TWENTY-FIVE

BRIGHT-EYED, EARNEST, AND only two years my junior, Sepp had been my closest friend for as long as I could remember. Most of my early life had been spent in his company – hunting frogs by the river, helping him herd the geese on summer days, stampeding through the thralls’ runs.

In later years, when we left childhood games behind us, his time had been monopolised by an apprenticeship with the master of horses, while mine had been swallowed by Grandmother’s strictures. We still stole every moment we could together, precious times in the kitchen, where I learnt the intricacies of cooking, or in the stable, where he taught me how to nurse a colicky horse, his touch sure and deft. My favourite times with him had been when we took the ferrets into the kitchen cellars. In the dim and cavernous depths we would set the ferrets free to hunt the rats while we sat, perched on barrels containing apple cider or oil or brine for pickling, and simply talked, free and unguarded and ungoverned.

We had shared our thoughts on everything, from Grandmother’s mercurial treatment of Sepp to the marriages she was considering on my behalf, from the progress of my father’s breeding program with the horses to news of the latest stirrings among the nations bordering our lands.

Although Grandmother’s manner towards Sepp was never warmer than indifference, and was often far colder, still he had stood apart from the common thralls. He’d learnt politics in his apprenticeship with the master of horses, and through his friendship with me. These factors, combined with his collar and his unspoken ties to House Svanaten, made it no surprise that Grandmother had included him in the party sent to investigate the Ilthean threat. A horse-handler would be ignored or dismissed, and thus have the opportunity of employing his sharp eyes and political acumen where others would not.

But now, walking beside me, was a creature entirely changed from the Sepp I knew.

Privation had stolen the flesh off his frame, and strain and nervous exhaustion were etched into his face. Worse, though, was the way he slumped, like a candle in its last moments.

‘What happens now?’ he asked, his monotone voice expressing as little interest as his posture.

‘The drightens will ratify Dieter as Duethin,’ I replied, taking the opportunity of guiding him around a corner to touch his forearm, though he didn’t appear to notice. ‘They’ll send for aid. Then it’ll be a race to see who arrives first, the Iltheans or the support,’ I said.

He stared at his feet, and I dared not disturb his silence.

‘Did they all … everyone?’ he asked.

‘Most,’ I said, then corrected myself in the next breath. Sepp’s ‘everyone’ had never been the same as mine. ‘Most of the court, that is. The majority of the thralls are still alive. Still working here, too, although none with a high opinion of me, as a rule.’

I offered a smile, but he didn’t look up and the smile slid off my face, sickly and pale as a stillborn.

‘Aunt Helena didn’t survive,’ I said hesitantly. ‘Her son, Renatas, did – Grandmother wouldn’t have him at the celebration.’

Sepp said nothing, and we lapsed into silence as we walked. At last, as we neared our destination, he spoke.

‘You married him,’ he said.

Despite the flatness of his tone, a lot rode on my response.

I showed him into his room, grateful for the chance to prevaricate. There were too many layers in his statement, too many reminders of the person Sepp had known. Too many choices had turned me further and further from that ingenue who’d stood on her tiptoes, eager for a glimpse of her infamous aunt.

Stopping inside, Sepp glanced around, taking in the luxury of the room before turning an enquiring glance on me.

‘You’re my friend, and you need to rest. You can’t do that in a stable loft,’ I said.

‘I always managed fine before,’ he said.

‘Sepp,’ I started, but he shrugged me off, shuffling across to the window, where he stood, clutching at the sill and staring out into the snatch of garden it revealed.

He needed to know why, of course, and how I’d come to marry the man who’d wreaked havoc on our world, but it wasn’t something I could proffer with ease, or without pain.

‘It’s more than the binding, Tilde,’ he said, his voice bouncing back off the window like chips of wind-borne ice. ‘You’re loyal to him. Why?’

You don’t understand what it was like, I wanted to say, living when nobody else did. But the words died in my mouth. Looking at him, wearing more grime and weariness than flesh, I thought perhaps he did understand.

‘I did what I had to,’ I said. ‘At first, that’s all it was.’

Hunching his shoulders, he rested his head against the glass.

‘But, Sepp, there’s been so much … and I’ve been alone. I lost Grandmother, you, my court, even my mother’s kin … he’s never hurt me.’

It sounded feeble, even to my ears. Words couldn’t convey the nature of a normal binding, let alone mine to Dieter.

Sepp didn’t speak, and I edged closer, dared to put a hand on his back. His shirt was stiff with grit and dried sweat.

