“Grand.” She blinked away the image of the sweaty Wilmerian and focused, instead, on the bridle in her hand. “Dinnery. Did the Wilmerians notice that they got their horses back in better shape than they left them?”
He shook his head again. Staff members didn’t get to decide where they worked, and some ended up in jobs they hated. But Darid loved horses—all horses—and he’d worked hard to bring the Wilmerian beasts back to something approaching health. Not that it would make a difference. Not that the Wilmerians would treat them any better on the long return to the guildhall than they had on the journey from it. But to speak ill of Elban’s guests would be dangerous for staff and he wouldn’t do it, even in front of her. Instead, he nodded at the bridle and said, “You’re doing a good job.”
She didn’t press. “Thanks. What do the factories in the city make?” Questions about the city were her third-favorite kind to ask him, after those about his family and those about horses. As if someday he would mention some detail about life in the city and it would tug free an ancient memory of the people she’d come from. A child’s fancy, she knew. But she still asked.
Gazing toward the ceiling—most of the ceilings in the stable were just the bottom of the hayloft above, but the tack room was lined in stucco so the leather would stay dry if the roof leaked—Darid said, “Different things. Iron goods. Paper. Toys and dolls and sewing needles, for all I know. I haven’t been outside in—how old are you?”
“Twenty-two.”
“Then that’s how long it’s been. I came inside the year you and Lord Gavin were born. So I don’t know much about the city these days.”
Out of the sun, his sandy hair could almost pass for brown and his eyes were a warm blue, almost green. “Was the Seneschal here, then?”
“Younger. He’d only been Seneschal a few years.”
“I don’t believe it. I think he’s been here since they laid the foundations. They finished the gaslights in the House, by the way.”
“What are they like?” he asked with interest.
“Purplish. Weird. Bright.” She remembered the drunken Wilmerian and didn’t want to talk about it anymore. She’d asked about the factories because the fires were pretty, from far away. Like stars fallen to earth, twinkling on the horizon. “We can see the city from some of the terraces. It’s beautiful from here.”
“I suppose it would be.”
“I guess it’s not, up close.”
“I suppose not.” His voice was neutral.
“Do you miss living there? Do you miss being outside?”
It was a dangerous question. “It was a long time ago. Another life,” Darid said, and they continued to work.
Chapter Two
On her way back up to the parlor, a muscle in her left thigh seized. The bloom of pain sent thorns bristling down the length of her leg and instantly, she froze. There was a wall close enough to touch but she didn’t reach out to steady herself. Instead, she forced herself to examine the tapestry that hung there: a woman and a lion. The woman wore a stupid gauzy dress even though she was in the forest. A stupid thing to do. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Pain coursed through her leg. A dress like that would snag and rip and get in the way. She wished she were in the wilderness. She wished she could meet a lion.
In a few minutes, the pain faded enough for her to walk, and she did. Slowly, so she wouldn’t limp. She had missed lunch but when she finally made it to the parlor, leftovers from last night’s dinner sat on the table: slices of meat, bread, a pot of peppered cheese. If she spread the cheese thick, the bread wouldn’t seem so dry. There was also an unopened bottle of wine. Characteristically, the Seneschal had not forgotten that he wanted Elly to build her tolerance. Characteristically, she had quietly ignored him.
Judah took the bottle and some bread and cheese with her to the sofa, where she hoisted her hurt leg onto the cushion with both hands, and began to eat.
The wine was decent. By the time Gavin showed up, limping worse than she had, Judah felt pleasantly warm. He gave her a sheepish grin; she scowled, and threw the wine cork at him. It hit him in the chest and bounced away harmlessly. “Be better at sword fighting,” she said.
“That’s the second time today you’ve thrown something at me.” He dropped into a chair. “Sorry about the leg. I was distracted and I missed a parry. Those longswords are heavy. Where were you when it happened?”
“Alone in the corridor. Could have been worse.”
His grin faded. “And it’s going to be, I’m sorry to say. You have about ten minutes before the vulture gets here.”
