by Unknown
He laughed. ‘You think she’s jealous of your attentions? Matte, you’re my wife. I like you. Truly. But –’
‘Actually,’ I interrupted, ‘I think she’s jealous of your attentions.’
His only response was a noncommittal grunt as he closed his eyes and tugged at the sheets.
‘Aren’t you going to talk to her?’ I whispered. ‘I think she’s waiting in the other room.’
He frowned, his eyes still closed. ‘Why? She didn’t pull a knife, did she? Chances are she’ll get over it. Sooner or later.’
‘Letting her stew isn’t going to mellow her mood any.’
‘I’ve no time for tantrums today. I need to get back to courting those drightens,’ he said, then sighed and swung his legs out of the bed, stood and pulled on his clothes.
‘If she draws a knife on you, scream before she gets it to your throat this time, okay?’ he said, kissing my brow, before leaving dressed but unshaven.
His swift kiss woke a tingle in my skin, and after he’d left I squirmed against the sheets, remembering the previous night – the flick of his tongue across my lips, and the feel of his hands caressing my body. Lethargy suffused my muscles, and for some moments I lay wrapped in the warmth of our bed, reliving the delicious sensations of last night.
But I could not lie abed all day, and eventually I stirred.
There had been no sound of voices as Dieter left, and I dared hope Amalia wasn’t waiting in a sulk in the other room.
I was to be disappointed. When I went to check, she was slouched on the couch, arms crossed, chin driven into her chest. She glared up at me with a heavy frown that had me stopping in the doorway.
‘Did the poison eat away some vital part of your mind?’ she exclaimed. ‘And don’t tell me he forced you. A forced woman doesn’t look like you do right now.’
I looked down, selfconscious. My hair was still unbound and wild from sleep, and I was wearing yesterday’s shift because I had no other clothes to hand. The smell of her brother was rising from me.
‘He is my husband,’ I replied. ‘Finding him in my bed shouldn’t be so alarming.’
‘Finding him in our bed is.’
I dropped my gaze, turning away. As if I could possibly hope to hide the flush on my cheeks behind a curtain of hair.
‘Have you forgotten what he did to you?’ she demanded.
‘Of course not!’ I snapped back, anger and guilt spurring me to meet her gaze. ‘Of course I haven’t forgotten. But I have to move on. You’ve said as much yourself.’
‘I see,’ she said.
‘Frankly,’ I added defiantly, ‘I don’t need to justify myself to you. What does it matter whether I’m on good terms with my husband or not? Unless you’re worried he’ll like me more than you.’
That struck home. Anger narrowing her eyes to slits, she rose to her feet and made as if to speak, but couldn’t seem to summon the right words. In the end she gave up and stalked to the door.
Swinging around when she reached it, she pinned me with a glare. ‘You know what I think? I think you like to play the victim. Poor, piteous Matilde. But you choose your traps. Consciously and consistently, you take the path that makes you powerless. Look at you now! You were nearly free of him. You had all the pieces so carefully gathered – the Skythes loyal to you, Dieter lulled into thinking you weren’t a threat, the drightens thinking you conquered. You even had me!’ she said, her voice cracking.
Her hurt was too raw, too fierce, and the apparent depth of her feelings for me were too shocking – I couldn’t answer her.
‘So what do you do? Destroy it all! Otherwise you might actually have to own your decisions and their consequences. And that’s harder, isn’t it, than everyone knowing you never had a choice?’
Tears spilled down her cheeks and she raised a hand to dash them away.
‘Damn you,’ she choked, her voice drowning in her throat, ‘I would have kept you safe!’
Then she fled, the door banging in her wake, leaving me standing with one hand lifted towards her.
I tried to summon all the reasons why her words shouldn’t hurt. If she thought my choices weak and snivelling, so be it. Being underestimated had been my aim, after all. She had bedded me on a whim and in an attempt to win a bet, and even if she had found some affection for me in it, that didn’t mean I should let my own morals unravel. What I’d done last night was right by all of us, even Amalia.
None of it, however, soothed away the sting.
