THIRTEEN

THE CAMP WAS too noisy, too full of Dieter’s men. Even those from my previous life had assumed the stamp of his reign. Five tents away, Leise bent over some stitching, occasionally stirring a cauldron beside her. Apart from a day or two of upheaval, the substitute of one Duethin for another had scarce touched her. Everywhere I looked, the world had moved on.

But I couldn’t.

I turned towards the Skythe camp, and my heart swelled until I could hardly breathe. What would it be like to slip into their midst, to discard my mantle and walk among them as a daughter of the wind and sky, no more than one of the tribe?

What would it be to be anonymous in the world?

If I fled, Dieter would pursue me. The men he sent might well kill me and any others if we dared oppose him. I would be brought back, penitent, to serve whatever other uses he had for me – besides providing him with his heir. I was figuring on giving you a child of your own, Matte, he’d said.

Shuddering, I ducked into my tent, pausing to blink in the dim interior. My thoughts whirred. I wanted no more than to rip off the veil binding and obscuring me, blurring what people saw of me.

Before I could do anything I was struck hard in the shoulder and I fell, the veil tangling around my throat, my hands scrabbling in vain for purchase. The floor slammed into my spine and an elbow speared the soft flesh under my ribcage.

I gasped for breath, pain bursting like stars in the back of my head as Amalia’s face hove into view. Fury and drink had turned her cheeks red as a burn. A tooth had cut her lip in the attack, and blood filmed the teeth she bared at me.

Bucking under her weight, I freed an arm and grabbed her wrist, straining to keep her fingers, rigid as claws, from my face.

With one elbow still planted firmly in my midsection, she lodged a palm under my chin and shoved it up until I thought my neck would pop and my lower jaw would drive through my face. Still she held silent.

Scraping my heels under me, with a mighty heave I shoved her up and off. I tried to roll away, but the veil caught at my head, pulling me up short.

‘No, you don’t,’ breathed Amalia, grabbing at the cloth and yanking my head backward.

My fingers scrabbled at the pins in the veil, tearing them loose, freeing me. The tent-flap was only an arm’s length away when Amalia’s shoulder drove into my back, forcing me down. I struggled and jerked like a landed fish, unable to reach the tent opening.

She clapped a hand over my mouth before I could cry out. ‘How dare you,’ she hissed into my ear. ‘I’ll kill you. I’ll tear your black heart out.’

Gripping a hairpin tight between the slippery pads of my fingers, I heaved my hand back and up, stabbing blindly.

She yelped in surprise and pulled away, giving me room to wriggle free. I didn’t get far before she grabbed my ankle. I flipped to face her, kicking, but she avoided it easily.

‘Hel–!’ I screamed, before Amalia launched at me again, her paired fists driving through my midsection.

‘I’ll rip your tongue out first!’ she said, pouncing at my face, her fingers spread into talons.

I scrambled backwards on hands and heels, but my skirts mired me. Her fingers raked my cheek, tearing at the soft corner of my mouth.

I shoved at her face, felt the slide of her cheek beneath my fingers. Pushing up, I found the soft socket housing her eyes and jabbed.

She twisted her head back, releasing her hold, her vision obscured by her watering eyes.

Lunging to the side, I grabbed the first object which came to hand – a lantern, shuttered and unlit – and brandished it between us, ready to bludgeon her with it.

Crouching, Amalia stared at me through narrowed eyes, still blinking away tears of pain, calculating her next move, mentally searching the room for weapons.

If I could keep her distracted, I might be able to circle around to the entrance and freedom.

So I talked. ‘Your brother isn’t angry,’ I said, though my arms still ached from where he’d gripped me.

‘He doesn’t need to be. He has me to take care of it for him,’ she snarled.

‘How fortunate,’ I replied, but my voice was too shaky to convey haughty sarcasm. Carefully, still holding out the lantern, I stood and inched towards the doorway. ‘Ever consider you’re simply in his way?’

‘I’m not the one who tried to have him killed.’

‘Fine,’ I said, daring another surreptitious step. ‘If you want to kill me for being on the wrong side, try your best. But first, you’ll have to give up the betrayed act. I don’t owe either of you my loyalty.’

She shook her head as if she pitied me. ‘You do, though. He’s your husband.’

Surprise rooted my feet to the floor. ‘Is your head made of oak? He killed my family, remember?’

‘You chose to bind to him – after the coup,’ she replied, implacable.

‘It was that or die!’

‘If you wanted to play the opposing side, you should have picked the dying,’ Amalia insisted, eyes bloodshot. A heartbeat later she noticed the space I’d opened between us, and sprang at me.

Yelling, I swung the lantern, cracking her in the temple. But it didn’t stop her hurtling into me and I collapsed beneath her once more. I landed a knee in her stomach, batting at her with the strength of desperation. Scrabbling and tumbling, we rolled out into the bright spill of sunshine.

Tears of relief stung my eyes, and I forgot about the skirts tangling my legs, almost oblivious to the heavy weight of her landing on my back. Someone would see, someone would help –

But no one moved forward.

I registered a cold shiver at my throat as the touch of sharp steel.

‘Like I said,’ Amalia whispered, ‘you should have picked the dying.’

‘Lady Amalia,’ came Gerlach’s voice from nearby.

I didn’t dare swallow as Amalia pressed the knife deeper against my throat.

‘Amalia,’ Gerlach said again. ‘Leave her. On your brother’s orders.’

The knife didn’t move and I stared straight ahead, gasping in the scent of dry grass and damp dirt.

‘My brother can’t kill his wife,’ she said. ‘It would be wrong.’

‘Your brother doesn’t want her killed,’ said Gerlach.

‘Perhaps,’ she rasped, her every breath swelling and ebbing against my back. ‘But he should. She’s treasonous.’

‘Actually,’ came Dieter’s voice, entering the fray, ‘she just won me a valuable alliance.’

Amalia didn’t answer and I felt her waver. At least, I prayed to all nine daughters of Turas that she was wavering.

‘I don’t want her dead, Mali,’ said Dieter softly. ‘Release her.’

But her elbow only pressed down harder. ‘I’m doing this for you, Diet.’

Dieter lunged forward, his arm snapping out to grab the blade. He wasn’t fast enough. Amalia drew it hard against my throat, parting my skin and releasing hot blood down my neck. Then there was a cry and her weight vanished from my back, the knife dropping to the ground.

I struggled to my knees, groping at the slippery sheet of blood at my throat.

Gerlach caught me as I swayed. Easing me down, he crouched beside me, pulling my hand from my throat so that he might see. ‘You’ll live. Come on,’ he said, one arm around my back helping me up and guiding me forward. ‘Let’s stitch you up.’

‘They’re both as crazy as each other,’ I said to him, though it hurt to talk.

He met my eyes with a shake of his head. ‘He did warn you. And you did marry him.’

‘Why does everyone keep reminding me?’ I replied.