by Jill Myles
And always, always the dream flashed back to the courtroom, and she chose to save Rilen, because that was the right thing to do. And always, she woke up retching and sick at heart. It was the right thing to do for the Vidari, she told herself, but she knew in her soul that she’d chosen wrong.
She couldn’t go back, either. So she lay in bed and moped.
For the next few days, Seri did not see the prince. She kept to her chambers like a coward, unwilling to face the world. Graeme did not come to their bed, no matter the hour, and her aura throbbed and pulsed with anxiety to the point that her eyes grew sensitive to the soft light.
She wondered how it affected Graeme, this chosen abstinence. It made her cranky and irritable, and her head constantly throbbed, which she blamed on the betrothal. Gnawing, angry jealousy bit at Seri as she wondered if he’d decided that Lady Aynee would be a better companion than her. Mentally, she would picture the prince in her arms, their pale legs tangled together. Then she hated herself for even caring, which threw her into further despair.
A pall had fallen over her happy chambermaids. Idalla was silent and listless, and Vya’s eyes were red from crying. She wiped her nose constantly when she thought no one was looking. They looked at Seri very differently, now. Before, they’d met her with cheer and patience. Now they were silent, sullen. Resentful. And she couldn’t blame them. She’d let Kiane’s murderers go free.
How could they not resent her? She understood it, even if it hurt.
The priests came to see her every day, to chant over her and remind her of important ceremonies she needed to be at, blessings to oversee. Seri chose to stay in bed. Let Graeme handle it all without her. She just made things worse.
During the daylight hours, when the curtains were drawn and she was in her bed alone, she allowed herself to cry over Rilen and what he had done and the terrible things she’d said and done for him.
After three days of ceaseless self-pity, Seri awoke in the middle of the daylight hours as Idalla shook her shoulder. “Someone is here to see you, Princesse.”
Seri sat up in bed, confused. Her aura pulsed. “Graeme?”
A look of pity crossed Idalla’s face. “No, my lady. His sister, the lady Meluoe, is here.”
Curious, Seri slid out of the bed and allowed Idalla to cover her with an ornate silken dressing gown. “Meluoe? I’d like to see her.”
Meluoe entered the room with little urging, striding confidently across the tile floor and heading to the window, throwing it open and revealing the blazing afternoon sun.
From her place in a nearby chair, Seri squinted and shielded her eyes, the light unfamiliar after missing it for so many days. “I thought your kind didn’t like the sunlight,” she said for way of greeting, then winced at how petulant it sounded.
The lady was not offended. Meluoe tied the draperies back and admired the scene outside the castle, sighing. “I don’t have a drop of the Blood in me, remember?” She looked over at Seri, cautiously. “And neither do you, as you see fit to remind all who will listen.”
Seri grimaced, her fingers fluttering to her forehead when a headache pressed on. Gods above, when had she become so frail and dainty as to ache when she saw the sunlight? The Athonites were doing this to her. “You don’t approve of my actions.”
“No. I don’t.”
“It is… difficult. You don’t understand.”
Meluoe swept over to her side, her yellow skirts fluttering. “Explain to me, then. Make me understand why you would humiliate my brother so and undermine everything he has done so far. Tell me why I should not be angry at you.” Her voice carried no anger, only frustration. “You are married to him.”
“Not by choice,” Seri said, her voice sharp. She looked outside at the too-bright window, full of sudden longing. The world was much simpler in the daytime, she thought. No shadows, no mystery, nothing but blazing light. “Do you want to take a walk with me?” She couldn’t hide the wistful note in her voice.
“Certainly,” Meluoe agreed. “If you will promise to share with me what has caused this terrible drama.”
Within a few minutes, Seri was dressed in her lightest walking gown—only three layers—and strolled arm in arm with Meluoe through the courtyard. A pair of guards followed behind them, and Seri suspected Graeme wanted to make sure she did not escape the prison of Vidara Castle.
“Where is Graeme these days?” Seri forced her voice to be light.
