The Black Prince: Part II (16 page)

She studied the scars in the wood. And then she started counting them. She’d spent about as much time in the kitchen at the inn, only there she’d never been invited to sit down. Nor allowed to. She’d peeled and chopped, and done a hundred other chores, when she wasn’t servicing men. She could count to a hundred now; the number was more than just a vague concept of “many” but a real, concrete thing. A hundred scars on the table, a hundred apples in the basket.

This kitchen was nicer, too, with an enormous fireplace that boasted two ovens. The stew was in a lidded cauldron that hung suspended from a crane. It swung from side to side, making accidents less likely as one attempted to remove something, and could support the weight of several such cauldrons. Although all of Thomasina’s cookware was sufficiently large to aid in preparing dinner for an army.

Army. She sighed. She hadn’t heard anything, but she also hadn’t expected to. Knew that sending any kind of word home was impossible. So why did she feel so…abandoned?

A cup of tea appeared before her. Thomasina sat down opposite. They were alone. Cassie and Jorja had gone into town for staples, and taken the cart. The men were at work. Tad had gone to the house down the street, to visit a friend.

“Would you like a roll? It’s the soft kind, that you like.”

“No, thank you.”

Thomasina crossed her arms, resting her elbows on the table. “Child, you need to go out more.”

Lissa felt so defeated. “No.” The tea was elderflower. She didn’t mind it, but it wasn’t her favorite. Not that she’d stated that preference. She would have drank it, cups and cups, even if she’d hated it. Because it was food. And because, as much as the Hamels wanted her to think otherwise, this wasn’t her house.

She was so keenly aware of her status as an outsider—everywhere. And she hated herself for that. She felt so ungrateful. Whatever was offered should be enough. It was all so much more than she’d ever had. She went to bed every night secure in the knowledge that nothing would happen to her while she slept. She was warm. No one beat her or yelled at her. What right had she to complain?

To say that this tea or that tea was more preferable, when for the first time in her life someone was giving her tea? And part of her still, she knew, was terrified that—despite all their claims to the contrary—the Hamels would grow tired of her and throw her out. That she’d ask for too much. Grow to comfortable. That they’d realize what she’d always known: that she was worthless. A burden. One man’s passing conceit, and nothing more.

“You can’t,” Thomasina said, “make like a mooning calf forever.”

She was using her serious voice.

Lissa looked up.

“He’s gone to serve the king, not to rest with Bragi. He’ll be back.”

“And what if he…forgets about me?”

“The day my son in law forgets his duties is the day he’ll no longer be able to perform them.”

“But he’s not….”

Thomasina raised an eyebrow. “He’s not?”

Lissa couldn’t help but smile. Even if it was only a small smile. Thomasina’s unfailing confidence was reassuring. She seemed to have forgotten, though, too, that Hart had all but dumped her on the Hamels’ doorstep rather than showed up there, hat in hand, hoping to court.

“You picked a strange one.” Thomasina shook her head. “But he picked you back. And,” she repeated, sipping her tea, “you need to get out more.”

And then the words were leaving Lissa’s mouth before she had time to consider them. Hold them in, as she almost always did. “People look at me. I mean, not just glance at me in passing. I can feel the weight of their stares. And hear their whispers, too. About how I’m the Viper’s whore.”

“You know who else they call a whore?” Thomasina put down her cup. “The queen.”

Lissa chewed her lip.

“Because she and the king lead a life they don’t understand. But, more than that, because envy is a terrible master.” She shook her head. “A certain kind of person is always going to feel she’s owed what you have. And thus not understand why you have it and she doesn’t. Because she looks in the mirror and sees the finest things in all the land, whether they’re there or no.”

“He…worships the Dark One.”

“You think this is news to me, child?” Thomasina poured herself another cup of tea from the pot on the table. “Each man can worship only according to his own conscience. The duke’s dungeons are full of men who don’t worship the Dark One, and who still rape and murder. If it doesn’t bother you, then don’t let others’ opinion of it bother you. Because,” her eyes held Lissa’s, “you have to live your life. And they can’t.

