Froma nodded and left the room. She loitered outside, pacing the hallway.
'Is the Master going to die?' Irina sniffled as she stood with her back flat against the hallway wall.
'Why didn't you come to me first?' Froma hissed.
Irina shrugged her skinny shoulders and Froma narrowed her eyes. Irina would learn to regret her disloyalty. She'd be out on the streets the moment Danis was gone.
If Tveldt didn't spoil everything.
Froma wished she could peer inside the physician's mind as she paced and wrung her hands. Ordinarily in moments like this, she'd call on the mercy of the Father but not today. The Father did not reward sinners.
Froma told herself she needn't worry. Tveldt suspected the red death. She was safe. The same poison would produce the same results.
Both Irina and Froma rushed forward as the door opened. Tveldt and his assistant lugged Danis through the door, his head lolling loosely.
'Mistress, where is your bedchamber?'
'Upstairs.'
Danis gurgled and a fountain of red vomit gushed from his mouth, splattering up the walls.
'The red death!' Irina squealed and ran.
'Get a bucket,' Froma yelled but the girl was already gone.
The two men hauled Danis up the stairs, the young boy and the older man groaning under his weight.
'Is she right?' Froma asked with a shake in her voice as they forced Danis through the door and onto the bed.
'It appears like the red death in some ways. But not others,' Tveldt panted. 'I must bleed him to clear his humours and then I will know better. Can you fetch hot water?'
Froma nodded, her shoulders tightening as she headed for the kitchen hut to find Irina. The poison and her plot may not be uncovered but Froma faced a greater problem.
Tveldt might save him.
Chapter Forty-four
Sira clasped her hands together, her knuckles colourless with the pressure. 'Perhaps there is another way, m'Lady?'
The Duchess shook her head, standing with her arms folded by her bedchamber window.
'But more lives?'
'You told me it was not enough to kill?'
'I am not sure, m'Lady. Rabel only had a small amount left,' Sira lied. There was only a quarter of the tiny puffball left after she'd split the remaining half with Mistress Plesec.
'I will hear no more arguments, Sira,' the Duchess said, her friendly face vanishing. 'Go. This is an order.'
Sira plastered on a smile and curtseyed, biting her lip as she left the room. She dawdled towards the kitchens, hoping for an interruption, anything to stop her along the way. With Iwan, her actions had felt righteous but this time her stomach gurgled like boiling oil.
She trudged into the kitchens and with a sigh, sidled up to Majvi. 'Are they ready?'
Majvi pulled a covered basket out from below the table, her lips pressed white as she handed it over.
'She thanks you,' Sira whispered.
'And you don't?'
Sira shrugged, taking the basket in her hands. 'It doesn't matter what I think.'
'You worry me,' Majvi said with soft eyes, her a hand on Sira's forearm. Her touch tingled against Sira's skin but Sira looked away. Without another word, she left the kitchens.
The basket burdened her arm as she continued across the bailey, the weight of the Father's displeasure weighing heavier on her shoulders with every step.
'What have you got there?' A lanky guard blocked her path in front of the gate.
Sira slapped his hand away.
'We demand a tax,' said another with a red nose as he reached for the cloth.
The guards smirked at one another as the tall skinny one grabbed the basket. The load on her conscience lifted as he took possession of it. If they stole the cakes from her, she was no longer responsible.
'Give it back,' she said half-heartedly.
The one with the drinker's nose lifted the cloth and breathed in deeply. 'No one will notice a few missing,' he said.
'No--'
'Herwin. Seppu,' said a stern voice. 'Hand it back.' Lord Kalin strode up to the gate, his sword jangling.
'Yes, m'Lord.' The guards cowered.
'Some of Majvi's baking?' Lord Kalin raised the cloth and stared at the golden almond cakes.
Sira held her breath.
He reached down.
Should she stop him? He was the one who ordered Rabel's arrest.
'Lord Kalin?' Seliv, his second in command lumbered up to him. 'I must speak with you.'
Kalin's hand hovered over a cake.
Sira held her breath as she watched, her full lungs almost bursting, her face red hot. The Father was interfering with their plans. What fate did he have in mind?
