by Jill Myles
She’d sent her closest friend at Vidara Castle to be murdered by her people.
And her people had betrayed her. Used her, because they knew she would never condemn them to death.
So, no, she didn’t feel like getting out of bed. She pulled the covers over her head once more, let the hot tears fall, and went back to a restless, unhappy sleep.
* * *
Seri awoke in the middle of the daylight hours as Idalla shook her shoulder. “Someone is here to see you, Princesse.”
Seri sat up in bed, confused. “Graeme?”
A look of pity crossed Idalla’s face. “No, my lady. His sister, the lady Melene, is here.”
Seri slid out of the bed and allowed Idalla to cover her with a silken dressing gown. “Melene?”
Melene entered the room, striding confidently across the tile floor and heading to the window, throwing it open and revealing the blazing afternoon sun.
Seri squinted and shielded her eyes, the light piercing after so many days of darkness. “I thought your kind didn’t like the sunlight.”
Melene tied the draperies back and admired the scene outside the castle, sighing. “I don’t have a drop of the Blood in me, remember?” She looked over at Seri, cautiously. “And neither do you, as you see fit to remind all who will listen.”
Seri grimaced, her fingers fluttering to her forehead when a headache pressed on. Gods above, when had she become so frail? “You don’t approve of my actions.”
“Of letting murderers go free and then hiding in your room to avoid everyone? No. I don’t.”
“It is . . . complicated. You don’t understand.”
Melene swept over to her side, her yellow skirts fluttering. “Explain it to me, then. Make me understand why you would humiliate my brother and undermine his efforts. Tell me why I should not be angry at you.” Her voice carried no anger, only frustration. “You are married to him.”
“Not by choice,” Seri said sharply. She looked out the too-bright window, full of sudden longing. The world was much simpler in the daytime. No shadows, no mystery, nothing but blazing light. “Do you want to take a walk with me?” She couldn’t hide the wistful note in her voice.
“I will,” Melene agreed. “If you promise to share with me what has caused this terrible drama.”
Within a few minutes, Seri was dressed in a flowing tunic and leggings, and strolling with Melene through the courtyard. A pair of guards followed behind them, and Seri suspected Graeme wanted to ensure she did not try to escape the prison that was Vidara Castle.
“Where is Graeme?” Seri forced a lightness to her question.
The lady gave her a knowing glance. “He’s kept himself closeted with his vizier and his advisers.”
“Is there . . . trouble?”
Melene snorted. “Don’t be naive. There’s always trouble.” After a moment, she added, “He has not seen other women, if that is what you’re asking.”
Seri flushed. She hadn’t asked that . . . and yet, somehow she was glad to hear it. Seri sighed and then squinted at the hot sky overhead.
“The men,” Seri said to Melene when they had walked a distance away from their guards. She kept her voice low. “One of them . . . he was to be my husband.”
Melene’s lips tightened. “I see. But you married my brother instead. You must give up your old hopes and focus on being a good wife to him and a good Eterna to the Athonite people. You are married to one of us now.”
“I’m not supposed to be.” She was supposed to kill him and flee, but she couldn’t tell his sister that.
The girl squeezed Seri’s arm. “We all must take what the Goddess has dealt us, and make the best of it.”
To her horror, Seri felt tears spring to her eyes, and she quickly dashed them away. “The men . . . Rilen . . . I cannot believe he killed her. The man I knew would not do such a thing. He’s changing.”
“We are all changing,” Melene said. She turned to Seri and gripped her arms. “Do you not think my brother is changing from the man I knew? Even now, he is closeted with his advisers, learning as much as he can about how the Vidari are treated so he can be informed. So he can be fair.”
Seri swiped at her tears. “He . . . he what? He is?”
Melene nodded. “He wants to understand, Seri. You have to give him a chance. Have you tried talking to him?”
“We are not very good at talking,” Seri said drily. Melene giggled, and Seri shook her head. “That isn’t what I meant.” But a hint of a smile curved her mouth for the first time in days. It faded again, and she looked at Melene. “I want to make it right, but I don’t know what to do. Help me.”
