Elly and Theron had managed to stay together, too. “No,” Judah said. “Just embarrassing you.”
“They’re the same thing.”
The Seneschal was back at the dais now, speaking with Elban. “Then get me to the edge and let me go.”
“That’s not the way this dance works,” Firo said. “You’ve already called enough attention to us.”
Gavin was dancing with somebody Judah didn’t know, a courtier in yellow with huge red ladybugs nested in her hair. She didn’t even notice that Firo was carefully moving her to the edge, like she’d asked, until their two bodies revolved and she found herself at the foot of the dais, staring up into Elban’s eyes. He regarded her hungrily; the Seneschal stood next to him, stern and forbidding.
She clutched at Firo. “No. Don’t let me go.”
“Make up your mind.” But he spun her away, back toward the middle of the circle. Then there was another flourish and suddenly Judah was standing in front of Gavin. With a cool nod toward Firo, he took her hand, and she let herself be pulled back into the dance. She was glad he was wearing gloves. She didn’t know what he would have been able to tell if he touched her bare skin.
“You’re dancing,” he said with a mirth that went nowhere near his eyes. “Your courtier beau actually convinced you to dance.”
“Not exactly.” Over her shoulder, she saw Firo standing alone, trapped awkwardly among the dancers but with an expression that said it didn’t matter at all; then somebody stepped up to him, too. Somebody in blue. Amie.
Gavin’s grip on Judah tightened—sensing, perhaps, the sudden tension in her body. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m avoiding the Seneschal. I think he wants to talk to me.” Elly and Theron were still together, still dancing. Elly seemed almost to be enjoying herself. Theron looked, as always, dazed.
Gavin’s eyes went to the dais behind her. “He certainly does. Did you do something to piss him off? I’ve seen friendlier-looking torturers.”
“You have not,” she said.
A little of the mirth in his voice touched his face, like a candle flame that wasn’t quite dead. “You don’t know what I’ve seen. But don’t worry, we can keep you away from him. This is the last dance before Elban’s speech.”
As he said the words, the flame guttered and died. “Don’t lose hope,” she said to him gently. Elban was watching the two of them like they were food now.
“Too late. Amie’s already trading favors in my name.” Gavin sounded morose. “Look at her, working your courtier. I hope he tells you about it later.” Then she felt his breath freeze in his chest. Something had just occurred to him. He glanced back at the Seneschal and when his eyes came back to Judah they were full of panic. “He can’t take you away,” he said. “It’s too soon.”
With the grandest flourish of all, the music stopped. Judah felt cold fingers lace through hers: Theron, who was creeping close like a scared puppy even though Elly held his other hand. The four of them stood in a tight group, almost a circle.
And then the Seneschal was there, too. He glared at Judah, but it was to Gavin that he spoke. “It’s time.”
His words sent pain like ice through Gavin’s body. In front of Judah, Elly’s hand found his. Her fingers were squeezing Gavin’s as tightly as she could, and a wave of—something—coursed through Judah. Grief. Nerves. Hope. They were all linked, she saw. All together.
Then Elly dropped Gavin’s hand. And, more gently, Theron’s. “I’ll stay down here.”
“As you like,” the Seneschal said, not unkindly. He glared one last burst of venom at Judah and followed Gavin up to the dais.
Somebody came by with a tray of silvery crystal glasses. Elly took one and drained it. “I don’t know what will happen after. Stay with me, Jude? For as long as you can?” She was ghastly pale, almost gray.
“Elban’s talking,” Theron said unexpectedly.
And he was. His voice filled the air, as clear and cold as the crystal in Elly’s hand. “Gathered here, we are, to celebrate the betrothal of my son and heir, Gavin of Highfall. Gathered here, in the eyes of my court and the eyes of my kingdom. As the power of the words I speak tonight extends beyond this room, so do the actions we take here extend beyond our time: into history, into the lives of our children and their children and all who come after.” The ceremonial words rang hollow, almost mocking. Everyone knew Elban had no intention of yielding power. The time he spoke of, the time of their children and their children’s children, existed—to him—deep in an impossible future that he never truly believed would come. “The choosing of a mate to continue the line of our House is of profound consequence. Would that I’d had the counsel of my lost Lady to guide me in this choice, but it was not to be.”