Kalin jerked his head and snatched his hand away. Empty. 'What now?' He turned with a sigh and followed Seliv.
Sira let out her breath. She clutched the iron gate and wiped her brow. Once her heartbeat calmed, she continued down the Avenue, following her orders. But her pulse picking up speed again when she saw the Allotment women and their children huddled together in the pen.
They reminded her of the Unwanted, the women hidden behind the walls of the Temple, destined to a life of serving the Fatherhood. Sira had only seen them once or twice in her entire life. They looked as lifeless as husks with their hair cropped like shorn sheep, their dead eyes and grain sacks for tunics.
Three young guards stood by the gate of the pen, fulfilling their duty as a man of Ambrovna. One blond and pale, one big-eared and one pimple-cheeked. Only a few summers ago, these guards were boys. Had they done anything to deserve this? Were they pure in the eyes of the Father? Like Teo? Sira's heart crumpled. She'd already killed twice.
'What do you want?' the spotty one snarled.
She paused. Should she turn and run? Dump the cakes in the sea and lie to her mistress? Would a falsehood to save lives redeem her in the eyes of the Father? She pulled the basket close to her chest.
'Are you dumb?' he said.
'She sure is ugly,' the blond guard laughed.
'Shh. Don't you know who she is? She's her maid,' the big-eared one said.
'What do you want, Singlewoman?' the spotty guard said slowly as if speaking to a simpleton.
She shrugged and turned away, heart pounding. The Father had delivered her a reprieve. As she spun around, Sira latched eyes with a lanky brown-haired girl in the pen. Around nine years old, she gripped the hands of a younger boy and girl. She stared back at Sira with defiance in her eyes and a purple stain on her cheek, much like Sira's own. The little boy pulled at her hand, his face scrunched with tears but she patted him and whispered soothing words into his ear.
Sucking in a breath, Sira turned and pulled back the cloth cover to reveal the almond cakes. 'The Duchess asked me to bring you these.'
The three guards huddled around her, grinning. Their greedy hands did not need a second invitation.
Chapter Forty-five
All afternoon Danis had thrashed and moaned, tying his sheets in knots and spewing blood-filled vomit down the bedside.
'He will get better, won't he?' Froma asked as she sat on the bed, feeding him broth.
'I do not know,' Tveldt grimaced. 'I've done all I can. It is with the Father now.'
'You must eat, husband,' Froma said through gritted her teeth as she forcing another spoonful through his thick protesting lips.
Tveldt sat on the opposite side of the bedchamber while his assistant scuttled off for more supplies. Froma had sent the sniffling Irina down to the kitchen to prepare a meal for the physician, knowing any meal she prepared would be heavily garnished with her tears.
Conscious of Tveldt's beady eyes following her every move, Froma smoothed Danis's sparse sweaty hair across his forehead. She twisted her hands and blinked back tears for the doctor's benefit while inside her chest swelled with hope. Tveldt was only a country physician, she told herself. He knew nothing more than leeches and bleeding. Poison and the old ways were lost to m
en like him.
Danis's face was grey and slick with sweat, but Froma felt neither pity nor regret as she watched him. Not for a single moment. There was no love left for Danis in her heart, the man who married her after losing a bet.
Danis had been a widower, a regular visitor to the port of Veigur, Froma's hometown further down the coast. He had also been her Papa's drinking friend. One day at breakfast, her Papa had announced his Singlewoman daughter was finally to be married. Froma had known of Danis's thick fish-lips and gruff demeanour, but the prospect still excited her. She would become a merchant's wife, live in a grand house with servants to boss about and have a wardrobe of fine gowns befitting her position. Finally, her chance for respect had arrived.
After a betrothal that was more like a business deal, Froma came to Ambrovna. Years rolled by without an heir and Danis's malice crept up on her like a vine. A snide comment here. A push and shove there. Then a fist and a boot. Until one day, after another of his failed deals, when she covered her face to venture out in public, Froma realised what she'd become.
