by Unknown
I looked at Dieter and the Somner drightens as they disappeared through the doors.
‘I was going to see if I could find the boy,’ I whispered. ‘While Dieter’s occupied.’
‘Let me worry about him,’ she said, taking my elbow.
Relenting, I let her lead me across the courtyard, although my cheeks burned at the thought of what the Somners might have to say about the barbarian princess slaving over her new master’s meals.
The kitchen was already in a roar of activity when I stepped inside. Leise was in the thick of it, naturally. Catching sight of me, she planted her fists on her hips.
‘Come in, then, if you’re coming. If not, stop blocking the doorway. I’ve food and staff need to go through it.’
I spun round, an apology on my lips. There was no one behind me. And Roshi had disappeared.
Leise let out a howl of laughter. Scowling, I moved into the wash of noise and the aroma of roasting meat.
‘So you’re back to helping, are you?’ said Leise, shoving an enormous pumpkin towards me. ‘Bored with your muckity life and come to slum it again? Well then, you can scoop out seeds for me.’
‘Perhaps I missed your soothing company,’ I said, digging my hands into the sloppy orange interior, where great clumps of seeds and fibrous flesh met my questing fingers.
That earned me a laugh, and a slap on the shoulder. ‘Good for you, girl. De-seed a dozen more pumpkins in that mood, and you might yet grow a spine. Maybe, if you’re lucky, it’ll stick around after the mood lifts.’
‘If I am in a mood, as you call it, maybe it’s because I have to spend my days with your dishonesty. I supped on your mother’s cooking, at Thane Janek’s holding. There was no raid on your village, was there? The Skythes didn’t kill everyone you know – they probably haven’t killed anyone you know. I’ll wager my mother was the only Skythe you’d ever sighted before this year.’
‘So I can’t stand whining,’ she shrugged. ‘What if it didn’t happen to me? It happened to someone. And they’re not able to whine about it. You, on the other hand, are still flapping on over it.’
Seeds and sticky orange strands oozed between my clenched fingers as I drew my hand forth. It would be so satisfying to see it dripping off her broad nose.
Roshi’s solitary reappearance, threading through the bustle to my side, brought worry to distract me. Had she not found Renatas? Could she not find us any means of escape? Had she confided my plan to Dieter? The pumpkin slipped from my fingers and splattered on the floor, causing Leise to mutter and complain about the high and mighty messing up her kitchen. Roshi squatted to help me clean it up.
‘What’s the matter?’ I whispered.
‘Nothing,’ she replied, scraping the pumpkin seeds together. ‘Now hush. This is hardly the place.’
Standing back up, she took a pumpkin for herself, her refusal to look up making it clear she’d neither welcome nor answer any questions.
Her dexterity showed she was not unfamiliar with cooking – but she hadn’t worked in the kitchens since our return to the Turholm. Dark suspicion threaded shadows through my mind. Had she run to Dieter? Was she now keeping me under watch until he had time to deal with me?
When Amalia arrived to fetch me – scowling at the errand duty and angry at my dishevelled appearance and the delay fixing it would cause – Roshi elected to stay behind in the kitchens rather than accompany me. Perhaps she trusted Amalia to keep me under a watchful eye.
Amalia kept up a constant taunting chatter down the length of every corridor. ‘Were you planning on serving the meals as well? You look more fitted to it, covered in flour and pumpkin, or whatever it is you have smeared across your cheek. I certainly wouldn’t guess you to be the Duethin’s wife, if I were the Somners. In fact, they probably think he only keeps you around for the bed sport.’
‘Is this counted acceptable among the Marsachen?’ I rounded on her. ‘I’ve never known such loose proprieties as you and your brother display!’
Amalia choked on her laughter, her cheeks turning red and tears beading on her lashes. ‘For someone who has a problem with my social mores you certainly seemed ready to embrace them.’
‘Would you hurry?’ I said, giving her a withering look undermined by my blush. ‘We’re late enough as it is.’
She only laughed.
I wasn’t in time to enter the dining hall by Dieter’s side, but followed in his wake, the thralls bearing the meal sharp on my heels. The Somners’ quick eyes took note, of course.