Judah’s pleasant warmth evaporated. “They sent for Arkady? For a stupid bump on the leg?”
“Elban and the Seneschal were watching from the sidelines. Why do you think I was distracted?”
“I assumed there was a girl involved. Theron says you have a new one.” She took another drink from the wine bottle, enjoying the way his cheeks flushed. “I want the Seneschal to evaporate. I want them all to evaporate. Do you think Theron has some weird thing in his workshop that will do that? An unpleasant-person evaporator?”
“You’re the witch. Cast a spell.” Gavin’s blush had faded. He leaned over and took the bottle from her. “Where did you get this?”
“I cast a spell.”
“If you can make bottles of wine appear by magic, I’ll marry you instead of Elly.”
“No, thank you. Three’s a crowd and four’s a bloodbath. Going to tell me about her?”
Gavin drank long, and passed the bottle back. He pushed himself to standing and crossed to the table, his left leg dragging. As he piled most of the food left on the tray into a massive sandwich, he said, “I saw your special courtier friend on the way up here, by the way. He said to send his regards, and he hopes you’re well, all of that.” Judah made a rude noise, and Gavin laughed. “Oh, the lady does not reciprocate his affections! Brutal.”
“It does get so tedious, the constant stream of suitors humiliating themselves at my feet. And you’re avoiding the question.”
The door opened. Suddenly the room was full of people: the Seneschal, dressed as always in somber gray with an expression to match, and Arkady Magus, who they called the vulture because he was bony and hunched and they hated him. Accompanying the old man was a slender, bespectacled man Judah had never seen before. He wore his straw-blond hair back in a queue the way Arkady did, but the resulting tail wasn’t very long. If he was a magus, he was new at it.
“Your Lordship,” Arkady said in the fawning tone that was broken glass on Judah’s nerves. The loose skin under his chin wobbled faintly with each word. “I came as soon as I heard.”
“Heard what?” Gavin was curt. “I’m fine.”
“Better to be safe,” the Seneschal said calmly. The Seneschal was always calm.
“I walked here, up a hill and approximately forty flights of stairs. I’m fine.”
“Nevertheless, my lord,” Arkady said. “A minor injury can hold hidden dangers.”
Meanwhile, the stranger hovered in the background, holding Arkady’s satchel in addition to a second one that must have been his own. New apprentice, then. It was about time. Arkady had been ancient when they were children and he wasn’t getting any younger. His skin was an unhealthy yellowish gray and his hair was thin and brittle-looking. The idea of him dying brought Judah great pleasure.
Gavin looked at her, grimly resigned. “I don’t care,” she said, although she did.
The Seneschal coughed meaningfully. How obscure this all must have seemed to Arkady’s poor apprentice (who, in Judah’s opinion, looked a bit dazed). They couldn’t treat Gavin’s leg without treating Judah’s, because his leg would keep hurting as long as hers did. Treating Judah would require explanations, and explanations were most definitely not allowed. A fun corner they’d backed themselves into. She would enjoy watching them squirm in it.
Flinty-eyed, Arkady glanced at his apprentice. “I left my coat in the retiring room. Go fetch it.”
“Have a page show you the way,” the Seneschal said.
“I remember,” the apprentice said, and left.
Then it was only Arkady and the Seneschal and Judah and Gavin. The two men were the only ones outside of the family who knew about the bond. Judah felt Gavin press a thumbnail against the pad of his first finger. The simplest and oldest of their signals: a nod, a wink, a hello. An acknowledgment that they both existed, that they were who they were, and nobody else was.
“Quickly,” the Seneschal said. “Before he returns.”
“Show me, girl,” Arkady said.
Judah stood, hiked up her skirt, and unhooked the legging she wore beneath it. Gavin had seen her leg plenty of times; she didn’t care if the Seneschal did, and she didn’t want to be alone in a room with Arkady if she could help it. The sore place was on the side of her thigh, halfway to her knee, and edging toward spectacular, now that she got a look at it. The swollen, purple skin looked as if she were hatching an egg underneath it.
