"No," she said lowly, "It won't. Soon it will be your word that is law, Oliver. People will listen to you."
"I don't yet know how to rule," Oliver said slowly. "I'm still learning. I was thinking... perhaps we wait a year, maybe two. Let me learn from my father and then we will act."
Catherine shook her head, "By then, he might have named your cousin as heir and my father surely will call me back to Lamonte court."
Oliver sighed.
"I know it's difficult to consider," Catherine said, "I wouldn't ask of you something so great if I wasn't sure it was the best thing to do. With you as a king, Terifille with prosper. You have to believe that. What you don't know, I'll help you with. Just as you'll help me in Lamonte."
"I just don't know," Oliver said.
Catherine forced herself not to narrow her eyes. The fire died on her palm and she clasped both hands around his, "Oliver," she said, "You can't grow weak now. Not after what we've done. If we don't continue the plan, you'll be caught for sure. If you're caught, you'll hang for treason."
Oliver swallowed.
"Once your father is out of the way," Catherine said, "You won't have to worry any more. You'll be able to direct the investigation yourself, and turn it on whoever you want."
"Let someone else suffer for my crimes," Oliver said sourly.
Catherine squeezed his hands, "Oliver, listen to me. Whoever you choose, they'll deserve it. You're not going to choose someone that's innocent, are you? You've helped your father with criminals plenty. Pick one that's been unfairly released and send the investigation his way."
Oliver considered this for a moment, "That wouldn't really be wrong," he said. "Right?"
"Right," Catherine said. "And once it's done..."
"I'll be the ruler of Terifille, and the ruler of Lamonte," Oliver said, "and then Arinford, once the war is won."
"Exactly," Catherine said.
"And we can fulfill your father's vision," Oliver said.
"That's right," Catherine told him. "We can. Imagine the good we'd do in Cartharia, Oliver. The good our children would do."
Oliver smiled.
"I might already be pregnant," Catherine said, hovering a hand over her stomach. His eyes lit up, as she knew they would. Men were too obsessed with their spawn, she thought. Their pride laid with idea of their offspring continuing their legacy.
One shouldn't care about what their children would do. It mattered what happened in their own life, what they accomplished. She thought Will would understand.
She didn't hold it against Oliver though. He was sweet, in his own dimwitted way. He was certainly useful. It would be interesting to try and see him get past his father's guards and take care of him.
Of course, if he was caught, it would mess things up for sure.
"Oliver," she said, "Why don't we marry first? I'm nearly recovered. I want to be your wife."
Oliver nodded, "If that's what you want, my love."
Catherine nodded. "It's what I want. Tell your father we shouldn't wait any longer. Make him see that our wedding is most important."
"I will," Oliver promised. He leaned over to kiss her. Catherine allowed it, pretending once more that it was Will she was kissing. She missed him dearly, the prince. She thought about him back in her father's cells. What would he think of her wedding? Would he think she'd moved on?
She'd have to explain her reasoning to him one day and hope he'd understand. It didn't really matter if he did, though. She was going to make him her king whether he wanted to be or not. He'd come around sooner or later.
For now, though, she had to be content with Oliver. She reached up, sliding her fingers around his neck and yanked him closer to her. They kissed again, deeper this time, and when they were done kissing, they did far more than that.
Catherine twisted in her bed, glancing at Matilyn. The commander was currently busying herself with a long novel, borrowed from the king. Catherine thought it might be a murder mystery. How fitting.
"Commander," she said, "I was hoping you might help me with something."
"What's that?" Matilyn asked without glancing up.
"I was wondering if you might braid my hair," Catherine asked, "It's getting in my way, and none of the nurses can do a twisted tie."
Matilyn turned the page in the book, slid a marker into place, and closed the novel. She looked up at Catherine. "Why?"
Catherine blinked, "Because it's in my way," she repeated.
"Why are you asking me?" Matilyn corrected herself.