The lady gave her a knowing glance. “He has kept himself closeted with his vizier and his advisers. He has not seen other women.”
So she was so obvious? Seri flushed, then squinted at the hot sky overhead. “The men,” Seri said to Meluoe when they had walked a distance away from their guards. She kept her voice low. “One of them… he was to be my husband.”
Meluoe’s lips tightened. “I see. But you married my brother instead. You must give up your old hopes and dreams and focus on being a good wife to him and a good Eterna to the Athoni people. You are married to one of us now.”
She wouldn’t be able to make Meluoe understand, Seri realized. Not without confessing her terrible deeds. Not without telling her that she’d attempted to kill Graeme, and his sister would never understand that. So she said nothing.
“You should talk to my brother,” Meluoe said gently. “Tell him your worries. He will understand.”
Seri laughed, the sound hard and bitter. “Will he? I am not even important enough to merit a few moments of his vizier’s time. How will I manage to get some of my husband’s? The only time he is interested in seeing me is when he wishes to…” She choked on the words, unable to state that painfully intimate act aloud.
Meluoe frowned at her. “I still think you are wrong,” she said, but Seri wouldn’t listen to reason.
They walked for a bit longer but neither seemed in the mood, so they parted after a time. Meluoe kissed Seri on the cheek impulsively and squeezed her hands. “Do not be so sad. I for one am glad you are here.”
Seri smiled back and returned to her rooms.
Back in her chamber, Idalla and Vya were nowhere to be found. That was not surprising – they’d found many ways to avoid her since Kiane’s death. A tray of hot tea and her favorite sweet-pies had been left for her, however. It was a thoughtful gesture, and she hoped that maybe they’d forgive her once enough time had passed.
Then, maybe, she might be able to forgive herself for her terrible decision.
She picked up one of the sweets and idly moved to the window, staring out at the sunlit plain that stretched below the castle. There was so much room in the world, she mused sadly. Why couldn’t they share?
She ate only a few bites of the small pie. She had no hunger; everything tasted like ashes. Even the sweet filling that she normally found so pleasing tasted cloying in her mouth. After one more halfhearted taste, she put the tray aside and climbed into her bed to sleep, restless and unhappy.
Perhaps tomorrow things would not look so bad.
~~* * * ~~
Graeme rubbed his forehead in frustration. He couldn’t concentrate on the map in front of him, nor on what Jardish, his vizier, was droning on about. All he could think about was Seri, his savage little wife. Seri, dressed in the opulent clothes of the Athoni court and painfully out of place. Seri with soft brown eyes and a shy smile. Seri beneath him in their bed, her aura glowing, and the small sounds she made when he fed from her throat.
A low groan shot through him. Just that last image was enough to set his body to pulsing again with need, and his aura flared to life around him. His hands trembled slightly—he had not drunk the blood he needed to stay alive in three days, ever since he had fought with Seri. The thought of drinking from another woman right now seemed vague and unpleasant, even though Aynee had offered and been hurt when he declined.
He couldn’t explain to her that Seri bothered him to his core. That she was in his thoughts day and night, no matter what he tried to do. That he found his heart racing whenever she entered th
e room or gave him one of her rare, sad smiles.
“My lord, is everything all right?” Jardish cleared his throat and looked uneasily at the other advisers in the room. “You seem… unwell.”
Graeme straightened, reminding himself that he was in the presence of others. Always, always, he must remain strong. To show weakness in the Athoni court was akin to death. “A mere headache.” He flicked it away with a gesture of his hand and frowned at the markings on the map, covering the nearby Valley of Ud. “And you say that the tribes are coming from where?”
Jardish hesitated, then gestured once more at the map with a bony finger. He was clearly irritated by Graeme’s lack of interest. Jardish was the most self-important of his self-important court, but he was devoted to his job, and it didn’t matter if Graeme liked him or not. “The barbarians have been scattered on the eastern side of the mountains since they were conquered by your father a hundred years ago.” His finger circled a lake. “The majority of the wild tribes are here, but groups of them have settled outside major cities such as here in Vidara. The ones like your wife are the…” He paused, his mouth working over the words. “Civilized cousins.”