Roshi slipped in among the thralls and stationed herself behind my right shoulder as the trenchers were distributed. The meal was a specialty of my tribe, a melange of beef strips and broad beans buried in a thick cheese sauce and spiced with paprika and onion. The thralls placed my meal and Dieter’s before us at the same moment, marking us as equal. By the light in Roshi’s watchful eye as the meals were set down, I knew I had my Skythe cousin to thank for the subtle ploy.
Before we could begin, Helma planted the point of her knife in the table and spun it under her thumb. ‘We have brought you a gift, my lord of Raban. I think perhaps now is as good a time as any to present it,’ she said.
A gift, presented now, meant only one thing: Houses Somner approved of Dieter’s coup. They never did like the idea of a Duethin with Skythe blood, murmured Grandmother.
The doors at the far end of the hall swung open and numerous thralls shuffled into the room. Their steps hobbled by hemp rope knotting them one to another, they made their way towards our table in silence. Each and every one bore the dark complexion and tribal tattoos of Skythes. Captives of legitimate warring or illegitimate raiding, the meaning of Helma’s gift was clear enough. A half-dozen conquered barbarians highlighted the jewel of Dieter’s possessions: the barbarian princess.
Stillness gripped the room as Helma, spearing a strip of beef, kept her gaze fixed on me. I, in turn, looked straight ahead. I would not give her the satisfaction of seeing me duck my chin, or turn to Dieter to defend my honour.
‘A gracious gift,’ said Dieter, but despite his smooth tones, his hand clenched mine beneath the cover of the bench. Whether he meant to warn me or comfort me, I couldn’t tell, nor did I care. It was time to let the Somners know they did not outrank me.
‘Unbind them,’ I said, and Roshi sprang to obey, pulling a short blade from beneath her belt as she did so.
The thick ropes binding the captives hand and foot presented hard work for her small blade. As she cut their bonds, they stared up at me, mistrust plain in their eyes.
‘I do not know which tribes you once belonged to,’ I addressed them. ‘Nor does it matter. Willingly or not, you have stepped under a stone roof, and thus you have renounced your previous life. Those of you who choose to remain may do so, provided you set aside any tribal rivalries you may once have known, and swear fealty to me and mine. Those who choose to leave may do so without fear.’
They were silent at first but, as Roshi continued her work, their mistrust was slowly turning to wonder.
In contrast, the Somner drightens were now watching Dieter – waiting for his response, clearly hoping to see me disciplined.
Leaning over, I picked a broad bean from Dieter’s plate and popped it whole into my mouth. It tasted hot, gloriously hot, like swallowing sunshine. All three Somner drightens watched me eat that broad bean, their gazes flicking back to Dieter to gauge his reaction. I chewed and swallowed, willing him not to slap my hand and chastise me as if I were no more than a wayward child. The rich flavour lingered in my mouth.
Apparently my ploy amused him, for he let me have my way. He even pushed his plate a little nearer me. They had assumed I was no more than a captive, of little value and a safe target for their taunts. Dieter’s acceptance, both of my decision regarding the Skythes and of my impertinence, told them how wrong they were.
Helma’s smile had turned positively feral, but it was still there. Her cousin Rudiger showed less control, glowering at his food, while Evar
d kept his face blank.
Like as not the thralls had come from Rudiger’s halls; in the far northeast, the Treudhold and its vassal thanes routinely warred with Skythe tribes, whereas Evard’s people shared a smaller border with the steppes.
Aglow with satisfaction, I took another bean as Roshi started on the ropes of the last Skythe. Rudiger and Evard waited for Helma’s response, by which I guessed the gift had been her idea. Which meant the apology was hers, too.
‘I hope we haven’t caused offence,’ she said eventually, her tones smooth as honey. ‘We had heard your wife was in the habit of collecting Skythes,’ she continued, her gaze flicking to Roshi, ‘and thought to add a few prize specimens to her collection.’
This time Dieter’s grip was definitely a warning.
‘We aren’t offended, good lady of Somner,’ he assured her.
The bean turned bitter in my throat as I listened to him making peace, accepting Helma’s false apology at face value. He needed them, I reminded myself. I was lucky he’d let me presume so far.
