by A. M. Manay
“How flattering to know I am not repulsively ancient,” Hatch replied. Some tension drained out of his shoulders, but then he turned serious once more. “It is cruel, I must admit, to force you to marry your mother’s killer. Though, in his defense, the king doesn’t know that you know.”
“I was trying not to think too much about that,” Shiloh admitted, swallowing heavily. “But it’s not as though I’ve never killed anyone. And I rather suspect that she would have killed me had she lived.” She studied his reaction, and she saw the truth of it written in his anguished expression. “She asked you to kill me, didn’t she? Before you . . .” she said softly. “You might have told me,” she scolded.
Hatch closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and opened them again. “I didn’t want you to know,” he replied at last. “No one should have to live with that kind of knowledge. I didn’t want you to feel beholden to me. I wanted you to be free to hate me if you needed to, if you ever found out your parentage.”
Her lips twitched. “That was kind of you, in a way, I suppose,” she allowed. She took a deep breath. “I never thought to marry, but if I must . . . At least I respect you. I respect competence and knowledge and hard work. I even like you. Sometimes. There are far worse soils in which to plant love.
“And . . . maybe it’ll be nice, not to spend my life alone like I thought I would. To have a . . . partner. I’m still furious with you, though. Don’t think I’ve forgotten the drawings with this ridiculous distraction you’ve thrown at me. You’re going to have to earn your way back into my good graces.”
Hatch relaxed. “Fair enough. See? It’s as though we’re married already.”
Shiloh pressed her hand to her chest in relief, but then her face fell. “But what about you? With me as your wife, you won’t have an heir.”
Hatch sighed. “I suspect that is rather an additional benefit to this match, from the crown’s point of view.”
Shiloh cocked her head and thought. Her mouth opened into an “O” as she realized the implication. “If you die without legitimate issue, your new lands will revert to the crown,” she concluded.
He nodded. “Exactly. It’s fine. Really. It keeps the other lords from making too much more fuss over my elevation to baron-hood. And what do I care what happens to my wealth after I die? I’d be a terrible father, anyway.”
“Oh, hush,” she scolded. “You’d be fine.” She leaned back in her chair and took a small, contemplative sip of her whiskey. “I don’t understand, though . . . after all you’ve done for his grace, why would he saddle you with me? Hexborn, and crippled, and barren, and sickly, and covered with disgusting—”
“Stop that,” he ordered her, standing and crossing to her side of the desk. He knelt next to her and turned her chair to face him. “Shiloh, there is not a single woman in this kingdom whom I would choose over you. You are brilliant and decent and beautiful, and I don’t deserve you in the slightest. But I volunteered anyway, because I’m a selfish monster. When I told him about Daved, this was the outcome I wished for.”
Shiloh could find no words to make a reply. She simply looked at him, head cocked to the side. At last, she said slowly, “So you’re telling me that you manipulated the king into ordering me to marry you?”
“I don’t know if I would put it quite that way,” he protested hastily, shoulders tensing beneath her glare.
“Without finding out from me first whether or not I’d object,” she continued, “to marrying a man who not only killed my mother but who has repeatedly proclaimed his willingness to slaughter me if the good of the kingdom should require it?”
“I—” Hatch began.
“I’m not just a chess piece on your Gods-damned board!” Shiloh erupted, shooting up from her chair, all her anger about the sketches returning tenfold.
“No,” Hatch agreed softly, offering no defense of his actions. “No, you’re not.”
Shiloh downed her whiskey, slammed down the glass, and began to pace. Hatch watched her warily. After a long silence, she asked calmly, “There’s no getting out of this for me, is there?”
“No,” Hatch admitted. “I don’t see one. The other suitable matches are men who would scorn you for your condition. Even if you told his grace you wish to take holy orders, I don’t think he would be dissuaded from this course. Those vows can be broken. Perhaps if you fled to Mount Tarwin to become an oracle, assuming you could outrun whomever he makes me send after you. But that would endanger their sanctuary, their hard-won neutrality. I would not advise it.”
