Arlow snatched the brown parcel from the chair next to him and followed her up the stairs. Mae unlocked the door to a small room, calling down the hall for bathwater.
Arlow waited as the tub was brought and filled. As soon as the servant closed the door behind her, his hands flew to his buttons. He could not bear to wear these clothes a moment longer. He accidentally liberated a few buttons in his haste, and nearly fell over as he extricated himself from his trousers.
Mae watched all of this with a quirked brow. “You meanin’ to bed me like a racer at a starting line?”
He winked at her but shook his head. “Nothing so presumptive. I feel positively disgusting. Those clothes should be burnt, and the ashes buried.”
He climbed into the small tub. The water reached only just above his hips, and his knees stuck up above the rim. He must look a real fool, but the smell of soap was such an enticement that he did not mind.
Mae came forward with a serious expression. “What’s this?” she asked, and she ran a finger along the thin white scar on his left pectoral. “You didn’t have a scar.”
Arlow shrugged. “Parting gift from Quade.”
“How’d it heal up so fast?”
“Yarrow helped it along.”
Arlow wanted to tell her that he had almost died. That he had been certain, when Quade’s knife pierced his chest, that his life would soon be over. And that, in those long, hot seconds, regret had been the emotion he’d felt most—regret for how he had treated her, and for the child whom he would never know.
He opened his mouth to say these things. To ask forgiveness for his boorish behavior. To express that, though he had been manipulated into marriage, she was the wife he would choose again. But he did not know how to say any of this, so he focused instead on scrubbing his feet.
Mae sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the parcel. She turned it over in her lap. “What’s this?”
“Oh, nothing much,” he said, rising from his bath. “Just something I wanted you to have.”
“It’s for me?”
He nodded, and she ripped open the packaging. Yellow fabric spilled out onto her lap and she gave a hearty, snorting laugh. “Did you buy me curtains, Arlow Bowlerham?” She held them up, grinning. “Yellow curtains?”
Arlow finished toweling himself dry. “Yes, well, you did say that you imagined a future with draperies.” And then, in a softer, more sincere tone, “And I would give you all that you want. Or at least, I would try. If you’d let me. Mae, I’m so very sorry for—”
He was silenced by her mouth upon his own, and he smiled into the kiss. She pulled him down onto the bed and he tumbled. Her hands grazed his damp skin, and she broke free for just long enough to whisper, “I love you, Arlow.”
He cupped her face in his hands and tried to tell her, with his lips, all the things he had no words for. Oh, to be so sublimely happy; he did not deserve it. And he did not care.
Mae pulled free and took a slow breath. “Blighter,” she swore. She pushed away and scurried off the bed to an empty water basin at the corner of the room.
“Mae, what’s—?”
His question was answered when she began to retch. Arlow hurried to stand behind her, and pulled clear the strands of hair that framed her face.
He heard the splatter of vomit hitting porcelain. “Ergh,” she croaked.
“Better?” he asked. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Ain’t quite done yet,” she said in a hurry, then ducked her head.
A little while later, Mae wiped her mouth and sat back on her heels. “Thanks,” she said. “Past few nights, can’t seem to keep a thing down.”
“I should have been here.”
She looked over her shoulder at him, smirking. “Yeah, you should have. It’s your kid that’s got my guts all amess.”
“Send your guts my humblest apologies.”
She rolled her eyes at him, then used his knee to push herself to her feet. “Mind if we just sleep?”
“No, dear,” he said. “Not a bit.”
They burrowed into the blankets, and Arlow kissed the top of her head. She fell asleep quickly, her breathing growing deep and steady. Arlow let himself melt into the mattress, focusing on the regular pumping of his heart. He was so grateful to be alive.
“I love you, too, Mae,” he whispered into the darkness.
Chapter Twenty-One
Breathe in, Chae-Na reminded herself.
“Acceptable,” she said in a cool, even tone. “My brother intended to offer yours just that, and I see no reason not to uphold his wishes.”
