Текст книги "A vow of blood and tears"

Автор книги: Cate Corvin

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 41 страниц)

Chapter 3 Cirri

We were rushed out of the Cathedral, the Sisters unwilling to entertain a vampire in their midst for any longer than it took to marry me off to one.

I walked at Lord Bane’s side, trying and almost succeeding to keep my breathing slow and steady. The top of my head failed to clear his shoulder. The vampire took up almost the entire hallway with his bulk, and I felt crushed inwards by his presence, nothing more than a speck of dust drifting in his wake.

A carriage, hitched to ebony geldings, waited for us in the stableyard. It was massive, clearly designed to hold a fiend—lacquered blood-red, only a few shades away from black, with the crest of Ravenscry detailed in gold on its side. Dust had coated much of its splendor.

The driver was another vampire. He was no fiend; his face was handsome in a pretty, boyish sort of way, skin as smooth and poreless as porcelain, eyes gleaming green and cut vertically with thin pupils. When he smiled, tipping his hat to me, he revealed two long, neat incisors.

It was hard to imagine that the Lord of the Rift had once looked anything like that.

I licked my dry lips as the driver held the carriage door open, and my husband gestured, his black claws catching the midday sun. Each claw was the length of one of my fingers.

“After you, my lady.”

I had heard many voices in my life described as ‘deep’. The choirs of the priesthood boasted bassos whose voices seemed to hum in my bones.

Lord Bane’s voice went beyond that. When he spoke, my bones hummed, but my heart also raced. He sounded… hardly human, not like the smooth-spoken vampires I’d seen in Argent. There was a savage roughness overlaying the rumbling bass of his voice.

When he showed me what lay hidden under the cloak and hood, I understood.

He spoke through a mouth full of fangs, with a forked tongue.

I signed with one hand, a quick and nervous gesture of appreciation for his manners, and the bell on my wrist chimed, filling the air with its sweet sound.

There was an almost imperceptible flinch in the vampires’ shoulders.

The Sisters had not given me a choice in my wedding attire; they’d insisted on the bells and the rowan crown, and the red wedding gown of Veladari custom. No human bride in this country would ever marry in a color other than scarlet.

The tradition dated back to the days of the Red Epoch. Too many women were stolen from the marriage altar by vampires; it was thought that a bride wed in red would show that she had already been bitten and sampled, making her a less attractive prize to them.

The Eldest had laughed as she set the crown of rowan on my hair, knowing the scent would be harsh and unpleasant to the vampires. And then she’d brought out the bells.

I hadn’t realized just how painful that sound might be to him. Like his voice, with the removal of his hood, many things became more clear.

I climbed into the carriage, doing my best not to move my hands any more than necessary, and slid into a seat of pure luxury. The interior was rich, paneled with dark wood and the seats thick and velvety. The ride to the Rift would be made in more comfort than I’d ever experienced in my life.

I was followed by the bloodwitch, who sat next to me. She appeared to be in her late thirties, though the ages of bloodwitches, like vampires, were deceptive. Her ash blonde hair was twisted into a tidy chignon, an expensive pair of gold-framed spectacles perched on her nose. Her own nails were nearly long enough to be called claws, and capped with gilded filigree sheaths.

The Sisterhood had also provided me with a lady’s maid, as befitted someone with a lai in her name—they had not wanted to tip off Lord Bane to the fact that his new bride was an indentured servant herself, though that would become apparent soon enough.

But Ellena stood outside the carriage, taking in the small space, her mouth pinched. “May I ride with the driver?”

I knew that she did not like the idea of being trapped in here with a fiend. She had cried when the Eldest Sister ordered her to accompany me to the Rift and attend to me, but that was not her only job.

But Lord Bane merely rolled his shoulders. “Do as you please.”

Ellena exhaled an audible sigh of relief, and climbed up on the coachman’s bench.

Which left Lord Bane himself to enter the carriage, squeezing his broad shoulders through the door. The entire contraption groaned as it took the weight of the fiend, and he settled himself on the seat opposite me and the bloodwitch, pulling the door shut behind him and locking it in place with an iron bar.

With the dull sound of that bar falling into place, it finally hit me.

This was real.

The monster sitting across from me was my husband. The carriage was a cage, dragging me across the country to a place I’d never seen outside of books. I had been sold, unable to speak a word in my defense.

As the carriage lurched forward, the dark horses drawing it out of the stableyard, I closed my eyes and took deep breaths, translating Nord wyrd-runes in my head to calm myself.

