Betrothed (21 page)

Jardish’s tone of voice overstepped politeness. He glared at the vizier and stood. “We are done here. Send a missive to my father and tell him we need more troops as quickly as he can get them here. And tell my sister and mother that they might be safer if they left Vidara for the southern lands. Perhaps Craelish, on the coast.” His sister had always loved a sea voyage.

One by one, the nobles and advisers filed out of the room, leaving Graeme to linger over the map. The red stain that marked the Athoni kingdom covered the majority of the continent, the majority of the known world. Defeating a few remnants of a once-savage war tribe should be ridiculously easy.

So why was it that he hesitated?

Jardish paused by the door, then shut it behind him. He faced Graeme, the two of them alone in the large chamber. “You should not have married her, my prince.” The vizier’s voice sounded tired, angry. “It will cause nothing but trouble in this region. As long as she views herself a captive, her people will fight to free her. Instead of unifying them to us, you are driving us further apart.”

A twisted, bitter smile curved Graeme’s mouth. “Even I cannot ignore a command from the gods, my good vizier.”

The elder man scowled, opening his mouth to speak, when there came a hesitant knock at the door.

“Enter,” said Graeme, cutting off whatever Jardish would have said. Now the old vizier would say nothing, for he would never openly disobey the throne in front of others.

A small woman with a round, tear-streaked face entered. She was common, the thick shoulders and ruddy cheeks marking her as one of the lower class, and he vaguely recognized her as the servingwoman Seri had chosen out of the kitchens. It was a clever move on his betrothed’s part, for the woman was utterly loyal in this nest of vipers.

“My lord,” the woman began, then dropped into an awkward curtsy.

“These are private chambers,” Jardish began.

Graeme cut him off with a look and turned back to the distressed servant. “What is it?”

“My lady,” she said, and a fresh set of tears rolled down her cheeks. Her hands twisted in front of her. “I cannot get her to wake… I think she has been poisoned.”

Cold settled in Graeme’s gut, and he forced himself to remain calm, to walk slowly out of the room despite Jardish’s sputtering questions and the maid’s sobbing. When he got into the hall, though, he broke into a run, heading for his private chambers where Seri was always holed up.

Of course someone would try to get rid of her. He cursed himself mentally for not thinking of the possibility sooner. Seri didn’t fit into the Athoni court. She had upset him and rejected him in front of all. If she was removed from his side, not only would he need a new bride, but the Vidari threat would be lessened.

A few of the maids lingered outside his door, crying, and guards lined the door. They stiffened into a salute at the sight of him, and one opened the door for him.

His eyes were immediately drawn to the large bed at the center of the room, and his heart clenched in his body. The faint aura that always called to him was so dim that he had to strain to see it.

Her other servant knelt beside the bed, cradling one of her mistress’s hands in her own. On the bed, atop the covers, Seri’s brown limbs lay sprawled, her golden hair matted to her head with sweat. Her skin seemed chalky under the tan and moisture beaded her face.

His gut clenched at the sight of her, and he moved to the bed as well, ignoring the servants that scattered in his wake. The handmaid released Seri’s hand and backed away, and he took it in his own, noticing for the first time how fragile the bones were under the small, callused hand. Her breath came shallowly, and her flesh was hot under his own. She didn’t stir when his fingers stroked hers, but her breathing calmed slightly and her aura turned to a color closer to his own.

Even in unconsciousness, her body recognized his.

Anger surged inside Graeme, though he kept it well hidden. Clasping her hand in his, he glanced over at the servants. “Poison?”

The girl began to cry again, and another stepped forward. Idalla, he remembered her name now. “When I came to awaken my lady this afternoon, I noticed she had eaten off this tray.” She approached with a plate of sweet-pies. “I never leave her food in the middle of the day, my lord, and Vya did not either, so we guessed that someone had paid a servant to come and leave it for her….” Her hands trembled as she held the tray out to him. “As soon as I came into the room, I could smell darkroot on her breath.”

Graeme took one of the pies and sniffed it, and the heavy, cloying scent of the herb touched his nostrils. Even one of these pies, so heavily drugged, would have killed her. It was the gods’ own blessing that she had only taken a few bites. Whoever it was who poisoned her had counted on Seri not being familiar with Athoni foods, and they had been right.