She'd had nowhere to go but back home to Veigur, to a life of waiting on her Papa and Mama. She would have been an embarrassment and a blight on her family. And a small greedy part of her couldn't bear to walk away from the comforts Danis provided.
She told herself that once the fleece rot was cured, once the spring came, once the war was over, he'd change. But she had been wrong. He was never going to stop his cruelty on his own.
Danis sat upright and reached out with his hands. 'The mohair is first grade, Sir. You'll find nothing better,' he said loudly then he slumped back against the pillows, his eyes closed.
'Is he improving?' she asked.
Tveldt's brow furrowed.
Danis wailed and scratched savagely at his belly.
'Master Tveldt!' Froma's hands wrapped around her throat. 'Do something!' But underneath her veil, she smirked as he convulsed. The end was nigh and her own nightmare was almost over.
Red froth bubbled from Danis's mouth, the whites of his eyes curdled into pink. The young assistant appeared at the door and rushed over, joining Tveldt at Danis's side.
'Help him. Help him,' Froma squealed, backing away from the bedside as Danis gurgled.
'Open his mouth.' Tveldt took a pinch of grey sand from a vial.
The assistant wiped away the red muck around Danis's mouth and forced open his jaw. Danis grunted, his eyes rolling. Tveldt tossed the sand into his mouth and the two men slammed his jaw shut.
Danis spewed violently, a wave of blood gushing from his mouth. Tveldt and the boy recoiled.
When the shower of vomit and convulsions stopped, Danis leaned forward, his mouth agape. His tongue lolled blue and swollen and blood trickled down his chin. Danis then collapsed face-forward like a felled tree.
'Danis!'
Tveldt and the assistant pulled him upright but Danis stared straight ahead, unseeing.
Froma gulped down a sob. He was gone.
A low-class woman would have screamed and cried but a woman of her standing had to be stoic. Her subdued emotion would be perfectly acceptable.
'Go!' Tveldt yelled the assistant ran out the door, his boots clumping down the stairs.
'What do we do now?' Froma said, forcing a wobble into her voice. 'Should I call for the Scion?'
Tveldt closed Danis's eyelids and laid him back on the bed. He looked so peaceful, except for the blood crusted around his nose and mouth.
Froma feigned a whimper. He would never strike her again. She tilted her head at the sound of footsteps stomping up the stairs. Two men in terracotta tunics entered, one with a red-nose, the other lanky and tall. Did the Shield guards attend every death in the town?
'Arrest her,' Tveldt said.
Froma stared, open-mouthed. The guards took an arm each and lifted her off her feet.
'Take your hands off me!' Froma spat and struggled. 'This moment! What do you think you are doing?'
The guards ignored her.
'My husband has just died. Have some respect,' she said as she tried to tug herself free but their hold was too strong. 'Master Tveldt? I don't understand.'
'Take her away. She poisoned her husband.' Tveldt pointed an accusing finger and the men dragged Froma to the door.
'This man is a liar. He's no physician. Look! He couldn't save...I didn't...' The guards wrestled Froma along the corridor and down the stairs. 'Unhand me. I've done nothing wrong. Master Tveldt is the one you should arrest.'
The guards yanked her through the side door and into the street.
'I demand you let me go. Where are you taking me?'
'Where do you think?' The red-nosed guard sneered.
Froma gulped.
Chapter Forty-six
Agata shifted in her seat. The Duke sat stiffly by her side in the front row of the Temple and not a single word passed between them as they waited for the Blessing of the Spawn to begin.
Every seat was taken, even the aisles were full and the doors were wide open so others could listen from the steps and the Square. The foyer of the Temple was piled high with offerings for the Fatherhood: baskets of hazelnuts and rosy apples; bales of mohair; dark bottles of wine; leather saddles; knitted blankets; ropes and dried fish encrusted with salt.
As the last Temple bell sounded and the final clang faded away, the buzz of chatter hushed. The Scion appeared. Unlike other Scions, he entered the Temple through the same entrance as all the other townspeople. As he wove his way through the crowd, people reached out to touch his gown but he tugged the cloth from their hands with a stern look. The Scion seemed to consider himself a simple man, no better than the rest of the townspeople and yet he was incapable of showing even the slightest hint of compassion.