Overhead a bird circled, and in the distance came the clanging of metal on metal as soldiers performed sword drills. Melene tilted her head. “Well, what do you want to do?”
Her immediate answer was that she wanted to be freed. To go home. But the words froze in her mouth. She wanted to be with Josdi and Father, but did she really want to go home? To the Rilen she saw in the courtroom with the intense, angry eyes? That wasn’t the man she’d known all her life; the Rilen she knew wouldn’t have murdered a girl simply because she’d been born to the wrong people.
“I don’t know what I want,” Seri said brokenly.
“You should talk to my brother,” Melene said gently. “Tell him your worries. He will understand.”
Seri laughed, the sound hard and bitter. “Will he? The only time he is interested in seeing me is when he wishes to . . .” She choked on the words, unable to state that painfully intimate act aloud.
Melene frowned at her. “I still think you are wrong.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” She could still feel his anger and disappointment in the back of her mind.
“He wishes to make you happy and to be a good ruler, Seri. My brother is a good man. Truly he is. He’s not like King Lucan or Prince Velair. Talk to him. Tell him your worries. If he can help, he shall. I know this. I know him.”
She gave the girl a faint smile. “I suppose I can talk with him, yes.”
Melene gave her a quick hug. “It will make a world of difference. You will see!”
They walked for a bit longer, and Seri was lost in thought. Maybe she’d invite Graeme to dinner tonight, just the two of them. They could talk over wine, and say what needed to be said. Even if they spat and argued, it’d be better than this terrible silence that left her aching and unfulfilled.
Seri parted from Melene as the sun went down and then returned to her rooms. To her surprise, Idalla greeted her with a formal dress in hand. “Oh, my lady. I was just coming to look for you. There are several court ladies asking about you. They’re waiting for you in the parlor. Shall you change?”
“Ladies?” Seri smoothed her tunic. “Who?”
“Ladies Mila, Aynee, and Penella. They are most concerned about your health as you’ve taken to your bed for the past few days.” Idalla blinked rapidly and held out a gown. “This one would look lovely with your skin.”
She wanted to turn them away, but Melene’s words made her pause. If Graeme was learning what he could about the Vidari, could she not meet him halfway and make peace with the ladies of the court? “I’ll go.”
She let the servant help her out of her comfortable tunic and into the stiff gown and its three layers. Her hair was tugged into a simple braid, and then she was ready.
As she turned to leave, she touched Idalla’s arm. “Forgive me?” she asked Idalla. “I didn’t know. I never would have sent her if I’d have thought . . .”
Idalla shook her head. “She was such a sweet girl.”
Seri’s throat ached. “She was lovely.”
“It’s just . . . you must choose a side at some point.” Idalla’s dark eyes met Seri’s. “And your husband is Athonite.”
And my friends killed an innocent girl. “I know,” Seri said
dully.
* * *
A few hours later, Seri escaped back to her rooms. Her head rang with idle gossip and sly innuendo. Lady Aynee had been all polite sympathy about Seri’s situation, and Lady Penella had giggled the entire time. Lady Mila had been her usual brisk, catty self, but it was almost refreshing. At least Seri knew what to expect with her.
The court ladies had murmured over her handmaiden’s death and gossiped about the Vidari rebels . . . and then had talked about fabrics and dress styles for the next hour. The upcoming celebration ball was to be a spectacular event, the last marker of the moons-long celebration of her wedding. As they planned gowns and shoes, she stared out the window into the darkness. She excused herself as quickly as she could, citing a headache. If that was what it took to be Athonite, she wasn’t sure she could ever do it.
Back in her chamber, Idalla was nowhere to be found. A tray of hot tea and her favorite sweet biscuits had been left for her, and Seri was surprised and touched by the plate of food. Maybe Idalla was close to forgiving her after all.