Gerlach appeared seconds later through the door. Though he had to have seen Amalia fleeing, her face flushed with emotion, his expression was neutral. His presence felt so familiar and surprising at the same time that I struggled against a sudden urge to weep. Instead, I tucked away my hurt until my face was as blank as his.
‘Are you well?’ Gerlach asked.
‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘No knives this time.’
Weak as the jest was, I expected a smile in response. But no twitch or ghost of mirth touched Gerlach’s expression, even briefly, making me acutely conscious that I was standing before him in nothing but my shift, my hair uncombed and my face unwashed. I was conscious, too, of how loud Amalia’s voice had been. How much did Gerlach know?
Swallowing the urge to offer explanations, I turned away. Behind me, the door closed quietly. Whatever Gerlach thought of me, he would do right by his lord’s wife.
TWENTY-THREE
BY THE TIME I dressed and emerged from the bedroom, the breakfast Amalia had brought was gone and in its stead stood a replacement. By the foods chosen – fresh bread and cold meats – I guessed the tray to be Gerlach’s work.
Too queasy to eat, I could only pick at the food, pondering my next move. When at last I dared to emerge into the corridor, Gerlach turned his all-seeing gaze on me and asked where I was going.
‘To my husband.’ What else was left? At least I might see the drightens’ reactions for myself.
I let Gerlach walk ahead of me so he couldn’t see my face, pale after my illness and the exertion even a slow walk caused me. By the time we turned in to the council chamber, my lungs were burning with the effort.
Dieter perched straight-backed on a couch, Roshi kneeling at his side as he parried with Helma and Rudiger Somner simultaneously. After a quick look up at my entrance, Roshi bent her head and stared into her lap.
The seven drightens who’d arrived thus far were gathered in various stages of recline on a loose circle of couches. I wondered what Grandmother would have thought, seeing the room turned into a smoking pit, but still there was no murmur from her. Perhaps the poison had burnt her out.
Thralls moved through the gathering, distributing food, refilling drinks and tidying up any mess.
‘Matilde.’ Dieter welcomed me warmly and beckoned me to his side.
Grateful for the chance to rest, I didn’t hesitate to share his couch, although I did draw the line at reclining in public like some weak-spined Ilthean noble, an attitude not shared by all the drightens.
Only Maja of House Saschan sat upright, her legs crossed, staring at the carpet’s pattern as if it held important secrets. Though seemingly oblivious to the talk ebbing and flowing around her, she was a sharp player and I did not doubt she caught every nuance of every comment.
Krimhilde of House Raethn lay on her stomach, her head pillowed on one arm, in conversation with her brother Merten, who sat in a nest of cushions by her. Rein of House Falkere, whose son I might have wed had Dieter not staged his Aestival coup, had his eyes closed and his face turned to the ceiling, drawing deep on a pipe as he listened to the whispers of Evard Somner.
Dieter lay a proprietary hand on my shoulder as the drightens directed a barrage of questions at me. How was I feeling? I looked unwell still, did I have the strength yet to share their counsels? Who could have committed such a cowardly act?
Exhausted from my illness, lack of sleep, and the sudden exertion, I didn’t have the breath to answer. Dieter spoke for me. Perhaps he soug
ht to cement the image of his power over me – or perhaps he understood how I struggled for the energy to speak.
After a while the flurry of questions died away, and the drightens talked of trivialities, their conversation going around in circles, never settling, never committing. They glossed over any suggestion of a vote whenever the subject arose, their eyes shifting constantly, measuring and assessing the currents, gauging the positions of the other drightens.
Dieter’s fears were true: they were at a stalemate.
While they prevaricated, there would be no vote. If they did not vote within a fortnight, there would be no ratification and Dieter would need to conquer them all to keep the throne.
Even with the Skythes to back him, Dieter wouldn’t have the manpower to withstand all the tribes united against him. His only hope now lay in divisiveness, and he was bending all his charm and cunning to the task, with a comment here, a silence there, a significant glance at one and a thoughtful appraisal of another’s speech. Though he appeared at his ease, he was working hard to keep the drightens separated, his grip on the back of my neck betraying his tension.
A thrall appeared in the doorway, bowing awkwardly before daring to enter. Scanning the room, her eyes settled on me.