Judah suspected that he would no sooner have consulted Clorin than he would have Darid.
“Upon the Lady of the City rests the trust and well-being of our empire, and upon her rests the trust and well-being of the Lord of the City himself. She will be the mother of our future. As my lost Lady served, comforted and counseled me, so will my heir’s Lady serve, comfort and counsel him. She must be humble and wise, pliant but unbreaking.”
Out of the corner of her eye and above the heads of the crowd, Judah saw a cloud of tiny indigo butterflies move slowly toward the dais. The room held its breath. All of these words weren’t necessary; Elban was dragging this out, enjoying it. The watching courtiers were starving, avid. More than one painted mouth hung open, panting for the drama they expected any minute.
“We stand on the cusp of a great time in our history. Our enemies underestimate our power.” Elban’s eye fell on her. On Judah. “I promise all of you: they will not do so for long.”
Elly’s hand was in Judah’s, damp and cold. Somebody was trembling but Judah didn’t know if it was Elly or herself or Gavin, up on the dais. He was almost as pale as Elly but his face was expressionless, as if he were a portrait of himself. His eyes were focused somewhere above the crowd, so perhaps he did not see the last of the courtiers step aside to allow Amie through. She was very pretty. Her face was innocent and interested.
If Elban broke his word, Judah would run to the tower above Theron’s workshop. They would find her but it would take time. They would not hurt Gavin to find her, Judah thought, and then amended: they would not hurt him too much.
“In this spirit,” Elban said, “I present to you the betrothed of my son, the mother-to-be of his heir, and your future Lady of the City.” His eyes found her again and she glared at him with all of her fury, as if the sheer force of her will could make him obey. His smile seemed all for Judah, as he threw an arm out toward the crowd, jutted his chin toward the massive chandelier, and roared, “Eleanor of Tiernan!”
The gasps from the courtiers hit Judah like a wave of ice water. There was a horrible moment of stillness where cheering and applause should have been; in front of the dais, Amie was a marble statue. Judah heard a brittle snap as some part of the fan the lady courtier held broke. Then she let it drop and dangle on the bracelet that bound it to her wrist, like a bird’s wing that would no longer fly.
Her chin went up. She began to clap.
The silence broke. All of the courtiers around them, poised for drama, finally had it. It wasn’t the dish they’d been expecting, but Judah could tell from the cheering that—with the exception of a few pockets of silence that must have held Amie’s coterie—most of them relished it, nonetheless. Judah’s knees felt weak. Elly was clinging to her arm, both hands clammy, her cheeks pink now and her eyes filled with tears. “Judah. Judah! Why?” she was saying, her voice high and thin. “What’s happening? Theron, oh gods, Theron.” Her eyes darted around the room, perhaps for guards moving menacingly toward them, and she grabbed Theron protectively by the sleeve. Her whole weight rested on Judah’s arm as if she, too, were afraid she’d fall, and it was almost enough to pull Judah down. Gavin was s
till on the dais but his heart, too, was pounding, his vision gray.
“It’s okay, Elly,” Judah said. “He’s okay.”
Then the Seneschal was at Elly’s side, and now that it was all done Judah felt only gratitude as he took Elly’s arm, and her weight, and led her forward. Elban said her name again. This time it was a command and cheers swelled around them. On the dais, Gavin was recovering; the Seneschal tried to deliver Elly up to him but Elly shook both of them off, her back ramrod straight, and climbed to the dais herself. Beautiful; regal. Judah had trouble seeing because her eyes were filled with unaccustomed tears. No guards were coming for Theron—Theron was safe. Gavin held out a hand. Elly took it, and then her place next to him. The despair that had shadowed them blew away like fog and the two of them shone like gold.
Judah wanted to dance. Not the tightly wound performance the courtiers called dancing but something wild, passionate: she wanted to whirl and leap, to throw her head back and crow. She had saved them. She had saved them all.
