking woman would do. I set out to seduce him.
Not what any thinking woman would do. I could think just fine, and I was seducing no one.
I started with fine foods and cut flowers. With well-thought compliments and careful turns of suggestive phrases. He proved impervious to suggestion and insensible to romance.
What? I was blushing just reading this.
Perhaps a more direct course of action was required. But my touches were rebuffed, and my kisses turned aside. In frustration, I revisited the journals of the others, looking to see if I had missed something. But if any of these others was somehow his one true love, it is not recorded on the pages of their journals. Nor is any hint of that in his home.
I snuck into his bedroom – you can coax the stairs to bring you there if you offer them pretty trinkets – dressed for love, but he took some time returning, so I searched it top to bottom and found no relic of the other wives there. No abandoned earring or lock of hair. No love missive or article of clothing. It was all his own property, all masculine.
She was certainly a bold one!
I grew bored and went back to the great room and when he found me there, he told me he was tired. When I offered to help him into bed, he told me he was perfectly capable of helping himself. When I offered to undress him, he looked as though he thought I was crazy. When I abased myself completely and told him I would do anything, anything at all for his pleasure, he told me he had left a cord of firewood outside the door and if I were to stack it in the shelf beside the fire, he’d certainly be grateful for my efforts. Then he took me by the elbows and gently shoved me away from him.
My eyes were huge. He’d done that? I doubted many men would. Particularly not when they were already married to the woman.
I was perplexed. Who would not be?
That night, emboldened by what might be the final option, I stripped down to my skin and waited in a bath of hot water and rose petals in his room. I had the mirror produce a bright, shining copper bath. You can get it to manifest any number of things.
She was relentless. I knew I should stop reading, but now I couldn’t put it down. I wanted to know what was next. Where would these attempts end?
When he entered the room, his nose was in a book and he did not see me until I rose from the steaming water like a goddess from the depths.
I risked another glance at her and her very impressive figure. Yes, goddess seemed like an accurate descriptor.
He strode forward and lifted my wet body to his, and I thought I had finally won. I was just starting to smile in triumph when he threw me out his bedroom door. I skinned my knee on the floor and was just getting to my feet when he came out a second time ... and threw the bathwater after me. I was left there sputtering, drenched, and rejected.
I covered my mouth to keep the laugh from escaping. I could see him doing that. I could see him striding back into his room and asking his fire to dry him.
I am not one to retreat from what I desire easily, but this man is too much for me. I have resorted to entertaining myself as I may, by flirting with his followers when they come here. If he feels any jealousy, he does not show it.
And now I felt bad for him. My face was burning with emotions I couldn’t even put names to.
And I write this for those who come after me, so that they don’t make the same mistake I did. It was humiliating for me to experience such depths of rejection, and I can assure you it will leave a bitter taste in your mouth to have the same happen to you. And it will, for none can outstrip me in beauty and desirability.
She was certainly right about that! If this happened to me, I would never live it down.
Was her whole journal like this? Curious, I flipped to the first page and found inscribed on it the same riddle that the first bride had in her book.
A sudden idea seized me, and I left her journal on the pedestal and hurried down the line, looking at the first page of each of the books.
And there it was.
The same riddle.
I am sudden death to calm.
My roar breaks the hush.
My song the mind’s somnolence.
They each began the same way but in a different hand. Each of these women had heard those same words. And they’d faithfully written them down. And now that I was looking for them, I spotted them carved in a ring where the wall met the domed ceiling. The riddle was carved between roses and stars and strange symbols so that you had to either have them on your mind in order to see them. But it was plain as day.
Could one of the others have solved the riddle? But if they did, then wouldn’t they have recorded the answer somewhere?
I shook my head in frustration. These were nothing but foolish guesses, and I had bigger problems to solve than riddles in books. I needed to decide whether to give Coppertomb my day.
But even though my mind should have been on that, it kept drifting back to the riddle as I left the room, crept back to the black-flowered bed, and crawled under the bright quilt.
The fire flared for a moment in a fiery yawn. I cuddled down into the warmth of the bed and let the rising sun’s rays lull me to sleep as my mind turned the riddle around and around, looking for any kind of crack in its edges.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The next time I woke, it was to a surprisingly soft touch, and Bluebeard’s cat’s eyes regarding me carefully. He winked one of them and put a stack of clothing beside me.
“I have things I must say to you,” I said blearily, and he sat down on the edge of the bed. I struggled to sit, wincing at the pain in my back.