“And the next time you catch someone looking at you, invite them over. Then they can look at me, too. And share their opinion of your virtue with Master Hamel. I’m certain that he’d be delighted.”

Lissa sighed.

“Have you told Hart how this makes you feel?”

Lissa shook her head. “No, of course not. I mean…I could never.”

“Hah. If you can put his cock in your mouth, child, you can talk to him about what ails you.”

Lissa felt her cheeks burn.

“What? You think I don’t know what goes on between a man and a woman? I’ve given birth to five babies! I know how they all got there.”

Lissa couldn’t help herself. “Not that route!”

And they both burst out laughing.

The tension cleared, Lissa found that she didn’t hate her tea so much after all. Outside, there was shouting as Tad and his friend ran through the garden. They were careful to keep to the paths; Thomasina had a strong arm and wasn’t above turning anybody, including her grown sons, over her knee.

“I think I’m going to brew some divination tea. To whatever base you use, you add lemon balm, eyebright, mugwort, and rose hips. It’s not tasty, but that’s not the point.”

“Oh.”

“For Sarah. You know, the shrew who lives on the other side of Tad’s friend. The spinster with the pots. She wants to have better dreams. Maybe I should add yarrow. I’d add sage, too, for wisdom but it’d be lost on her. The Gods can’t give us what we don’t want.”

Sarah was…a difficult character. She was one of the people who watched Lissa’s comings and goings with a jaundiced eye, although Lissa had no intention of telling Thomasina that. She didn’t want to cause trouble. Even if the two women weren’t the best of friends, they were still neighbors. But Sarah had quite thoughtfully informed Lissa of her impending doom just the other morning. As Lissa was bringing a pie to another neighbor whose husband had gout and who hadn’t been able to cook for his wailing. She’d told Lissa in no uncertain terms, along with a liberal flashing of the sign against witchcraft, all about the depths of the pit and what she’d find there.

Lissa was tempted to ask how she knew.

Instead she thanked Sarah, and continued on.

“He’s coming home.”

Lissa pulled her gaze from her tea. “What?”

“That’s one answer, for which I do not need tea. He’s coming home.”

“Y
ou have to help me.”

They were walking through the open meadow, near the cliffs. Isla and her sister. As though they were truly family, and enjoyed spending time with one another. Rowena had been somewhat friendlier of late, but she fooled no one. Not even herself, judging by the look of exertion on her face when she made conversation with Asher at the dinner table, or restrained herself from some hateful remark.

All of which had, undoubtedly, been in preparation for this conversation. Which Rowena had asked to have, coming in upon Isla as she read in the gallery. Isla had been alone; Greta was visiting a friend in town for the afternoon and Apple was still keeping to her room.

Isla had agreed, more out of curiosity than anything else.

If Rowena expected that a week’s worth of relative civility would erase the slate, then she was sorely mistaken. She wasn’t now laboring under the impression that Rowena had changed her mind about Asher, or Isla herself. Only that her sister must really, really want something.

And now she was about to find out what.

“Yes?”

A chill wind blew in from the lake, and Isla was wearing a cloak over her gown, wool that had been dyed a delicate gray. The color honestly reminded her of nothing so much as the underbellies of pigeons, but she hadn’t told Asher that. It had been his gift, that his tutor had helped him select. Gray fox trimmed the edges. Including those of the hood, which was down. A matching roll of fur had been presented as well, for her hands, but she didn’t need that now. A pair of gloves were sufficient. And truthfully she might have gotten by without those, but being around Rowena gave her the urge to put on armor.

Rowena was wearing a ridiculous confection of red and blue, left open to flap behind her like a too-large pennant. Also blue, the dress underneath laced in the front like a man’s tunic but with a skirt attached. Rowena had left the laces loose down almost to her crotch. She probably would have left them open further, if there’d been an option to. As it was, her navel was clearly visible through the crisscrossed cords. Her breasts, too, were all but exposed.