The streets of Argent flashed by outside the dark, smoky windows when I opened my eyes. It was still real.

Lord Bane watched me in silence, the thin, cat-like pupils of his gaze widening against the brilliant gold of his irises. What should have been the whites of his eyes were as black as ink, his skin a deep, ashen gray.

I gazed back at him, slowly taking in… everything he was.

His size had to be part of his fiend nature. He was unnaturally large, but well-muscled from what I could see of the legs stretched before me. A perfect predator.

High, sharp cheekbones, curved upwards like horns, jutted above a thick lantern jaw distended to accommodate fangs. A row of tiny, rounded spicules protruded through his brows, growing in size as they moved up his forehead to the hairline, all the way to the sharp, angular horns sweeping back over black hair.

These things might have been overlooked, were it not for the wide, pointed ears that seemed to swivel at every tiny sound. The almost muzzle-like shape of his lower face, his nostrils slitted, lips deformed to expose a rack of gleaming fangs.

His entire face was deformed with sharp, cartilaginous ridges that traveled over the bridge of his nose and up to his forehead, giving him a bestial aspect.

Despite his appearance, fine clothes had been carefully tailored to fit his oversized, distorted body. Trousers, a crimson brocade waistcoat, a linen shirt… all of it pulled out of shape and hidden under a cloak. In these close quarters, I could smell him clearly, a pleasant scent like woodsmoke and cedar. It seemed strange that someone so hideous could smell so appealing. Shouldn’t he reek of gore and decay?

Bane gazed back at me, watching my eyes move downward, and without a word he pulled the cloak to cover shoeless feet that were more like paws, tipped with thick, curving talons.

The sum of his parts reminded me of a bat, of all things. A larger-than-life, wolf-skinning beast, wearing the clothes of a nobleman.

The Lifegiver, the bloodwitch had called him—though it seemed more like his title should be Lifetaker.

Had it hurt to lose the exceptional beauty of a vampire, in order to become… this thing?

I would ask him why he had chosen this. If I was to live as his bride, I would have to speak with him at some point.

It was an automatic gesture to reach for the slate I always kept tied to my bodice, and I realized with a shade of panic that it was gone.

I’d forgotten that they’d taken the slate when I was dressed for the wedding. They hadn’t even given me time to pack my few meager belongings, but the slate… that was the only way I had to communicate with most of the world.

Taking a few quick, anxious breaths, I signed with shaking hands. Do you have anything to write with?

The jingle of silver bells filled the interior of the carriage. Both vampire and bloodwitch flinched, jaws clenching.

I’d forgotten the damned bracelets. Moving as carefully as possible, I unclasped the silver bracelets, cupping the bells in my palm so they wouldn’t ring.

Then I slid the window open, extended my hand, and dropped them on the streets of Argent. Maybe an urchin would find them and pay for a few good meals—my wedding gift to our people.

The rowan crown followed, with a few strands of my hair still caught in the sap-oozing branches. If the bells made them flinch, the smell was probably intolerable in this enclosed space.

I was already married. I had to do what I could to uphold the peace between our kinds. Veladar’s protection and stability depended on me.

Something flickered in Lord Bane’s eyes as I shut the window again. Though the rest of him was beastly… something in his gaze seemed almost human.

I wished I knew what that flicker had been, but it was once more hidden. The gold-and-black gaze was unreadable to me.

He watched my hands, his head tilted slightly. Was that recognition in his eyes? I could only hope.

I pantomimed writing once more, and the bloodwitch gave me a sweet smile.

“I apologize, but the only paper I have is our original copy of the Blood Accords, so it’s quite untouchable. You are… mute. Yes?”

I nodded, frustration welling in me, a familiar tide I was powerless to halt.

I can speak perfectly well with my hands. Perhaps someone in the Rift could translate? My hands still trembled with the residual shock of discovering I was to be married today, as well as hunger.

Lord Bane’s gaze followed the motions of my fingers, his ridged brow furrowing even deeper. He looked like he might lean forward and bite, taking off my hands at the wrists with ease.

“You speak the priests’ tongue?” he asked, voice rumbling in my chest.

My hands froze, excitement spearing through me. He was a veteran from the front lines of the Forian War. Surely he’d met the warrior-priests of the Brotherhood, who were all vowed to silence?

I nodded. Do you? Please tell me you understand.