‘Excuse me, my lady,’ she said, stopping before me. ‘There’s a messenger in the courtyard, with an armed escort, calling for the Lady Matilde.’
Just like that, the safe ground I’d worked hard to create beneath me – Dieter’s trust, the drightens’ disregard – were suddenly at risk.
All eyes turned my way.
‘Matilde,’ murmured Dieter, suspicion sharp in his tone. ‘Is there something you want to share? Perhaps you’ll tell me now who it was you contacted, while I was busy evading the Skythe trap you set for me?’
He was talking about the damnable pigeons again, the birds that had been released while we were securing the Nilofen as allies. Sigi had not been able to tell me anything of them or the message they might have carried, but that had not allayed Dieter’s suspicions. Now there arrived a messenger, calling for me by name, awakening Dieter’s distrust again. And where Dieter distrusted, the drightens discovered a keen interest in following suit.
‘You’ve made a mistake,’ I said to the thrall. ‘My husband is the Duethin – the messenger would be asking for him.’
‘No, my lady, he was definitely asking for you. He said he’d speak to no other,’ said the thrall. ‘However, it’s possible he’s lost his wits. He has the starveling look of a stray, and his eyes keep rolling in his head.’
‘You could have added that snippet earlier,’ I snapped, fear making my tone hard. ‘He doesn’t know what he’s saying, obviously.’
No one laughed. No one relaxed. Stray and lunatic or not, the stranger was armed and asking for me by name. Was he a plant, or a ploy? Had one of the drightens decided to oust Dieter in my name? Or perhaps one or more sought to undermine Dieter’s position.
I snuck a glance around the drightens, but none had the look of guarding secrets. Indeed, all of them were waiting to see my reaction.
‘Perhaps we should see what the lad wants,’ I said, keeping my voice calm.
Despite the energy it cost me, I walked the entire way with Dieter a half-step behind me – his choice of positioning, not mine. The drightens followed, of course. There would be no keeping them from this spectacle.
Stepping into a pale wash of sunlight, I immediately saw a ring of soldiers surrounding a stranger in the courtyard’s centre. The stranger was loudly demanding, ‘Matilde of House Svanaten’, and insisting he’d speak to no other. Behind him huddled the ragged remains of an entourage, the bear of House Vestenn on their tabards. As one, they looked up at me, and the gaunt stranger stopped his cries.
Silence fell over the courtyard as, sour horror choking me, I recognised him. Beneath all the grime it was Sepp standing before me, thin and wild and hurting. I’d thought him dead in the Aestival coup, yet here he was, bedraggled and broken, in the midst of the ragged remains of House Vestenn. Where had he been in the meantime? And what had befallen House Vestenn?
Dieter bent his head to the level of my ear. ‘Friend of yours?’ he whispered.
A commotion broke out before I could answer. ‘You fool!’ shouted a young man storming from the ragged entourage to grab Sepp’s arm. ‘You’ve brought us to our deaths!’ he bawled, giving Sepp’s arm a violent shake.
Sepp hung limp in his grasp, his head jerking back and forth.
‘Release him!’ I shouted, the command escaping me with no pause for thought. The agitated man abruptly loosened his grip and Sepp lifted hopeful eyes to me.
‘I knew it,’ he said. ‘We heard stories, stories of blood –’ He stopped, his voice cracking, then let out the sigh of one laying down a heavy burden and finished simply, ‘I knew you’d hold true.’
The man who’d berated Sepp glanced at Dieter and the drightens, silent and waiting. ‘Is this true, my lady?’
He looked familiar, and in a moment more I had puzzled out why. Take away the tension creasing his brow and drawing down his mouth, add fifty years, and he would resemble Harald of House Vestenn, our missing drighten. He was obviously close kin to Harald; given his group’s ragged appearance, he could well be the heir to that House now.
Fear of hurting Sepp stopped my tongue and silence fell over the courtyard.
‘Do you hold the Turholm?’ the Vestenn demanded, grounding his stave with a thud.
‘No,’ I said after a brief hestitation. ‘My lord and husband does. Dieter of House Raban is Duethin, not I.’