I was surprised again when he helped me up, his hands strong and gentle and his dark lashes framing his cheeks as he looked down. His face was so close to mine that I could have kissed him if I pleased. Which was utter nonsense. Would I even be thinking that if I hadn’t read about the fourteenth wife’s attempt to seduce him? Would I ever consider it if he weren’t so terminally beautiful that it hurt to look at him in the bright afternoon sun?
He bit his lip as he watched me, as if he was as nervous in this moment as I was.
“I don’t know why you look nervous,” I said irritably. “I am the one who has never been married before. You’ve
had at least fifteen other women in your bed.”
He raised an eyebrow condescendingly as if to dispute the matter. Maybe the journals hadn’t been lying after all. I felt my cheeks growing warm – again.
“But that is not what I want to talk about.” I paused and he sat back a little as I took the clothing from him so that I had something to do with my hands. Maybe I should take a page from his book. “Speak to my riddle, husband.”
His answering grin was boyish. I would never get over how young he looked despite the blue beard.
“Who builds a bridge and does not use it to cross a river? Who gathers supplies to blockade a port with no intention of blockading it? Who orders uniforms for men who will never fight?”
He looked intrigued when I began and hungry when I ended my words, leaning forward as if his nearness could encourage me to speak more.
It did.
“While you were bidding, I took the liberty of investigating what your opponents left at the table,” I said calmly. “People often forget that what they choose to keep or do not keep as possessions says a great deal about them. The Sword kept a book he shouldn’t care about. And inside, he had notations. I can write them down for you. I remember them clearly.”
He huffed a laugh through lips made soft with something that looked like a combination of pain and relief. His eyes met mine and a tiny thrill shot through me at the look in those liquid grey cat’s eyes. In a human, that might almost be longing that he was letting me see behind the shutters of his eyes. Longing mixed with elation.
He held my gaze for a moment and then dove off the bed, moving too quick for a human and scrambling through the layers of his things. He came up like an otter with a fish in its mouth, holding an inkpot, a pen, and a half-filled page of crossed-out words and trailing verse. He flipped the parchment over, put it on a book and pushed everything toward me.
I took his quill, met his eyes with a proud look of my own, and began to faithfully copy everything I’d witnessed in my careful, clear hand.
“I am a good wife to have,” I said coyly, and the smile he gave me in return looked sly. More than ever before, I wished he could speak at the same time as I could. This game where we each played mute was like chewing rocks for breakfast. I misliked it.
It ate at me constantly – termites to the wood of my mind.
“And by the way, I have a name to offer the sword I gave you. You called mine Angstbite. Yours can be Edgeworthy.”
He barked a laugh.
When I was done, he kissed my forehead, gestured to the bath as if inviting me to take one, and left with the words I’d written.
I’d kept my left hand closed that whole time. The moment he was out of the room, I opened my palm and looked down at the rough-cut garnet concealed within it. It felt like a crime to be holding it. After that moment of his joy bursting from him so infectiously, it also felt like a betrayal.
But I kept it with me as I stripped out of the clinging shift and dropped into the hot pool. I kept it on the little tray beside the bath as I drank the steaming tea from the little teacup and tried to hold it like he did with my pinkie finger out. I kept glancing at it furtively as I washed my hair and then came out and dried my body with the cloth folded beside the stones of the pool. I donned the clothing Bluebeard had left for me – a tight pair of plum-colored velvet breeches, a tall pair of sturdy black boots, a creamy brocade doublet slashed in plum and sewn with gold, and a frothy white tunic sewn all over with downy grey feathers.
I was not in the habit of wearing breeches like a man. It made me feel bold. Just like my words that morning had.
I arranged my curls so that they framed my face in wild spirals – the best I could manage to make it do – and put the garnet carefully into a tiny hidden pocket of the doublet.
My marriage sword was nearby, and I strapped it on with hardly a thought. Perhaps I could convince Bluebeard to teach me to use it so it would not only be a decoration.
I made my way down the winding stairs, listening to the birdsong, and paused halfway down. I was growing used to this house and this world. If I was honest with myself, I would have to admit that I was even growing used to my feral husband. The thought should make me very careful. Instead, it brought a feeling of warmth rushing all through me.
And perhaps it was that moment, thinking those thoughts in complete betrayal of my original self, that doomed me the second time.
In the main room of the house, Bluebeard’s band was clustered around his desk, poring over a map. Vireo studied Pensmoore, his index finger jammed right over Northpeak in a way that made my heart skip a beat. What was he planning with my home?
He spoke excitedly to the man next to him. “Five hundred. That must be the number of his new recruits and if he already has more uniforms being sewn for them then they’ll be trained by the time we make our first move. We should expect that his will be the bridges. He’ll need one to reach Southfallow. That has to be his first move.”