The vampire watched my fingers, then shifted his gaze back to my face. I wasn’t sure how, but he seemed rueful to me—his lips shifted over that rack of fangs in what might have been called a smile. “I apologize. I’ve seen the Silent Brothers speak, but I know very little of their language beyond our wartime shorthand.”

The weight of my own disappointment was shocking.

I lowered my hands to my lap, all hope gone. Even if I had my slate, what guaranteed that they would read it? I would be reduced to scrawling out hasty questions, hoping someone was patient enough to read it. For a moment, I considered trying to mouth words to them, but I didn’t have a decent grasp on how to actually form the shape of sounds with lips and tongue—I had always been reliant on my hands or slate. Any lip-reader would be baffled by my fumblings.

“We have time for that later,” the bloodwitch interrupted. She had deposited the signed copy of the Accords in an iron-bound trunk beneath our seat, and acquired a leather bag. I hadn’t noticed her preparing a small vial full of a dense, dark liquid. “I will need a drop of your blood.”

She held a small needle. Iron, not silver. The metal was dull, but the point was fresh and sharp.

Before I could attempt to ask why, she seized my right hand and jabbed the needle into my fingertip, squeezing until a drop of blood welled. With deft hands, she caught the blood in the vial and capped it, shaking vigorously.

I drew my breath in a silent hiss, bringing my finger to my mouth. From the corner of my eye, Lord Bane watched me, his attention narrowed in on my finger. Those slit nostrils had widened, and as the tip of his forked tongue slipped out, I realized he was breathing in the scent of my blood.

Tasting it on the air.

A shiver ran down my spine, knowing that he would taste me, and soon.

The bloodwitch uncapped the vial and offered it to me. “Drink this. It must be done now to give it enough time to work.”

I took the vial, my fingertip still smarting. Meeting the bloodwitch’s eyes directly, I tilted my head in inquiry.

“It will cleanse you of any contaminants. No vampire will marry a human with diseased blood.” The bloodwitch flapped a hand to rush me along. “Drink up, if you please.”

I looked at the thick, syrupy contents, and exhaled slowly. What could it hurt? I was already in their grasp, and besides, they needed me if they wanted Lord Bane to keep his hold on the Rift. Obviously it wouldn’t be poisoned.

Tipping the vial to my lips, I drank it. It rolled over my tongue, as syrupy as it looked, starting off with a not-unpleasant floral taste and rapidly descending into a choking sort of spice.

Coughing, feeling my face grow red-cheeked, I handed her the vial. The bloodwitch tucked it in the bag, satisfied that I’d drunk it all.

“Good. You will be perfectly pure of any contaminants in time for the wedding.”

My brows shot up as I coughed into my hands. What had we just done, if not get married?

“That might have passed for a wedding among your kind,” Lord Bane said, leaning forward. My breath caught as his presence seemed to loom over me. “For mine, it was hardly more than a muddled promise. We will have a wedding in the tradition of my people in Ravenscry. Only then will the vampires recognize you as my wife.”

What did a vampire wedding entail? The Veladari tradition of silver dust smeared on the bride’s throat was almost certainly disdained. Even the Eldest Sister had deemed that as going too far in insulting Lord Bane.

I imagined that drinking blood was part of it… though I hoped if that was necessary, I could simply provide it with the needle again. I knew he would drink mine, at least a few drops.

But the idea of drinking his blood…

I pointed to him, and then held up my pierced fingertip, and mimed myself drinking. For good measure, because I despised the thought of these people thinking of me as a simple idiot, I added my question with curt signs: am I expected to drink your blood, Lord Bane? 

“Oh dear, no.” The bloodwitch patted my hand reassuringly, correctly interpreting my broader movements. “You will never taste Lord Bane’s blood. It binds a human to a vampire permanently, you see. He would be able to feel you in his head for the rest of your life, and it would be a very, very long life. A vampire only offers a portion of his blood…” She waved her hand vaguely.

“To a true mate,” Lord Bane supplied, his deep rumble ending in a growl.

I nodded my understanding, but deep inside, I felt oddly rejected. There was no good reason to feel this way; only this morning, I had washed a sea of blood from the floor and was then thrown into marrying him.

Maybe it was because I had never expected to marry at all. And now that I was… it was merely because I was the best thing the Sisters could scrape up at short notice. A political pawn.

A means to an end.

My inability to speak likely didn’t matter to him at all. He wasn’t going to want to answer my questions, nor crave a conversation.