Sepp slumped down on his knees, squeezing his eyes shut. Meanwhile, the Vestenn stared at Dieter, a sickly green sheen stealing the flush from his cheeks. His lips moved as he soundlessly repeated, ‘House Raban’. What had he heard, that the name caused him such horror?
A large crowd had gathered by now, thralls drifting from their duties and soldiers drawn from their posts. They stared at Sepp, who looked utterly broken.
I tore my eyes away, Sepp’s despair too painful to contemplate. Behind him, the Vestenn was stepping backward, still staring at Dieter.
Dieter stepped forward. ‘Enough of the theatrics. I want to know why this ragged group –’
The Vestenn spun on his heel and dived into the circle of his men, who held their weapons tight, watching everyone with wild eyes.
Dieter placed one hand on my shoulder but made no other move. The Vestenn and his men stood ready, shoulders forward, sunlight glinting off swords, axe heads and pikes. For one strangled moment the entire courtyard stood as if trapped in amber, golden and glinting and frozen.
Then everything exploded.
TWENTY-FOUR
‘VESTENN!’
Howling the name like a battlecry, the Vestenn and his men burst forward, swords and axes held high, shouts ringing around the courtyard stones.
Hard and swift, Dieter pushed me behind him, then drew his sword with his other arm. Looking up, I glimpsed the Vestenn’s men surging forward, one knocking Sepp an accidental blow with the butt of his pike that sent him sprawling to the stones.
Dieter’s men flew forward, a tide of black birds, throwing their own cries against the sky. It was only a matter of time. This was not an attack. It was suicide.
‘Take them alive!’ came Dieter’s command over the clamour. He didn’t join the fray, instead remaining in front of me, sword at the ready.
One of the ragged men loomed out of the fight, and swung his axe at Dieter’s head.
Dieter flexed back to avoid the blow, his sword raised in defence. The wind of the axe’s swipe ruffled his hair then whistled past my cheeks. The attacker had underestimated Dieter’s agility, and the force of his swing left him overextended. Roshi darted past me. A strange expression crossed the attacker’s features and he dropped to the ground like a rotten tree, Roshi’s blade buried in his heart.
Yet more of Dieter’s men streamed out of the Turholm and plunged into the fight.
A few straggling clashes later, it was over, the tide of Dieter’s men easily overwhelming the ragged band. Like clockwork winding down, they separated, resolving from a swirling tangle of limbs into individual men, some standing, some kneeling, some motionless on the ground. The Vestenn knelt, head hanging, a cut to his temple bleeding into his dazed eyes. Blood lay dark and already congealing on the paving stones.
‘Escort them to the cells,’ Dieter ordered. Then, pointing at the Vestenn and Sepp, he continued, ‘And have those two brought to the council chamber.’
Turning, he linked my arm through his and we moved inside, Roshi and the drightens gathering in our wake like magpies caught by the current of a passing hawk.
‘The lad?’ said Dieter.
‘Sepp,’ I supplied, then hesitated over how to explain him.
‘Tell me.’
Distracted by the impossibility of Sepp’s arrival, my answer slipped out without thought. ‘He’s my cousin.’ Then I clamped my lips shut, cursing the misstep. The last thing Sepp needed was to be considered of political worth.
‘Yes,’ said Dieter, giving me a strange look. ‘I know.’
‘You know?’
Dieter rolled his eyes. ‘You Svanaten – always so pure and righteous. Did you think the rest of the world couldn’t figure it out? He’s Helena’s son, born on the bloody side of the sheets. Given his age, she must’ve been not much older than you are now when she was tumbled.’
I couldn’t answer, the words lodging in my chest like a tangle of thorns.
‘She couldn’t wed a common thrall. Not Beata’s daughter,’ Dieter continued, shaking his head, his familiar mocking smile reasserting itself. ‘A formidable woman, your grandmother. Ravens forbid her daughter should marry beneath her – though Beata not only let her precious son wed a goatherd, she allowed the goatherd’s mother to pour memories into her head.’
‘Easy for you to say! The only thing more putrid than the swamps surrounding your family’s holdings are the morals! Here, it’s a wonder Helena wasn’t executed, with Grandmother wielding the axe herself.’