The Unwilling

by KELLY BRAFFET

  She thought again of Firo, and that horrible girl who’d had her hooks in Gavin—funny, Judah had hated her so much, but now she couldn’t remember her name. “Gavin says the Seneschal will kill him eventually. That he can’t let Elban’s heirs run around with a claim to the throne, because the courtiers might try to put him back on it.”

  “I suppose they could,” the magus said, as if it didn’t matter. “Can we see the old wing today?”

  So she led him through the dusty corridors to Theron’s workshop. His tools were still in the parlor where Judah and Gavin had left them, so the workbench was bare, but other than that the place was unchanged: notebooks piled on the shelves, the cloth over the window. The smell was the same, smoke and lamp oil and metal. She felt a pang of sadness, of longing for the days when Theron could be found hiding away here, too busy tinkering to talk.

  A moment passed before she noticed the magus standing stock-still in the doorway. As she watched, he moved like a sleepwalker to the tapestry that covered the stairs; pushed it aside, and peered up into the gloom.

  “It’s a tower,” she said, “but the stairs are broken.”

  “Impassable?”

  “Unless you can fly.” She understood the tower’s appeal. The last time she’d been here, it had called to her, as well: the idea of getting away, rising above the toil and the grimness.

  The magus gave her a quick, fierce look—it reminded her of the way Theron had looked, when most of his mind was engaged in a problem and he wanted to be left alone to figure it out—and then stepped through the door. By the time Judah followed him he was already climbing the winding stone stairs. He wouldn’t get far; she remembered the collapsed place, the steps nothing but broken teeth jutting out of the wall. She remembered watching Gavin test one with a foot, and hearing the short, startled scream from Elly, waiting below, as the tooth broke and fell clattering to the ground. They’d been twelve then, and in her memory Gavin’s body was still child-slight, all long limbs and narrow shoulders. Remembered him calling down to Elly, teasing: You sure you won’t come see, El? They’d teased her mercilessly about her fear of heights. At the time it had felt harmless, but now it seemed cruel. They’d all been so young.

  Above her, she heard the soft shuffle of the magus’s boots slow, stop, and—after a moment—descend. When he reached the bottom, he said, “There are gaps, but they’d be passable if a person was really determined.”

  “Nobody is.”

  “Aren’t you curious? Don’t you wonder what happened here?”

  “I don’t have the energy for curiosity anymore.”

  They were back out in the workshop now. “You do look tired.”

  “Oh, I’m fine,” Judah said with a breeziness she didn’t feel. “If you’re going to be concerned about someone, be concerned about Theron. He’s still seeing imaginary cats.”

  She meant to distract him, but he surprised her. “Just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it’s not there. Some people would call the link between you and Gavin imaginary.”

  “That’s different. That’s real. We were born with it.”

  “I doubt that. You aren’t related. You weren’t born in the same room. How would you be linked from birth? The real question, though, is not when, but why you were linked.”

  “I’ve always assumed it was a bad joke.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Your mother was torn apart by dogs getting you in here. Seems like a lot of trouble for a bad joke.” She didn’t respond. Patiently, he said, “Think about it. If your health wasn’t linked to Elban’s heir’s, they probably still would have let Lady Clorin keep you—for a while. But as soon as you could be taken away and put to work, you would have been. Somebody didn’t want that for you. Somebody wanted you to live, and they wanted you to live here. As close to Elban’s blood as you could possibly get.”

  Nobody had ever said things like this to Judah. All at once she was filled with a cold, prickling suspicion of this man, with his spectacles and odd coloring. Who she didn’t know, really, any more than she’d known Arkady. She felt her eyes narrow. “Why does the Seneschal send you to spy on us?”

  Evenly, and without hesitation, he said, “He wants to know if you’re getting desperate. And spy is a harsh word. It’s not as if you don’t know he’s sending me.”

  The prickling suspicion faded into a faint unease. “Is he paying you?”