‘Sepp, please.’

‘What, Matilde? What do you want of me? Don’t you understand? I have no more to give!’ he cried, throwing off my touch, finally roused. ‘I spent it all, trekking back here. For you. Now you tell me you’re happy?’

‘No, I –’

‘I don’t want to hear any more,’ he cut me off. ‘You’ve made your choices, and you don’t owe me explanations. But don’t ask me to understand, and don’t ask me to be happy for you, because I’m not and can’t be.’ Blinking back a swell of tears, he went on, ‘I’ll not speak out against him or undermine him, if that’s what you’re worried about. So please, leave me.’

Anger and shame kept me silent, conflicting responses tangling in my throat, so I turned and left, latching the door quietly behind me.

He didn’t come after me.

*

Gerlach was waiting for me outside Sepp’s room and fell into step beside me. He had been my escort since I woke from the poison – since I’d committed to Dieter in deed as well as name. Evidence, perhaps, of Dieter’s fondness for me? The idea made me smile.

‘The lad seems distressed,’ Gerlach said, speaking suddenly when we were almost back at my own rooms.

‘Yes,’ I agreed hesitantly, wary now. Gerlach was not a loquacious man. If he spoke, it was with a purpose in mind, and I could not yet gauge it.

‘The Lady Amalia also seemed distressed this morn,’ he said.

‘She is … impulsive,’ I said, and Gerlach grunted, whether in agreement or disbelief I could not tell.

We reached my rooms and I expected Gerlach to wait outside, as was his norm, but instead he followed me in. Turning, he latched the door, but didn’t advance further into the room.

Baffled, I turned and confronted him. ‘Is there something on your mind, General?’

He took a moment before he answered, saying only, ‘I’ve seen it before.’

‘Seen what?’

‘Prison sickness.’

The words slid deep inside my marrow, like slivers of ice.

‘There are other names for it,’ he continued. ‘Bound is a popular term, and an apt one, but prison sickness describes it without the irony.’

‘You do realise you’re making very little sense?’ I said, perplexed.

‘Freedom is the only cure,’ he went on, ‘although if it’s not gained in time, even that will fail.’

Shock rooted me to the floor. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Was the loyal Gerlach truly telling me to flee? It made no sense – unless it was some test of Dieter’s.

‘Have a care, General,’ I said, ice in my tone. ‘Your words are treason.’

He shook his head, his look softening to one of pity. ‘You still have a chance, my lady, but every day you remain decreases it.’

I took a step back, fear making my heart beat quick. ‘Why would I leave? My husband is Duethin, and for the first time since we …’ I faltered over how to express it diplomatically, ‘… since we met, we understand one another.’

‘My lady,’ he murmured, reaching for my hand and clasping it gently in his long fingers. ‘Matilde.’

‘Don’t …’

‘He’s not a bad man,’ said Gerlach. ‘In truth, he’s not. But you’re not in a position to appreciate it. He’s not good for you, and nor is his sister. They have you twisted around inside yourself so you don’t know up from down.’

I shook my head, denying his words.

‘You don’t love him, Matilde,’ he insisted, his eyes dark with shadows. ‘You think you do, I know. It’s part of the sickness. He holds your life in his hands and your soul under his thumb; he has done since Aestival. Living under that strain … it breaks even the strongest, eventually.’

‘No,’ I whispered.

‘It’s no shame,’ he said gently, pulling me a step closer. ‘What resources did you have to combat him? None. How can any mind stay strong, living under the constant threat of his displeasure? Every nicety, every touch of restraint he shows towards you twists you further and further the wrong way.’

I snatched my hand away. ‘I’m not leaving him –’

‘He killed your family, Matilde. He branded you,’ he said. ‘He let you live even after you tried to betray him, knowing it might meld you to his cause. A little guilt makes a prisoner more malleable. Even now, you’re wondering if he’s testing you.’

I had no more will to protest. I couldn’t even shake my head, and the thought that I hadn’t denied it made me feel sick.

‘Why are you doing this?’ I asked weakly.

‘I’ve watched a woman turn herself inside out over Dieter before,’ he said, his voice soft, his gaze pinning me. ‘I’ve no desire to see it again.’

I stumbled backward, reeling with confusion, clinging to the one thing I knew was true: Dieter was not above testing me, and Gerlach would do anything his lord asked.

‘Get out,’ I ordered, unable to keep the rising hysteria from my voice. ‘Get out!’