“Was there something you wished to speak to me about?” she asked finally, her voice resuming its normal pitch and stability.
Was there anything else he wanted to talk about besides her inexplicable behavior toward him today? Ah, yes . . . the manifestation. “I was wondering if you saw any of what I saw while the Light was on me this morning. The galleys moored at Graymeer’s. More of them coming out of fog-bound islands. The northland in shadow. . . . A great army beneath our combined banners. . . .”
An arched footbridge rose up before them to span a chuckling streamlet, their footsteps echoing hollowly as they crossed it. She said she remembered nothing but the Light, blazing out of him, then added, “You really saw the galleys at Graymeer’s?”
He nodded. “At the same time they were actually there, I think. I saw a great red dragon, too, flying overhead.”
“A red dragon?” she breathed, her surprise evident. Of course she’d made the connection at once: he wore a red dragon on his arm.
“I have no idea whether it’s real or symbolic. Maybe both. It seemed to mock me.”
They walked on for a bit before she said, “I saw nothing like that.”
He frowned. “So what did you see?”
She shrugged.
“Well, you must’ve seen something. What made you faint?”
“How did you know I fainted?” she burst out, stepping around to face him and bringing them both to a halt. “Did Leyton—”
“Simon told me.”
“Oh.” She looked at her feet, the cloak’s cowl dropping forward to hide her face. “Well . . . it wasn’t a real faint,” she said to the ground.
Abramm felt his brows fly up. “You were pretending to faint? You? My lady, I must say—”
“Not pretending!” Her head came up sharply and she glowered at him. “I was just . . . unsteady on my feet.” With that she turned away and started down the path again.
He hurried after her, asking as he came abreast, “Why? What did you see?”
“Blackwell passed out entirely, though. Had to be carried from the hall and was taken to his rooms.”
“I know.”
“Had another one of his fits, they said.”
“Yes, I know that, too.”
“It’s a pity what happened to him that day at Seven Peaks.”
“Aye. It is.” He frowned at her. “But I don’t want to talk about Blackwell right now, my lady. I want to know what made you ‘unsteady on your feet.”’
Again the tension thickened between them. She wrapped her arms about herself beneath her cloak and walked on without speaking. Then, “You don’t want to know, Abramm. It means nothing. And it would only—” She stopped. Swallowed. “It would only make things worse.”
“What things? How?”
At that point she reached the last straw of patience, whipping round on him and snapping out, “Didn’t you learn your lesson with Trap last night?! Some things it’s just better not to know.”
“Why are you angry with me, my lady?” he protested helplessly, feeling as if they were playing a game of snap the whip and he was on the end of the whip. “What have I done?”
“Nothing! I’m not angry with you.” And now she had her back to him again. “I’m angry with myself.”
This conversation was growing more opaque by the minute, and every way he tried to make it clearer only made things worse. He lifted a hand to touch her arm, thought better of it, and pulled back. “Maddie, what’s wrong?” he said finally. “I don’t understand.”
“No . . . You don’t.” And she started on again.
“Well, then—”
“Abramm, please! Just grant me my privacy on this and don’t ask any more.”
And so he did as she bade him, and they walked down the serpentine paths, crossing streamlets and planted glens until at last they came to the bottom of the garden, where a clipped green surrounded the narrow, whitemarble, octagonal building that was the teahouse. Tall, glass-paned doors and windows stood in every wall, and kelistars rimmed the eaves of its cupola. A warm red glow inside betrayed the central brazier of coals set into an empty water basin to provide warmth for chilled garden walkers like themselves.
They climbed the three stairs up into the house, where garlands of tiny orblights hung from the high ceiling, casting a pale light over the interior. Narrow stuccoed walls decorated with leafy scrollwork interspersed the glass, and beneath the central brazier, the marble floor was tiled in a starburst pattern. Dried camellia blossoms strewed the entranceway, unrolling into staffid the moment the couple stepped onto the floor proper. Abramm killed one with a burst of Light as from the corner of his eye he saw a second skitter toward his companion—who impaled it with her own tendril of Light.