“You’ll need a poultice for that,” Arkady said.
“In the bedroom, please,” the Seneschal said. “The apprentice will ask questions.”
“No,” Judah said.
“If we have to chloroform her, you’ll lose the rest of the day, too, of course,” the Seneschal told Gavin. “And there’s the meeting with the generals in a few hours about the Nali campaign. Your father will be disappointed if you miss it.”
“Treat us in the same room,” Gavin said.
The Seneschal shook his head. “The apprentice will ask questions about that, too.”
Gavin pressed his fingers against the edges of his eye sockets. Then, with an apologetic grimace toward Judah: “The door stays open.”
Wordless, she dropped her skirt and stalked into the other room. Arkady followed her and closed the door halfway behind them.
Lying on her side on Elly’s bed, Judah arranged her skirt so only the hurt leg showed. A quickstove sat on the table—a small one, and new. It burned vials of Wilmerian gas and could heat a kettle to boiling in minutes. Arkady filled the kettle at the tap, placed it in the bracket, and used a match to light the flame. Then he took out his mortar and began rifling through his herb box, pulling out one tiny cloth sack after another.
“Where’d you find the toady?” Judah said. Not because the silence was awkward—she loathed Arkady and knew the feeling was mutual—but because she actually wanted to know.
“My apprentice, you mean.” Arkady began to grind herbs, gripping the pestle like it was a weapon and the herbs had offended him. An acrid smell filled the room. “You see, foundling, in the real world, people with no family or money must work to support themselves, or they starve.” The kettle was steaming now. He closed the gas valve, poured hot water into the mortar, ground away at it a few more times, and dumped the whole mess into a towel. When he came to stand over her, the smell was strong and almost culinary, like food gone off. Arkady’s fingers were bony and cold.
When she was younger, he’d occasionally taken liberties with those fingers. They’d put a stop to that, she and Gavin, and he had not taken liberties since. But she could not keep him from touching her, sometimes. He knew it, and let his fingers linger in a way she knew they would not have with Elly. Now he pushed aside her carefully-arranged skirt, prodding leisurely at the bruise and the flesh around it. “Lord Elban ought to make you hide that scab-colored hair, or shave it off,” he said. “It’s disturbing to look at.”
“So are you,” she said.
He slapped the poultice down on her leg hard. Aside from the bruise, the thing was hot and whatever herb he’d used was caustic. She couldn’t hear her leg sizzling but it felt like it ought to be. He pressed the poultice tight to her skin, staring right at her. She stared right back. She didn’t flinch.
“Inhuman thing,” he said, and then the door banged all the way open and Gavin limped in, his face dark with anger. Elly followed behind him.
“What are you doing to her?” Gavin said at his most imperious. His glare was fixed on Arkady but Elly’s eyes were on Judah.
“My apologies, Your Lordship,” Arkady said as he slid a bandage under Judah’s leg. Even through the pain she was disgusted by his touch on the inside of her thigh. “I’m afraid the water was a bit hot. It should be perfect for you if we hurry, Lord.”
Elly was already there, taking the bandage from the vulture’s thin hands, pushing him away from Judah. “Then hurry,” she said, nearly as imperious as Gavin. “I’ll do this.”
Gavin looked at Judah, who said, “Go ahead. I’m fine.”
When they were gone, Elly peeled back the poultice, sniffed at the soggy herbs and winced at the scalded skin beneath it. “I really hate that man. How are you not weeping right now?”
“Well-trained,” Judah said. In the other room, she felt Arkady put a matching poultice on Gavin’s leg. It was applied more gently, and not so hot, but the burn still flared anew. Since the door was closed now, and it was only Elly, she let herself wince, and close her eyes.
* * *
After Clorin died, they’d discussed sending Judah away—the Seneschal had told her so—but putting her in someone else’s care was too uncertain, and Gavin cried and refused to eat when separated from her. Nobody ever mentioned if Judah had cried, too. But every winter, as soon as the first deep snow fell, they’d make her sit naked on a snowbank. She still remembered the feel of snow packed between her toes, of snowflakes hitting her bare shoulders. Watching through the glass-paned terrace doors as Gavin, inside by the fire, grew listless and blue.