Across the meeting table, the so-called Pauper’s Queen licked a lip. Chae-Na studied the woman. Mae could have no way of knowing that Jo-Kwan had meant to offer Linton Bearnall a great deal more than representation—a crown, in fact.
Beside Mae, Arlow Bowlerham drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair. “In addition to a representative on the king—or, ah, queen’s counsel, as it were—we would also require your approval of this…”
He slid a parchment along the table and Chae-Na took up the sheaf and read, brows arched. “Repeal of the Hunting and Fishery Act?”
Behind her, Ko-Jin shifted. “Don’t push it, Arlow.”
Chae-Na raised a hand to silence him. She scanned the document. “You wrote this?”
“I did,” Arlow said.
Chae-Na skimmed through the proposal, impressed. It was a well-composed bill, and clearly the product of study on his part, which she found surprising. While she had once fancied herself infatuated with Arlow Bowlerham, she had never imagined him in possession of any real skills. She had merely been charmed. What a foolish girl she had been…
Breathe out.
“An army is marching on our city. You would truly use this moment to wrest from the crown some trivial change to fishing permits?”
“Trivial to you, maybe,” the woman, Mae, said. Her homely face fitted into a condemnatory frown. “But you ain’t got the slightest idea what it’s like on the streets. Without one of them permits—and who but successful merchants has one?—you get caught with a fish snagged from the bay, or, Blighter, even a rat you nabbed outta the gutter, you’re lookin’ at three months or losin’ a hand, depending on the constable.” Chae-Na grimaced, trying not to think what rat might taste like. “You get caught carrying off a loaf of bread, though, chances are you’ll only get a day in the stocks. So what do you do, steal or fish?”
Chae-Na frowned down at the document. She understood well what this signified—they were creating a precedent, a measuring stick that could be used in future to deem other such acts unjust. To give in on this point, insignificant though it might seem, could potentially create a future cascade of repeals and new laws.
And she did not care. For now, protecting the city from Quade Asher—breathe, breathe—was all that mattered.
“Very well,” she said.
Mae smiled, closed-lipped, and extended a hand. Chae-Na stared at it for a second, dubious. She had never shaken on a deal before, particularly not with someone who rather needed to clean the dirt from beneath her fingernails. But she paused for only a second before taking that rough palm in her own. For six-hundred additional men and women patrolling the streets, she would shake a far less savory hand.
Chae-Na stood. “There is to be a war council here in an hour’s time. You are both invited to attend.”
She breezed from the meeting room, her posture correct and her face smooth. She could hear Ko-Jin’s footfall just behind her. He had been her shadow since she’d been released from quarantine, though they had spoken little. She found it difficult to look at him. Those warm eyes seemed to shout out his desperate need to ease her pain. That he could do nothing, could offer no comfort, made his concern feel more burden than solace—as if she were somehow failing him, in not finding his presence a balm. And a piece of her resented him for it.
She glided around a corner and out a back door into the gardens. The day was bri
ght and nearly warm. As she trod up the path, a robin darted into view, a promise of spring to come. She followed its red breast as it flitted by, her expression black.
“Where are we going, Highness?” Ko-Jin asked.
“The shooting range.” Her voice sounded peculiar in her own ears—clipped and formal.
He followed her in silence. She weaved amidst the hedges, and when they arrived at the target, Ko-Jin jogged to the shed for her bow and quiver.
Chae-Na sighed as she notched the first arrow. She delighted in the familiarity of it all—the symmetry of body, the memory in her very muscles. The deep-down fibers that still recalled who she was, despite…
She aimed, drew, exhaled, and let fly. The arrow thunked and quivered just below the bullseye. Deciding not to worry overmuch about placement, she switched over to speed. She reached behind her to pluck arrows and released them as rapidly as possible, until her quiver stood empty. It was exerting enough that by the end a light sheen of sweat clung to her brow.
Ko-Jin made to retrieve her arrows for her, but she held up a hand. “I will do it.”
