by Julia Knight
Nerinna found herself between Aran on her right, Jolnin on her left and Valguard opposite. The conversation that had stopped on her and Aran’s arrival now started again. Amma complimented her on her dress and three women farther down competed to see who could flirt more outrageously with Hunter on Aran’s right.
He smiled at them and talked politely, but made no move to flirt back. Was the man made of stone? At least he was talking to those women, more than he would do with her. He’d said no more than a dozen words to her since the deal had been made, and then only the barest pleasantries necessary to avoid being rude.
“Something displeases you?” Jolnin asked, and she cleared the frown from her face.
“Not at all. I’m just getting used to the climate. It’s cooler here than I’m used to. A glass of wine should warm me.”
He grinned at her and took the hint; a glass of dark red wine appeared before her as if by magic. She smiled back at him, a genuine one for once. Jolnin was so very unlike his brother in temperament, so open and amiable it was impossible not to like him. His wife sat on the other side of him and between them they made Nerinna feel welcome, as though among old friends. She never felt that even in her own court; there was too much sycophancy and backstabbing there for her to know anyone as a friend. She liked the wife enough that she didn’t flirt with him, even a little. She could use a female friend here, and flirting with the woman’s husband would not gain Nerinna one.
The food arrived and she barely knew what to make of it. Heaps of heavy meats in gravy and piles of vegetables she could not name, and— “What do you call that?” She pointed at a steaming mass of, well, something.
“That?” Jolnin said. “That’s black pudding. You don’t have it in Kadara?”
“I don’t think so. What’s in it?” The little meat the Reethan ate was generally baked and served cold, not hot and covered in sauce. This heavy meal would play havoc with her.
Jolnin bit back a laugh. “I think maybe you’d be better off not knowing, or trying it.”
Nerinna picked at her food and was relieved when the seemingly endless stream of courses ceased. Weren’t they supposed to be on the brink of starvation? Or maybe they were just trying to impress her.
A group of musicians at the far end of the hall struck up a lively tune. Amma stopped flirting with one of the younger Reethan men, clapped her hands in delight and dragged Aran up to dance.
“My apologies, Lady Nerinna,” Jolnin said. “The first dance is always my wife’s. Maybe I could have the honour later?”
“Certainly.”
Jolnin led his wife off to dance, his hand casual and familiar along her back. A lucky man who loved his wife. Not something she’d ever seen in her court. She looked around. Most everyone was choosing a dance partner, and almost all had exchanged their wives or husbands for another. A common custom it seemed. Nerinna looked sidelong at Hunter and plucked up her courage. She had to get him back on her side. Besides, no one had ever turned her down before and her pride still stung. “My lord, would it please you to dance?”
He turned a long slow gaze on her that made her shiver. “This dance requires two arms. So no, it would not.”
Nerinna glanced back at the dance floor and watched as Aran and Amma made an archway of their arms that the others in their group danced through. She could feel a flush creep up her neck. She had just managed to insult him. Again.
Valguard saved her. “However it would please me greatly to dance with you.”
She smiled gratefully as he offered his arm and led her towards the dancers. The steps were wholly unfamiliar, as was the way everyone launched themselves into them with abandon. A great deal of laughter and banter broke out when the first song finished and they took their positions for the next. The men and women lined up opposite each other and Nerinna made sure to watch the others and follow what they did.
The music started, not as fast as the last song. Valguard bowed formally and stepped forward to take her hand while his other arm slid around her back with rather more familiarity than she was expecting, more familiarity than the other dancers had shown. Valguard smiled down at her and she lowered her eyes in a practised move. Oh, now this could be worth pursuing.
He swung her round in time to the music, guiding her feet so that she soon was in the swing of it. And each time they turned his arm was a little tighter.
“I wonder my lady, whether you had thought any more on what we have discussed?”
Ah, so that was what he wanted. Time for his little game. Her stomach tingled at the thought, but she teased him from long habit. “A little.”
