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“Have you looked your fill, my lady? I would not wish to curtail your pleasure.” Vasic had changed little from the boy who used to pull the wings off butterflies.

“It is no pleasure to see honest men punished for their loyalty.” One day soon she would wipe that self-satisfied smile from his face. “I shall not forget what I have seen here.”

“I would not have it any other way, my lady.” Vasic pressed a proprietorial hand over the small of her back.

Behind her she heard the clink of chains from the corner. She dared not look back.

Controlling the urge to twist free, she allowed Vasic to guide her to the door. More than anything she regretted being unable to pause and look back to that dark corner.

Vasic followed Alwenna up the stairs and put a halt to her precipitate flight as they entered the great hall. “I have done as you asked, my lady. Give me your answer now.”

Alwenna pictured herself flailing her fists against him, scratching, biting, anything to wipe that smug smile off his face. And as he waited for her answer she saw a hint of doubt creep over his expression. He may have manipulated her into a corner, but she still had power over him, however limited. She might yet turn that to her advantage.

“You will free all the prisoners who are held for loyalty to Tresilian? All sixty-eight of them, and any others held on those grounds alone?”

“With the exception of the two who stand accused of intimacy with you.”

“Those charges are false. Free them, too, and you will have my agreement.”

Vasic shook his head. “Those were not my original terms. Accept those or nothing at all. Further, if you cannot agree to my generous offer today, then tomorrow one prisoner will be removed from the dungeon and executed. And the same will happen every day until you do consent.”

He met Alwenna’s gaze, unabashed. It occurred to her for the first time that he was, quite simply, without any kind of conscience. People meant nothing to him. Their lives were as insignificant as stray insects on the floor: there only to be crushed underfoot if he willed it. But she could save those sixty-eight lives.

She suppressed a shudder. “You have my agreement to your terms, cousin – make the announcement.”

She left him there in the great hall and hurried up the newel stairs to her chambers. Once there she ordered hot water and washed from head to toe. But she couldn’t be certain whether she was washing away the filth of the dungeon, or the taint of Vasic’s hand upon her.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

From the eastern window of her chamber Alwenna watched as the prisoners straggled across the courtyard in twos and threes. They made their way out beneath the gatehouse where families or other loved ones waited. She counted every one, and sure enough there were sixty-eight. Vasic had kept his word. She ought to have felt some kind of elation at this moment, but instead she felt empty. Worse than the knowledge she’d sold her own body to secure these people’s freedom was the dread that Vasic would somehow go back on his word. All she could do right now was hope they put a great distance between themselves and Highkell before Vasic changed his mind.

Her head ached. She turned away from the light of the window and crossed the room, pausing in front of the hunting scene she’d crafted before her marriage to Tresilian. The dark sky and the alignment of the stars had come from her imagination, or so she’d once thought. She was drawn to set her hand on that dark sky, her mouth bitter with the taste that heralded the sight. She had nothing to gain by trying to fight it now; yield to it and she might sleep easier. She spread her fingers over the fabric and opened her mind.

The darkness was deeper and more complete than she’d ever known before. It closed in about her, held her pinned in a death grip. She couldn’t breathe. The pain in her lungs was unbearable. She cried out but her throat made no sound. She screamed but there was no one to hear. This had to be what it was to be mad.

Then there was a sound: a scrape, a thud, muffled and far away. A slithering and scuffling, and then a sudden intrusion of fresh air cutting through the reek of damp stone and loose mortar, cutting through her madness. And light, burning her eyes, stinging them to tears. And a voice. A voice she knew. The words… she had no idea what they had been. That voice was all that mattered. Then there was more light tearing into her and she had to press her eyes closed against the dazzle of it. Tears escaped between her eyelids as the alien sounds resolved into something meaningful: the scrape and clunk as fallen stone was cleared away. And the voice again. A hand on her shoulder. Weaver.

“You came back.” Her voice. It was hoarse and strange to her ears, but the madness fled. “You came back for me.”

A hand brushed her face.