She rushed forward and jerked the arrows from the board, bracing her palm against the target and tugging. With each yank she felt more annoyed with her faithful watchdog. What was he thinking, fetching things for her like a servant? He had never been so solicitous before. When they had been living at the cottage outside of Cagsglow, and he had acted as her trainer, he had done her no favors. She felt a sudden poignant and bitter nostalgia for that time and place. Spirits… she thought, blinking, what I would not give…
“Halt,” Ko-Jin commanded to a new arrival.
Chae-Na whirled. Veldon Gorberry marched towards her with an unreadable expression stamped across his hard features. He appeared compactly built, slight even, next to Ko-Jin.
“Let him pass,” she said.
“Not until I’m satisfied he isn’t concealing a weapon.”
Veldon swiveled an icy look on the larger man, but did not protest. He outstretched his arms for inspection.
“Ko-Jin,” Chae-Na snapped. She had never said his name with such anger in her voice; it surprised even her. “I said let him pass.”
Ko-Jin’s eyes were mutinously black, but he bowed and stepped aside. He crossed his arms and glared at Veldon’s back.
As the man approached, Chae-Na noticed a copy of the Dalish Times tucked under his arm, and her stomach swooped. Earlier that morning she had forced herself to read the entire headlining article, every excruciating word. It portrayed her as a seductress and a harlot, claiming that she had willingly absconded with the villain Quade Asher. He had no doubt fed the story to the journalist himself via telegram, making use of his infamy within the city to compromise her authority.
Veldon crumpled the paper in his hand. “It isn’t true,” he said by way of greeting.
“Are you so certain?” she asked, as she dropped arrows back into her quiver.
“Yes.” His blue gaze held conviction. “I am acquainted with you well enough to know these allegations to be ludicrous. You must hold the journalist liable. This,” he brandished the paper, “is treason.”
Chae-Na ran her hand along the bowstring and glanced away. “You are correct that the article is composed of lies.” She steeled herself. “Save for the heart of the matter—” breathe, breathe, “—the man did violate me.”
A series of strong emotions flitted over Veldon’s face, one after the other so quickly that she could not read them. He covered his eyes with his hand and breathed strongly through his nose. When he unshuttered his gaze again, she found it piercing.
“He assaulted you.”
“Yes.”
“To discredit the crown.”
“Yes.”
His lips compressed and he swallowed. “We will say it did not happen, that your virtue is intact. Lie. I will use the Gorberry influence to—”
“No,” she said. The word bit from her mouth with more resolve than she felt. There was a powerful part of her that wanted very much to lie, as he suggested—lie to the world, and to herself. But a stronger piece of her character rebelled against that notion. “I shall not be made to feel ashamed for the actions of another. Trinitas now has a woman for a leader, it has women in its military, as well as in the workplace and in the home. We are half the population. It is well past time that this society ceased to measure the female gender by a different yardstick.” Her hand fisted around her bow. “My virtue has nothing at all to do with my virginity.” She marched past him, fire in her blood.
“Chae-Na,” he called.
She turned her head to him with a softened demeanor. “Come. The war council is beginning. We must go.”
She strode back to the palace, back straight, eyes shining but cheeks dry. Veldon and Ko-Jin fell in behind her.
The door to the meeting room stood ajar, and she could hear conversation as she neared. She stopped just outside, as she caught the distinct sound of her cousin’s voice drifting from within. Her jaw tightened, and she entered the room.
Sure enough, her erstwhile fiancé had taken up the seat of honor, beside her own. As she crossed the threshold, everyone within stood and bowed. Chae-Na gestured that the assembly might sit.
“Cousin, I should like a word in private,” she said, then returned to the hallway before hearing his reply.
“You needn’t follow,” she said to Ko-Jin, without looking into his face. “I will be just outside the door.”
“I’m not leaving your side.”
She glowered, but dropped the argument. Melerre’s pompous manner was enough to divert her irritation.