He pulled her as close, or maybe closer, than propriety allowed. “He has the support he needs now. You saw it on the journey from the ship. It won’t be long. Not long. I need some proof.”
She looked up at him under lowered lashes. “Proof? Of what kind?” Acting the innocent but she knew what he was asking. It was what she would have done in other circumstances.
He smiled and she repressed a shudder. There was something slimy about him, even as she recognised herself in him. “Proof that he will betray his oath to Aran. As I said before.”
“It seems unlikely that he would. As I said before.”
“So you think, but I know the truth. Are you afraid that he would turn you down? Surely no sane man would.” His thumb slid along hers and into her palm in a very suggestive manner. Well, if she couldn’t have the regent in her hand, the Chief Priest was the next best thing. And to have Hunter for a night, just to see…yes, that would be very satisfactory. If he succumbed then she would have even more choices. Or even if he didn’t. To side with Hunter or Valguard, depending on which way the wind blew. To keep her country safe and protected by whatever means.
She allowed herself a small smile. “And how exactly shall I get this proof? Here hardly seems the place, and I doubt I could just walk into his rooms without causing some comment.”
He laughed and swung her round again. “Oh, I can arrange anything. Anything at all.”
She laughed back. Maybe it was true. Maybe he could.
When Nerinna got back to the table, Hunter ignored her and pointedly watched Aran and Amma dance. Arashin’s eyes though were all too uncomfortably on her. Before she could sit down he stood and offered his arm. She could hardly refuse without seeming churlish, but she didn’t like the look in his eye as she nodded faintly and laid her hand on his arm.
He led her down to the dance floor and spoke softly, menacingly, in Reethan. “What are you doing! Making up to that barbarian priest. It’s disgusting. What purpose—”
“You know very well what purpose. Seeing where I can gain best advantage for the Reethan, as always. If Valguard speaks the truth about Hunter, if Hunter is deposed…well then, Ganheim and Armand are without a leader, except the weak little boy I’m to marry. Don’t you think that is worth pursuing?”
Arashin scowled and twirled her clumsily across the floor. “No, I don’t. Not if
you—”
“If you keep quiet and let me do what I do best, then maybe the Reethan can gain a lot. We can gain a lot. Valguard is half in my palm already, and Aran is besotted. With Hunter out of the way…”
She didn’t believe that Hunter would take her up on her offer. Couldn’t make up her mind whether Valguard spoke the truth. Or even if she wanted him to be telling the truth. Half of her wanted Hunter to turn her down, to show her he was the man she thought. That men like that actually existed outside of stories. A man of his word. How different would he be to Reethan men, who took what they wanted whenever they could, who would never turn down an offer? And if he turned her down, then Valguard was wrong, Hunter was not faithless and the alliance would be safe.
If he accepted, then she would have a night finding out just how different he was. Valguard would have his proof, depose him, and Ganheim and Armand would be weakened. And she would be married to its king, in a perfect position to take advantage of that weakness. She couldn’t lose. A
nd if Arashin believed she was doing this for reasons he approved of rather than her own reasons, her life would be that much easier.
Arashin set his lips in a flat, cruel line. “You should be marrying a Reethan, a man, not a pale ghost of a boy. You should be marrying me. Together the Reethan would be as strong as we can make them. Valguard tells me that Oku himself is his source of the truth about Hunter’s plans. If this is true, and I’ve no reason not to believe him, if Hunter really is defying the gods as Oku says, then the marriage should be cancelled. Now.”
Oku himself? What rot, and Arashin a fool to believe it. Nerinna allowed herself to slide in closer to him and smiled up. “There’s plenty of time for that, should the need arise. And we need the men, you can’t deny that.”
Arashin’s mouth twitched as her bare leg slid out of the slit in her dress and pressed against him. “We need no one!”
“Don’t forget who’s in charge here. Who can give you what you want—or withhold it. I will offer him, and whether he accepts or not, the Reethan will win.”
