He opened his eyes and waited for the count, all of his anger and frustration migrating to his fists. But he pulled forth Ko-Jin’s voice from his mind: “Be patient and watch for your opening… Pay attention to the feet and how the weight is distributed. You can read an opponent’s intentions there… Blight it, Fernie, if you don’t start keeping your hands up, you’ll be socked in the face every time.”
Fernie pictured Ko-Jin’s posture when he sparred and mimicked that stance—knees bent, one foot forward, arms up to protect his head. The count began, and he locked eyes on Kelarre’s hateful face.
A bell chimed. The crowd turned quiet. Fernie paid careful attention to Kelarre’s posture, to the balance of his feet. He saw the moment his opponent intended to move, and knew he would teleport—otherwise his feet would take him in a pointless circle. He heard the sharp pop, and began to spin, elbow flying.
Kelarre would appear directly behind him, Fernie was certain, because Kelarre was a mouth-breathing fool who would take the most predictable approach every time.
Fernie knew he was right before he heard the sound of teleportation. He felt the slight stir in the air, and then his elbow connected with a gut. Fernie pivoted, transferring weight from his left leg to his right as he spun to face his opponent. His fist extended on a straight line— “Only an idiot or a drunk punches on an arc, Fern. Which are you?” —and his knuckles connected. He heard the crunch of a nose breaking beneath his fist, and then the hot spray of blood. Kelarre stumbled back.
But Fernie’s bloodied fist fell to his sides, because now it was not Ko-Jin’s voice speaking from his memory, but a tone more honeyed and far more dreadful: “You like the sight of blood, don’t you? It’s okay. You’re allowed to like it. Red is a beautiful color.”
Red gushed from Kelarre’s broken nose, and Fernie did not find it beautiful. Not at all. His stomach churned, and he wanted to yell—not at Kelarre, or any of these Chisanta who hated him. No, it was Quade who deserved his rage.
I don’t like the sight of blood!
Fernie watched Kelarre right himself, shuffle forward, and take a swing. His hands remained dangling at his sides. The blow connected with his cheekbone, and pain sparked from the point of contact like cracks running along the shell of an egg. His head wrenched left, and he reeled.
The second strike, too, he saw coming. And it, too, he accepted without defense. This one split his lip, and he tasted copper. People were shouting; there was a tinny echo in his ears.
I don’t like blood. I don’t like causing people pain.
The third blow sent his brains sloshing inside his skull. His head felt soft and bruised as old fruit. But he didn’t care. He was determined not to fight back—and it had nothing to do with Kelarre himself, who deserved a sound beating if all things were fair. No, this defiance was for Quade. For Fernie’s black-spirited bevolder, wherever he might be.
Because I’m not like you.
Fernie wavered on the spot, his balance lost to him. It was terribly loud. Kelarre swiped blood from his mouth and grinned. Then pounded Fernie in the ribs.
I’m nothing like you.
“The lad’s had enough,” someone shouted.
Fernie wasn’t sure if he was spinning, or if it was the night that turned. Ko-Jin would give him an earful in the morning.
“Fernie, are you alright?” someone asked.
He blinked, searching for the voice attached to the hand on his shoulder. He tried to breathe through his nose, but failed. So he exhaled hard, and blood sprayed from his nostrils. Onto a shirt.
Fernie’s eyes traveled up from the red-splattered shirt to the girl’s face. Clea. She was so pretty. Really, almost as pretty as Chae-Na. Which was no small thing.
“Got blood on your shirt,” he mumbled.
“Yes, you did,” she said.
He couldn’t tell if she was put out or not. There was a darkness leaking into his vision. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice slurred. “You draw the eye no matter what you wear.”
And then everything lurched sideways, and he slid into oblivion.
Queen Chae-Na studied the map of Accord, brow furrowed in concentration. “Yes,” she said at length. “Yes, I think you must be right.”