I was a thing he had been saddled with, as much as I had been saddled with him.

“As for your blood, the cleansing is a necessary step. You’d be surprised by the contaminants found in the human body.” The bloodwitch’s expression was pleasant, but there was something as hard and cold as steel in her eyes. “For a time, it was a popular tactic to feed women silver dust and watch the vampires who drank from them die choking. I’m sure the Eldest Sister would never have considered such a deceitful and treacherous thing, but one can never be too careful.”

I swallowed, my hands still silent in my lap.

So they considered me a potential enemy. It was no secret that some voices in the Silver Sisterhood had advocated for breaking the Blood Accords after the Forians had been driven back—why exchange one captor for another?

But we owed them a debt of life. The Forians and their worship of Wargyr, their mad, wolf-headed god of war, had led to too many Veladari sacrifices.

I shook my head, knowing I could not make myself clear. No matter how deeply this marriage horrified me, I would not be responsible for destroying the Accords. I would never make an attempt on his life.

The blood of too many Veladari had gone into that agreement to secure our freedom.

What happens at a vampire wedding? I asked, not making much effort to sign clearly. They couldn’t understand.

The vampire—the fiend—was once more watching me sign with that scowling expression. Wilting under the force of that glare, I returned my hand to my lap. Perhaps I offended him, much as Eldest Sister had despised what she called ‘the spastic flapping of hands’.

“Olwyn?” he rumbled.

Olwyn. I committed the bloodwitch’s name to memory. She might not trust me, but she was pleasant enough.

She glanced at her liege, then shook her head helplessly. “I haven’t the foggiest. We really must find you a writing instrument as soon as possible.”

I huffed out a soundless laugh, and curled my hands around each other, gazing out the window as the countryside around Argent flew by. If I had seen any of this before, I didn’t remember it; after the lai Darrans had left me on the Cathedral steps, I had never stepped foot outside the city walls again.

Now I was never to return.

If Antonetta had not chosen death over matrimony… if I had not been the one to respond when the Eldest Sister sent out a frantic summons for a maid this morning… if I had kept my eyes glued to the floor…

Several missteps, all perfectly aligned to bring me here. It would almost be funny, if the vampire across from me was not a fiend.

There would be no Library in my future. No new languages to decipher during my meal breaks from cleaning, in the hours when I was given time off for lessons.

No proving myself to the world, that I might be silent, but I was still worth something.

I was simply one of the four linch-pins that held the Blood Accords together. The only purpose in my life now was to exist as his wife, to prove that he had obeyed and taken a Veladari bride.

And… and for him to feed upon.

I glanced at my husband, the shining tips of his teeth, and imagined them piercing my flesh.

The pain of the needle, repeated a hundred times.

With a shudder, I turned back to the window and closed my eyes.

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Chapter 4 Bane

The carriage did not stop until the sunlight gave way to long shadows. The town of Thornvale, on the outskirts of the Rift, had been arranged as our shelter for the night.

It had high stone walls that had never fallen, even during the height of the Forian War. A palisade of sharpened ash stakes had been erected outside said walls, each deadly point smeared with a thick paste of wolfsbane.

It was the perfect place to keep my new bride alive until we reached the safety of Ravenscry.

The carriage rolled to a halt in front of the gates, and my ear swiveled, picking up the wallguard’s faint voice. “Hail, Ravenscry. The moon will be bright tonight.”

The stilted comment was a predetermined conversation, arranged by Olwyn before our journey to Argent.

“But not bright enough for the wolves,” Eryan called back, letting the wallguard know that we were uncompromised, with the future Lady in hand.

Cirrien straightened out of the small slump she’d been in for the last eight hours, her brow creasing as she peered out the window at the walls of Thornvale. She tucked a loose lock of crimson hair behind her ear, eyes flickering between the wall and the front of the carriage, whose driver she could not see.

“It’s a password.” Those green eyes flicked to me when I spoke, the first time she’d looked at me since her unreadable question had gone unanswered. “His answer means that we have you in our possession, and the guardians will be prepared to defend the inn you’ll be staying in.”

She nodded slowly, the crease in her brow fading. The bright light of intelligence shone in her gaze, another welcome relief. There was too much room for interpretation in the ‘young and healthy’ demand of the Accords for my liking.

“And if he had said ‘we don’t wish to travel under the moon’, that would have meant we were compromised entirely. They would have poured wolfsbane and oil on the carriage, and set it alight. Anything to emerge alive would be brought down with silver spears.”