“Dear Chae-Na, I hope you—”
“I do not recall, cousin, extending you an invitation to this meeting.”
His mouth flapped soundlessly as he drew himself up. “As your betrothed—”
“Our engagement was contingent upon your father providing three legions, as per the agreement signed by my brother. Only one has arrived.”
“It would seem that Mr. Asher—”
Breathe, she reminded herself. Breathe.
“—Has, ah, gotten to them.”
“So, two-thirds of your promised men will in fact be fighting against us? That is most unfortunate.” Chae-Na slipped the cold engagement ring from her finger, with all the relief of unlocking a shackle.
Her cousin reacted as if struck. “Surely you can’t blame me—this Asher man—”
Breathe, breathe.
“—Has unnatural abilities. What could we have done?”
Chae-Na held out the ring, and when he did not take it, she forced it into his palm.
“It is not a matter of blame, cousin. Merely of agreements being honored. My hand came at the cost of three legions, not one. If you would like to leave with your men, you of course are free to do so. But given that you will find yourself under that man’s spell as soon as you leave these walls, I would advise against it.”
“But it was your brother’s dying wish—”
“This was not his dying wish.” Oh, Jo-Kwan, but you did have one, did you not? “You may go and report to your father.”
His face had turned an unappealing shade of purple. “I should be the one questioning our arrangement, cousin, upon finding myself engaged to a common whore.”
“You have my leave to feel yourself relieved at its dissolution, then.”
He peeled back his lips into a false smile. “This is not over, Chae-Na.”
She glided past him. “Yes. It is.”
When she entered the room again, she indicated that they might all keep their seats. She surveyed the assemblage. There were many Chisanta: Bray, Yarrow, Peer, Dedrre, Britt, and a few unfamiliar to her; Zarra, the Adourran sword master and her husband; Mae, the Pauper’s Queen, and Arlow beside her; a number of officers in the military, such as Lieutenant General Petterton; as well as Veldon Gorberry and the heads of four other leading houses. It was an eclectic group. Certainly none like it had ever met in the palace before.
As she circled the wide table, she could feel the heat of their gazes upon her. She lifted her chin. They would all have seen the news this morning, or by now would have heard of its contents. She had already resolved not to address these rumors. Not here, when they had issues of such import to discuss. Quade had hoped to make her appear weak and corrupted. Her best recourse was to present a face that was neither.
Chae-Na lowered into her chair at the head of the table. She noted that it was several inches taller than the others, giving her the appearance of a height that she lacked.
Ko-Jin did not sit, but remained on his feet behind her. She gritted her teeth—he always knew just the wrong thing to do.
“Have a seat, General Sung,” she said, in a tone that was not quite pleasant. He was the leader of their military, not her personal bodyguard, for Spirits’ sake.
“I would prefer to keep my attention directed towards the door,” he said.
Her lips thinned. “Very well. This meeting has been called for the obvious reason that Quade Asher and his forces have landed in Daland and are marching on Accord. We have days before the city is under siege. Bray, if you would please elaborate.”
Bray leaned forward, her fair face grave. “His numbers are considerable. Just this morning, I witnessed yet another ship of Chisanta arrive. There are, as best I can estimate, some five hundred Chisanta, as well as several thousand civilian militiamen, primarily from Adourra. However, his numbers grow by the day, and will continue to do so.”
Chae-Na scanned the collection of bleak expressions around the table. “Thank you. Lieutenant General, how are the battlements progressing?”
“Ah,” the silver-haired man said, his barrel chest inflating, “Quite well, Your Highness. We are at about eighty-five percent, with men working around the clock. The walkways should be complete by the week’s end.”
“Excellent work, Lieutenant General.”
That the city had been walled, some hundred years before—by an ancestor who’d had a mind to end smuggling in a most cost-ineffective manner—now seemed a tremendous blessing. It was only a matter of adding walkways and merlons, and the capital would be as siege-ready as the castles of old.
Lamentation of the Marked (The Marked Series Book 3) Page 33