She picked up one of the sweet buns and idly moved to the window, staring out at the moonlit plain that stretched below the castle. There was so much room in the world, she mused sadly. Why couldn’t they share?
She pinched off a large bite of the biscuit and offered it to the gods, then halfheartedly ate the rest. She had no hunger; her grief made everything taste like ashes. She sent the rest of the tray back to the kitchens and lay down in her bed.
Perhaps tomorrow things would not look so bad. Perhaps the Athonites and the Vidari would forge some sort of peace. But then she shook her head. She was no naive goosegirl anymore. And deep in her gut she feared war was coming.
Graeme rubbed his forehead in frustration. He couldn’t concentrate on the map in front of him, or on what Jardish was droning on about for Graeme and his Blood advisers. All he could think about was Seri, his savage little wife. Seri, dressed in the opulent clothes of the Athonite court and painfully out of place. Seri in her men’s tunics, traipsing around the castle grounds. Seri with soft brown eyes and a shy smile. Seri beneath him in their bed, her skin dewy, and the small sounds she made when he fed from her throat.
A low groan shot through him. Just that last image was enough to set his body pulsing again with need. His hands trembled slightly—he had not drunk the blood he needed to stay alive in three days, ever since he had fought with his Eterna. The thought of drinking from another woman turned his stomach, even though Aynee had offered and been hurt when he declined.
He couldn’t explain to her that Seri unsettled him to his core. That she was in his thoughts day and night, no matter what he tried to do. That he found his heart racing whenever she entered the room or gave him one of her rare, sad smiles.
“My lord, is everything all right?” Jardish cleared his throat and looked uneasily at the other advisers in the room. “You seem . . . unwell.”
Graeme straightened, reminding himself that he was in the presence of others. “A mere headache.” He flicked the notion away and frowned at the markings on the map covering the nearby Valley of Ud. “And you say that the tribes are coming from where?”
Jardish vacillated a moment, then gestured once more at the map with a bony finger. He was clearly irritated by Graeme’s lack of interest. Jardish was the most arrogant member of his self-involved court, but he was devoted to his job, and it didn’t matter if Graeme liked him or not. “The barbarians have been scattered on the eastern side of the mountains since they were conquered by your father a hundred years ago.” His finger circled a lake. “The majority of the wild tribes are here, but groups of them have settled outside major cities such as here in Vidara. The ones like your wife are the”—he paused, his mouth working over the words—“civilized cousins.”
He thought of Seri’s hatred of petticoats and corsets, and her bare feet under her dresses. Then he thought of the men who had brutally killed her handmaiden. Civilized wasn’t wholly accurate. “Go on.”
“Over the past few months, scouts have reported seeing a surge in the savages as they head to the south. They seem to be migrating in this direction, prince, just as your father feared. The demands they made of you . . . the killing of the soldiers and the handmaiden. The riots. Burning the tavern down. These are not isolated incidents. These are the beginnings of an organized uprising. Even as we sleep, they gather in the villages and plot against you.”
He thought of Seri and her soft brown skin and how she’d cried when he’d tried to force her to betray her own people. I will always be Vidari, she’d shouted at him and then run away, sobbing. He’d felt like an ass then. He should have never called her in to deal with the traitors; he should have dealt with them himself, and quietly. The angry, jealous part of him had wanted to show her what her people were really like. Show her how violent and reckless they were so she would stop looking down on him and the Blood with such sneering glances. He wanted her to see that her people were not innocent bystanders, but angry rioters inciting rebellion that would harm many innocent Vidari as well as Athonites.
Most of all, he wanted her to look at him with that quiet smile instead of sadness.
But it had worked against him instead, and now they were not speaking, and his entire kingdom was in an uproar. His nobles were baffled that he’d let the “murderous savages” get away with their crime, and in the town nearby, the rebels were inciting riots.
So much trouble in one small part of the kingdom. Graeme rubbed his throbbing temple again and stared at the map.
“My lord, are you even listening?”