“So,” she said firmly, squaring her shoulders and turning to face him with her eyes ablaze, “when is this blessed event to occur? Next summer with all the other weddings?”
Hatch shook his head. “His grace wants to do it right away. This week.”
She took a deep breath. “Of course he does. What needs doing?”
“The lawyers will draw up the marriage contract. You just need to decide what dress to wear and show up to worship on Lordsday,” Hatch told her cautiously, as though she might start throwing things.
“Fine. I’ll be there.”
She turned on her heels and stalked out without another word.
***
That could have gone better.
Hatch poured himself another whiskey.
She’ll forgive you, he assured himself. She’s forgiven you a lot worse. Hasn’t she?
Or have I really done something terrible? Unforgivable?
She looked just like Alissa then, when she was pacing. That’s the first time I’ve ever seen any of her mother in her.
A knock sounded on his door.
“Gods damn it all!” Silas cried. “Come in!”
“What’d I do?” Jonn asked, poking his head warily into the room.
“Nothing. Come in,” Silas sighed.
“I passed Shiloh. Why does she look like there are bees in her corset?” the healer asked as he flopped into a chair.
“Because I just told her we’re getting married. And she found my drawings,” Silas confessed.
“What did I tell you about those—wait, you’re getting married?” Jonn asked.
Hatch nodded. “The king insists.”
“Shouldn’t you be happy? I mean, she’s the only woman in this place who could possibly handle you,” Jonn replied.
“I know. I will be happy. If we make it through our wedding night without her stabbing me to death,” Hatch replied.
“She doesn’t want the match?” Jonn asked. “Not that I would blame her.”
“Thanks a lot,” Hatch retorted.
“My pleasure,” Jonn replied.
“She was talking herself into it until she realized that I had manipulated events in this direction without asking her first,” Hatch admitted.
“Ah,” John replied. “Well, you’ll have to be more careful about that sort of thing once she’s your wife.”
“Yes. I suppose I shall.”
***
“You don’t wish to marry him?” Brother Charls asked gently. They sat on the bench in front of the Mother’s shrine.
Shiloh exhaled loudly. “No, I don’t. But I can think of worse matches,” she admitted. “I wish I had been given a choice. Instead, he’d already spun his webs and pulled his strings, and suddenly I’m all wrapped up in silk, and no way out.”
“None of us have lives that are truly our own, Shiloh,” Charles pointed out. “When I was your age, they told me I’d be a priest, and a priest I became.”
She smiled sadly. “What did you want to be?”
“I thought I wanted to be a guard, like all the other boys,” he laughed. “Now I am grateful to be a priest. It has been a life of scholarship, prayer, and service, and it has been a happy one. The Gods work in mysterious ways, Shiloh. I trust that I am where I need to be. I believe that you are, too.”
“And Silas Hatch?” she asked, her mouth crooked. “And the terrible things he has done? The vile mag
ic he knows? Is he where he needs to be?”
“Even the Gods need a hatchet sometimes,” Charls replied. “And would he be able to help you when you are ill if he did not know such awful magic?”
“I don’t know,” she sighed. “I guess not.”
“If you feel strongly that you cannot abide this union, then you could claim sanctuary within the Temple. But you would be risking arrest if you ever left. And I believe it would be a terrible waste of your gifts were you to imprison yourself that way,” Charls advised.
She nodded. “No, I don’t want to hide away. I just needed to vent my spleen.” She managed a smile. “Thank you,” she told him. “I feel a little better.”
“I’m glad,” the priest replied, eyes crinkling. “Maybe the Gods mean for you to save his soul.”
“You’d better wish me luck, then,” she laughed. “And pray for me without ceasing, because that may well be an impossible task.”
“Perhaps, in the case of a man like Silas Hatch, it is safer to have him by your side than at your throat.”