“Then try if you must,” he said grudgingly. “But if you’re wrong, if you should end up costing the Reethan, then I’ll have your throne in a heartbeat. And your hand.”
***
Nerinna stood in front of Hunter’s door. Valguard had done all he said, had got her here with no notice. He’d even managed to get rid of the guards who should surely be standing watch outside the door. She had to admit she was here not just for her concerns about what Valguard had told her, or a wish to get him his proof, because she wasn’t sure he was right about Hunter, no matter what he had told Arashin about Oku himself saying it was true. She wanted to see Hunter again, wanted to make right whatever she had done wrong. Wanted him to like her. Wanted to prove to herself that she could still take any man she wished.
She pushed open the door and slipped silently in. A small lamp hung above his head, faintly illuminating his face and making his skin golden. With the light from her own lamp she could make out his features.
How could she have ever thought him ugly? Different, yes, with the strong planes of his face, his mane of blond hair and trimmed beard to frame it. His left arm with its tangle of scars lay rigid against him but the other was cast carelessly up beside his pillow. A single sheet fell away from strong shoulders to show a broad chest, so different from all the men she’d known. She almost laughed. Reethan men were hairless there, but a fine golden down dusted his skin and almost hid the scars. Even his forearms had a thicket of it. Despite herself, despite what Valguard had told her, she reached out to touch it.
Her hand hovered over his chest and he snapped his eyes open, reached under his pillow and had a knife halfway to her throat before he stopped. The sheet slid down to his waist. “You, what are you doing here?”
She almost couldn’t answer. Her eyes were glued to the trail of golden hair that ran down his belly and under the sheet. She forced her eyes up to meet his. “What are you doing with a blade under your pillow?”
He gave a short, bitter laugh but lowered the blade. “So would you, if Valguard wanted you dead. Now, why are you here?”
The lamp in her hand trembled. She couldn’t tell him. She wasn’t here to get Valguard’s proof, or find out if he planned to play Aran false and take her and her country. She wasn’t here to see what she could gain for the Reethan, no matter what she’d told Arashin.
For the first time in her life she wanted a man and not for what it could get her, or to gain loyalty or to stave off boredom and loneliness. She just wanted him and she didn’t know why. Maybe because he had shown her there was something more to life, to bed, than deals and trades. Maybe because he had turned her down for his own honour. An honour every Reethan man scorned as worthless.
She wanted the pleasure of his skin, his lips on hers. She wanted him to kiss her till all the breath left her body and she couldn’t hear for her heart thundering in her ears. She wanted what she’d never known before.
Her father would have cursed her for a fool and no doubt slapped some sense into her. Not for nobles to fall in love, that was for peasants who had no other means of happiness, who wouldn’t be rendered weak and vulnerable by it.
She looked into his eyes and saw nothing there but mistrust, wariness, and she couldn’t speak. As stupid with nerves as she’d been the first time her father had given her body away to seal a loyalty pledge when she was thirteen.
“So, you sneak into my room, disregard every propriety, yet you won’t say why?” His voice was harsh, little more than a growl. “I’ll not play your games, any of them.”
She leant closer and his musky scent enveloped her. She thought maybe her heart would stop its beat. “No games.”
He snorted in disbelief. “I don’t think you’ve ever done a thing in your life that wasn’t a ploy to get you or your country something. I admire your duty, but I won’t play. If you’ve nothing to say, then get out.”
“No game, and nothing to gain.” With her free hand she brushed against the muscles of his arm and tangled her fingers through the hair.
Goosebumps prickled along his arm and he pulled it away with a snarl. “What makes you think I want what you offer every man?”
“I…” Again she couldn’t speak. The warm feel of his skin under hers burned through her fingertips and robbed her of thought. It was nearly true, and she had no hope of denying it. But she didn’t want that any more. She’d never wanted it, only accepted it, and this alliance was her best hope of ending it. She clenched her mouth against the sobs that wanted to fall from her lips.