It was one of his court, then. The Athoni noble court was well versed in ridding themselves of a rival with well-timed darkroot.

“Find the healer,” he heard himself say as he turned back to Seri. “Wake him and bring him to the princesse’s rooms. Tell no one else what has happened.” He looked back to Idalla. “Get the others out of here.”

She nodded, her lips tight, and ushered the crying, terrified servants out of the room. Graeme turned back to Seri and wondered if he’d killed her by marrying her.

~~* * * ~~

Seri remained unconscious throughout the rest of the evening, despite the purges the healers forced down her throat. Her fever grew higher and higher, and her aura more agitated with every hour. Graeme remained at her side, holding her hand, and if he left for even a moment, she would cry out as if in agony. So he kept at her side, though he wanted to round up all the nobles of the court and look them in their guilty eyes and find out who the culprit was.

Toward sunset of the next day, she grew worse, and Graeme began to despair. Her body began to thrash on the bed, and she called three names over and over again. When it wasn’t his name that passed her lips—the sound of her cries filled him with agony—it was two others.

Josdi.

Father.

She wanted her family.

Graeme stood, releasing Seri’s hand. She cried out at the loss, but didn’t awaken. As he turned to the room, the healer waiting nearby rose. “What is it, my lord?”

“My wife calls out for her family. Please tell them to come to the room.” He’d been so busy that he’d never had a chance to meet them, and he felt a twinge of regret.

The healer nodded and left the room, leaving Graeme alone with Seri. Strands of hair clung to her damp forehead and he brushed them away, studying her face. Deep hollows ringed her eyes, and she looked so fragile. In the short time they’d known each other, he’d never thought of her as fragile. Strong and capable, true. Annoyingly stubborn, perhaps. But never fragile. The sight of it frightened him.

A throat cleared behind him, and Graeme turned back to see Idalla waiting behind him. “Yes?”

She dropped into a curtsy and then stood, a puzzled look on her face. “My lord, I am confused. You requested my lady’s family?”

“That is correct.”

Idalla shook her head. “My lord, they are not here. Princesse Seri has been asking for them for days now, but all we are told is that the vizier will take care of it.”

Anger, so close to the surface, blistered to the front of Graeme’s mind. “Then find me the vizier.”

Within minutes, the vizier had been called to the chamber, rubbing his eyes. It was obvious from his wild hair and dressing robe that he’d just been woken from sleep, and he knelt in front of the prince with concern. “You called, my lord?”

Graeme gestured to Seri’s prone figure in the bed. “My wife calls out for her family. Please explain to me why they have never been brought to the palace as she had instructed?”

Startled, the vizier looked to the bed, then to Graeme. A nervous laugh erupted from his throat. “I…I am sorry, my lord? I do not understand.”

“What is it that you do not understand?” Graeme’s eyes narrowed.

Again, the vizier’s gaze flicked to the sickbed. “My lord… I thought… that is, I did not feel that you would wish more Vidari to be here in the castle.” At the prince’s silence, he blurted, “They do not belong here.”

Silence fell in the room. For a long moment, neither spoke. At Graeme’s feet, the vizier trembled once.

When Graeme spoke, his voice was like ice, as cold as the line of kings that had given birth to him. “She is my wife, no matter the blood in her veins. Do you understand me?”

Jardish nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

“You are dismissed.”

Visibly relieved, the vizier stood and bowed to the prince. “If that will be all for the day, my lord, I shall retire back to my rooms—”

“No,” said Graeme. “You are dismissed. You are to leave Vidara Castle immediately.”

The man sputtered. “But, my lord…”

“Immediately.”

The man’s thin, lined face worked for a moment, then he bowed. “Very well, my lord.”

Graeme looked back to the unconscious woman in the bed and kissed the back of her hand. “Stay with her,” he commanded the healers, then left the room, motioning for one of the guards to follow him as he did so. The man trotted behind him, armor jingling. “Make sure my vizier is escorted from the grounds tonight,” he instructed the man. “I do not care where he goes, so long as he does not remain here.”