A hand grabbed her arm. Strong. The Seneschal. He pulled her through the open solarium doors into the cool night and there was no resisting him. As they left behind the light and cheering she could barely keep up, she almost tripped over her skirts. Through the garden, away from the acrobats, down the Promenade he dragged her, until they came to the Discreet Walk, where he almost hurled her into the darkness under the arbor. Clusters of wisteria in bloom hung heavy and spectral in the night air and so did their fragrance.
Gripping her arm, drawing her close, he hissed, “What have you done?”
“I saved them,” she said boldly, not caring what he did to her. Saying the words aloud was magnificent. She started to laugh. “I saved all of them.”
“Saved them.” He dropped her arm, disgusted. “Saved them? Who have you saved? Have you even thought about this, you stupid girl?”
“Elly and Theron and Gavin,” she said, still shaking with laughter. “Everyone who matters. I saved them.”
“Judah. Judah. At what cost?”
His words emerged ragged with frustration, almost a wail. She had never heard the Seneschal sound like that. Her laughter died. “None that matters.”
“None that matters,” he said wonderingly. “None that matters. Oh, you stupid, stupid girl.”
The laughter left an empty place in her, and now anger rushed in and filled it. “How am I stupid? I saved them. What did you do? Nothing. I saved them!”
“You keep saying that.” He was angry, too. She thought he would probably hit her again. “All right, fine. Lady Eleanor will marry Lord Gavin, as planned. Lord Theron will live. Amie will go plot revenge somewhere. But you—you—”
She heard excited laughter. The ceremony must be over. Courtiers were beginning to filter out into the garden again. He took her arm and pulled her deeper under the wisteria, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Tomorrow Lord Elban leaves to attack the Nali again. His hope is to capture one of their chieftains, and make them break the bond that makes it necessary to keep you alive. Two hours ago, your fate was either a quick death, if he succeeded, or a life spent here if he failed. Imprisoned, but alive. Well cared for. If Lord Gavin came to heel for no other reason, he would have done so to keep you safe. You would be bored, and you would be lonely, but you would live.” He put up his hands. “Now? Now, Judah...you are equipment. He will take you on every campaign he wages for the rest of his life and yours. He will never let you out of his sight, no matter how much he hates you. And he does hate you, Judah. He hates you with every fiber of his being.”
“I don’t care,” she said defiantly.
“Was it just too terrible to think of Eleanor at his mercy?” The Seneschal stood very close to her now. “Because Eleanor’s life with Elban would have been afternoon tea compared to what yours will be. You will sleep in his tent at night, if he allows you to sleep. He will write his messages on your skin in blood and he will not care how much it hurts. He will chain you like a dog and he will do anything he wants to you, and everything he does, Lord Gavin will know. Everything he does, Lord Gavin will feel. Did you consult with him before you took your clever little plan to Elban? Did you ask him which outcome he’d prefer? Because at least when Eleanor suffers, Gavin doesn’t have to feel it.”
Judah couldn’t speak. She had no breath.
“Stupid girl,” he said, for what seemed like the thousandth time, and this time she understood. He was right. She had been stupid.
It was worth it! something in her cried. I saved them!
But the Seneschal wasn’t done. “He wants to break Gavin to his will, and you have given him a better way to do that than anything Lady Amie could offer. How long do you think it will be, once Elban has you, before Gavin is willing to give his father anything he wants, do anything he says—not even to stop it, but just to make it not quite so bad? A week? A day? An hour?” He shook his head. “The campaign tomorrow is a pleasure excursion, now. He has no reason to break the bond, since you’ve shown him how useful it can be, but if the stars are with you, he’ll find someone who can do it anyway. That way, when every inch of your body is covered with scars; when he’s driven you insane and killed everything inside you; when dragging your carcass around becomes more trouble than he deems it worth, he can kill you. That is the only peace you will ever know again.”
“I don’t care.” She was barely able to hear her own voice. “I don’t care.”
He stared at her for a long moment. Then: “You have no idea what you’ve done,” he said, then turned around and walked away.