Where she’d gotten the money for such a wardrobe, Isla couldn’t begin to imagine. Rudolph must have more at his disposal than she’d realized. Or was being impoverished in his absence. It seemed unlikely that Rowena, who loved the church so—if not her husband—had taken a lover.

“I need to escape.”

Isla turned her head. “Escape what?”

Beyond them, far out on the lake, a thick wall of fog was rolling in. The air was rawest in springtime, Isla thought. Rawest before the storms that springtime brought. And then, all of a sudden, there were blooms. This wasn’t a season of transition, despite what people claimed; it was a season in and of itself that bore no relation to what came after. Nor indeed before. Was there a place in the world where it was always springtime? Where the wind bit and rain seemed to hang, suspended in the air?

Rowena made a noise of disgust. “Rudolph!”

“What?”

Isla could see it on her sister’s face: the desire to unload on her for being stupid. Instead she took a deep breath and said, “what I mean is, I need to escape my marriage.”

“But—how do you know? You’ve only just
gotten
married.”

Rowena shook her head. “You don’t understand.” But her tone was mild.

“Indeed I don’t.”

They were walking parallel to the cliffs, now, a few paces in. Isla didn’t think her sister would throw her off. And, in truth, she wasn’t too worried that Rowena might try. Not because she didn’t believe Rowena willing, or capable, but because Isla was much stronger now than she’d been before. Harder to kill. Rowena had missed her chance, in that department.

Rowena started to speak. Then stopped. Then started again. “I didn’t want to marry him.”

That much had been apparent. Rowena had been unpleasant, even for her. And on what was supposed to be the most joyous of occasions. But instead of treating it like the love match it was—or was supposedly—she’d acted like she was being forced into the union from hell.

Privately, Isla had suspected that Rowena’s cold feet came not from fear of losing her virtue, as she’d pretended, but her discovering that Rudolph had only ever been a big fish in a small pond. Once out of Ewesdale, he was no one. And even there he’d been no one, but he’d seemed thrilling to Rowena. In comparison to the earl, Rudolph’s family was rich. There were no holes in their ceilings, no pigeons roosting in the rafters of their great hall.

But Rudolph’s family’s entire hall would have fit inside Caer Addanc’s forecourt. Or inside that of any of the great houses. Even Quinn in Hardland could best Rudolph in every department and ten times over. Every material department, at least.

“You didn’t—don’t—love him?”

Rowena shook her head. The smallest movement. “I don’t know that I ever did. I mean, I thought I did. But then I got here and….”

“Realized you’d married beneath your station.”

Rowena’s eyes flashed. But she took a deep breath, and swallowed. “I didn’t want to be fickle.
The Chivalrous Heart
explains that…and, oh, never mind. There’s a different reason.” She stopped, turning. Her back was to the cliffs. Her cloak lifted in the latest gust, and then settled.

“Yes. I wanted a wedding. Yes. I wanted it to be magnificent. I’m not denying any of it, as much as I’d like to. And yes, I was upset that my wedding was nothing—nothing—compared to yours. But I blamed you when I should have blamed Rudolph. A woman’s status in this world is only a function of who she marries. You know as well as I that although you’re better educated and far, far smarter that if our roles had been reversed you wouldn’t have been feted the same. Even though you’d deserved it—still deserve it—more.”

Isla nodded slowly, confused.

“I married a codpiece-wearing country bumpkin from nowhere. I got what I deserved. For my own stupidity.”

Rowena’s new foray into the world of honesty had not made her any kinder, it seemed.

“There’s someone else.”

Isla’s eyes widened.

“But he didn’t press his suit. Which I naturally concluded was due to those constraints of chivalry, which bind us all. I was promised to another; he could hardly impugn my honor, and his, by disregarding such a thing.”