Her eyes widened, and she tilted her head. Her hands were twisted so tightly in her lap that her knuckles had gone white.

I did not wish to frighten her, but she should be aware of her new reality. The threat of wargs was much greater in the Rift than in Argent, the walls of which had never been breached.

“The wargs find ways to slip through the cracks. The war is over on paper—but they’re still hunting.” Without intending it, my voice had slipped into a low growl. I cleared my throat, enunciating to make my thick speech understood. “If they had killed us and taken the carriage hostage, they would be able to hide behind the authority of the crest of the Rift—all the way to the castle doors. It only takes two wargs to slaughter a keep, and at least three would fit in here.”

She hesitated, then lifted her hands, slender fingers moving gracefully through the air.

I watched the dance of her hands, my brow furrowing. From my time on the frontlines, I knew certain specific words the Brotherhood had shaped with their hands, but they were words intended for use in battle: enemies ahead. Hostages. Charge. Retreat.

And possibly the most important, made with a single imperious gesture: get the fuck down or take an arrow to the eye.

Cirrien formed none of those words. Unlike the spare, economical motions of the Brotherhood’s warriors, hers were smooth and eloquent, almost poetic.

And I had no idea what she’d said.

She stared at me, willing me to answer or understand, and within moments of accepting that I could not, she looked away once more.

“I apologize,” I muttered, and was rewarded with another glance, a softening in her features. She shook her head and tapped her chest.

Outside the carriage, the guard ordered the gates raised. The clanking of iron chains filled the quiet night, and I watched Cirrien watching the gates rise, a strange feeling twisting within me.

Why had they not sent her with some way to communicate? It seemed beyond cruel not only to consign her to become my wife, but to leave her incommunicado as well.

I couldn’t keep the scowl from my face, though I knew it would make me far more ghastly than usual to her.

Wyn shook her head with warning, her lips pressed together.

The carriage jolted into Thornvale, the horses’ iron-shod hooves sending bright sparks flying from the road. It seemed to take mere moments to arrive at the White Lily Inn, where Wyn had arranged for half the rooms to be rented to our travel party.

Eryan, Wyn, and the maid would stay in the upper-level rooms. Cirrien and I would remain on the bottom floor. If the wargs breached the walls of Thornvale, they would expect for the Lady to be on the uppermost floors, as most vampire royalty lived—and Eryan and Wyn would hold them off long enough to bring Cirrien to safety.

Cirrien’s shoulders were tense as we waited. When Eryan knocked at the door—a three, two, four pattern with breaks between—I unbarred it under Cirri’s watchful, narrow gaze.

She did not bother to sign anything to me.

I was the first to emerge, glad to stretch to my full height after two days spent cramped in the carriage, followed by Wyn, who had the small trunk containing the Blood Accords and her witching kit tucked protectively under one arm. My advisor swept into the inn to make preparations.

I pushed the door open, holding a hand out to Cirrien.

“The pattern was to let us know it was safe,” I said, keeping my tone as gentle as I would ever manage. “There’s no warg-sign here.”

She slid over the seat, pushing aside the voluminous crimson skirts with a twist of her mouth, and managed to keep her hesitation to a single second before she put her hand in mine.

I wondered if I imagined that she shuddered.

The size of her hand was a marvel as I helped her from the carriage. It was… ludicrous. With her palm fully pressed to mine, her fingertips barely extended to the first joints of my fingers.

How could I be married to this girl, when I might so easily crush her? In a single moment without control, it would be as easy as blinking to end her life.

Cirrien stepped onto the streets of Thornvale, looking around with open curiosity at the stone houses crammed together, the briars for which the town had been named climbing over them in tumbles of thick green leaves.

She pulled her hand from mine, clutching her skirts to keep them from the muddy stones underfoot. I clenched my hand at my side, unable to feel offended at her need for distance, but the warmth of her palm still burned against my skin like a coal.

Five guards had been posted outside the inn, and Cirrien glanced at them as I led her to the door, her lips pressed flat.

The Eldest Sister should have explained this to her before our marriage. That as the Lady of the Rift, she was now not only one of the eight most powerful people in Veladar—but that a target as red as blood had been painted right between her shoulders.

Our precautions were not due to an overabundance of hysteria.

Andrus—the Lord of the Vale, the first of the fiends to take a human wife and uphold his end of the Accords—had lost his initial arranged bride on her journey to Stagpoint Castle.