  “I get to keep my manor and my apprentice. I don’t care about the manor, but my apprentice is special.” He hesitated. “So are you.”

  She ignored that, although his murky blue eyes were sincere enough behind his glasses. “What happens when we get desperate?”

  “Gavin abdicates. The empire falls. For what it’s worth, I don’t think the Seneschal has any intention of killing you.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” she said, and he said, “Nothing here makes sense.”

  * * *

  In the parlor, Elly was scrubbing midden dirt off a squash; when she saw the bag from the magus, she said, “Theron, love, come do this for me, please,” and took it eagerly, wiping her hands on her skirt. “Butter. Real cheese! Oh, smell that, Jude.” She thrust a chunk of ripe cheese under Judah’s nose. “Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it. I love that weird little man, I really do.”

  “The Seneschal makes him come,” Judah said.

  “Who cares?” Elly said cheerfully. She pulled a paper sack out of the parcel, peered inside and sighed with pleasure. “Chocolate. Ask him if he can get more gas flasks for my quickstove.”

  They ate the squash roasted, with rice and wild onions. Thanks to the magus’s butter, it tasted better than usual, but if Judah never saw another squash again, it would be too soon. No matter how much Elly scrubbed them, Judah could never entirely get the sight or smell of the midden yard out of her mind. When they were done, Elly took the scraps and pulp and seeds and added them to a pot she kept on the stove, full of a bland dirty-orange stock. She used it for cooking rice, or oatmeal, or whatever she had; once she’d said that if they had nothing else, they could always drink it. It had been a joke, but if the Seneschal ever stopped bringing supplies, Judah knew they’d end up there eventually.

  Afterward Gavin offered to help Elly with the sheep. While they were gone, Judah sat with a book, but the oil the Seneschal brought them was cheap and gave off a wan, blurry light that was hard to read by. The book was a history of some province she’d never heard of; it was old and dull. All of the books left in the library were old. Sometimes the pages fell out at the gentlest touch, because the glue was so desiccated. She wondered if anyone was writing new books anymore. She wondered how long it had been since anyone had.

  A frantic scratching started on Judah’s wrist. Need you. Find me. He was digging deep. It burned. A few moments later, Elly came back in alone. She hung up the shawl she’d worn, which was too delicate for the weather, and said, “I wish the coup had happened before shearing time. We could really use the wool. Can’t shear now. They’ll need their fleece to get through the winter.” She sat down and began to unlace her boots.

  Now? Please?

  “What happened?” Judah said, and Elly said, “Why do you think anything happened?”

  Wordlessly, Judah pulled up her sleeve and showed Elly the angry red scratches. “Oh.” Elly seemed to deflate, her spine bending and her shoulders sinking. “Well.”

  Need you.

  Judah sighed. He’d drawn blood, she could feel it. She stood up.

  “Don’t go,” Elly said suddenly. “Let him deal with it himself.”

  “I’ll be back soon,” Judah said.

  She could feel him pulling on her, drawing her to him. He was in Elban’s study; of course he was. The room hadn’t changed. Nothing had been taken during the coup. A fire crackled in the fireplace, and Gavin dug at the logs with a poker. The same poker she’d been burned with, pro
bably. Relief flooded his face when he saw her. “Finally,” he said. He stood up and reached for her hands.

  She put them behind her. “How are you, Judah? Anything new in your life, Judah?”

  “I know how you are.” His voice was lifeless. “I know everything you feel. There’s nothing new in any of our lives, and there never will be. Unless something’s happened with your scrawny little magus.” She thought he meant the words to come out teasing, but instead they were nasty and cold. “Which would mean he’s not very good at it, because I never felt a damn thing. He’ll have to work harder than that to compete with your stableman.”

  Hearing him mention Darid in such a crude way made her anger flare. “Keep being unpleasant and I’ll fill your head with fire instead of water,” she snapped.

  For an instant his face was ugly and belligerent. Then he winced, and collapsed onto the sofa. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have said that. I should never say anything again.”

