TWENTY-TWO

MORNING BROUGHT a strange lassitude. Nestled in bedding smelling of sex – musky and pervasive – I gazed at Dieter as he slumbered beside me. He was more handsome awake, with the sparkle of humour and appreciation in his eyes. The openness sleep gave him, however, was strangely endearing.

Conflicting emotions warred within me. He was my enemy, and I should hate him. For what he’d ordered done to my family, for the binding he’d put on me, for the hex, I did hate him. My thoughts shied away from the painful memories, however.

Simplistic thinking had no place in politics, of the nation or of the heart, and perhaps it was my hate itself that had made me so vulnerable to him in the first place. Hate or love, passion clouded observation, as Grandmother would have said.

Thought of her made me realise that her voice had been missing since I’d awoken from the poison. Surely if anything would have made her mutter, it would be the fact that I was lying in the warmth of a conjugal bed, with Dieter’s outflung arm across my stomach. There was nothing, however. Hoofbeats on the stones of the courtyard spoke of soldiers at their training, or stable thralls exercising the mounts.

Tentatively, I considered my new circumstances. I couldn’t blame what had happened between Dieter and me last night on the binding, or fear for my safety, or even political necessity. It had been a conscious choice, and my own desire, there was no denying it. Perhaps it was time to accept the inevitable.

Dieter had been strong enough and canny enough to take the throne, and with my help he would be strong enough to hold it. Perhaps it was time we worked together instead of against each other.

The sound of Amalia’s voice outside jolted me to alertness. I couldn’t make out her words through the wall separating us, though her voice was pitched high and fast. She was clearly in a mood. I glanced across at Dieter, still sunk in the depths of sleep, and shifted slightly, careful of disturbing him.

Whatever point Amalia had made to the guards, it was sufficient, for soon the latch rattled and the doors opened, admitting the tail end of her sentence. ‘… ridiculous,’ she was haranguing them. ‘I left her alone the whole night, as you insisted. It was completely unnecessary. She didn’t mean me.’

Dieter stirred and opened his eyes, a frown pleating his brow as he tried to reconcile his sister’s voice with the sight of me.

‘What is that godawful racket?’ he said, turning his head on the pillows and staring at the ceiling.

‘Your sister.’

‘Nothing for it, then. She’ll have to die,’ he said, and hung an arm over his eyes. ‘Or at least have her tongue severed. Can one still talk without a tongue?’

‘I dare say Amalia could,’ I replied, smiling even as she stomped into the bedchamber, cloth-draped tray in hand.

‘I’m sorry, Tilde. Those pig-headed guards kept me out all night. On the offchance you actually did want to be alone, I let them. Can you believe they were still trying to keep me out this morn–?’ She broke off when she saw Dieter in the bed. He was still flat on his back, the crook of his elbow sheltering his eyes.

‘I hope you at least brought breakfast, Mali,’ he said. ‘It’s the only thing between you and the noose right now.’

An ugly flush was creeping up the column of her throat as she looked at him, revulsion twisting her face.

I sat up, holding the sheets close. ‘Well, it turns out you got the cosy family you wanted, after all,’ I said, though not unkindly.

Amalia switched her gaze to me, a faint clatter from the tray betraying the tremble of her hands. Then, with a hateful look for both of us, she turned and stalked from the room without a word.

‘Did she leave the food at least?’ asked Dieter.

‘No. She looked very angry,’ I murmured, conscious that Amalia was still in the adjacent room.

‘What? No,’ he said, then paused, as if considering the idea, and shrugged. ‘Well, okay, maybe. She was very quiet.’

I coughed to hide my amusement at his understatement.

Dieter gave me a look caught between wounded and indignant. ‘Don’t start,’ he said. ‘She’s been in an impossible mood since the poisoning.’

‘Before, actually,’ I said. ‘Since the morning you … barged in.’

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.