I shudder as I always have at the words, and on cue Merek removes a silver coin from his purse and offers it to my mother. She takes it, tucking it away inside the folds of her gown, before bowing to Merek and turning to leave.
“Will you not greet your daughter?” His voice startles me, echoing painfully off the marble walls of the crypt.
My mother turns to me, looking me up and down slowly. “She’s no daughter of mine, Your Majesty. Your mother saw to that the day she took her. What is it they call her now? ‘Daunen Embodied’?” A faint smirk plays at my mother’s lips.
“Where’s Maryl?” I blurt out.
My mother appraises me, as if she can see my sins, the mark of Lief’s hands on me, then purses her lips. “She’s dead. She took ill with fever and passed over.” There’s no sadness in her eyes as she tells me.
“When was this?”
“Two harvests ago,” she says, turning to Merek. “If that’s all, Your Majesty?”
I know I haven’t imagined the sneer in her voice when Merek grips my hand tightly. “Go,” he says, and she does.
Two harvests ago. Maryl has been dead for two years. And no one has told me.
As soon as my mother is gone, I turn on Merek.
“Did you know?” I demand.
“No, of course not,” he says. “I’ve been away on progress, Twylla, you know that.”
“But your mother did, didn’t she?” I hiss.
He looks at me and nods slowly. “She must have done. Please, Twylla,” he says as I open my mouth. “Not today. I’ve lost the only father I can remember, and we cannot do anything to anger her now. We’re so close, my dear. We’ll have time enough to punish her for all her sins.” He takes my hand tentatively and squeezes it, before dropping it and walking away.
I stare at him, floored by his callousness. How can he be so dismissive of my loss, especially in the face of his own? I try and recall my sister’s face and realize I can’t; she is so long lost to me. For half of the time I’ve been here, she has been dead. I have slaved and obeyed and resigned myself to all manner of things because I thought I was making her life better, and she was not alive to feel the benefit of it. No one told me. No one thought I would care to know.
But of course they didn’t, because when have I ever made it clear that I care?
I never truly fought for her. I could have fought harder to see her, asked Merek, asked the king. How many times have I asked how she is, asked anyone to find out, bribed or threatened someone to do it? I managed to use my reputation to secure extra helpings of cakes but not to find out how my little sister was. I have never tried to send word to her. I have sat and felt sorry for myself and pined over her loss, but I’ve never done a single thing about it.
I wanted so much to leave my mother’s house, to not be the Sin Eater. I walked away knowing my seven-year-old sister would have to pick up that mantle as I lived in a castle. I sentenced her to all of the horror I’d hated, and I’d told myself it was all right because I was at least ensuring money was sent home for her. I lied to myself and pretended my actions were for the greater good, and all the while I lamented the loss of her and drowned in self-pity. Even today, I forgot to expect to see her until the last.
I sacrificed my sister for a chance to be a princess. I was greedy, and I was selfish, and I hid it behind a mask of pious duty and resignation to the job I had to do. A job I chose over her.
I am more my mother’s child—I am more the queen’s child—than I ever knew before now.
And for the first time, I find myself feeling something more than merely resigned to marrying Merek. I deserve this. I deserve to have to stay here and see it through. That is my destiny. Finally I understand. It’s time I stopped wishing for what I cannot have and do what I’m here for. I’ll marry Merek and become the queen. It is no less than I deserve.
* * *
As the king’s body is burned, Merek drinks, the queen sits and makes endless lists and notations in a leather-bound book, and I stare at her, itching to scream at her, to strike her. She must have been laughing herself sick watching me mope around, with my long face and my limpid eyes, melting into the shadows like a ghost and hiding behind the skirts of the Gods, longing for something that didn’t exist. She knew me for the coward I was. She encouraged it. And for this I hate her more than ever.
So I imagine her face as Merek places the crown on my head. Her crown. My sister is dead and Lief is gone. She has taken everything from me, and now I will do the same to her. I will take the one thing she values, and she will know what it is to suffer.