Jardish’s tone overstepped politeness. Graeme glared at the vizier and stood. “We are done here. Send a missive to my father and tell him we need more troops as quickly as he can get them here. The unrest between the Vidari and the Athonites is going to grow increasingly worse, and I want to make sure we are well armed when it comes to a head. And tell my sister and stepmother that they might be safer if they left Vidara for the southern lands. Perhaps Craelish, on the coast.” His sister loved the ocean. “Ensure that they leave by morning, please.”
“Of course, my lord.” Jardish bowed again.
Graeme rubbed his forehead again, feeling . . . unsettled. Maybe it was his connection with Seri and the fact that he hadn’t drunk from her in days. It was making him sick with hunger, but he couldn’t go to his wife while she was grieving. Could he?
One by one, the nobles and advisers filed out of the room, leaving Graeme to linger over the map. The red stain that marked the Athonite kingdom covered the majority of the continent, the majority of the known world. Defeating a few remnants of a once-savage war tribe should be ridiculously easy.
So why was it that he hesitated?
Jardish paused by the door, then shut it behind him. He faced Graeme, the two of them alone in the large chamber. “You should not have married her, my prince.” The vizier’s voice sounded tired, angry. “It will cause nothing but trouble. As long as she views herself as a captive, her people will fight to free her. Instead of unifying the Athonites and Vidari, you are driving us further apart.”
A twisted, bitter smile curved Graeme’s mouth. “Even I cannot ignore a command from the Goddess, my good vizier. In fact, I think the Goddess is commanding me to go see my bride right now. You are dismissed.”
“But, my lord—”
Graeme didn’t answer him. He turned and left abruptly. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to be back in his own bed, curled up next to Seri. Perhaps she’d let him kiss her tears away, and she’d turn to him with the same unholy need in her eyes that plagued him every hour of the day and kept him from sleeping. Hunger and need were twin fires inside him, propelling him through the castle in search of his lovely, wild bride. His steps were swift as he headed toward his chambers. When there was no answer to his knock, he tried the knob and pushed the door open. Inside, there were no candles lit, but he coul
d see her small figure huddled on one side of the bed. He lit a lantern and then hung it, moving toward the bed. “Seri?”
She didn’t move. He reached for her and brushed her cheek. She was burning up, her breathing rapid.
His blood went cold. “Seri?” he said again, shaking her by the shoulders. Still, she didn’t rouse. He reached his mind out to hers . . . and found nothing. Nothing but a faint, clouded buzz.
“Viktor,” he bellowed, and one of the guards appeared in the doorway.
“My lord?” he asked.
“Get Viktor!” He pressed a hand to Seri’s brown cheek. Her golden hair was matted to her head with sweat, and her gown stuck to her skin, which was chalky. Moisture beaded her face.
His gut clenched at the sight of her, and he took her in his arms, ignoring the servants who entered the room. She didn’t stir when his fingers stroked hers, but her breathing calmed slightly and her face turned toward his own. Even in unconsciousness, her body recognized his.
He leaned in and smelled something foul and familiar on her breath. Graeme lifted his head. “Where are her servants?”
After some commotion, a woman was found, and she wept as she stepped forward. “She said she was tired, my lord, and wanted to take a nap. I don’t—”
“What did she eat?” he asked.
The woman’s eyes went wide with surprise. “Why . . . Did she eat? I haven’t gotten her supper. I—”
“She smells of darkroot.”
The servant gasped. “The altar,” the servant cried, rushing to it. “She always leaves a bite for the gods.” She moved forward and plucked a bit of something off of the altar and brought it to Graeme.
It was a sweet biscuit. He lifted it to his nose, and the unmistakable scent of darkroot touched him. “Find the healer immediately,” he commanded as he turned back to Seri. “Wake him and bring him to the princesse’s rooms. Tell no one else what has happened.” He looked back to the woman. “Get the others out of here.”
She nodded, her lips tight, and ushered the crying, terrified servants out of the room.