***
“Wasn’t it enough for you to wreck my family? To destroy everyone I had ever loved? To take half my land? You just had to take the one thing that might actually make me happy and steal it for yourself, too?” Daved shouted across Hatch’s office, red-faced and shaking.
“My lord,” Hatch said evenly, “Shiloh isn’t a thing. She doesn’t belong to either one of us. Now, the king brokered this marriage for the good of the kingdom. He will broker one for you using the same criteria. You are the Lord of the Wood now, my lord. You will have to make a political marriage. People like you do not have the luxury of marrying for love. Moreover, there are reasons that his grace cannot permit Shiloh to marry you, nor any other true lord of the realm. Reasons I am not at liberty to share.”
“Sure there are,” Daved spat. “Spare me. I see the way you look at her, even if she doesn’t.”
“I’m not denying that I want her. Both things can be true,” Silas replied, carefully keeping his own temper in check.
“You’re not worthy of her,” Daved declared.
“There we are in agreement, my lord,” Hatch concurred. “You are, by far, more worthy of her affection. It is a tragedy that circumstances will not allow for that union. Would that they did.”
“We could run away. Abroad somewhere,” Daved asserted. “Estany. Dessica, even. I have money abroad.”
Hatch shook his head. “You’d get caught. You’d both lose the king’s trust, which could well mean you’d lose your lives. Do you want a blameless young woman you claim to love to die for your infatuation?”
“Of course not. It’s just . . . It isn’t fair!” Daved cried, sounding suddenly like the child he still was.
“No. It isn’t. It isn’t fair to you. And it especially isn’t fair to her,” Hatch agreed. “I do hope that you will still be her friend, because none of this is her fault. And the Gods know she could use some friends when she’s about to be forced to marry a man like me.
“All she really has is you and the queen. Master Jonn, perhaps a few of the other tutors. Whom else can she trust, my lord, if not you? Whom else can she turn to for a kind ear, when I inevitably disappoint her?”
Daved threw up his hands and collapsed into a chair. “Why do you always have to be so Gods-damned logical about everything? I just want to hate you properly, and you refuse to let me.”
Hatch poured the boy a half-measure of whiskey.
“Look on the bright side, my lord,” he said as he handed over the glass. “I’m sure you’ll get to listen to her complain about me endlessly. And odds are, I won’t live forever. Men like me do not make old bones. But until I die, I will do everything in my power to protect her from the dangers of serving this court. And as she cares for you deeply, I will do everything in my power to protect you, too.
“And, I assure you, my lord—there will be other women for you.”
***
The wedding itself went smoothly enough. It was simply done, without pomp, though Shiloh did manage to procure a new gown for the occasion, in deep blue silk. Father Charls called them up during worship that Lordsday, and they exchanged their vows before the court. King Rischar and Queen Penn joined them to serve as the witnesses who bless the union.
Shiloh’s voice shook slightly as she repeated the words. She couldn’t quite look Silas in the face. They hadn’t spoken more than two words to each other since the night in his office.
“I, Shiloh Teethborn, do bind myself in wedlock to Silas Hatch, Baron of Northgate, beneath the eyes of the Holy Family and with the blessing of my king. I promise to be faithful to my husband in word and in deed. I promise to share with him my body, my wealth, my home, and my labor. This is my solemn vow.”
Silas took his turn. “I, Silas Hatch, Baron of Northgate, do bind myself in wedlock to Shiloh Teethborn, beneath the eyes of the Holy Family and with the blessing of my king. I promise to be faithful to my wife in word and in deed. I promise to share with her my body, my wealth, my home, and my labor. I promise to protect her and our household from harm. This is my solemn vow.” He squeezed her hand gently. She squeezed his in return.
The king and queen recited their blessings with enthusiasm, drawing a wavering smile from Shiloh.
“It is done,” Father Charls then declared. “What the Lords of Heaven have bound together, no man can separate.”
