"Finally, you're getting somewhere," Henrik grunted, pulling her from her daydream.
"You're not."
"You were thinking of something else."
"I must confess I was."
"We can't even do this right."
Seanna shrugged. "Maybe the gods never meant for us to join."
He finally took his fingers out and wiped them on the quilt. Climbing out of the bed, he draped his robe back over his shoulders and cinched it. "I'll be in my study. I trust you can find your way out?"
Seanna left more miserable than before. At least I tried. She knew that their beds would forever remain separate save for the times they must come together to make more heirs. To her surprise, a hint of sadness crept into her heart at the thought. Perhaps there's something wrong with me. Every other lady would kill to be the king's wife. Yet she knew, too, that another woman's bed would never be safe.
Seanna walked up and down the long corridors, her mood as sour as their lovemaking had been. She nearly ran into an old curate, who bowed and smiled. "My child, you seem distressed. Is anything pressing your mind and heart?"
Nothing but rejection. Gwen's parting smile, Henrik's resigned shake of his head, the ghostly sound of nobles' laughter...None of this was Seanna's fault. She didn't deserve to be brushed aside and cast down by those miles beneath her. Gwen's ringing laughter, at first joyful, grew into frantic howling derision. The foreign girl. An easy target; not yet assured of her place in this world, in my world. When they see what I do to her, no one will dare go against me.
The idea grew, and she smiled. Seanna said, "All is well."
Chapter Nineteen
Gwen
THE QUIET murmur of hushed voices and soft singing filled the room. Ladies in their silk dresses and fine jewels, their hair braided in such complicated twists and turns the eye could barely follow them, sat in clumps of three or four with embroidery or instruments in their laps. A harpist played in the corner, crooning an old hymn to attentive spinsters who nodded appreciatively and sang along in quavering voices. Thirty or so women of status had gathered to spend the afternoon together. Handmaids lined the walls, standing on their toes, ready for their lady's call. Servants circled with platters of wine, fruit, chocolate, or pastries, somehow never getting in the way.
Gwen sat with three other young women and chatted idly about autumn events. Her embroidery, one she had been working on all that quinn, was simple yet elegant. It depicted the Strilu crest, a blood-red wyvern circling on a field of dark grey. She had sewn jewels as its eyes and scales, and held it to the light to marvel at the play of reflected colors. If she were lucky, the crest would adorn her baby's shawl. Now that Druam is well again, I can forget my powers. I will be the perfect earl's wife, and soon we'll be blessed with a child.
After they bored of idle chatter of the upcoming masque, the ladies passed rumors back and forth. Gwen listened but didn't comment. Back in Demarren gossip had rarely traveled to her ears; who would bring it? Ebarren had no interest in it, especially not when teaching her to cast workings.
No. That's a part of me I must forget. What would Druam think?
Gwen wondered if the Trials were still ongoing. Had Wullum discovered where she had gone? Had Lord Daghorn sent word to the Inquisition's leaders about her? But surely the long tentacles of the Trials could not reach this far, could not touch the earl's wife in the great marble palace above the sea.
"Lady Seastone," hissed the maid next to her, suddenly coming to her feet. Startled, Gwen looked up to see Queen Seanna glide into the room, a grand diadem resting on her brow. All the women curtseyed; Gwen peeked from under her lashes at the beautiful queen. Despite her pregnancy, Seanna moved with grace and poise, one hand resting on her belly with the other held out to accept kisses.
"Lady Seastone," the queen said, her hand extended to Gwen.
"Your Grace," Gwen replied, kissing the proffered palm. "An honor to see you." Gwen smiled at the queen, hoping that she may be invited for another private conversation. Druam would be proud of me for befriending her. For a moment, Seanna's smile wavered, but then it returned kinder than before. I must have imagined it, Gwen thought, lowering her eyes in what she hoped was a demure expression.
"My dear lady, would you care to show me the library? I've heard it's quite lovely." Seanna held out her arm. Gwen took it, keenly aware of the jealous eyes of the other ladies. The library in these chambers wasn't quite a library at all, more a small collection of books and statues. Still, the queen had asked to see it, and Gwen would oblige.