He thought of Seri’s hatred of the endless petticoats and corsets of Athoni women, and her bare feet under her ornate dresses. Civilized wasn’t wholly accurate. “Go on.”
“Over the past few months, scouts have reported seeing a surge in the savages as they head to the south. They seem to be migrating in this direction, Prince, just as your father feared. The uprising he suspected will not be long from now. Even as we sleep, they gather in the villages and plot against you.”
He thought of Seri and her soft brown skin and how she’d cried when he’d tried to force her to betray her own people. “I will always be Vidari,” she’d shouted to him and then run away, sobbing. He’d felt like an ass then. He should have never called her in to deal with the traitors, should have dealt with it himself, and quietly. The angry, jealous part of him had wanted to show her what her people were really like, though. Show her how violent and reckless they were so she would stop looking down on him and the Blood with such sneering glances. He wanted her to see that her people were after blood as well.
He wanted her to look at him with that quiet smile instead of sadness.
But it had worked against him instead, and now they were not speaking, and his entire kingdom was in an uproar. His nobles were baffled that he’d let the “murderous savages” get away with their crime, and in the town nearby, the rebels were inciting riots.
So much trouble in one small part of the kingdom. Graeme rubbed his throbbing temple again and stared at the map, wanting nothing more than to be back in his own bed, curled up next to Seri. Perhaps she’d let him kiss her tears away, and she’d turn to him with the same unholy need in her eyes that plagued him every hour of the day and kept him from sleeping.
“My lord, are you even listening?”
Jardish’s tone of voice overstepped politeness. He glared at the vizier and stood. “We are done here. Send a missive to my father and tell him we need more troops as quickly as he can get them here. And tell my sister and mother that they might be safer if they left Vidara for the southern lands. Perhaps Craelish, on the coast.” His sister had always loved a sea voyage.
One by one, the nobles and advisers filed out of the room, leaving Graeme to linger over the map. The red stain that marked the Athoni kingdom covered the majority of the continent, the majority of the known world. Defeating a few remnants of a once-savage war tribe should be ridiculously easy.
So why was it that he hesitated?
Jardish paused by the door, then shut it behind him. He faced Graeme, the two of them alone in the large chamber. “You should not have married her, my prince.” The vizier’s voice sounded tired, angry. “It will cause nothing but trouble in this region. As long as she views herself a captive, her people will fight to free her. Instead of unifying them to us, you are driving us further apart.”
A twisted, bitter smile curved Graeme’s mouth. “Even I cannot ignore a command from the gods, my good vizier.”
The elder man scowled, opening his mouth to speak, when there came a hesitant knock at the door.
“Enter,” said Graeme, cutting off whatever Jardish would have said. Now the old vizier would say nothing, for he would never openly disobey the throne in front of others.
A small woman with a round, tear-streaked face entered. She was common, the thick shoulders and ruddy cheeks marking her as one of the lower class, and he vaguely recognized her as the servingwoman Seri had chosen out of the kitchens. It was a clever move on his betrothed’s part, for the woman was utterly loyal in this nest of vipers.
“My lord,” the woman began, then dropped into an awkward curtsy.
“These are private chambers,” Jardish began.
Graeme cut him off with a look and turned back to the distressed servant. “What is it?”
“My lady,” she said, and a fresh set of tears rolled down her cheeks. Her hands twisted in front of her. “I cannot get her to wake… I think she has been poisoned.”
Cold settled in Graeme’s gut, and he forced himself to remain calm, to walk slowly out of the room despite Jardish’s sputtering questions and the maid’s sobbing. When he got into the hall, though, he broke into a run, heading for his private chambers where Seri was always holed up.