“I understand, my lord.”

“Furthermore, I need a retinue of men and my armor readied. I must go down to the Vidari village.”

The soldier bowed. “At once, my lord.”

~~* * * ~~

The Vidari were a poorer people than he had originally imagined.

All around him was poverty. The streets were filthy with mud and unpaved, the houses small and little more than hovels. Goats and geese ran through the narrow streets of the village, and brown faces peered out of windows—little more than dug holes—under thatched roofs.

Graeme wore his battle armor as he rode through the small town. The metal gleamed in the moonlight, and the rustle of his cape in the wind and the clop of the horses’ hooves were the only sounds as they rode through the uneasy village. A full contingent of men accompanied him, though he had originally protested the need. Now he saw the wisdom in his man-at-arm’s insistence.

The Vidari were not happy to see him.

All the houses looked the same as well. Piled atop one another, scattered through the farmlands in dirty heaps, there were dozens of them scattered across the acres. It would take him hours to find Seri’s house, and he did not have hours. He wanted to be back at her side for when she awoke—or took the final descent.

Graeme pulled his horse up in front of one house with a faint light from within. Likely a fire pit, but it didn’t matter. Someone would be inside. He gestured and one of his men dismounted, heading to the door and banging on it.

No one responded. Embarrassed, the soldier pounded on the door again. “His Highness wants to talk to you lot,” the man barked through the wood. “Come out or I’ll burn it down around you!”

Well, no wonder his troops were not inspiring much loyalty amongst the Vidari. Graeme raised a hand. “That will be fine, soldier. Let us go to the next house.”

They went to the next door, the soldiers knocking again. This time, Graeme interrupted before the soldier could threaten again. “I will offer one
dru
to whoever opens that door,” he said loudly, his voice ringing out through the night.

Nothing happened for a long moment, then the door inched open. He heard a frightened female sob from inside the house, but the figure that came to the door was small. Female. No more than five annums. She clutched a straw doll to her chest and stared at the soldiers with a mixture of defiance and fright.

Graeme froze atop his horse. That wide-eyed, defiant look reminded him of Seri, and a sharp needle of distress rode through him when he thought of her in the bed alone, suffering.
God’s blood,
he thought.
I am going soft.

He dismounted and approached the girl. To his amusement, she did not back away as he approached.

“Kneel to the prince,” called one of the soldiers gruffly.

Graeme raised his hand again. “It is against their religion to kneel to another man. Leave it be.” He knelt in front of the girl, the armor making his movements stiff, and withdrew a coin from his belt-pouch, holding it up and smiling at the girl. Her hair was long and red and tangled like it had never seen a brush, but oh, that look in her eyes reminded him of Seri. “Thank you for coming to see me,” Prince Graeme said softly and gave her the coin. “I am looking for someone.”

The little girl tilted her head and regarded him, then glanced at the soldiers, wary. “Are you the bad man who took Seri away?”

How to answer that? He glanced inside the hut, but nobody came to the door to stop the child. “The gods asked that I marry Seri, so I have made her a princesse.”

“But she doesn’t like you.”

Graeme flinched internally at that. “But I like her very much,” he said softly. “And I hope she will grow to like me.”

She regarded him, then pocketed the coin. “Your cloak is pretty.”

He smiled. “I’ll give it to you if you can tell me where Seri lives.”

“I’m not s’posed to talk to you.” She glanced back inside.

Graeme leaned forward to try to take the child’s hand in his. As he moved, the startled, gasping cry came from inside the house again and he recoiled. These people were utterly terrified of him. It made him a little sad that there was so much hate and anger between his people and Seri’s. Would she hate him forever like these people did? So instead, Graeme took off his cloak and folded the shining blue fabric, then offered it to the girl. “Please,” he said. “She is sick and asking for her family.”

The little girl hesitated again, but then a new face came to the door, lined and brown and old before its time with hunger and a hard life. The woman scooped up her little girl and cowered in the doorway, clutching the girl close to her body.

Graeme stood, offering the cloak to her. “I would appreciate it if you could tell me.”