  Warily, she sat down next to him. “Why? What else have you said?”

  “I asked Elly tonight if she still loved me. She said she didn’t know. That she thought she had, all those years, but maybe she’d just been relieved that I wasn’t awful.” He looked miserable. “I lost my temper. Asked her if that was all it took to get her into a man’s bed. Him not being awful.”

  Which was Gavin all over. Why be content with a mere insult when you could go to the most unpleasant place possible? “Oh, Gavin,” Judah said.

  “She said that ‘not awful’ was a step above what I’d always looked for in a woman. Which—” The fire snapped. He stared at his closed fists. “Everything used to be so simple. We were just...together. It worked. I went with other women, sure. But not seriously, and she never seemed to care. Now there’s nobody else—literally, nobody else—and suddenly she’s not sure she ever loved me. She said to me, we can make our own decisions now. Like there are any decisions to make, except die now or die later. And even that’s more the Seneschal’s choice than ours.” He pressed his hands to his eyes, digging at the sockets with the heels of his hands. “Gods, Judah, I can’t go on like this. Nothing is the way it was supposed to be. Why am I the only one who seems to notice that? Why am I the only one who cares about anything other than food?”

  The inside of him was all twisting and agony. “Because food is important,” she said. “The rest of us are just surviving, Gavin, the same as we’ve ever done. But I know it’s different for you, and I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t want your pity. I want your help.” He didn’t open his eyes, but his sadness and anger radiated. “You’re the only one who can actually help me. So help me, Judah.”

  “I’m trying,” she said, and he said, “Not with words,” and put his hand out toward where he knew she would be. And because he didn’t open his eyes, he didn’t see her flinch; he didn’t see her hesitation, or her doubt, before she took his hand, anyway.

  * * *

  Theron’s fruit-drying contraption was clever but it took two people to take it apart so the drying trays could be brought in. Judah was helping him in the damp, fading evening, although her fingers felt stupid. Theron frowned as they worked. Judah knew he was probably thinking about the contraption, trying to figure out a better way. She was of no use; her mind felt stupid, too.

  So when, out of nowhere, he said, “You shouldn’t let Gavin do what he does to you,” her stomach lurched, like she’d tripped and almost fallen. It was on the tip of her tongue to say Gavin doesn’t do anything to me, but Theron’s face was open and frank and so she didn’t bother. Instead, she said, “What do you know about that?”

  “I know it makes you feel wrong. The magus feels wrong, too. He’s not what he says he is. He’s a pot with a lid, you know? You don’t see what’s under.”

  “Everyone’s like that.”

  “No,” he said. “You are, and Gavin is, and he is.”

  His eyes did that thing she found so disconcerting, tracking nothing across the floor. But not mindlessly, not thinking of something else. Watching. “What about your cats?” she said. “Are they what they seem to be?”

  He gave her a surprised look. “You can’t see the cats.”

  “Theron,” she said as her eyes filled with tears, “there are no cats.”

  It felt—to use his word—wrong. Like waking a sleepwalker. Theron only nodded. “I know. They’re not really cats. I think my brain just sees them as cats.” He considered. “I’m not sure they’re anything. I think they’re extra. Left over. Like when I used to take something apart and put it back together, sometimes it looked right and worked right, but there would be a piece left.” His eyes were wide and guileless. “I make you feel guilty.”

  The tears were spilling over now. She dashed at them roughly. “I gave you the antidote too late. The magus said to give it to you as soon as he left. I waited too long. And now—” She stopped. She couldn’t say what Theron was now. She didn’t know.

  “I’m not the same,” he said. “But I’m not unhappy. You are.”

  He spoke so gently. She touched his hand. Sweet Theron—no, he had never been sweet. But he had been perceptive and honest. The hallucinations were new, but he had always seen what others hadn’t.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  The next morning, she met the Seneschal in the courtyard. He gave her a hard look. “Have you seen the magus lately?”