By the time he reached the Temple table, the room was quiet. The Scion turned to face the people with his Cousins in lines to his left and right, their heads bowed. Thousands of tiny candles behind him glistened and flickered. The Scion glanced over at Agata and the Duke in the front row. She met the Scion's eyes steadily, denying him the benefit of deference. Beside her, the Duke nodded in response.
The Scion stood perfectly still, staring out at the people. He waited through the coughs, the shuffling of feet, stray comments from naughty children. Once there was absolute silence, he began. 'In the eyes of the Father.'
'In the eyes of the Father,' the people repeated after him, their voices echoing into the Temple's high ceilings. The Scion nodded gravely and Agata wondered whether the old man ever smiled.
'Today we gather for the most important time of the year in Ambrovna, the Blessing of the Spawn when we seek the Father's blessing for the coming Spawning Season, so he may fill our nets with the bounty of the sea. In the eyes of the Father.'
'In the eyes of the Father.'
'The Father thanks all those who provided offerings to the Fatherhood. Your kindness allows the Cousins and myself to devote ourselves to the spiritual welfare of Ambrovna. We thank you. Your generosity makes the Father proud of his children. And you are all his children. Every one of you.'
'As we all know with families, there can be troubles and disagreements, but in the end there is always love. The Father will reward your kindness.'
'We have all been through a trying time. At last year's Blessing, the men left and the women prayed for the return of our soldiers. Just as the eels return every year from the Spawning grounds. But unlike the eels, our men did not venture on a trip towards abundance and the bringing of new life. Instead theirs was a trip towards death.'
Agata smiled painfully as she listened to the sound of muffled tears in the crowd behind her. The Scion paused and nodded.
'But like the eels on their journey to the Spawning grounds, all journeys contain risks. Like the eels, it is the duty of men to protect and continue the line of their family. This is the true way of the Father. All men must make sacrifices to perpetuate their line and become fathers in His image. They must take the role of the Father in their own
households and be willing to fight any threat.'
'We may have a new King in Sulun but our ways are unchanged. The eels still spawn, the sun still rises in the East, the winter comes and the Father still reigns supreme, in the Temple and in the home. This is the way it has always been and the way it always will be. Everything has a place under the Father, be it man, woman, fisherman, the eel, the sky, the weather, the cliffs, the Fatherhood.
This is what our Father expects from us. If we stray, we make the Father unhappy. We do not know what will happen then. Some of the older among us have known lean seasons followed by times when people have tried to change the ways. The Father has showed his disappointment in the winds, through rough seas and forest fires, which tore through the valleys.
The Father is kind and loving and wise, but he expects obedience. He knows we are but children, in need of a guiding hand to learn. We need discipline when we wander like all small children do.'
Agata clenched her fists.
'This is a time when we give thanks for all we have. On the eve of the Festival, we must judge our own behaviour. Ask yourselves, "have I been pious?" "Have I obeyed the Father and my own father?" "Have I confessed my sins?"'
'In the eyes of the Father.'
The Scion stared into the faces of the people. All around, Agata felt the townspeople fidget under his unrelenting gaze.
'Men, have you provided for your families? Been wise and strong? Been an example to your children and women? In the image of the Father himself?'
'In the eyes of the Father,' boomed the men.
'Women, have you obeyed your husbands? Been pious and demure? Provided a warm home for your men?'
'In the eyes of the Father,' the women chorused.
The Scion's eyes rested on Agata. She stared back, chin lifted, answering his questions with a slight smile.
'Unfortunately, war brings death. Not all our brave soldiers returned. They left grieving widows and children adrift without protection. To strengthen our families in Ambrovna and show our commitment to the Father, the Allotment will take place tomorrow at mid-morning. You all saw the Allotment women outside. All unmarried men and widowers who wish for a new wife must see the Seneschal to take part. After this ceremony, we hope the Father will be happy with our actions and bless us with a mild winter and a rich eel season. And our women and children will find the protection they need. In the eyes of the Father.'
Women of Wasps and War Page 21