“Even if I had the slightest desire for you, what makes you think I would betray my word to my own son?”
Anger brought her voice back. “We’re not married yet. And he’s not your son.”
“Not in blood maybe, but the son of my heart. Even if I’d never taken oath, I’d die rather than hurt him, this way or any other. He’s besotted with you, the gods know why. And the deal’s made. The marriage is only a formality, the oath was made when you agreed.”
“But it’s not him—”
“Too late. Whatever you’re after, it’s too late. The oath’s made. Keep it.” He grabbed the sheet around him and stood over her menacingly. He seemed to quiver with anger. “Now get out of my room, and make sure the only other you visit is Aran’s. Out!”
She backed away hurriedly before she turned and fled to her room, to drown herself in tears.
One thing at least to soothe her. Valguard must be wrong. Hunter wouldn’t take her to wife, or her country for his own. That comfort did not stop the tears.
***
Hunter sank back onto his bed with a groan as the door shut. Close, he’d been far too close to grabbing her, kissing her down to the bed and forgetting everything but the feel of her, the scent of her, her breath hot on his skin. He wanted to kiss her till her lips bled, till she begged him to stop, and then kiss her some more. The perfume she wore lingered round him, seemed to rise from the burning spot where she had touched him. No sleep for him now. Need ran through him and made every thought of her a brand to his brain.
The duria stood on the table next to his bed. One drop for pain, two for sleep, three for death. It had been a long time since one drop cured his pain, or two allowed him sleep. But there was nothing but the black, empty night ahead of him without it. He fought the urge to have some now, but he knew he would give in. He always did.
He couldn’t do this again, couldn’t live with jealousy turning friendship to hate, not with Aran. He could not, would not. He’d been only an idiot boy not much older than Aran the first time, when he’d seen Amariah and fallen in love with her the day she was betrothed to his cousin, Aran’s father. He didn’t have that excuse now; he was no longer a boy. But he couldn’t do that again, see the woman he loved every day, want her and not be able to have her, to have even the smallest part of her. Watch as she bore another man’s children.
He had to leave. He would see them married and he would a
bdicate the regency. Jolnin would make a good enough regent in his stead—he wouldn’t leave Aran without any guidance except Valguard. Jolnin was strong enough to stand against the priest, and was probably far better suited than Hunter anyway.
No need for him ever to see Nerinna again because if he did, if by some chance they were alone… Twelve years he’d borne it the last time, till Amariah died. These last five years he’d barely begun to deal with her death. Not again, please, Kyr, have mercy on this poor soul, not again.
Bad enough that he would have to see Aran, at least sometimes, and have jealousy dig sharp, dark holes in his heart, but he need never see Nerinna’s face again if he were careful. Stay at Mimirin and leave the duchy to his brother when he died. He’d done enough for Ganheim, more than enough and he was tired. Tired of the struggle, the loneliness. Tired of oaths and Oku’s stranglehold on those who broke them. Tired of the need to keep them when he’d broken enough to stain his soul black, no matter how much he did to try and redeem himself.
It was not as if he’d any hope that his feelings were returned, not this time. She’d only come because it might gain her something, or would in her own country. Nerinna was young and beautiful, she held men in her palm, did with them what she would and they loved her. Every man at the dinner had wanted her, excepting maybe Jolnin. Even the prudish Valguard had tried his luck, or so it had looked. And as for her behaviour with Arashin, it had been all Hunter could do to keep the tide of jealousy in check, not walk out there into the swirling dancers and yank the man off her.
She could take her pick. She had no need for a man almost old enough to be her father, a man with one arm that refused his bidding and in constant pain.
His eyes slid towards the vial of duria. Did he dare take another? He’d had his two drops only a couple of hours ago though they hadn’t let him sleep, only doze fitfully through the pain that wracked his arm. Another would be dangerous. But tempting.