Catherine felt her irritation rise just a little, "I just said. The nurses can't do a twisted tie."
Matilyn shrugged a shoulder, "I don't think that's why you're asking. I think you're asking as a pretense for bringing up a subject you wish to speak about. Why don't you try being straight forward, Catherine?"
For a moment, Catherine didn't know what to say, which was rare. Her eyes narrowed, and she sat up straighter. The wound where Oliver had stabbed her still caused pain, but the pain had started to die down a little.
"Fine," Catherine said cooly, "You're right, I did want to speak of something. I just thought conversation might be more pleasant were you sharing in an activity that I enjoy. Many people enjoy fashioning hair, after all, and I certainly enjoy the feel of it."
Matilyn sighed and said nothing, but she did turn her body towards Catherine.
Catherine glared at her for a moment and then managed to get her usual smile back in place. "I wanted to speak about my wedding."
"What about it?" Matilyn asked.
"Well," Catherine said, "I'm sure you've heard. Oliver has asked the king to move the ceremony date closer so we might be husband and wife."
"I've heard," Matilyn said.
Catherine said, "Then you know the king has not yet decided if he will be amiable to this request."
Matilyn nodded.
"I was hoping you might speak to him on my behalf," Catherine said, "I've tried, of course, and he's ever so kind, but he refuses to give me an answer. He says he has to weigh all possibilities."
"He does," Matilyn said, "Someone is trying to stop you from acquiring the throne, Princess. If we are to set a date, that may tempt this person, or people, into acting again."
Catherine shrugged, "I'm safe," she said, "You and Commander Frien protect me. As does Oliver."
"Someone nearly killed you," Matilyn said, "Does that not concern you?"
"Of course it does," Catherine said, "but I'm ready to move past that unpleasant business and continue the trajectory that I was intended to follow upon arrival. You must be anxious to return to the war."
She saw Matilyn stiffen a little, and knew she'd hit a nerve. Catherine knew both her and Samuel wanted to be back in Lamonte so they could deploy to Arinford.
When she'd asked Oliver to stab her, she hadn't predicted yet how her plans would go. She only knew she needed to delay the wedding until she had a plan in place. Then she'd heard the king speaking to his nephew.
There was no talk of crowns, of course. That bit had been made up by Catherine, and the gullible Oliver had swallowed it easily. Of course he had -- he was a naive, self-conscience young man. He was more than willing to believe that his father didn't trust him to rule.
Now, though, she needed to get the wedding back on track. If she could do that, then she could have Oliver complete his little mission and it wouldn't matter if he was caught or not. She'd already have her place as Terifille's future queen. They wouldn't dare take that right from her, not with the alliance with her father on such quaky grounds.
"I am anxious," Matilyn admitted, drawing Catherine away from her thoughts, "Helping your father win this war is very important to me, for many reasons. However, I would never put your safety below my own personal desires."
Catherine sighed. "I don't think I'm in any more danger."
"How can you be so sure?" Matilyn asked. "Do you know something I don't?"
Catherine knew Matilyn only asked the question
to goad her. The commander knew nothing of her plans, nor of her and Oliver's part in her near death experience. Still, it worked. She felt her temper rise just a bit more.
She much preferred the days when Samuel sat with her. He was silent, most of the time, sitting in the chair near her bed, brooding. Unlike Matilyn, he didn't prefer fiction. Instead he would switch between military strategy and various books on different kingdoms' customs.
He was preparing for when her father moved on to other kingdoms to conquer. It would be important to know how to handle the locals. She could make use of him, even if he wasn't a member of her Left Hand.
She wished she could be so sure about Matilyn. "No," she told the other woman, "I don't know anything, I'm just excited to be married."
"For someone who didn't want to come to Terifille, you've sure adjusted to the idea of marriage quickly," Matilyn said.
Catherine shrugged, "I hadn't yet met Oliver when I abhorred by idea of a prearranged marriage. I thought my betrothed would be of a much different caliber. Indeed, he's everything I cherish in a man."
