by Jill Myles
Graeme held his bride to his chest, brushing his fingers over her face.
Please, Goddess, do not let me feel her die.
Seri remained unconscious throughout the rest of the evening, despite the purges the healers forced down her throat. Her fever grew higher and higher, and her shivering grew more agitated with every hour. Graeme remained at her side, holding her hand, and if he left for even a moment, she would cry out as if in agony. Though he wanted to round up all the nobles of the court and look them in their eyes to find out who the culprit was, he would not leave Seri’s side. Not when she was so ill.
Toward sunset of the next day, she grew worse, and Graeme began to despair. Her body began to thrash on the bed, and she called three names over and over again.
Josdi.
Father.
Rilen.
She wanted her family. That, he understood. That she called out for a Vidari man—the one she was to be handfasted to, the one she’d saved—filled him with agony.
Finally, when he could take it no longer, Graeme stood, releasing Seri’s hand. She cried out at the loss, but didn’t awaken. As he turned away, the healer waiting nearby rose.
“What is it, my lord?”
“My wife calls out for her family. Please tell them to come to her.” He’d been so busy that he’d never had a chance to meet them . . . by the Goddess, he was an ass. They were likely worried about her as well.
The healer nodded and departed, leaving Graeme alone with Seri. Strands of hair clung to her damp forehead and he brushed them away, studying her face.
He wished whoever had done this had gone after him instead. He was well versed in court politics and knew how to handle vicious courtiers. Seri was innocent. So damn innocent. He brushed his thumb over her parted mouth. Deep hollows ringed her eyes, and she looked so fragile.
“You will get better,” he murmured, leaning in. “If only so you may live a long life to torment me more.” He trailed his fingers over her jaw. “Knowing you are close, feeling you nearby and not being able to touch you . . . it is indeed torture, my lady.”
There was no answer to his words.
A throat cleared behind him, and Graeme turned back to see Idalla waiting behind him. “Yes?”
She dropped into a curtsy and then stood, a puzzled look on her face. “My lord, I am confused. You requested my lady’s family?”
“That is correct.”
Idalla shook her head. “My lord, they are not here. Princesse Seri has been asking for them for days now, but all we are told is that the vizier will take care of it.”
Anger blistered to the front of Graeme’s mind. “Then find me the vizier.”
Within minutes, the vizier stumbled into the chamber, rubbing his eyes. It was obvious from his wild hair and dressing robe that he’d just been woken from sleep. He knelt in front of the prince with concern. “You called, my lord?”
Graeme gestured to Seri’s prone figure in the bed. “My wife calls out for her family. Please explain to me why they have not been brought to the palace as she had instructed?”
Startled, the vizier looked to the bed, then to Graeme. A nervous laugh erupted from his throat. “I . . . I am sorry, my lord? I do not understand.”
“What is it that you do not understand?” Graeme’s eyes narrowed.
Again, the vizier’s gaze flicked to the sickbed. “My lord . . . I thought . . . that is, I did not think you wished more Vidari to be here in the castle.” At the prince’s silence, he blurted, “They do not belong here.”
Silence fell in the room. For a long moment, neither said a word. At Graeme’s feet, the vizier trembled.
When Graeme spoke, his voice was like ice, as cold as the line of kings that had given birth to him. “She is my wife, no matter the blood in her veins. Do you understand me?”
Jardish nodded. “Yes, my lord.”
“You are dismissed.”
Visibly relieved, the vizier stood and bowed to the prince. “If that will be all, my lord, I shall retire back to my rooms—”
“No,” said Graeme. “You are dismissed. You are to leave Vidara Castle immediately.”
The man sputtered. “But, my lord . . .”
“Immediately.”
The man’s thin, lined face worked for a moment, then he bowed. “Very well, my lord.”