As Dieter gestured for the thralls’ removal, and I watched them leave in silence, Roshi slipped past me to take her place behind my shoulder once again, sheathing her blade behind her belt.
Absently, I reached for another bean.
Roshi changed direction mid-step, colliding with a thrall who was moving to fill Dieter’s cup. Knocked off her feet, Roshi lunged at me, meals scattering around her, crockery clattering on the wooden bench. Dieter reared back in his chair to avoid the Skythe girl landing in his lap.
‘Ravens above!’ I cried, shoving my seat back from the table, then picking the remains of Dieter’s meal from my lap. The gleam of Helma’s smile showed the pleasure she took from the situation, making my blood run hot.
Roshi wouldn’t meet my eyes as she climbed to her feet, but she didn’t apologise.
I stood, food raining onto the floor, and excused myself.
Dieter looked at Amalia, who had not moved. ‘Attend your mistress,’ he commanded.
Hot colour stained her cheeks, and she didn’t speak once the whole way back to our rooms. Once inside, she flung herself on a couch and stared moodily into the hearth.
I didn’t have time for her tantrums. Covered in slop, I felt like throwing one of my own. Anger left a sharp pain in my stomach.
Peeling off my dirtied gown, I threw the wadded fabric into a corner. The gown fell in a crumpled heap, yards short.
Abruptly, a slick of heat crept over my skin, even down to my palms and the soles of my feet. Suspicion crept up on me like a pale, sickly creature. Clad only in my thin shift, already soaking with sweat, I stared at my trembling hands. The pain in my stomach was hardening into a blade.
‘Amalia,’ I said, but my voice was too quiet and she didn’t hear.
The shaking radiated up from my pale fingers until it took my shoulders, and finally seized me entirely. ‘Mali,’ I cried.
At the thump of my knees on the floor, she slewed around. One look at me, crouching tighter and tighter around my belly, and she ran to my side.
‘What do you see?’ she demanded. ‘Tell me!’
Oh, ravens devour her – the girl thought I was taken by a vision! I shook my head, gathered the energy to speak. ‘Sick.’
‘Diet told me about your fits,’ she said disdainfully. ‘And he told me to find out exactly what you see.’
I clamped my arms around my pain-staked stomach, groaning. Heat coursed through me in mounting waves and numbness stole across my fingertips. My lips felt rubbery.
Memories rushed through me as swift as the mounting pain and heat. The sharp, hot taste of the bean I ate off Dieter’s plate. Helma’s hateful smile. The soft scrape as Dieter edged his plate nearer me.
For the first time since the Aestival feast, our meals had been served individually.
‘Matilde?’ Amalia touched my shoulder, then my forehead. She thumbed back my eyelid. ‘What could take you so quickly?’
Shoving her hand from my face, I stuck my fingers down my throat. My stomach heaved, vomit burning my throat as it flooded out of me, splattering the floor.
‘Again,’ said Amalia, suddenly understanding. ‘As often as you can stand it.’
On hands and knees and staring into my own vomit, I couldn’t summon the strength. My elbows trembled, threatening to give way at any moment. Sweat slicked me from brow to ankle, trickling now across my nape.
‘Again,’ she commanded.
When I didn’t move she did it for me, prying open my mouth and thrusting her hand in until my jaws creaked with the strain. Vomit streamed out of me again, hot and burning, leaving a terrible taste of bile in its wake.
Amalia slipped an arm around my back, a hand under my elbow, and prodded me to rise.
I tried, but dizziness overcame me and my hands slipped in the mess.
She hauled at my arm, trying to pull me upright by sheer force of will, but she couldn’t lift me; my body was a slack weight now.
‘I’ll be right back,’ she said, standing and departing the room.
I lay where she left me, grateful the heat had lessened. The pain still spiked through my veins, however, and the room spun in and out of focus.
Eventually Amalia’s footsteps returned, a second pair in counterpoint. ‘Here,’ Amalia said. ‘Help me lift her.’
Hands hefted me by foot and shoulder. I fought my eyes open, catching a bleary glimpse of the bed drawing close.