When the bell tolls to say the cremation is complete, the queen shrugs as if shaking off a heavy cloak before she rises and pours herself some wine. She drinks it slowly and then stands.
“I have some writs I must send,” she says, looking at Merek. “You will have to add your seal to them, alongside my own. I’ve demanded the arrest of every Tregellian in the land.”
I’m so shocked that I lurch forward, and Merek looks up from his wineglass. Lief. But no, he left last night. He’ll be across the border now, far from her reach.
“I will root out the murderer and avenge the king,” the queen continues, apparently not noticing my horror. “Twylla, I’m afraid this means you’ll have work to do in the near future.”
I look at the queen, confused, until I realize she means work as Daunen. Merek hasn’t told her I know that the Morningsbane is false. She wants me to touch men she’s already poisoned, innocent men. “I’d be happy to punish the person who killed the king,” I say coldly. “I will take great pleasure in it.”
The queen looks at me curiously before nodding. “I’m only sorry it took the death of my husband to make you see how valued you are,” she says, and I don’t know whether it’s paranoia or some sixth sense that makes me hear the threat in her words. “Excuse me, both of you. I have much to arrange.” She rises and steps toward the door before turning. “Your guard, Twylla. He is Tregellian, is he not? Where is he now?”
Merek answers for me. “He had to return to his home. I will make sure Twylla is safe. Given we have a poisoner on the loose, I trust no one but myself to do it.”
“He left? How odd,” the queen says. “How odd the only Tregellian in the castle would leave so soon after the king dies.” She leaves without another backward glance, and my jaw aches from the effort I put into not screaming at her as she goes. Once again I silently thank whoever is listening that Lief is long gone.
“I’m grateful,” Merek says, turning to look at me with his head tilted.
“For?”
“Doing as I asked. I know what it must have cost you.”
“As you said, there will be time.”
“After tonight, we have a lifetime.” He smiles.
Though I’ve eaten nothing, I feel my stomach lurch. “I might rest for a while,” I say carefully. “Last night was long, and I need time to prepare for tonight.”
“You should,” he agrees. “I’ll walk you to your room. I think it’s best for now if you stay there, away from my mother. I’ve sent word to a priest I know from Haga. I’ll look for him by the Water Gate tonight. Then I’ll send word to you. We’re almost there, Twylla.”
He takes my hand in his and escorts me to the west tower, accepting the condolences of the few courtiers we see on the way, but otherwise saying nothing, occasionally squeezing my fingers gently.
He follows me into the room, checking beneath the bed and behind the curtains before he’s satisfied the queen isn’t hiding there with a knife.
“Bolt the door,” he reminds me as he leaves, and I do. But when his footsteps have faded I pull the bolt open. Let the queen come and attack me if she wishes; I’ll be ready for her. On my way back to my room I call into Dorin and Lief’s room. Dorin’s things are still on the chest beside his bed: a small tin soldier and a knife. I pick up the knife. Yes, let her come. I owe her for Maryl. And myself.
* * *
But all my courage le
aves me when I enter my room and a hand claps over my mouth. My assailant drags me inside and slams the door behind me, and I swing wildly with the knife, screaming into the palm that tries to silence me. Then the hands release me and there, before me, is my lost guard, his eyes burning, chewing his lips as he watches me. I drop the knife to the floor, every single noble thought of accepting my fate flying out of my head.
We stare at each other, both warily trying to read the other’s intentions.
Then in a crash of bodies we meet, not knowing who moved first, who pulled whose face to theirs, only aware of the need inside us both, of the rightness of our being together, even as the king’s soul goes to wherever souls go, the Eternal Kingdom or nowhere at all.