The two women went through a side door into a wood-paneled room, their footsteps muffled by a thick red and gold rug. Sunlight warmed dust motes through gaps in the heavy curtains, and marble statues on plinths or shelves stared unseeing at the intruders. The heat was stifling for that time of year, and Gwen felt sweat dripping down her arms.
"The statues were commissioned by my lord husband's father. One to represent each season. I think the sculptor did quite a marvelous job, don't you?" Gwen said. Seanna had stayed by the door, and now pushed it almost closed. She went to a side table which held a jar of wine and silver goblets. After pouring one for each of them, she at last met Gwen's eyes with a hard look.
"Seanna?" Gwen asked as she took a goblet.
"You seek my favor, do you not?" the queen asked softly.
The heat was overwhelming. Gwen longed to sit in one of the many cushioned chairs pushed against the walls, but could not while the queen still stood. "I seek your friendship, Seanna. I – I hope I have received it."
"You are to address me formally," Seanna snapped. "You have earned, and will receive, nothing but my disdain. For such a pretty flower, with so much potential...'tis a shame, really. I had hoped better for you."
"I don't understand, how have I–"
"Do not presume to speak."
Gwen's mouth snapped shut, her eyes widening in confusion. The queen shook her head, speaking loud enough for the ladies outside to hear.
"The queen of Dotschar stands before you, you foreign, ignorant wretch. You were granted a high privilege in marrying one of our respected, beloved earls, and you marred his name! You...you disloyal child, you traitor to the sanctimony of marriage. If I took you for a woman, I would petition for your banishment from court."
Her own anger rose, and Gwen spat, "Did you not counsel me yourself that I should stray from my husband, that I–"
Seanna grabbed her wrist, wrenching it painfully. Gasping, Gwen blinked through sudden tears as the other woman nearly shouted, "You twist my words and dare to blame me for your own foul deeds. We are good Dotsch women, loyal to our husbands and our king! Do you seek to destroy the earl's name, little snake? Make him seem weak, unable to control his whore of a wife? We will not fall for your foreign tricks, Demar slut. We know that Seastone is a far better man than you deserve."
Gwen tried to blink back tears. She couldn't. They dripped onto her dress, staining the silk. Her thoughts emptying through her eyes, she shook her head and mumbled, "Please, Your Grace, let me go. Please, I want to leave."
"You shall stay until I am done with you!" Seanna shook Gwen's arm, her fingers white. But she released her. Gwen drew back, holding her hand to her chest, still shaking her head, thinking, What have I done? Why does she hate me? I never betrayed Druam!
Seanna blocked the door. Gwen could do nothing but stand there, shoulders drawn in, throat shutting as she tried not to make a sound. She stopped listening to the queen's words. They didn't matter. She stared at the wall and shut her eyes. Just let it be over soon, Gwen prayed. She didn't know what she'd done wrong, and part of her wanted to plead with the queen for mercy.
A hard grip forced her eyes open again. Seanna glared at her, her nails clasping Gwen's chin. Lowering her voice for the first time, so only Gwen could hear her, she leaned close, those flint eyes locking onto Gwen's. "You are nothing but a pawn of your birth. I offered you agency, freedom in your limited life, and you rejected me."
The details of their conversation played out in Gwen's mind. Had...had the queen been flirting with her? Gwen stammered, "I...I didn't mean...I didn't know–"
"Listen to me, little bitch. You have a pretty face, a fresh malkin, a malleable disposition – but you are nothing great, you will never be anything great, and you will die in the shadows. I hope your husband annuls your marriage before he is brought to dust because of you."
The queen's hard eyes pierced Gwen's fragile confidence. Deep inside Gwen's chest, she felt her magic pulsing, an ever-present comfort. I should never have come, Gwen thought. Tears renewed and coursed down her cheeks, and she knew that she couldn't bear the idea of never knowing Druam. But how can I be his dutiful wife if everyone thinks I've betrayed him?
At last, the queen freed Gwen. A mask of sincerity and sweetness settled on her treacherous face, and she smiled bitterly, then turned on her heel to float to the door.
Gwen said softly, "You're wrong about me." I have to believe that.
"Am I?" Seanna replied without stopping. "Wait and see."