The courtiers applauded politely, and Silas and Shiloh descended from the altar to resume their seats for the conclusion of Worship. As she glanced up toward the assembled, her heart sank at the sight of Daved’s face.
He looks so very sad.
I wonder how I look.
Chapter 23
Unclean
Gasps filled the village Temple as Brother Edmun began reading the king’s declaration regarding his takeover of the Church of Bryn. He stopped and glared at them over the top of the paper until they quieted, then continued. Shiloh, sitting on the front bench, could feel eyes upon her back when he got to the section about the Cleanliness Laws. Her Da patted her arm and gave her a grin and a wink, and she relaxed.
There was plenty else in the declaration for everyone to get upset about. King Rischar claimed the right to seize church property and to take a portion of the required tithes for the use of the crown. He had expelled the Patriarch on grounds of treason and had seized all of his property in Bryn. All shrines dedicated to Patriarchs, both current and past, were to be destroyed. Rischar claimed the right to appoint bishops and to purge those loyal to the Patriarch. Those priests who refused to accept the king’s headship of the church were to be arrested. Rischar declared his marriage to Mirin annulled. By the time Edmun was finished reading it all, his congregation sat in silent shock.
For the first time in Shiloh’s life, the service did not conclude with a prayer for the Patriarch. The silence lifted as soon the people were dismissed. Every wife in the village shook her head and clucked her tongue. Shiloh eavesdropped as she helped Edmun put away the chalice and scrolls, the candles and incense.
“If Queen Mirin can be tossed aside, any one of us could . . . This Zina he’s marrying. She musta put him up to this . . . I’ll be damned if I’m sharing me table with the Unclean. I don’t care what that paper says . . . In the Teeth, we keep to the old ways. Who’s gonna stop us? Lord Blackmine never sets foot in our hills. Afraid of the Feralfolk, most like . . . The Ferals sup with the Unclean, ye know . . . Say what you want about the Usurper, but she never tried to take over the holy church . . . You can bet the tithes will go up, now the king’s got his fingers in ‘em . . . Me mum taught me the Patriarch of the Holy Church was the Elder reborn. I’m supposed to stop believin’ it on account of some letter from the City?”
Edmun heard them, too, if his sour expression was anything to judge by. The Temple emptied out, and Edmun and Shiloh were alone.
“The rich won’t care,” he sighed. “The nobility, they have seen
the Patriarch, dined with him. They know he is just a man, a politician, like the rest of them. But the simple folk, the country people . . . They’ll still light a candle for him every Eldersday. They will still think he was sent by the Six Lords of Heaven.”
“But we’re also supposed to believe King Rischar was chosen by the Gods,” Shiloh pointed out.
Edmun snorted. “That is a pickle.”
“So I’m not Unclean anymore?” Shiloh asked.
“You were never really Unclean. You understand that, don’t you? But no, in the eyes of the new Church of Bryn, you’re not Unclean. The theology of the Cleanliness Laws has always been unsound, to be fair, but I don’t know why my half-brother has decided to include it among his so-called reforms. I doubt it was prompted by an exhaustive study of scripture, nor by compassion, but I suppose one must not look a gift horse in the mouth.
“Not that the Teethtrash who surround us will care, mind you. They will still treat you like dirt, make no mistake. Nevertheless, this is an unexpected blessing,” Edmun allowed.
“I know they won’t care, Master,” she replied, her expression serious once more. “But, still . . . no more purple patches. No more bell to warn the clean that I’m coming.”
Edmun gifted her with a rare smile. “Aye. No patches, and no bell. No gloves, either.”
“Glove,” she corrected him, drawing a glare of rebuke at her temerity. “Sorry, Master.”
Shiloh held up her hand. Her bell hung on a worn pink ribbon tied around her wrist.
“Could you please take it off for me, Master?” she asked.
Edmun’s face softened. “I’d be glad to, poppet.”
***