They—Elban and the Seneschal—worried that someone might use her to hurt Gavin. Every choice made for them was made with that possibility in mind. At six years old, they’d never had a tutor, for fear of what their young tongues would let slip; other than Elban and the Seneschal, they saw only their illiterate nurses (who were sequestered from the rest of the staff, and who had a disturbing tendency to vanish after a year or so) and Theron. Who was only a second son, anyway, and with his cough that came and went, came and went, nobody had really expected him to survive his childhood. Judah supposed that if Theron had been as strong, handsome and charming as Gavin, she and Elban’s older son would probably have suffered a tragic illness early on, and been mourned throughout the kingdom.
But Theron was Theron, shy and thin and not at all Lord of the City material, so Gavin and Judah lived. When Elban wasn’t campaigning, the Lord even took a tiny bit of interest in his heir; he’d let the boy join him on guard inspection, or in the council chamber, or at executions. After Gavin’s seventh birthday, Elban and the Seneschal scoured the distant—and less powerful—courtier families for the boy’s future bride. Eventually they found her in Tiernan, a remote district known primarily for its sheep and secondarily for its blackwork embroidery; the girl’s family was wealthy enough to be respectable, but poor enough to be glad of the bride-price, and willing to accept with it the condition that they’d never see the girl again. The child herself, the Seneschal had told Gavin on that long-ago afternoon, was pretty and obedient; smart enough to read and write, but not smart enough to be troublesome. Later, it made Judah laugh, all the ways that Elban and the Seneschal had misjudged Elly.
The marriage had been arranged earlier than usual, so that the bond between the two children would have time to strengthen, and any other bonds the girl came with had time to weaken. When hurting the Lord of the City was as easy as pushing Judah down the stairs, these things could not be left to chance. Even so—the Seneschal had explained—the secret must be kept. Judah and Gavin must learn to keep it.
They’d been eight. It was the first time Judah had ever been allowed in Elban’s study. In her memory it was all warm yellow light from the oil lamps, shelves filled with books and strange weapons taken as trophie
s, and massive furniture that made Judah feel tiny. Elban himself, his white hair tied back like a magus and his eyes glittering in the lamplight, had held a glass of wine in his hand, the liquid a deep beautiful red like an overripe strawberry, like Judah’s hair. He hadn’t done anything but watch. It was Arkady who had brought the knives and the brands and the acid, and he and the Seneschal who had used them on her. Always her. The person who wasn’t directly hurt healed faster and scarred less, and they wanted Gavin to stay perfect. He had tried to be perfect. He had tried to be brave, in the presence of his father. But even he had cried before long, and begged and pleaded.
We’ll stop when you can keep quiet, the Seneschal had said. You must learn to be quiet.
When Judah passed out, they revived her and started again.
She didn’t know how long they spent in the study, if it was three nights or thirty. She remembered being forced to eat, to drink water. She remembered the Seneschal leaning over her, holding smelling salts beneath her nose. Saying, not entirely unkindly: The only way out is through. You must learn to do this.
She remembered the way Gavin had screamed when they hurt her. She remembered how she’d hated him for it: she remembered seeing, through blurry eyes, that hate reflected back from him. It was hard, in such a blinding storm of agony, not to hate the person that caused it, however unintentionally. It was hard to care about anything but stopping the pain.
In the end, the lesson took. Arkady cut a thin scarlet line across the width of Judah’s thigh and neither of them so much as flinched.
“Good,” Elban said, the first time he’d spoken. The Seneschal had nodded.
Very shortly thereafter, Elly had arrived from Tiernan. Judah was still bandaged under her clothes. She still hurt. She and Gavin could barely speak to each other. They were in too much pain and the memories were still too fresh. Theron was little and scared and didn’t understand. She felt utterly, completely alone, in a way she never had before.
The Unwilling Page 5