Voices cussed and shouted in the distance, but the mattress was taking me, the room was black and I was screaming, screams no one could hear.
TWENTY-ONE
I LIVED IN a ceaseless nightmare, wracked by fever, even the slightest touch lancing me with pain. Light blinded me, voices haunted me and a constant knot of agony in my gut nailed me in place.
I had nothing to gauge the passage of time except the occasional touch of the faceless, hovering overhead, and the frequency with which they poured their dark, choking brew down my throat. It was as if I was drowning in the mattress, pulled down and under, all my cries going unregarded.
But I didn’t drown, and eventually, little by little, I began to swim back to the surface. Gradually, the moments when calm granted me rest grew more frequent, lasting longer each time. The voices haunting me quieted a notch further, until I realised it was my own cries that had ceased.
Eventually I opened my eyes to find not a faceless creature with hands of lead, but Roshi. She was sitting on the bed’s edge at my feet, propped against a bedpost, dozing. Her features were drawn and dark shadows rimmed her eyes.
The suite was silent, though distant sounds from the Turholm drifted in: the snuffling of the pigs as they hunted in the gardens outside my window, a clatter of hooves, footsteps in a nearby corridor. For a moment I lay still, relishing the pleasure of having my mind returned to me, though new physical discomforts crept over me, too. My back ached, stiff with lying down so long.
Before long dark memories, the scrape of the plate across the bench, prowled at the edge of my thoughts.
When I stretched, Roshi jerked awake, her gaze flying to me.
‘You look dreadful,’ I said.
She smiled, relieved. ‘You look worse.’
‘I feel worse,’ I said, shifting as a sharp pain ratcheted down the muscles of my left side. The sheets bore the rank odour of sickness in their weave. My mouth was dry and raw, and the ache in my head made thought slow and difficult. ‘What’s happened? Since the dinner, I mean,’ I said, trying to push myself up.
‘Don’t sit up,’ said Roshi, holding the edge of a cup to my lips and gently tipping it. The water was icy, cleaning the horrid taste from my mouth.
‘Not too much,’ she said, pulling the cup back. ‘I doubt your stomach is strong enough. You’ve had enough salep poured through you to turn you into an orchid yourself, and that was the nicest part of your treatment. It was … unpleasant.’
Her talk of orchids made no sense to me, but I had no inclination to learn
the details of my treatment.
‘The leech fears permanent damage to your stomach,’ she added with a sorrowful look.
‘What poison was it?’ I asked.
‘There’s a pinkish flower which grows along the border of the little garden with the fish pond.’
‘The autumn saffrons?’ I’d always thought them purely decorative, planted to give colour to the garden when the spring and summer flowers wilted and dropped. I shook my head in an attempt to dispel a growing ache.
She shrugged, then gave me an angry frown. ‘Why did you eat off his plate? I’ve never seen you touch one of his dishes before.’
‘Believe me,’ I said, ‘I regret it more than you do.’
‘Yes,’ she said, dropping her gaze. ‘The crocus is thorough.’
I froze. Not the saffron, the crocus. And she’d said it was thorough.
‘You poisoned the food?’
‘Of course,’ said Roshi, her guileless eyes reminding me of how she had stepped forward, colliding with the thrall, disrupting the meal before I could take another bite.
‘I also went to a lot of trouble to get you in the kitchen and working on the meals,’ she went on, ‘then you went and ate his meal! Now no one assumes you were behind it. All my effort to keep your honour intact,’ she said with an angry shake of her head that set her braids and feathers to swinging, ‘and you undercut it.’
I gripped the bedcovers to steady my hands at this new revelation, a sharp pain in my fingertips reminding me of the damage the crocus had inflicted.
‘You meant for me to be blamed?’ I cried. ‘Why?’
‘If you want your throne back, you can’t afford people to think you will shy away from doing what’s necessary,’ she said.
‘I asked you to get me out of the palace, not kill him!’ I snapped, appalled.
‘What did you want but your freedom, and eventually your throne? Running won’t achieve either.’
The truth of her words brought on a fit of trembling. I should want Dieter dead, I needed him dead to end this – so why did I shy so fiercely from it?
‘You need to rest,’ said Roshi.