The maid’s voice intruded. “My lady? Are you hurt, my lady?” The girl shook Alwenna’s shoulder, nervously, as if she expected to be told off. Alwenna was crumpled on the floor beneath the wall hanging. She pushed herself up to a sitting position.

“I… I must have fainted.”

“Let me bring you some wine, my lady.”

Alwenna was about to stop the girl, tell her it wasn’t necessary. But she was shaking from the horror of what she had experienced. What did it mean? She didn’t recognise the scene. Had her mind played with the memory of Gwydion’s cave? She’d fallen to the floor then – there had been the slick stone, the damp smell. Gwydion had spoken of seeing into the realms of the future and told her not to fear the darkness. As for Weaver, he was a prisoner in Vasic’s dungeon and going nowhere.

Perhaps she’d simply fainted after all.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

The clunk of the dungeon door opening woke Weaver. Two guards unlocked his and Drew’s leg shackles, hauling the youth to his feet when he was slow to respond to the order to stand. Curtis was on duty at the door. He gave them a sympathetic glance as they passed, but nothing more. Weaver knew what to expect even before they were led along the dark corridor to the vaulted torture chamber.

When Weaver recovered consciousness he was tied to the rack, arms dragged above his head with damp ropes biting into wrists and ankles. One eye was swollen shut from the beating he’d been given. Above him was the vaulted ceiling, serrated with teeth of lime leaching from the damp stone. He couldn’t turn his head far enough to see who else was in the room, but he recognised Vasic’s voice.

“Are you simple, boy? Admit the truth of Garrad’s accusations and all this will stop. You know you want to.”

Drew’s reply was little more than a whimper. “It’s untrue. I… she… did nothing wrong.”

Footsteps crossed the chamber, then returned. A faint sound disturbed the silence, and with it a singeing smell, then an unearthly screech.

“Are you sure? Let’s try that again, shall we?” Vasic’s voice was sweet reason itself.

“Let the lad be.” Weaver’s ribs spasmed with pain as he spoke up. “He never so much as looked at her. It was me.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Drew gasped. “He’s only trying to protect me.”

“Each determined to protect the other? So noble. The Lady Alwenna will indeed be touched when I tell her.” Leisurely footsteps crossed the chamber, then Vasic leaned over Weaver, smiling. “Who am I to believe? It matters little to me, as long as your presence here guarantees her compliance.” His grinning face loomed closer to Weaver. “But her taste for low company surprises me. Which of you does she prefer, I wonder? The hardened warrior, or the eager young boy? She preferred the eager boy when she was younger – she married that one. And look where that got her.”

Vasic moved out of Weaver’s line of sight. For a moment he dared hope Vasic was tiring of his game. “You must tell me, Weaver: which of you does she favour?” Searing heat tore into Weaver’s side and the stink of his own singeing flesh rose up around him. He couldn’t contain the grunt of pain as the branding iron was released.

“My, my, hardened soldier indeed. Let’s see how loud the young boy squeals this time.” Vasic’s footsteps moved away.

“No, let him be.” Weaver’s ribs spasmed with every inward breath. “I… I have her trust.”

“Indeed. And how did you earn that, soldier?”

Weaver flinched, but no fresh pain was visited on him. “Tresilian ordered me to take her to Vorrahan. She turned to me for comfort once.” It was no great stretch of the truth. She’d needed comfort but all he’d been able to think of was losing himself inside her. That was why he’d run away with his tail between his legs and got stinking drunk in the brewhouse. Drew shouldn’t have to pay the price for Weaver’s guilt.

“As I suspected.” There was a clatter as the iron was thrown to the floor. “Do you have his words?”

An unknown voice replied. “Yes, your highness.” A quill scraped on parchment.

“Can you write, soldier?”

“Yes.”

“Then you may sign your confession. Untie him.”

The ropes bit even harder into his limbs as guards fought to release the knots which had tightened as the rope began to dry. Weaver pushed himself upright. The movement set fresh spasms through his ribs and he couldn’t take hold of the quill until they’d eased. The words on the parchment danced before his eyes, but they were the words he’d spoken. He wrote his name in an unsteady hand. Goddess forgive him.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Alwenna was pacing restlessly about her bedchamber when, after a peremptory knock from outside, the door swung open before the servant girl could answer it. Vasic stood there, a smile of satisfaction curling his lips. Not a winning smile, but cold and calculating. He gestured to the servant girl. “You, wait outside.”