"You're wrong," Gwen said again with no one but the statues to hear her. For a minute, she could not move. Her mind had gone blank, all she had thought she knew washed away by the harsh flood of words. The heat of the room gave her a headache. Realizing she still held the goblet of wine, she sucked it down. That, at least, gave her some feeling. A dizzy, half-nauseous feeling, but enough to bring her back to her senses.
With great effort, Gwen straightened her shoulders, then found a dusty mirror to examine herself. At least she hadn't worn much paint today, for only her red-rimmed eyes displayed her grief. With a quick, habitual action, she wet two fingers in her mouth and wiped her eyes. She tried smiling at her reflection.
The queen had left the door open. At the threshold, Gwen could sense the gazes of the other ladies. When she glanced to meet them, their eyes darted away. I survived the Trials of Demarren, and I will survive this, too. Gwen took a deep breath and lifted her chin. Taking her long skirts in her hands, she made her way around chairs and food-laden tables to her friends.
Abruptly, the other ladies stood, abandoning their embroidery as they turned their backs on her. Left alone, Gwen bit her lip to try and remain calm. She motioned to one of her attendants and handed off the piece she had been working on earlier. "Take this to my rooms. I wish to walk the palace."
The quiet room remained tense as Gwen stood and walked to the door. She almost looked back, almost shouted, "It's not true," but she knew that the ladies would never believe a foreigner over their queen. Her dreams of being the grand Lady Seastone, loved by the court, had shattered.
Gwen shook, her whole body nearly convulsing with shame. You are nothing great, you will never be anything great, and you will die in shadows. The queen's sneering face loomed up, and Gwen nearly choked on the sobs that rose from her chest into her throat only to escape her mouth in hot, sour gargles.
A hollowness settled on her heart. Her throat closed; she swallowed with difficulty. She remembered the tourney, only a quinn ago, when she had stayed by Druam until he woke. She remembered Mavian Strilu's mention of magic.
You are nothing great, you will never be anything great, and you will die in shadows. Gwen had scorned her magic and promised the gods she would not use it. But perhaps, if she learned how to wield it, she might prove her worthiness to the court. First she must hammer her resolve, turn it from ore to iron, fold it over and over as a blacksmith his steel until it became strong enough to protect her when she went to Mavian. Though the rest of the court rejected him, he had been kind to Gwen. And I've been rejected as harshly as he.
Chapter Twenty
Jagger
THE GIRL stared up at Jagger, her face scratched and bruised. She had fought him when he pulled her from her saddle, and he threw her onto the forest floor. Jagger left her to fumble to her feet, tied up the horses, then removed their saddles and rubbed them down. All the while, he watched her from the corner of his eye. She didn't try to run. Smart, or simply too scared to do anything? She stood perfectly still, her bound hands held in front of her. After a moment, Jagger realized she was trying to protect her nethers.
"I'm not goin'ta rape you," he muttered. The girl didn't say anything. Probably cause of the rag in her mouth. Jagger said, "If I kill you, it'll be clean. No pain, nothing. I'm not in the torturing business. Not anymore, at least. Don't imagine you've ever heard of me? Naw, why would you? I was in my heyday when Sandu was still a pup, but not for a long time now. Parents don't need to warn children about the Heartless anymore."
During his rambling, Jagger puttered about their makeshift campsite, setting up a bed for himself, making a fire pit, and tying the girl's rope to one of his knives before driving it into the yielding dirt. It'd be pretty easy for her to escape that, if she had the nerve to.
At last, he took out her gag and threw it away in disgust. Thing was wet. Smelled rotten.
Jagger crouched in front of the girl. She didn't meet his eyes, and did her very best to look anywhere but at him. Her lower lip trembled, and a few wayward tears dripped down her cheeks. In a quavering voice, still with the high pitches of girlhood, she said, "You killed Ma and Pa and Dustin."
"Yes," Jagger replied matter-of-factly. "Everyone in that caravan's dead now. Everyone except for you. We'll see how long that lasts."
He didn't mean it as a threat; he honestly had no idea what he'd do with her. Taking her and letting her live were impulses he didn't know himself to be capable of. But damn her, she had soft, brown eyes like Raven's, full of that something he never saw in his own. Compassion, probably. Basic human decency.