Maddie proceeded to the brazier while Abramm circled the room, glancing out the tall windows. His habit of continually taking stock of his surroundings had been beaten into him years ago in Katahn’s training compound, and he retained it here, despite the dark figures of his armsmen now positioning themselves in the foliage at the green’s edge.
Save for the staffid, the interior offered no obvious threat. It was dark enough that courtier spies could not see clearly what went on between them—yet not so dark they could imagine things that weren’t happening. Not that that had ever stopped them.
Killing two more staffid before he’d completed his round, Abramm finally stopped at the brazier beside Lady Madeleine, who had stuck her gloved hands between the front edges of her cloak to warm them over the coals. Appreciating the warmth on his face, he held out his own hands and took the opportunity to study her profile. Even lit by the warm glow of the coals, her skin looked pale beneath the scattering of freckles, and shadows cupped her eyes. She was tired and hurting, and he had no idea how to fix her.
Suddenly it dawned on him that her problems today, whatever they were, hadn’t originated with Leyton, though Abramm had no doubt he’d been used. Maddie was a servant of Eidon, just as Abramm was. A valuable supporter, one he trusted and relied upon more than he wanted to admit. For his unseen enemies to succeed in their attack on him, they had to neutralize Madeleine just as they had Trap.
“The rhu’ema were after you this morning, weren’t they?” he asked quietly. “Trying to make sure you couldn’t help me during the ceremony.”
For a moment she ceased to move. Then she drew her hands back inside her cloak and sighed. “They were.” She turned slightly toward him, her cloak brushing his own as she looked at him over her shoulder. “I’m sorry I didn’t come to you this morning. I was just . . .” She trailed off awkwardly, eyes dropping blindly to his chest.
He smiled at her. “Too busy seeing to my horse?”
“No!” Her eyes darted up again, flashing indignantly. “If you think I had time to go out to the stable—”
“I’m teasing, my lady. Truth be told, learningWarbanner was ready to ride in the midst of the crisis this morning was welcome news indeed. He pulled me out of my black mood.” He shook his head. “Your foresight continually amazes me.”
She shrugged and turned her attention to the coals. “I was really just trying to get away from Leyton.”
He smiled down at her, full of gratitude and affection, thinking how complex and unpredictable she was, how quick-witted and, sometimes, like tonight, undeniably attractive. The way her eyes flashed with that indignation, the endearing tilt of her chin when she sought to be firm—and the tendril of fawn-colored hair that always found a way to dangle in a long curl beside her face and offset it all. Over and over she astonished him with her ability to predict and accommodate his needs. Sometimes he thought she knew him better than he knew himself. “Well,” he said softly, “it made the day.”
A moment she was silent. Then, “No, sir, ’twas you who made the day.” She turned to him, her eyes locking upon his own, and she spoke even more softly than he had. “Every inch a king you were. Even before the Light was on you.”
Her face, tilted up toward his ow
n, glowed in the dim warm light of the kelistars, her pupils like deep, dark pools. And as he looked down into them, it was as if some imperceptible wind blew through him and everything changed. He felt a dangerous slippage, a stirring of some deep and powerful feeling within him, a sense of something monumentally disastrous about to happen. His heart pounded frantically against his ribs. . . .
Her face darkened as if she were blushing, and she stepped sharply away, turning her shoulder to him again, arms once more folded across her chest beneath her cloak. “I think it’s time for me to go, sir.”
Her words startled the breath out of him and brought the blood rushing inexplicably to his own face. His heart still galloped in his chest, his mind churning with confusion. What had happened just now?
It took him a moment to find his tongue, and he spoke lightly, striving to cover his discomfiture. “So you are feeling poorly, then.”
“What. . . ? No. I mean . . .” When her voice came again it was weak and trembling. “I mean, I think it is time for me to leave Kiriath altogether.”