“Thought you’d agree,” Mae said in her rough accent. She leaned down to rifle through her satchel—no easy feat, given the enormous swell of her belly. “Here’s Arlow’s latest rations report.”
Chae-Na accepted the sheaf of paper and scanned the right-hand column. “Looks like we shan’t starve this week.”
“Nor the next,” Mae said. “Harvest’s been good.”
Chae-Na heard the man behind her stir, a slight shifting of his weight on the floor, and caught his scent in the air as he moved closer. She told herself that she was not hyper-aware of his presence, of his every movement, his every breath. No, she was merely attuned to her surroundings. As he had taught her to be. It would not be appropriate for her to pay him any exceptional attention. It had never been appropriate, but now…
“He’s not thinking we’ll survive the winter, though,” Mae said. “Not all of us, at any rate.”
This was not new information, but it struck her full in the chest every time. She could feel the clock ticking down: two and a half months, perhaps three, and then the frost would set in. Chae-Na met Mae’s steady gaze, and found some small comfort in seeing her own fears reflected back at her. Burdens were less crushing when shared.
The Pauper’s Queen was not a classically beautiful woman, but there was something appealing about her face, nonetheless. She was confident, warm, direct. An excellent partner. Her wide brown eyes moved beyond Chae-Na, to the Chisanta at her back.
“Bray making any progress?” she asked him. “We just kill the bastard, and all this’s moot.”
“No.” Ko-Jin’s voice sent a shiver of feeling across Chae-Na’s skin. “Last attempt, two Chisanta died. She’s getting reckless.”
“Can’t blame her.” Mae’s tone carried a bite of frustration. Her features hardened, and her mouth puckered as if she’d like to spit. Fortunately, she refrained.
That fateful day, Quade Asher had killed two kings. But it was the loss of an elder brother that left these two women bleeding, so many long months later.
Mae shook herself, placing a hand on her womb. A smile tugged at her lips. “He’s movin’ again.”
“What does it feel like?”
Mae grabbed Chae-Na’s hand and pressed their joined palms to her belly. “Mostly like someone’s two-steppin’ on my bladder.”
Something within Mae jerked, like a fish thrashing beneath water. Chae-Na jumped, and Mae laughed at her reaction. “Bettin’ you’ll know the feeling yourself soon enough,” she said with a wink.
Chae-Na heard a telling shift behind her, and her cheeks warmed. She straightened her spine. “Will you stay for tea?”
“Can’t,” Mae said, hauling herself to her feet. She looked round enough to pop. “Arlow’ll be waitin’ on me.”
A roiling sense of dread, of impending awkwardness, made Chae-Na wish she could reach out and detain the woman. She bit down on her tongue to hold back a second plea for company.
Mae waddled to the exit, but turned back at the doorway. “Have a good night, Ko-Jin,” she said with a hearty wave. And then to Chae-Na, “Send my best to your husband.”
That word—husband—hung in the air even after the door had shut, leaving the two of them alone. The discomfort was thick enough that she could swim through it. It was impossible to look at him. “I thought perhaps you might like an evening off,” she said to the rug.
“That isn’t necessary.”
She worried her lip, heart pulsing like a dying thing in her chest. “I insist, General.” She made herself face him, schooling her features. “And in future, I should like a different Chisanta for my protection in the evenings. You have an entire siege to manage; guard duty should be delegated.”
She watched a muscle flicker in his jaw. “You’
ll feel safe with another?”
Ever since Quade abducted her, Ko-Jin had remained close. He’d taken to sleeping in her antechamber. In those early nights, she would lay awake and think of him just on the other side of the door. But now…
She had been married for an entire month, and her husband had been more than patient, more than understanding. But it was time. She had needed this political alliance, and it would not be sealed until consummated. And she simply could not do what must be done, not with Ko-Jin nearby.
“I trust your judgement,” she said.
“Very well. I’ll inform Britt.”
He was so stiff now, so formal. How many more weeks would it take, before her heart stopped breaking?
