The Laurentine Spy (15 page)

Marta nodded. The crease between her eyebrows smoothed away. She bent her head over her embroidery frame.

Saliel unclenched her fingers and looked at the tin. It was as wide as the palm of her hand—wide enough for the key to the Citadel. She lifted the lid. Wax was molded to a smooth surface inside, smelling of bees and honey and summer. She pressed it with a fingertip. It dented softly.

Saliel exhaled a slow breath and closed the lid.

“Y
OUR
E
MINENCE
?” S
ALIEL
sank into a low curtsey. Her skin tightened in a shiver as she met the Consort’s eyes. “May I speak privately with you?”

The observation lasted several seconds.
Unafraid
,Saliel told herself.
Innocent.
She swallowed and managed a timid smile, while her heart beat loudly in her ears.

The Consort made her decision. “You may.” She put aside her embroidery and stood. “Come. We shall walk.”

“Thank you, your Eminence.” Saliel stepped back and curtseyed again. The tin was a small weight in the pocket of her gown. She cast a quick glance down as she followed the Consort across the Ladies’ Hall. The stiff folds of fabric hid the tin. Its outline was invisible.

Her woolen cape hung in the antechamber. Saliel took it from its peg and turned to the mirror, buttoning the cape and adjusting it so that the slate-blue folds fell neatly. She met her own eyes.
I can do this.
Her face was as pale as parchment beneath the tightly-wound braids of red hair.

The reflection showed her the Consort and her attendants. She watched as the women fastened the Consort’s cape at her throat and settled it over her shoulders.

The Consort looked up. For a moment their eyes met in the mirror. Saliel managed a smile. She took a deep breath and lifted her chin and turned around.
I can do this.

An attendant opened the door to the courtyard. Saliel followed the Consort outside.

Cold air gusted at her, stinging in her nostrils and bringing tears to her eyes. Saliel clutched the cape tightly around her.

“Yes?” The Consort began to walk. Her footsteps echoed flatly. The sky was as gray as the marble flagstones.

“I wished to ask you about my marriage.”

The Consort halted, swinging around to face her. Anger glittered in her eyes. “I have had quite enough of this, Petra. You dishonor us all with your reluctance to marry Lord Ivo. It is immodest and low-bred and not at all the behavior of a noblewoman!”

Blood rushed to Saliel’s cheeks. She lowered her head, submissive. “You mistake me, your Eminence. I am quite reconciled to my marriage. It’s my wedding night that I wish to talk with you about.”

“What about it?” The Consort’s voice was as icy as the wind.

“How do I do my duty as a wife? What is it I must do?”

For several seconds the courtyard was silent except for the gusting wind. Saliel glanced up. The Consort’s gaze was dark and cold, assessing. Her eyes seemed as black as the ermine that trimmed her cape.

“Would you mind telling me what I must do?” Saliel asked timidly. “My mother didn’t tell me and...and I would ask Marta, but I don’t wish to remind her of Lord Soder.”

The Consort’s expression became less severe. “No. Of course not.”

Sweat gathered on Saliel’s skin despite the frigid temperature. Her mouth was dry with fear.
Now. Do it.
But the Consort turned and began to walk again.

Saliel’s feet didn’t want to follow. She forced herself to take a step, a second step, a third. “Your maid will ensure that you are properly attired. And she’ll wait in your parlor until it’s over, in case you require anything.” The Consort glanced back at Saliel. Her expression was almost compassionate. “You may wish to bathe afterwards.”

Saliel bit her lip and nodded.

“As for the rest, your husband will know what to do.” The Consort’s voice was precise and uninflected. “The whole thing should take only a few minutes. Lie still and remember that union with one’s husband is a woman’s duty.”

Saliel barely heard the words. She slid her hand into her pocket and touched the tin of wax with a fingertip.

“The first time is the worst; the pain will be less after that. Eventually it won’t hurt at all.” The Consort halted and turned to face her. “Is that what you wished to know?”

Saliel swallowed past the terror in her throat and nodded again. “Yes, your Eminence. Thank you.”

“It is something every noblewoman must endure.”

Now.

Saliel gripped the tin in her hand and caught the Consort’s gaze. Sharp eyes. Eyes so dark they were almost black. She concentrated fiercely.
You cannot look away. I have you.

She did it between one breath and the next: pulling the tin out of her pocket, stepping forward and reaching beneath the Consort’s cape. Her fingers found the key effortlessly. It was surprisingly easy, as if terror gave her some of her childhood speed and clarity of concentration. Her focus didn’t waver; it was purely on the Consort’s eyes.
Dark eyes, clear and sharp.
She didn’t have to force herself not to glance down; her fingers knew the difference between the heavy and ornate key to the Citadel and the more delicate marriage keys.

Saliel flipped the lid open with her thumb and pressed the key into the wax, aware of the darkness of the Consort’s eyes, the texture of the woman’s gown beneath her knuckles—the ridges of embroidery and warmth of stiffly-boned velvet.

She released the key. It fell back, hitting the Consort’s marriage keys with a faint
clink.
Ermine brushed softly over her skin as she slid her hand from beneath the cape. She closed the tin and placed it into her pocket and stepped back.

Saliel lowered her eyelids briefly.

The Consort blinked. She shook her head as if to clear it. “Accept your duty with obedience and composure. To do anything else is to dishonor yourself as a wife.”

“Yes, your Eminence,” Saliel said again. “Thank you.” She curtseyed deeply and held the position for a long moment. She nearly lost her balance when she rose. She was oddly light-headed. Her legs trembled as if she’d just run a race.

The tin of wax bumped against her thigh as she followed the Consort back to the door. Her heart beat loudly beneath her breastbone, staccato and fast, and she was aware of the prickle of perspiration on her skin.
I did it.