* * *
Her shoes dissolved in the walled garden, halfway to the stable. They literally came apart: with one step she was wearing shoes and with the next step she wasn’t. She saw the pale leather soles half-sunk in the earth between the broken paving stones, surrounded by scraps of embroidered green felt. She kept walking. The stones felt so smooth they were almost soft under her feet; where there were no stones, the soil felt as thick and lush as the richest carpets in the House. Her mind had gone blank. It was true that she had saved them and it was true that it was worth it and everything the Seneschal said was probably true, too, and it was also true that she was scared. She felt as if she were perched on the edge of a yawning void and she wanted to selflessly believe that it was better she fall than any of the others. But the Seneschal was wrong; she wasn’t stupid. She knew Gavin would be furious when he discovered what she’d done. She’d done it to both of them but she hadn’t let herself think about that—she had only let herself think that he would be on campaign anyway. He might even hate her, and she couldn’t let herself think about that, either; couldn’t imagine a world where Gavin hated her.
Her mind kept going back to the new pages, hunched over courtiers’ shoes on the corridor floors, small hands scrubbing furiously.
The stablemen’s barracks, a long building tucked behind the stable itself, glowed with the warm light of oil lanterns. She could hear a chaotic hum of voices, too many for the stablemen alone. A woman laughed. Somebody played a violin, the music high and giddy. She stopped, suddenly aware of how she would look in her fine clothes, barefoot and muddied though she was. She didn’t belong here. The haven she was hoping for was somewhere else, was nowhere. She should go back to her room. Wipe the mud from her feet so she didn’t leave a mark on the fine marble floors.
A figure stumbled out of the barracks. Drunk, by the looks of it. Somebody from the brewery staff must have brought a barrel of beer. As she came closer she recognized his long hair and bowlegged gait. One of Darid’s youngest stablemen, she didn’t know his name. He didn’t see her as he lurched to the pasture fence, put one arm out to steady himself, and opened his trousers. Moving now would only call attention to herself; Judah stayed still and silent and hoped he didn’t see her.
But he did. Fell backward and cried out an oath she didn’t know, scrambling to close his pants again as he fled—as
well as he could—back into the barracks. Calling for Darid.
She took one step backward, then another. But Darid had already heard the call. His curly-haired bulk was outlined in the doorway, unmistakable.
She could have run anyway. She didn’t.
He didn’t stumble the way the stableman had, but something in the loose way he carried himself and the broad smile he wore told her that Darid was a bit drunk, too. “You’ve made young Con ruin his boots,” he said, his voice musical with amusement.
“I can try to find him some new ones,” she said.
He saw her face and the amusement was replaced by concern. “Oh, now. Don’t worry about it. It’ll teach him a lesson. He’s too old to be thinking he’s seeing ghosts.” He glanced down. “Besides, you ought to find some for yourself, first.”
“I was wearing shoes. They fell apart. Not actually intended for walking in, as it turns out.”
“That’ll teach you a lesson, then. You’re too well-dressed to be tromping through pasture mud.”
He took off his coat as he spoke. She said, “I’m not cold,” but he held it out to her anyway, and there didn’t seem to be anything to do but put it on. The material was thick and coarse. It smelled like horse and wood smoke and sweat. Like him.
“Why aren’t you at the ball?” he said.
“I was. It was lovely. Gavin and Elly are going to get married and make one, or at most two, adorable blond children together, and Theron will live a long life staring blankly at walls, and I—I will—”
She couldn’t finish. “Do your arms hurt you?” he said finally to fill the silence. “Is that why you’re here?” He picked up the arm that had taken the most damage, the one Elban had burned first. The sleeve of his coat was far too big for her arm and pushed up easily. Carefully, he undid the buttons that held her sleeve closed, then pushed that up, too. In the darkness she could hardly see the curlicue branded onto her skin, but his fingers found it. Tracing it lightly, a touch she could barely feel—and she could not feel him, she realized, with amazement. The only sensations she felt were her own. And he was careful. Even the pain from the burn was faint.
The Unwilling Page 24