“Thank you. That will be all.”
His jaw set at this dismissal, and for a moment she thought he might say something more. There was so much feeling churning in his dark eyes. But he only bowed. “Good night, Your Majesty.”
When he was gone, she pressed her hands to her face and waited for her pulse to slow. His absence was almost as tangible as his presence. But she needed to stop thinking of him. Her path was set; there was nothing left but to walk it.
Chae-Na waited until Ko-Jin’s replacement arrived. She had hoped that Britt would delegate this task to someone else, but the stern-faced woman appeared herself. They exchanged a brief nod, and then the queen set off to her bedchambers with a Cosanta shadow in tow.
The hallways had grown dim, but by her order the candles were not yet lit. Everything had to be rationed during a siege, even light to see by. It little mattered. She knew these halls like she knew her own heartbeat.
Chae-Na’s eyes lingered on the door of her old, familiar bedroom as she passed. It still felt wrong, to be sleeping in her father’s chambers. But it had been important for appearance’s sake that she relocate. She was the ruler of Trinitas, and so she must inhabit a ruler’s rooms and wear a ruler’s clothes and marry a ruler’s consort.
In truth, these obligations did not weigh so heavy as they once had. Before she became queen, she’d borne the responsibilities of a monarch without a monarch’s power. Now at least she could effect change.
“I will be visiting my husband’s chambers tonight,” she said to Britt. “So, you may wish to guard his antechamber rather than mine.”
“Very well,” the woman said, sounding unduly surly. What do you have to be so irked about?
Chae-Na pressed the door shut behind her and exhaled mightily, but it did not help. She straightened when her lady’s maid, Leaya, appeared from around the changing screen.
Leaya undressed her and unbound her hair with efficient hands, all while refraining from unnecessary chatter. Thank the Spirits.
“Will you be needing anything else, Your Majesty?” the maid asked.
“No, thank you. Goodnight, Leaya.”
The queen sat down at her dressing table. She brushed her hair, though it was already smooth, and stared into her too-large eyes in the vanity mirror.
You can do this, she told her reflection. You must. It won’t be at all like…
Quade’s visage flashed in her mind, and her breath caught in her lungs. Stop. Relax. She began to brush her hair again with assumed calm.
It wouldn’t be like that. Because this was her choice, and she was in control of her own decisions. In the pivotal weeks after that ruinous story had been printed, she might have let her queenship be wrenched from her grasp. She could have given up her throne. If she had, she would now be free to appease the desires of her heart. A former monarch might marry whomever she liked.
But she had chosen. She had kept her crown. And she did not regret it. Life was a series of hard decisions. To lament that one could not have everything would be childish, and ultimately futile.
Her husband’s chambers were connected to hers by a door. She heard him enter his bedchamber, the creak of the floorboards as he moved through his room. Light suddenly spilled through the crack beneath the door.
Chae-Na set her brush down. She swallowed against a dry throat.
It will not be the same, she thought. Because my husband is a good man.
And he loved her.
She had come to realize this only slowly, over time. It had come as a surprise. He always kept his emotions so close to the chest, she’d assumed there were no strong feelings between them. But she had caught glimpses through the chinks in his façade. He loved her—perhaps he always had. And she liked him. It was more than many couples had at the start of a marriage.
Chae-Na rose, palms sweating, and knocked on the door.
“Come in,” he said.
Her heart palpitated against her breastbone as she stepped into his bedchamber. And then it stopped dead at the sight of him.
“Good evening,” she said, her voice high and weak.
Veldon Gorberry stood in the center of the room, in shirt and waistcoat, his hands in his pockets. He smiled—a quick flash of teeth, white against his tightly trimmed beard. It was a rare occurrence, his smiles. She drank in the sight, noting how it warmed his icy countenance. “Please, take a seat,” he said in his rasping voice.
She lowered into a chair near the empty hearth, and twined her hands in her lap so he wouldn’t see how they trembled.
“How was your day?” she asked.