Matilyn nodded. "I see."
"And what is that you cherish in a man?" Catherine asked sweetly.
"I'd prefer not to discuss my personal life," Matilyn said. She rose to her feet, "I believe it's time for Commander Frien to come sit with you. I'll let him in."
Without waiting for Catherine to respond, Matilyn hurried out the door, leaving her book behind. Catherine smirked, knowing she'd hit another nerve.
TWENTY-FOUR
And of the Truth Herein
PENNY WOKE TO SOMEONE POUNDING ON HER door. She groaned in protest. She'd had a headache the night before and wash it away with a little too much wine. Now the headache had come back and her mouth was dry too.
"Just a moment," she called out when the pounding continued. She groaned again and then untangled the sheets from her legs and slid out of bed. The speed of the knocking had become quicker, more urgent, "Just a moment!" Penny called out again. She made her way over to the door and pulled it open, irritated.
Craig Dalton grinned at her from the other side. Penny shoved the door shut in his face.
"Good morning to you too!" he called out from his side. Penny glared at the door for a moment and then went to get a dressing coat. She'd fallen asleep in her clothing the night before but she had no wish for Craig to know that. She slid the coat on over her clothing and buttoned it. She drew her fingers through her hair, trying to tame some of the tangles and then gave it up as a lost cause.
She opened the door again and scowled at the man, "What are you doing here? Good gods, what time is it?"
"Sometime after sun up," Craig said with a smirk, "I think anyway. I'm here to apologize." He shouldered his way past her into the room. He seemed at home there, and made his way straight to the bed where he proceeded to flop down.
"Apologize, right," Penny said. "Sure you are. What do you really want, Craig?"
Craig lounged on the bed another moment or two before sitting back up, "I wanted to see how your group is coming along. I've extended invitations to all the group leaders tomorrow night. But I wanted to make sure you were ready first."
Penny considered him a minute and then came to sit next to him on the bed, "We've been working on recruitment," she explained, "and I think it's gone over well so far. A lot of people are too scared to outright agree but the word is out there. You've probably seen Chrissa Stone's fliers too."
"The ones tied to rocks and thrown through windows?" Craig asked.
"She's supposed to be hanging them," Penny said with a frown.
Craig shrugged. "Well, it's getting the news out there, either way. She's causing a lot of trouble, that girl. I like it."
Penny didn't, but she didn't say so. Sometimes she felt as though Chrissa was too wild. She was a teenage girl without parents or guidance. She could easily follow the path of vengeance too far. "Right, well, we've been recruiting. I suppose that's it."
"That's what you're supposed to be doing," Craig said, "So that's fine. Good. We want as many people as we can get for when the real revolution happens. How has training been? Getting enough time here with the different groups?"
For the last few weeks, different groups had been coming to her home, at different times, and training with either George or Mike. George had insisted on working in the garden where there was space and fresh air, so Mike was forced to use Penny's second dining room; the one that was typically reserved for large, formal occasions. Thomas had directed the servants to remove everything from it, so that Mike could move his studio inside.
"It was a bit difficult at first," Penny admitted, her eyes straying to the wineglass beside her bed, "but I think we've finally managed to get a schedule down at that works for everyone."
"Never the same time though," Craig reminded, "You don't want to develop a pattern the soldiers can puzzle out."
"I know," Penny said. She started to say more, but a voice interrupted.
"Well good morning little lady." George had stopped at her door to peer in at the two. He was dressed only in boxers and was carrying a large glass of water. He leaned on the door frame and grinned in at her.
Craig looked up at George and frowned. "What are you doing here?"
Penny frowned at Craig. She hadn't expected such a rude reaction. "George is staying here. He needed a place, and I provided one."
George grinned, "Her chefs make damned good eggs. Better than what I could whip up in the mornings. I'd have been a fool to turn her down. Besides, look at that face. Who could say no?"