The girl burst into full sobs. Her ugly grunts echoed in the treetops, but Jagger quickly clamped a hand over her mouth. He ignored the moisture on her lips and cheeks. "Stop that. I've found us a good hiding place, somewhere they'd have to look pretty hard to find. But your blubbering would make it easier, and then I'd have to kill you. I don't have a mind to meet the noose. The gods gave me another chance at life, and dammit I'm goin'ta use it to kill Sandu before I get knocked off. I'm not goin'ta kill you. But I'll gag you forever, or cut your tendons, or cut off your fingers. Make you like me, missing your pinkies. If you don't want that, you'll shut up."
The girl's eyes blinked above his dirty hand. Jagger could hear her gulp, then she nodded slowly, and he took away his hand. He rocked back on his heels, contemplating her. She swallowed again, but did not cry out. Jagger cocked his head to one side. Why did I bring you with me? Veck me, but you look like Raven. Could pass as her little sister.
The girl opened her mouth, then closed it. She licked her lips, then finally gained the courage to speak. "Why are you doing this?"
Jagger shrugged.
"Are you really the Heartless?"
He held up his hands and showed her the stumps where his pinkies used to be.
That made her pause. After a minute, she said, "I don't have gold, or anything like that. I'm a virgin, but–"
"I said I'm not goin'ta rape you. It'd be disrespectful to Raven."
"...oh." At last she looked to the ground and stopped asking inane questions. Satisfied that that was the end of it, Jagger went to his newly-supplied pack and pulled out food and a bottle of mead. He ate his fill, took a swig of the honeyed drink, then offered the girl the remainder. She took the food and ate greedily. He held out the bottle.
"Ma doesn't like me drinking."
"She ain't here now. Drink. It'll put some color in your cheeks." The girl hesitated, took a sip, then pulled a disgusted face and handed it back. Jagger smiled, downing the rest of the bottle's contents. "Good stuff, this. Your tribe had fine taste."
She teared up, but did not sob. Smart lass. Jagger stood up and stretched, then laid down across from her. The sun climbed higher and higher in the sky, but he didn't feel the need to sleep. Instead, he watched her.
After she had her quiet cry, the girl stretched out her arms and legs as best she could. R
aven used to stretch like that. This girl could be our daughter, if we'd ever had one. The girl rolled her head around on a long, tan neck. But she didn't try to escape.
She's just another job. Treat her like you'd treat your other targets...But I had Raven back then. She'd always be at the gate when I came home from a job, and hold me when I couldn't bear it anymore. I hated the Shivs. I was damned good at killing, and I hated it. The girl sat, buried her head in her arms and cried. Just like Ryton's boy during the Ivering job. I didn't tell Raven that I had to kill the boy, too. She'd love me less for it. Jagger tried to think of this girl in the same way as the boy. Just part of the job. She'd slow me down, eat my rations, drink my water. People'd learn about the caravan. They'd question me. It's the best option, really. Gods knew he'd gone back on his word more times than not. And the girl wouldn't care once she was dead. Just another job. But I'd only done them to feed myself and Raven, to keep us going when we hadn't a thing left but each other. I won't get paid for leaving this girl's corpse in the woods.
"Can I have some water, please?" The girl's lips were chapped, and she sweated through her clothes even though they were in a shady, secluded spot. Jagger gave her a full water bladder and watched her gulp it down. He wondered if she was related to Sandu. A cousin, perhaps, or a niece. Would Sandu be sad to learn of her death? Would it hurt him? Killing her would be awful easy if I pretend she's Sandu, just for as long as the deed takes. Picture his lying eyes instead of hers.
He fingered one of the many knives tucked in his shirt and thought about it some more. How silly. The Bloodied Giant, scared to kill a child? Gods know how many tiny graves have been dug 'cause of me. What a silly, foolish thing to be caught up in.
The girl met his eyes.
And Jagger remembered that night, Raven's dead brown eyes staring up into his, her forehead smeared with blood and dirt, fire scorching his skin as he dropped her and crawled into the ash and debris, leaving his wife's corpse to rot with the crows.
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