He had his back to her, pouring them a drink of some kind. “Productive. I met with the Ladies Philanthropic Organization and convinced the lot to donate their stables and horses to the military.”
“That’ll be a boon. Well done.”
“Thank you.”
He handed her a glass. She thought it might be sherry, but she knocked it back too quickly to be certain. It burned down her throat, and she coughed.
“No need for that,” he said, now frowning. “There isn’t any rush.”
He was giving her an out, and she was grateful to him for it. They might simply share a drink, and then she could slip back into her own chamber for the night. It was a tempting offer. How easy, how simple, to just go to sleep.
But no. This would not grow easier for waiting.
Over lunch last week, Mae had asked, in her blunt and unmannered way, how Chae-Na’s marital relations were faring. Though she hadn’t answered, the Pauper’s Queen had deduced the truth for herself. She’d offered some unsolicited advice: “If you’re havin’ a hard time initiating things, try askin’ for a neck massage. It’s a non-threatening way to start touching, and it’s easier to move forward once the touching’s started.” Chae-Na hoped it was sound counsel, as she had little else to go on.
“Actually,” she said, as she undid the top laces on her dressing gown and let it slide down her shoulders, “I was hoping you could help me. My neck is terribly sore.”
He appeared momentarily taken aback. He cleared his throat. “It would be my pleasure.”
Veldon stepped around the settee and lowered himself to perch behind her. He carefully gathered her hair and pulled it over one shoulder. She turned her head to peek at him, and found his cheeks rosy and his lips parted. His fingertips grazed like a whisper up her shoulder blades. She shivered.
He kneaded at the tight muscles in her neck with fingers that were pure magic. She forgot instantly that this had been a pretext. Her head dipped forward, and without noticing, she began to relax.
“Do you remember when I fell from that tree?” she asked dreamily. How old had she been, then? Seven, perhaps.
“How could I forget?” he asked, his rumbling voice close to her ear. “I thought you had died. I was terrified.”
She smiled. “You seemed more angry than afraid.”
He pressed a light kiss to her neck. “I have never had a talent for expressing my feelings.”
Chae-Na remembered how safe she had felt then, when he had scooped her up into his arms and carried her off to the doctor. That was still how he made her feel: safe. Given recent events in her life, that was no small thing.
She stood, and he followed her lead. He was only
slightly taller, so she could look into his eyes—those blues which were normally icy, but now held a certain anxious excitement.
She kissed him. He carried her to the bed.
Chae-Na was glad for his beard, for the prickling hairs against her palms. Even with her eyes closed, she could not imagine this face belonging to another man.
And his hands really were magic. Everywhere he touched, her skin came alive.
Veldon was true to his word—his promise that they need not rush. He took each step forward slowly, tentatively, searching her face for permission. He wanted to give her the opportunity to stop at any point, but Chae-Na did not wish to stop.
She wasn’t thinking about painful pasts or dashed desires. She wasn’t thinking at all, really, just experiencing the physical sensations of the moment. That mental silence was almost as exquisite as his touch.
This Chae-Na whose mind was quiet, whose fears were silenced—she was a bold creature. She took control. It seemed important that it be her choice, her action that sealed their marriage. This was not something being done to her, but something done by her.
Veldon appeared startled by this shift in power, but not displeased. His eyes were full of awe. Her every touch, her every movement, seemed to undo him. It was a curious kind of power to hold over such a man. Not that it was one sided; she was undone as well.
Later, when they lay side by side, she found herself unexpectedly exhilarated by the entire experience. It felt as if she’d taken something back from the universe.
Exhaustion fell upon her like a heavy blanket, and she settled into his arms.
Chae-Na was nearly out cold, but she felt Veldon tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “I know you don’t love me yet,” he said, his voice even huskier than usual. Clearly he thought her asleep, so she pretended not to hear. “That’s alright. For now, I’ve enough love for the both of us.”
The Complete Marked Series Box Set Page 119