Graeme looked back to the unconscious woman in the bed and kissed her brow. “Stay with her,” he commanded the healers, then left the room, motioning for one of the guards to follow him. The man trotted behind him, armor jingling. “Make sure my vizier is escorted from the grounds tonight,” he instructed the man. “I do not care where he goes, so long as he does not remain here.”
“I understand, my lord.”
“Furthermore, I need a retinue of men and my armor readied. I must go down to the Vidari village.”
The soldier bowed. “At once, my lord.”
“My Eterna is dying,” Graeme said grimly. “There is no time to waste.”
The Vidari were a poorer people than Graeme had realized. The narrow village streets were ridged mud, the small houses little more than hovels. Goats and geese roamed free, and brown faces peered out of glassless windows under thatched roofs.
Graeme wore his battle armor. The metal gleamed in the moonlight, and the rustle of his cape in the wind and the clop of the horses’ hooves were the only sounds as they rode through the village.
All the houses looked the same, piled atop one another in dirty heaps. There were dozens of them scattered across acres of farmland. It would take him hours to find Seri’s house, and he did not have hours.
Graeme pulled his horse up in front of one house with a faint light from within. Someone would be inside. He gestured and one of his men dismounted, headed to the woven-straw door, and banged on the doorframe.
No one responded. The soldier pounded on the door again. “His highness wants to talk to you,” the man barked. “Come out or I’ll burn it down around you!”
Well, no wonder his troops were not inspiring much loyalty amongst the Vidari. Graeme raised a hand. “That will be fine, soldier. Let us go to the next house.”
They went to the next door, and the soldiers knocked again. This time, Graeme interrupted before the soldier could threaten the inhabitants. “I will offer one dru to whoever opens that door,” he said loudly, his announcement ringing out through the night.
For a long moment, nothing happened. Then the door inched open, and he heard a frightened female sob from inside the house. The figure that came to the door was small, no more than five annums. She clutched a straw doll to her chest and stared at the soldiers with a mixture of defiance and fright.
Graeme froze atop his horse. That wide-eyed, defiant look reminded him of Seri, and a sharp needle of distress shot through him when he thought of her in the bed alone, suffering. Blood of the Goddess. I am going soft.
He dismounted and approached the girl. To his amusement, she did not back away. He knelt in front of her, the armor making his movements stiff. He withdrew a coin from his belt pouch and held it up with a smile. She stared at him for a moment. Her hair was long and red and tangled like it had never seen a brush, but oh, that look in her eyes reminded him of Seri. “Thank you for coming to see me,” Prince Graeme said softly and gave her the coin. “I am looking for someone.”
The little girl tilted her head, then glanced at the soldiers, wary. “Are you the bad man who took Seri away?”
How to answer that? He glanced inside the hut, but nobody came to the door. “The Goddess asked that I marry Seri, so I have made her a princesse.”
“But she doesn’t like you.”
Graeme flinched internally. “Well, I like her very much,” he said softly. “And I hope she will grow to like me.”
She regarded him, then pocketed the coin. “Your cloak is pretty.”
“I’m not s’posed to talk to you.” She glanced back inside.
Graeme took off his cloak and folded the shining blue fabric. “Please,” he said, offering her the bundle. “She is sick and asking for her family.”
The little girl wavered, but then a new face came to the door, lined and brown and old before its time. The woman scooped up her little girl and cowered in the doorway, clutching her daughter close to her body.
Graeme stood, holding out the cloak to her. “I would appreciate it if you could tell me where Seri’s house is.”
The woman gazed at the cloak, then back at Graeme. “Is it true she’s sick?” Her voice was accusing.
He gave a swift nod. “I would like to return to her as soon as possible.”
The woman was quite another minute, then finally gestured down the road. “Another league down that way, around the bend, and you’ll find an old, fallow farm. There won’t be any lights on. That’s her home.”