At first the words didn’t register, as if they’d been spoken in a foreign tongue. Then, “Leave Kiriath? Why?”
“It’s just . . . It’s time. There’s really nothing more for me to do here.”
The teahouse floor sagged beneath his feet. “But what about your research? What about the songs? What about the wedding?”
She muttered something he could not distinguish, then snorted softly and turned to face him. “Oh, come, Abramm, you’ve never cared a fig about any of my songs. Truth be told, you’d rather they not be written, and don’t think I don’t know that.”
“That’s not . . . entirely true.” He felt his face burn anew.
“Well, getting away will help break this block I’ve had with them, if nothing else.”
“But your research on our history and the fortresses—”
“There are any number of men imminently qualified to assist you in that, and who would be euphoric to do so.”
“If I wanted them, Maddie, I’d have gone to them in the first place,” he said sternly, frowning at her. “I want you.”
She stared at him, startled, lips parted, face chalk-pale.
“I want you.” His own words echoed in his ear as he realized how that might have sounded and flushed with embarrassment again. But surely she understood how he’d meant that. . . . He was sworn to marry her sister, after all.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “I don’t believe I can be of help to you anymore.” With that, she pushed away from the brazier and left him there, listening to the sound of her hurried footsteps as they faded into silence.
Maddie fled the teahouse in a state of total discombobulation. She could hardly think, could hardly breathe, could hardly even see, as was proven when she ran smack into someone coming down the path into the teahouse grotto. She never saw his face, just bounced off of him, muttered an apology, and raced on without looking up, desperate to get away before everything came flying apart. She thought it might have been Simon Kalladorne, probably the worst person who could have happened upon that little scene. . . .
But what difference did it make now? She was leaving. She had told Abramm her intent, and it was final. Soon it wouldn’t matter what anyone thought.
Oh, Father Eidon! What was I doing? What was I thinking to look at him like that and say those things. . . ? She had spent most of her adult life seeking to avoid the amorous attentions of men. On those few occasions where her usual off-putting persona failed, she had even resorted to physical persuasion, having once shoved a hapless suitor so hard the man had fallen down the bank of stairs at his heels. And while some she minded less than others, she could not recall ever thinking she might like a man to hold her in his arms. . . . Until tonight when she had stood there in that teahouse looking up at Abramm, her heart leaping at the change that had swept across his face and the sudden possibility that he might do a good deal more than take her in his arms.
He’s going to marry your sister! What is wrong with you?
She was tempted to blame it on the dream, but after a day of trying to do that—to say nothing of that cursed vision!—she knew it was useless. The rhu’ema had only pulled up what was already there. If she dared to be honest with herself, she had to admit she’d been in love with Abramm Kalladorne since the day he’d come ashore from the battered Wanderer nine months ago. He’d been filthy, disheveled, exhausted, and reeking of kraggin. Yet when he’d stopped to greet Kesrin and his gaze had briefly met her own, her soul had come alight as if she’d waited for him all her life.
But that’s all romantic nonsense. And even if there is one chosen soul mate for each of us, he can’t be yours because he’s already chosen Briellen. You’d best just get out of Springerlan before you humiliate yourself entirely.
At least that little scene they’d just played out in the teahouse had taken place where no one but he could see. And she took comfort in knowing he would find the possibility she was in love with him to be so ludicrous, it would never enter his mind.
And yet . . . there at the end . . . “I want you,” he’d said fiercely, and the look in his eye . . . Don’t think of it. It was only your imagination. Like the vision . . . your own desires and nothing more. Light’s grace, Mad! You don’t seriously believe the man could ever love you, do you?
And if he could, that would only make things worse.
Why didn’t you just let him think you were ill? It would have stopped the questions, at least, and you wouldn’t have been such a babbling fool.