The carriage was found pulverized, the girl herself strung from a tree by her own guts, her body hollowed out.

No natural wolf packs roamed the Vale these days. They had been annihilated in one furious night, giving the wargs nowhere to hide in his territory.

The only obvious solution after that was for each Lord to retrieve the chosen women in person, with precautions and checkpoints along every step of the journey. Andrus still had not forgiven himself for the senseless loss of the girl’s life. He never would.

The interior of the inn was filled with warm light, the nose-burning scent of lye soap and wood polish still hanging in the air. The innkeeper smiled at Cirrien, sketching a sort of curtsy for her. “My Lady, it is an honor to provide you shelter for the night.”

Cirrien smiled back, touching her hand over her heart with a nod to the innkeeper. She made a few quick signs with her hands, and the innkeeper’s eyes widened a fraction.

“I…oh. Well.” The woman hesitated, then led Cirrien down a short hall to a solid oak door, three inches thick according to Wyn’s specifications. The bloodwitch had already drawn a blood sigil on the wood, burning with a faint crimson light. “This is the room for you and the Lord to share. Please, let me know if you need anything.”

Cirrien’s smile had grown a touch stiff at the woman’s reaction to her lack of speech, but she touched the innkeeper’s hand, then pressed a hand to her heart again before pushing the door open.

I followed her inside, gently shooing the innkeeper away—not that the woman wanted to linger with me here.

Inside the room, there was one large bed, covered with tidy white linens, a reading chair and a small desk, and a wardrobe.

“The bloodwards will prevent intrusion.” I pushed aside the thick drapes to check the window, but I shouldn’t have doubted Wyn. A sigil had been drawn on each pane of glass. “They’re not a perfect shield, but they’ll provide warning if anyone tries to break through.”

Cirrien immediately sat in the chair, spreading her skirts in a froth around her, and began rifling through the drawers of the desk. When she failed to find what she was looking for, she exhaled a hissing breath, the first and only sound I’d heard her make, her eyes pinched shut with frustration.

“I will bring you paper.”

A beat passed. Her eyes opened; she gazed at me over her shoulder, those green eyes lighting up, then extended a single finger to the bare wood of the desk and began to slowly shape large letters, using the common Veladari alphabet and pausing between words. She glanced up at me after each word had been formed.

P-A-P-E-R. I-S. E-X-P-E-N-S-I-V-E.

I couldn’t stop the upward twitch of my lips, though my smile was as frightful as my scowls. “You are soon to be the Lady of the Rift. Paper is not too expensive for you.”

S-L-A-T-E. W-I-L-L. D-O.

“You will be my wife tomorrow, and you will have paper. I’ll have Wyn stay here with you while I’m gone.”

At that, Cirrien shook her head, her crimson hair loosening from its braid and spilling down her back in waves. The motion sent her fragrance spilling through the air, the sweet roses and musk of skin beneath it.

My mouth watered. I swallowed hard, forcing my nostrils shut. I wanted to reach out and touch that hair, feel the silk on my own undeserving fingers.

Instead, I clenched my hands, knowing she would not appreciate my touch.

Cirrien did not see; she had already turned back to forming letters.

I. W-O-U-L-D. L-I-K-E. T-O. B-E. A-L-O-N-E.

“My lady… you are to be kept under guard until we reach Ravenscry. The risk is too great, even with walls and guardians.”

P-L-E-A-S-E.

She looked up at me again, her gaze trailing over my face like an almost physical caress… and the tightness of her jaw, the line of white around her lips from keeping them still, made it clear to me what she was truly requesting.

Not merely privacy, but time to grieve.

Leaving her alone would be terribly unwise. She could sob alone in the safety of Ravenscry if she wished.

But now that I saw the signs of strain, I could not stop myself from wanting to give her something, whatever tiny gift would make up for having her life torn away.

Why had I agreed to the Accords? What was it but a century of thin tolerance and carefully-disguised horror ahead of us?

The folly of youth… never had I imagined, when I was young and handsome, that a woman would cry tears of mourning on our wedding night.

“Very well. Keep the windows shut. Do not open the door for anyone but myself or Olwyn. I’ll be back.”

My voice came out in a thick snarl, and my bride flinched. That was the last I saw of her as I swept into the hall, pulling the door shut and locking it behind me with a small key.

Wyn was descending the stairs as I strode towards the front door. “She’s locked in her room and she wishes to be alone. Keep an ear on her, but don’t intrude.”