  She had. Was it the workshop? Was that the last time? She couldn’t think. “A few days ago, I guess.”

  “You look tired.”

  Judah no longer felt the need to be polite, and was tired of hearing about how tired she looked. “I’ve eaten nothing but squash and oatmeal for weeks. How should I look?”

  “I know life in here isn’t easy for the four of you.” He was always so placid. “And I’m sorry about that. It was the only way I could keep you alive: to tell the people that you were undergoing some of the same hardships they always have.”

  “Yes, I’m sure this is all very satisfying for them. Can I have the food now?” Breakfast had been slim that morning: Elly’s latest bread experiment, which was rock-hard and flat-tasting, and—of course—squash. She knew the bulging bag held the drabbest and cheapest of foodstuffs, but she wanted it anyway. The last bag the magus had brought was already empty. Had it really been only a few days? Or longer? She reached for the bag.

  The Seneschal held it away. Grabbing for it would mean dodging around him like a child and she didn’t have much pride left, but she had too much for that. Just the faintest awareness of it, like a limb about to go numb.

  “Marry me,” he said.

  She froze. “You’re joking.”

  “Not at all. You’re the only one everyone in the city unequivocally likes or sympathizes with. Seeing you throw in with New Highfall would raise morale.” He considered, then added, “There needn’t be anything physical between us, but you’d be treated well. And you’d get to leave the House. You wouldn’t have complete freedom, of course—you know nothing about the city, and you wouldn’t be safe without a guard—but life would be easier for the others while they remain inside. Food goes further split three ways than four, doesn’t it?” He held up the bag. Still not giving it to her. “They’d be better fed. Healthier. So would you. Also, the Nali chieftain is still in the city. What if we can figure out how the bond between you and Gavin works? You’ve spent your entire life subject to him, haven’t you? When he misbehaved, you were punished. When he got drunk, you ended up with the headache. Wouldn’t you like to be your own person? Completely independent, beholden to nobody?”

  “Except you,” she said.

  He dismissed that. “You’ve always been beholden to me. I’ve protected you your entire life. When you were a baby, and Clorin wanted to keep you, I convinced Elban it would do no harm. Later, when we discovered the bond...you might not realize
it, but I protected you then, too, just as I’m protecting you now.”

  “You held a hot coal to my foot,” she said.

  He nodded. “And put you in the snow, and bled you. Elban was for killing the both of you and starting over entirely. Once again, I convinced him otherwise. I told him I thought the bond could be managed with the proper training. Elban enjoyed seeing you hurt. I didn’t.”

  At last, he offered her the bag. She still wanted what was inside, but she didn’t want to take it from his hand. She didn’t want to take anything from his hand. But she needed the food. They all did. Humiliated, furious, she snatched the bag from him. “Go away.”

  For the first time, he stepped toward her. She automatically stepped back, but his gray eyes were serious, not amorous. “You have known me in unkind circumstances. I am not an unkind person. I will not force you to do anything, but this is your best choice. Surely you see that.”

  Her best choice. She had spent all her life watching Elly prepare to be Lady of the City and listening to the Tiernan talk about how it could always be worse, how wives in Highfall had only the rights their husbands gave them. What rights would the Seneschal give her? A life outside the Wall, in the city, but under guard. As much a prisoner as she’d ever been. Brought out occasionally, perhaps, to make the Seneschal look good. On the balcony over the Lord’s Square, say. Twice a year. On the solstices.

  No. With every weary shred of her being: no. The Seneschal wasn’t even not awful; he was merely not as awful as he could have been. He had deliberately tortured her when she was a child, every year, for all the years of her life. And now he expected her to marry him because he hadn’t enjoyed it.

  She didn’t mean to tell anyone, but that night, watching Elly milk, the words came out of her mouth, anyway. And she’d known they would, hadn’t she? She’d felt the weight of them pressing inside her like a sneeze or a laugh, and she’d known from the moment they’d left the parlor that she wouldn’t be able to keep them to herself.