Not wanting to run into anyone, she went up to her east-wing, third-floor apartments by way of the service stair, wiping away the tears as she went. Her maid, Liza, took her cloak and gloves in the darkened sitting chamber, where a single lamp and the hearth fire provided the only illumination. Though it was well after midnight, she was too cold and agitated to seek her bed, and so stood by the fire, glad of its warmth upon her face and fingers, content to be safely alone at last. She stared blindly into the dancing tongues of amber, listening to them hiss and snap. From down in the valley, the University clock tolled the half hour, its deep tone mingled a heartbeat later with the closer, louder chime of the mantel clock. She breathed a sigh of release.
“Well,” came a low, familiar voice. “I was beginning to wonder if I would have to wait until morning for your return.”
She whipped around, aghast to find her brother seated in one of the chairs clustered behind her, sufficiently cloaked in shadow that she hadn’t noticed him.
“Leyton!” she cried. “What are you doing here?”
He stared up at her, the firelight gilding his bushy blond brows and casting a ruddy glow across his weathered face. “You told me you were retiring for the night. I wished to speak with you privately, so I stopped by hoping to catch you before you’d gone to bed. Instead, I found you weren’t even here.” He paused, his gaze not leaving hers. “I’ve waited almost two hours, Madeleine.”
She frowned at him, suddenly and intensely irritated. “Well, if I’d known your intention I surely would’ve made the effort to accommodate you.” If he finds out I was with Abramm there’ll be another lecture. Oh, Father Eidon, where have you been this day? I can’t take another grilling from Leyton. Have mercy on me and get rid of him!
“So where were you?”
“Walking in the royal garden. I enjoy the lights.” She turned back to the fire to continue warming her hands.
“Sharing a lover’s tryst, were you?”
She stifled an angry reply, stood there a moment to gather her patience, then let out a long sigh. “I thought we’d settled this.”
“So did I. Yet barely twenty-four hours later you’re wandering the gardens alone at night. Although I don’t think it ended alone.” He paused and the chair creaked as he rose and came to stand beside her, resting one hand on the mantel. “Were you with the king tonight, Madeleine?”
She sighed again, realizing he would find out anyway. And w
ho knew what the story would have swollen into by morning. “He came upon me in the garden. We walked to the teahouse, where we spoke briefly, and then I left.”
He pushed away from the mantel, muttering something inappropriate for a lady’s ear. Madeleine turned to watch him. “We were there five minutes at the most. It was nothing.”
“Well, that’s not how the court’s going to perceive it. Even if you care nothing for your own reputation, why don’t you show a little concern for your sister? Do you know what they’ve been saying about you today?”
“You think I went out there looking for him?”
“Did you?”
“No! I went out there to get away from—” Him. But she couldn’t say that. “From you for one. From conversations like this. And frankly, I couldn’t care less what they’re saying about me.”
“Hagin’s beard, girl! After that little vomiting incident this morning—”
“Vomiting incident?”
“—and your apparent swoon during the coronation—” “There was no vomiting incident!”
“—the current consensus is you’re carrying Abramm’s bastard.” He finished as if she’d not spoken.
She stood there, mouth open to speak, no words coming out. For a moment she couldn’t breathe. Then a tide of heat suffused her face, though not for the reason Leyton supposed. Or, at least, not solely.
He nodded, believing he’d scored his point. “Perhaps you begin to see the value of discretion. You and I may know the tale’s not true, and I’m sure eventually it will be manifest. . . . But plagues, Maddie, in the meantime it’s downright embarrassing!” He pressed his lips together. “Already people are laughing at Briellen. While others wonder if she might be used goods, as well.”
She gave a snort. “Once she arrives you know no one will even care. As for me, you can relax. There’ll be no more embarrassing indiscretions because I’ll be leaving as soon as I can arrange passage. I told the king tonight.”
And that set him back. Rather more soundly than she’d expected. He stared at her for a long moment, mouth half open. Then his bushy brows drew down. “You can’t just leave.”
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