Of course someone would try to get rid of her. He cursed himself mentally for not thinking of the possibility sooner. Seri didn’t fit into the Athoni court. She had upset him and rejected him in front of all. If she was removed from his side, not only would he need a new bride, but the Vidari threat would be lessened.
A few of the maids lingered outside his door, crying, and guards lined the door. They stiffened into a salute at the sight of him, and one opened the door for him.
His eyes were immediately drawn to the large bed at the center of the room, and his heart clenched in his body. The faint aura that always called to him was so dim that he had to strain to see it.
Her other servant knelt beside the bed, cradling one of her mistress’s hands in her own. On the bed, atop the covers, Seri’s brown limbs lay sprawled, her golden hair matted to her head with sweat. Her skin seemed chalky under the tan and moisture beaded her face.
His gut clenched at the sight of her, and he moved to the bed as well, ignoring the servants that scattered in his wake. The handmaid released Seri’s hand and backed away, and he took it in his own, noticing for the first time how fragile the bones were under the small, callused hand. Her breath came shallowly, and her flesh was hot under his own. She didn’t stir when his fingers stroked hers, but her breathing calmed slightly and her aura turned to a color closer to his own.
Even in unconsciousness, her body recognized his.
Anger surged inside Graeme, though he kept it well hidden. Clasping her hand in his, he glanced over at the servants. “Poison?”
The girl began to cry again, and another stepped forward. Idalla, he remembered her name now. “When I came to awaken my lady this afternoon, I noticed she had eaten off this tray.” She approached with a plate of sweet-pies. “I never leave her food in the middle of the day, my lord, and Vya did not either, so we guessed that someone had paid a servant to come and leave it for her….” Her hands trembled as she held the tray out to him. “As soon as I came into the room, I could smell darkroot on her breath.”
Graeme took one of the pies and sniffed it, and the heavy, cloying scent of the herb touched his nostrils. Even one of these pies, so heavily drugged, would have killed her. It was the gods’ own blessing that she had only taken a few bites. Whoever it was who poisoned her had counted on Seri not being familiar with Athoni foods, and they had been right.
It was one of his court, then. The Athoni noble court was well versed in ridding themselves of a rival with well-timed darkroot.
“Find the healer,” he heard himself say as he turned back to Seri. “Wake him and bring him to the princess
e’s rooms. Tell no one else what has happened.” He looked back to Idalla. “Get the others out of here.”
She nodded, her lips tight, and ushered the crying, terrified servants out of the room. Graeme turned back to Seri and wondered if he’d killed her by marrying her.
~~* * * ~~
Seri remained unconscious throughout the rest of the evening, despite the purges the healers forced down her throat. Her fever grew higher and higher, and her aura more agitated with every hour. Graeme remained at her side, holding her hand, and if he left for even a moment, she would cry out as if in agony. So he kept at her side, though he wanted to round up all the nobles of the court and look them in their guilty eyes and find out who the culprit was.
Toward sunset of the next day, she grew worse, and Graeme began to despair. Her body began to thrash on the bed, and she called three names over and over again. When it wasn’t his name that passed her lips—the sound of her cries filled him with agony—it was two others.
Josdi.
Father.
She wanted her family.
Graeme stood, releasing Seri’s hand. She cried out at the loss, but didn’t awaken. As he turned to the room, the healer waiting nearby rose. “What is it, my lord?”
“My wife calls out for her family. Please tell them to come to the room.” He’d been so busy that he’d never had a chance to meet them, and he felt a twinge of regret.
The healer nodded and left the room, leaving Graeme alone with Seri. Strands of hair clung to her damp forehead and he brushed them away, studying her face. Deep hollows ringed her eyes, and she looked so fragile. In the short time they’d known each other, he’d never thought of her as fragile. Strong and capable, true. Annoyingly stubborn, perhaps. But never fragile. The sight of it frightened him.
A throat cleared behind him, and Graeme turned back to see Idalla waiting behind him. “Yes?”
She dropped into a curtsy and then stood, a puzzled look on her face. “My lord, I am confused. You requested my lady’s family?”