Afterward we lie together on the floor of my room, curled on the red rug below my bed. His fingers glide over the freckles on my shoulder, as if he were mapping the skies on my body, joining them in swirling lines and shapes. I watch him as he concentrates on his task, the curve of his cheek as he makes a shape that pleases him, a slight frown when he cannot find a way to join them together the way he wants. Neither of us has spoken yet, not with words, at least. I keep trying to find a way to tell him he must go, because if the queen catches him here, he’ll be taken down to that hellish room beneath the castle where the guards will use their knives on him. But if I say it, he might obey and I can’t go through that again.
He looks at me, leaning forward to kiss me before he sits up.
“We need to decide what we’re going to do,” he says. “I can’t leave you, that much is clear, and I can’t keep from you if I stay, which means you’ll be cuckolding the king.”
“You have to leave,” I say quietly, finally finding my voice. “The queen is telling everyone a Tregellian poisoned the king. If you stay, you’ll be arrested and they’ll question you.”
“Then come with me. Take your life into your own hands and come with me. I thought that was what you wanted.” His mouth twists as he tries to find the words he needs. “I cannot stay here, regardless of what madness the queen is spouting. I cannot stay and watch you become another man’s wife. Yes, he will be wounded, and yes, they will come after us.” He talks rapidly. “But surely it’s worth it, for the chance to be together? I believe in us; I believe I am supposed to be with you and you with me. I would rather die than live without you. And if you don’t feel the same, if—” He gently places a finger against my lips as I try to interrupt. “If you don’t feel the same, I will understand and I will go. I’ll never bother you again. But think, please. Can you stay here with him when I’ll be taking your heart away with me?”
I try to duck my head away from his gaze but he doesn’t allow it, tilting my chin upward so I have to meet his eyes.
“It’s time for you to make a choice,” he says softly. “No more doing what he wants, or what I want, or what the queen wants. You have to choose what you want. Either him or me. Whatever you decide, I won’t fight you. I won’t make you feel guilty for the decision. I promise. Your choice … as long as it’s me.” His smile is heartbreaking, tender and hopeful and scared.
“I knew it.” The hard voice of the queen rips us apart. She is framed by the doorway, her face pale save for two bloodred spots staining her cheeks.
Lief scrambles to cover my body with his own to spare me the shame of being seen by the guards who stand behind her, their swords drawn and pointed at us, held in gloved hands. I can do nothing except lie beneath him, naked and frozen. No. This cannot be.
The queen glowers at us, both rage and triumph illuminating her face. “Get up. Cover yourselves,” she orders.
“At least give us the privacy to clad ourselves,” Lief says, his arm extended as if it alone could ward them away.
“What right do you have to ask me for consideration?” the queen says. “You poison my husband and then sleep with my son’s betrothed, and you ask me for goodwill?”
“I didn’t kill—” Lief begins, but the queen raises her voice, drowning him out.
“We have all seen your shame; no amount of cloth will disguise the crimes you have committed here. You are both under arrest for treason, for conspiring against the throne of Lormere. Either dress quickly, or be taken as you are.”
Lief opens his mouth to protest, but as he does the guards move forward and I whimper, terrified the queen will drag me through the castle naked. Lief turns his attention to me, but I cannot move, and he turns his back on them to lift me, still mindful to shield me as much as he can. My hands shake and he has to put my gown on me, dressing me as though he were my maid. Over his shoulder I notice the guards have all looked away. But the queen watches it all, a smile playing at her lips as she revels in my humiliation.
“I love you,” he whispers as he pulls the ties on my dress together.
When I am covered, Lief dresses himself, turning defiantly toward the queen as he does. He moves slowly, deliberately, pulling his garments on in the reverse of a seduction. As he bends to reach for his sword belt, she makes a gesture and two of the guards move forward. Before either of us can cry out, one has clubbed Lief on the back of the neck with the hilt of his sword, and I watch in horror as he falls to the floor. As soon as he is down, two of them begin to kick him, bringing their boots back and swinging them into his ribs and spine.