Pain began to gather behind her eyes. Saliel wiped sweat from her upper lip with fingers that shook and tried to breathe deeply, slowly.

The Consort halted at the door and turned to look at her. “Was that all you wished to speak about?”

Remember who you are
, Saliel told herself.
You are Lady Petra. Be her
.

She bowed her head humbly. “Your Eminence, I wish to apologize for my earlier foolishness. I am deeply sorry for it.”

“I’ve been most disappointed in you, Petra.”

Saliel glanced up. The Consort’s expression was icy with disapproval. It was a simple matter to widen her eyes and let the wind sting them, to allow tears to gather and fall down her cheeks. “Forgive me,” she whispered.

The Consort’s face softened slightly. “Marriage is never an easy thing. And you have not had your mother to guide you.”

Saliel nodded and tried to look pitiful, while more tears slid from her eyes and the ache intensified in her head.

The Consort tutted briskly and held out a lace-edged kerchief to her. “There is no need to cry, my dear.”

Saliel took the kerchief and wiped her eyes. “Thank you, your Eminence,” she said in a choked, tearful voice, “I’m sorry my behavior has been so disappointing. I...I did not mean it to be. I give you my word of honor that it won’t happen again.”

“Then this matter is forgotten.”

Saliel clutched the kerchief in her hands. “Thank you, your Eminence.”

The Consort inclined her head graciously and turned to go indoors.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“I
SAW ONE
ring around the moon tonight,” Athan said.

“I saw none.” The Guardian stepped aside.

Athan followed the man into the candlelight. A small cloth-wrapped bundle lay on the stone table. Clay, he guessed.

“Let me do it,” he said, reaching for the bundle. “It’s too dangerous for her to—”

He halted as the storeroom door opened. Three stood in the shadowed doorway, the hem of her black cloak swaying slightly around her ankles.

Athan brought his hand back to his side. He watched as Three waited for the Guardian to approach, as she spoke her words of code. He heard the low murmur of her voice and the Guardian’s reply, but not the words.

He bowed as she came into the candlelight. “Good evening.”

“Good evening.”

“I have the clay,” the Guardian said, picking up the bundle and folding back the cloth.

“Wait,” said Athan. “Wouldn’t it be best if I—”

“I’ve already made an impression.” Three opened her gloved hand, revealing a tiny silver case. She held it out to the Guardian. “Will this suffice?”

The Guardian snatched it from her hand. He lifted the lid. Athan saw pale wax inside and the impression of a key. “Yes,” the Guardian said. “This is perfect.”

Athan looked at her. “Was it difficult? Does the Consort suspect you?”

“It was surprisingly easy.” Three’s voice was calm. “And no, she doesn’t appear to suspect me.”

He nodded.

“And you?” she asked. “How is it with the Spycatcher?”

“Fine,” he said. “Don’t fear for me. I have ways of avoiding conversation with him.”

“If that’s all, we’ll meet in two nights’ time.” The Guardian snapped the lid shut. “I’ll have a key for you.”

“And our departure?” Athan asked.

“Four nights from now.”

And my wedding is in five.
The tension he’d been holding in his shoulders eased. “Together?”

The Guardian nodded. “Yes.”

Athan’s tension eased still further. He glanced at Three.
Whose face do you have beneath that hood, my lady?

In four nights he’d know.

CHAPTER TWENTY

T
HE RACING ANIMALS
were housed alongside the stables in a building constructed of brown sandstone. Athan inhaled deeply as he stepped inside. The air was warm and scented with straw and manure. The smell—familiar and earthy—was oddly relaxing. He heard grunts and squeals and the rustle of a servant shifting straw with a pitchfork.

“My lord.” A servant hurried forward and bowed. “How may I assist you?”

“I wish to see my pig.”

He followed the man at a leisurely pace. The flagstones were damp and freshly-scrubbed. Morning sunlight shone in through the high, barred windows.

His piglet was drinking from the trough in her pen. “An apple,” he drawled, and waited until the servant had hurried to do his bidding before whistling softly.

Russet looked up at his whistle. She trotted across the pen towards him. “Hello, girl.” Athan bent to rub her head. She pressed against his hand, warm, grunting softly.

The servant returned with a golden-skinned apple. Athan took it and waved him away.

He watched as Russet ate the apple, enjoying her simple pleasure. The piglet’s coat was a deep red. As red as Lady Petra’s hair. Redder.

What would it be like to marry her?

To be able to lie with her. To feel her smooth skin beneath his hands. To touch her hair...

Athan made a disgusted noise in his throat. There’d be nothing pleasurable about bedding Lady Petra. It would be an act of duty, emotionless and distasteful.

He sighed and leaned against the wooden railing. “I shall miss you,” he told the pig in a low voice. He’d bought Russet on a whim; another example of Lord Ivo’s foolishness. He’d never expected to become so fond of her.

“Is this your piglet?”

Athan recognized the voice. His skin tightened in fear. “Yes,” he said, straightening and turning. He yawned widely.

The Spycatcher stepped close to the wooden railing and bent to pat Russet. “What’s her name?”

“Russet.”

“How old?”

“Six months.”

The Spycatcher scratched behind Russet’s ears. “Fast?”

“Very,” Athan said, and yawned again. “Wins all her races.”

“I shall have to bet on her. She’s a fine pig.” The Spycatcher turned to face him. His smile seemed genuine.

Athan found that he couldn’t look away from the pale eyes. His heart began to beat faster.
Take control. Don’t let him ask any questions.
“You like animals?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” he asked.

The Spycatcher’s smile altered, losing its warmth. He shrugged. “Animals don’t lie.”