Craig turned to look at Penny's face. She was surprised at the depth of the anger on his own. "You didn't wait long, did you?" he asked, "Husband's barely in the ground. Of course, you didn't wait long before tying that knot either."
Before Penny knew what she was doing, she'd raised a hand to slap him. But Craig was faster than her, and he swatted her hand away and stood up, "I wouldn't want to keep your company waiting," he said in a cold voice.
"I think you've got the wrong side of this mate," George said, "I'm right down the hall. Got a lady in there too. Pretty little thing. Alicia, I think her name is. I've got no intents on your woman."
"I am not his woman," Penny said, rising to her own feet. Her face was flooded with color and she felt as though she were moments away from screaming. His words had cut deeper than he'd realized, "and he's leaving."
Craig turned to look at her.
"Get out of my house," Penny told him.
George shifted uncomfortable, "Look, I'm not here to cause troubles, little lady. If I need to go, I'll go."
"You're not going anywhere but back to your room," Penny said, not looking at him, "Go put some clothes on. You have people coming over for training soon."
Craig waited until George had left before speaking, "Misunderstanding."
"I don't care what that was," Penny said, her own tone still cool. She had to resist the urge to try and slap him again, knowing it would do no god. "I want you out of my house. If you don't want to leave yourself, I'll get someone to remove you."
"That's a bit drastic," Craig said. He was giving a half-sided smirk, but his tone was devoid of emotion. That made Penny angrier than everything else. "Bit of a misunderstanding doesn't mean you should have me thrown out. We have things to discuss."
Penny ignored this. She went to the door and gestured outside, "I mean it, Craig. Get out."
And for a wonder, he went.
For the first time in a long time, Penny found herself heading to the Chapel with no ulterior motives. She didn't have any services to host, no hearings to perform, no meetings to conduct. She just needed a place where she could sit in silence and reflect.
Not everyone who went to the Chapel worshipped the Old Gods, but Penny did. She didn't know if it did any good to put her faith in religion -- there were plenty of people who didn't anymore, Priests included -- but the idea of the Gods made her life easier. It gave her someone to turn to with questions
, and troubles, and losses.
Over the last few years, when her troubles had truly become abundant, Penny had found it difficult to find the time and motivation to come to the Chapel and pray. Even though she needed the guidance, and the help understanding what had come to pass, there were too many things to do, and too many reasons not to go.
Craig's words kept replaying over and over in her head. They weren't true. Penny hadn't moved on quickly from Matilyn, and she hadn't jumped into another pair of arms after her husband's death. She'd been forced into an arranged marriage as a way of protecting herself, and when he'd died, she'd used her widowhood as a shield against any further romantic entanglements.
She didn't know why the words bothered her so much. Perhaps it was the tone he used. He'd sounded so hateful, and so self-righteous. He sounded like her knew her, and knew everything about her. It was quickly becoming a habit of his, and not one she particularly cared for.
Penny sat in the back pew of the Chapel, her hands clasped on her lap. She looked up at the ceiling and tried to clear her mind. It was hard to do. Craig's face kept coming back up in fronton her eyes and repeating phrases, over and over. She'd come back to Valishna. She wasn't part of the city. She didn't know what she was doing. She was weak.
"I'm sorry."
His voice startled her so much that for a moment, Penny thought she was merely imagining it.
"Penny, I'm sorry."
She turned to see Craig sitting beside her in the pew. She hadn't even heard him come in. She wondered how long he'd been sitting there, watching her.
"Why do you hate me so much?" she asked him, "What is it about me that bothers you so much?"
Craig didn't answer. He turned his own eyes up to the ceiling. It was a beautiful piece of art; a beautiful landscape of stars and clouds. It was meant to represent the Gods, so that anyone who came in could pray to somewhere and someone.
"Craig," Penny said.
He looked over at her and frowned, "I don't hate you."
"You sure act like it," Penny said.
Revolution (Cartharia Book 2) Page 25