“But why block the port off?” the other man said, shaking his head.
They were matching in their blue doublets and cat’s eyes, and they both were eating from a spread of food all around the map as they spoke.
Sparrow looked up and caught my eye with a smirk as she took a delicate bite from a very tiny boiled egg.
“To keep his navy safe until he’s ready to use them,” Bluebeard said, considering the map. “He’s planning to set against us the swollen weight of his empire like a river running after the melt of spring. Like so many, he exposes his vulnerability in his boldness. It will leave his rear unguarded. If we could just see our way clear to finding an ally to attack him there while he goes after us, then he’ll be caught in a vice.”
“Unless he’s already persuaded the others to work with him,” Vireo argued. “They’d love to see you unseated, Arrow. We all know the Bramble King favors you.”
“The Bramble King favors no one,” Grosbeak muttered bitterly from his place on a high shelf. Someone had elevated him so he could see the map over their heads.
“Is that the name of the Sovereign?” I asked from my place on the stairs.
Bluebeard froze, his eyes locked on me. Was he so surprised to see me? I lived here, too.
Vireo coughed, looking from Bluebeard to me and back. “As you say, lady, so it is.”
“And you are tracking the Sword’s plans on the map,” I added.
“As you say,” Vireo said, looking again to Bluebeard.
Bluebeard was still frozen in place, his eyes drinking me in as if he was watching for something. It made my cheeks hot. What would he be looking for in me? Betrayal? I had not yet planned to do that. And on top of it, I had proven to be a worthy spy.
“When do we make our first move?” I asked shyly.
“After the opening event – a grand showing of all the players and their retinues to kick off the games officially,” Vireo said, his brow beginning to furrow now when he glanced at his master.
One of the others snickered and Bluebeard blinked suddenly and looked back at the map.
“A ball then?” I asked, face hot, trying to seem sophisticated and calm rather than off-balance. Why did my husband look at me so strangely? Was he that grateful for my spy work? It had only been common sense and a showing of good faith.
This made them all laugh. “A mortal might throw a ball, lady. But not the Wittenbrand. We prefer to show ourselves off in other ways.”
“Like what?” I asked, crossing to the table and boldly helping myself to one of the spiced sweet buns. It was still steaming as I tore off a piece to bite.
His grin seemed eerie with the scars arching up from it. “Tonight, we will ride in the Spectacle. The competitors will choose two companions to ride with them on Wittensteeds which live a single night and then wither and die. We will ride them fast and hard and at each interval, a target will be high and far from the path. We must make a shot with an arrow. At the end of the night, the competitor whose arrows have pierced closes
t to the mark of each target will receive a boon. And all of Wittenhame will have seen us ride and shoot. It’s an honor to be asked and I will ride with pride. As will Sparrow, I suppose, since Grosbeak has proven traitor.”
“No,” Bluebeard said firmly, and his eyes lock on mine again. There was something in them that I could not decipher. Something deep and swirling. “No insult to you, Sparrow, but you will be preparing for our first move against the Sword. We will not wait for him to strike us. We must strike first.” His gaze returned to the map. “Here and here. Come, let Izolda advise us on her father’s defenses and that of his neighbors. We will be relying on his ability to withstand attack from the sea.”
I moved to his side and he leaned over the map to show me. As I leaned with him, his breath washed over my skin, making me shiver.
“If Sparrow does not ride with you, Arrow, then who will?” Vireo asked with a dangerous note to his voice.
“My wife will ride with me,” he said, his eyes still on the map.
“Ridiculous!” Vireo snorted. “You jest.”
“I do not jest today, but if you prefer that I did, then speak to my riddle. Who has two smiles and still makes me frown?” Bluebeard looked up and met Vireo’s eyes, and I felt myself drawing back as their gazes locked. Vireo looked furious.
“Why begin down the path of a fool today, Arrow?” Vireo snarled. “You’ve never been one before. No fair ankles or delicate wrists have turned your head from battle. These mortals are to us as blades in the battle – we need them, but without us wielding them they are nothing.”
Bluebeard made no reply, but I could see he was considering Vireo’s words. I pulled back, taking a step from the table. I’d been a fool to think this could be a true partnership. Watching Bluebeard with his own made it so obvious that leading these people was what he was born for, and they were all faster and stronger and smarter than I was. Vireo made perfect sense. There was no reason to bring me when he had these others who were better.
Fly with the Arrow: A Bluebeard Inspired Fantasy (Bluebeard's Secret Book 1) Page 20