The girl hurried from the room without a backward glance, her head lowered.

Vasic pushed the door shut then paused, surveying Alwenna. “I have news for you, my dear. I think it will be welcome news for you, since you will be spared a difficult decision after our marriage.”

He could only mean Weaver and Drew. Alwenna was too late to rein in her reaction.

“I thought that might capture your attention. Your affection for the two commoners would be touching in other circumstances.” His voice was unctuous.

“Speak plainly, cousin. What is this news?”

“You are so blunt, my dear. As a lady of refinement you might study for a less abrupt manner. Especially when addressing your future husband.”

Damn Vasic. She was in no mood to play his games. “You are in such playful mood today, cousin, I can only assume your news pleases you greatly.”

“Indeed it does. You remain as astute as ever.” He smiled, and crossed the room to the table by the window. “You may see if you wish.” He set down a sheet of parchment on the table top. “This is the soldier’s signed confession, so you need not choose which prisoner to face charges, after all.”

“But… we didn’t…” She leaned over to see more clearly. Vasic kept one hand on the sheet of parchment. With his other hand he toyed with a tress of her hair that had fallen forward as she read the brief confession. He brushed the strand back over her shoulder and slid his fingertips onto the nape of her neck. She flinched away from his touch, unable to tear her eyes from the document he held. Weaver’s signature was unevenly written, but legible. Each ill-formed letter spoke of his pain. She didn’t need the sudden rush of sight as she pressed a fingertip to the ink to know what he’d endured.

“He will face charges of treason. His confession means he will be found guilty, of course, but not before the due process of the law is observed. You will find I am scrupulously careful about such matters.”

Alwenna tried to remain impassive as she stepped away from Vasic’s reach. “And the young novice?”

“He will be released, as per our agreement.”

“Now you have a confession he should be released straight away.” Alwenna tried to keep her voice level.

“No, my dear.” Vasic spoke as if to a slow child. “He will be released after our wedding night. Those were the terms of our agreement. I was most particular to make them clear to you.”

“But if he is not guilty you cannot hold him any longer.”

He smiled. “My dear, it was never a question of their guilt, but of your compliance.” He raised a hand to caress her face and she pulled her head away.

His smile turned to a scowl. “That is an unflattering habit you have developed of late, my sweet. If I were a lesser man I might be offended by your lack of consideration for my finer feelings.”

“Finer feelings? You have such things? I find that hard to believe when you seem entirely taken up with your own gratification.” She regretted the words as soon as they had left her mouth.

Vasic’s scowl deepened. “Cousin, I thought you had grown past this tiresome stage. Must I remind you of the respect due to me as your king and future husband?” He rolled up the parchment and stowed it away inside his doublet.

Alwenna bit back her instinctive retort. She needed to think through the implications of Weaver’s confession for this charade. A professional soldier expected certain risks in the course of his career; a novice monk, well, that was different. Drew had chosen a very different path. If he’d not turned from it to help her he would not now be in this predicament and she owed it to him to mitigate the damage he suffered as a consequence. The confession had taken the choice out of her hands, although it was probably the choice she’d have made. Except now Weaver faced execution.

Vasic was studying her, his head tilted slightly to one side. “My sweetness, you haven’t yet thanked me for bringing you this news.” Unctuous as olive oil, but not as wholesome.

“That was remiss of me. It must have slipped my mind.”

“Then thank me now. You may kiss the royal hand.” He extended his hand to her, the hand bearing his signet ring.

She wanted to defy him; he dared her to do just that. She took his hand in hers and curtseyed low, pressing her lips to his fingers for the briefest of moments. As she straightened up again Vasic caught hold of her hand and drew her towards him.

She resisted. For a moment they faced one another.

Vasic shook his head. “Cousin, you will do what I require of you with good grace, or suffer the consequences along with your erstwhile playthings. Is my meaning clear?”