“No, stop!” I find my voice and my feet and fly toward them, but it is the queen who grabs me by the arms and forces me to watch as the guards beat Lief in front of me. Each grunt makes me scream and writhe, but she holds me with a strength that surprises me. One of the guards grins at me from the doorway and I bare my teeth at him, still struggling in the queen’s grip.
“Enough,” she says in a bored tone when Lief has stopped moaning and grunting, finally unconscious. “Take the murderer away.” They seize Lief by his arms and drag him from the room.
“Wait outside,” she says to the two remaining guards, who bow and withdraw, closing the door behind them. When we are alone she flings me from her and I stumble, landing in a pool of blood. Panting, I look at her, filling my gaze with as much hatred as I can muster. She stands and assesses me, her eyes sweeping up and down my form.
“How stupid you are,” she says finally. “To have the chance to marry a prince and to throw it away for a farmer’s boy. For the best, though. You’d make a terrible queen; you make such poor choices.”
“I’ve never had a choice about anything,” I spit at her.
“You are a fool, Twylla. You’ve always had choices,” she seethes. “You chose to come here, to give up your home and family. You chose to befriend the son of a servant and make him and yourself a liability to my rule. And you chose to lie with your guard, the man who killed my husband. Did you aid him? Did he teach you his Tregellian ways? Is that how you are able to touch him without killing him?”
“He didn’t! It was you, I know it was you. And I know about Daunen, I know about the Mornings—” My cries are cut off as she backhands me across the face, making my ears ring.
“How much more treason do you plan to commit today?” she hisses at me, glancing toward the door, and I realize she’s putting on a show for the guards who must be able to hear us, trying to keep her story alive to the last.
“You—” I begin, but she raises a hand to silence me.
“There will be a trial,” she continues. “In front of the whole court, I will see you confront what you have done and what you have said. You have broken the kingdom’s faith in you. You will die for your crimes, and your sins will not be Eaten. And that still won’t be punishment enough for opening your legs to another man while my son planned to wed you. While my son loved you.”
My anger ebbs at those words and I have to look away; the fire in her eyes is too much to bear, her judgment washing over me and damning me.
“I had hoped, for a time, that you would be good enough for both of my sons,” she says, her head to one side as she watches me. “I have two sons, you see,” she continues. “My son by birth and my son by
inheritance, for Lormere is as much my child as Merek is. I have nurtured this land as I have cosseted my son, and you have failed them both. It is your fault it has come to this. And one day Merek will see that. Guards!” she calls, but it is Merek who opens the door and dread fills every part of me.
“What is the meaning of this?” He glares at his mother, his eyes darting to me, concern clouding his expression before he turns back to his mother.
“Ask her.” The queen thrusts me forward and I collapse at Merek’s feet.
“Twylla?” he says softly.
“Tell him!” the queen cries. “Confess what you have done.”
I cannot bear to tell the man who stands over me what I have done to him, had planned to do.
“Mother, enough. I command you to explain this.”
“She”—the queen’s raised finger is a malediction—“was with her guard. In here. On the day we said good-bye to your stepfather. I found them naked here. She has betrayed you.”
I look at Merek, witnessing the anger on his face give way to anguish.
“No, it’s not true. Twylla, it isn’t true, is it? You wouldn’t do that, not after all we said? All I told you?”
“I’m sorry” is all I can say. It is enough.
He covers his face with his hands, a gesture of defeat that damns me. “I knew,” he says. “Of course I knew he had feelings for you. A blind man could have seen it. But you—I thought you understood. Gods, I am a fool! I thought you were with me.”
“Merek, please—” My plea is cut off by the queen, flying at me with her hand raised again. The second slap echoes across the room and I reel from the force of it, my own hand rising to clasp my cheek, the skin burning under my palm.
“Don’t you dare address my son by his name, you little slut,” she hisses at me. “You dare take your lover in my castle and then beg my son for his aid?”
Merek places a hand on his mother’s arm, restraining her. He looks at me coldly, his face returning to the same inscrutable plane it was when he first came back to Lormere.
The Sin Eater's Daughter Page 22