Graeme placed his cloak at her feet in thanks, then he and his men set off back down the road. Seri’s house was just as the woman had described it. No faint light came from the windows, and the chimney had no welcoming curl of smoke. The fields were overgrown, and a few lonely geese meandered through the yard, honking angrily as they rode up.
He dismounted quickly, one of the soldiers on his footsteps. A knock at the door produced no response. Ignoring his men’s protests, Graeme tried the latch. It opened.
The inside of the cramped home was dark. No fire in the fire pit, no candles flickering. Graeme stepped inside, unconsciously reaching for his sword. “Hello?”
“Rilen?” The sound was diminutive, broken. “Is that you?” A figure stood at the back of the room but made no effort to move forward.
It was a pitifully small house. One chair, a fireplace, and a battered table were the only furniture in the front room. A tattered curtain hung in a doorway, and beyond that he could see the foot of a narrow bed. A ladder cut across one side of the room, leading to a loft. The huddled figure of a woman sat behind the ladder.
“I am not Rilen,” Graeme said. “But I come on Seri’s behalf. She is ill and asks for her family.”
The figure stood and stepped forward, moonlight from the nearby window illuminating her features. The young woman’s face was hollow, her hair matted and dirty. Her eyes were wide but unseeing. Her dress was a filthy rag, and her feet were bare.
She stretched out a thin hand. “Did you . . . I . . . Do you have anything to eat? To drink?” She ducked her head, clearly ashamed. “We have eaten nothing in three days.”
Graeme took her searching hand in his and felt the thin, fragile bones beneath her skin. Anger flared in him, and shame, that he had given no thought to Seri’s family as they sat here in the darkness and starved, unable to fend for themselves.
Three days. Three days ago, Rilen and his smug compatriots had seen Seri in the throne room with Graeme. He’d forced her to choose. She’d picked them, but it still hadn’t been enough. And her family had paid the price.
This was all his fault.
“You are Josdi?” He made his voice as kind as he knew how and laced his arm through hers.
“I am,” she said. Her whole body trembled, ready to collapse. “My father’s asleep in the back room. He has the wasting disease and cannot get out of bed.”
Graeme turned to one of the soldiers and gave him a few coins. “Get the nearest wagon you can find, and buy it from the owners. Pay whatever is necessary. And under no circumstances threaten them. Just give them whatever they ask.”
The soldier nodded and dashed off.
“Are we going somewhere?” Josdi asked, tipping her face to his.
Graeme led her gently toward the door. “To the castle. I’ll have my cooks prepare you a feast.”
“That would be lovely,” Josdi said. “And Seri? May I visit my sister?”
“Of course.” Graeme patted her trembling hand.
Had she asked for the rebel leader, he would have brought him to her at this point. Anything to get Seri well and assuage his guilt for bringing her into a world she’d never wanted. For failing to understand who she was and where she came from. For never once considering what she’d left behind.
“You are a kind man,” Josdi said, smiling up at him.
“No, my lady, I am not.” He studied her. “I am Athonite.”
“I know,” she said, and her fingers touched his sleeve. “This is far too fine for any Vidari. Your voice sounds different. And your soap is scented. You are the enemy, but you are kind to come for me and my father when the others have failed us.”
“You are my family now,” Graeme said, and he was renewed with determination that Seri should get well. She had to. He didn’t know what he’d do without her, and he didn’t want to find out.
“Is she still unconscious?”
From his chair at Seri’s bedside, Graeme looked up to see Josdi on a servant’s arm. She’d bathed, and her hair, a darker shade of blond than Seri’s, was pulled into a thick braid that hung over one shoulder. Even through her heavily embroidered dress, he could see just how thin she was.
He released Seri’s hand and moved to Josdi’s side, briefly touching her shoulder to let her know his location, then guided her to the bed. “She has not woken, no.” He masked the despair and anger that threatened to overwhelm him. “Have you been treated well? Is everything to your liking?”
Josdi laughed softly. She reached out and touched the coverlets, then found Seri’s hand and clasped it. “I have been bathed, put into a sumptuous guest chamber, tended to by servants, stuffed with food, and given fine clothing. I daresay I am being treated as if I were the princesse and not just the sister of one.” She smoothed down her dress. “You are being very kind to us.”
“You are her family, and therefore my family now.” Goddess, it hurt to look at Josdi while Seri lay so sick. Despite the thinner face and darker hair, she looked so much like her sister that it made him ache. He sat on the edge of the bed and took Seri’s other hand in his. Her fingers were limp and warm, and he caressed them idly as he watched her face. “The healers say that there is nothing else they can do for her. She will either wake or . . .” He couldn’t finish the sentence.
“She will wake,” Josdi said softly. “She must. I cannot lose her, too.”
Graeme felt callous and selfish. Here he was feeling sorry for himself and Josdi had to be miserable with worry. “Your father. How does he fare?”
“He is with the healers. They say his leg is very bad, so they are lancing it and will cauterize the wound. They are optimistic for his recovery, though.” Her smile was faint.
His turned Seri’s hand over and felt her palm. After just weeks in the castle, her calluses were softening. For some reason, it filled him with a sense of loss. “Even if things turn for the worse, Josdi, I will take care of you. You shall have a good life and want for nothing, I promise you that.”
She smiled and bowed her head. “You are kind.”
Graeme laughed bitterly and stood, pacing. “I am not kind. I am selfish because I have forced your sister into this marriage, and even now, I force her to stay with me. And look where it has gotten her.”
“Do you care for her?”
He didn’t answer. Long years at King Lucan’s court had taught him that an admission of affection was an admission of vulnerability; a weapon to be used against another person. And his feelings for Seri were mixed. She consumed his thoughts, and he felt lost without her. In all his hundred annums, he’d never worried over another like this. Never missed them when they were gone, or longed for a smile so much that he ached.
“It’s all right,” Josdi said. “You don’t have to say it. I know the answer.”
“Oh?”
“It’s in your devotion, your actions. The way you are always here at her bedside, holding her. The way you came for Father and me because you knew Seri would want us. If you did not care, you would not have brought two filthy Vidari to your lovely castle.”
“You are not filthy.”
Her chuckle sounded just like Seri’s, and it sent another bolt of longing through him. “I am not now, thanks to your ladies and their fine soaps. But you sought to take care of us because we were Seri’s. You thought of us more than our own friends did. That tells me you care.” She gave a small sigh. “And darling Seri can be so very stubborn.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. “I appreciate her stubbornness. I find I’m rather stubborn myself.”
“Yes, but I haven’t had to argue with you, yet.” Josdi’s smile showed two charming dimples.
A knock came at the door, and Viktor entered, carrying a basket. “My lord,” he said, bowing low. “I heard that fair Josdi was keeping you company, and I thought I’d deliver a few things to ensure her stay with us is pleasant.”
Graeme gestured for him to enter.
Josdi turned toward the door. “More things? You already spoil me so.”
“Does he now?” Graeme studied his steward and saw that the boy’s face was almost as red as his hair.
“She’s far too thin, my lord,” Viktor said, not quite meeting Graeme’s eyes. “I’ve brought her more sweet buns from the kitchen and dried fruit. She needs to eat well if she’s to regain her strength. And she mentioned that she likes to make pillows, so I brought some fabric for that. And some shoes, because—”
Josdi laughed. “You see, my lord? You are all too kind.”
“It seems so,” Graeme said, arching an eyebrow at Viktor. As he watched Viktor approach the Vidari girl and saw her turn a shining face toward him, he felt a clench of jealousy.
Abruptly, Graeme turned on his boot and walked out the door. “I shall return.”
He couldn’t stay in there. Not with Viktor and Josdi sharing longing looks. Not with Seri so still in her bed, unable to wake. He headed for the healers’ quarters instead and checked on Seri’s father. “How is he?”
