The Laurentine Spy (37 page)

“We went home every year.” He drank a mouthful of wine. “Stayed for a few months. But there was always something new to study.”

“And your parents didn’t mind?”

“As long as I wasn’t making trouble, they were happy.”

She looked at him for a long moment. “That must have been some prank.”

Athan placed his glass back on the table. “Imagine a herd of goats in a ballroom.”

“Oh.”

“Ladies shrieking and fainting. Goats running everywhere.” He looked down at his dinner. “My father was not amused.”

“No. I can imagine not.” She busied herself with her food, cutting the meat, the potatoes. “Where is your uncle now?”

“Home. He doesn’t travel any more.” Athan’s voice was flat.

Don’t ask. Talk about something else—

“He met someone,” Athan said. “A commoner. He asked for permission to marry her.”

She glanced up at him.

“He was given the choice to go home or be cast off. He chose to go home.”

Saliel laid down her knife and fork. “Your uncle made the right choice, Athan.”

“Perhaps.” He didn’t meet her eyes.

“Family is the most important thing there is.”

He sighed and rubbed his face. “I know.”

They ate their dinner, while the shutters rattled in the wind and logs shifted in the fire. Athan’s expression was frowning, closed. When he’d finished he pushed his plate away.

“You will marry, won’t you?” The sound of his voice almost made her jump. “Someone who’ll take care of you.”

Saliel placed her cutlery carefully on her plate. She looked up, meeting his eyes. “I don’t intend to marry, Athan.”

He stiffened. “What?”

“I do not wish to marry.”

“Why not?”

Because my children will have the Eye.
Saliel folded her napkin and placed it neatly beside her plate. “Once I’ve earned my independence, I don’t intend to lose it.”

Athan shook his head. “It’s because of me, isn’t it? It’s because of what I did to you.”

“No. It’s not. I’ve never wished to marry.”

“But...don’t you want a family?”

Saliel pushed her plate away. “I don’t need one.”

“Everyone needs a family.”

Not I.
She picked up her glass and swallowed the last mouthful of wine. “What will you do when you get home?”

Athan eyed her for a moment. Then he sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “There’s a vineyard on our estate. I’d like to grow the grapes, make them into wine.”

“No travel?”

“I’ve been away too long. I want to be in one place. I want to be home.” Athan uncrossed his arms and leaned forward. “Saliel—”

“No.”

“Promise me you’ll marry someone.”

Saliel stared at the fire. “What does your uncle do now?” she asked, watching the flames. “Does he still study?”

“He drinks. That’s what he does now: he drinks.”

Saliel looked at him. He was frowning at the tablecloth. “You’ve been away for nearly two years, Athan. Maybe things have changed.”

“Maybe.” He raised his head. “Saliel, promise me—”

Saliel pushed her chair away from the table. “Good night, Athan.”

Athan closed his mouth. He swallowed. After a moment he stood and bowed. “Good night.”

A
THAN STRIPPED OFF
his day’s clothes. He washed his face in the porcelain washstand. Hot water, soap, a soft towel—they were simple things, and yet the difference they made was huge. Memory of the Bazarn Plateau, the peasants, the poverty, was already fading. It seemed years and continents away from this bedchamber—the feather pillows and the clean sheets—not a few days’ ride.

There’s hardship everywhere. I’m just not used to seeing it.

Athan reached for the towel. He caught sight of himself in the mirror as he dried his face.
I don’t look like me.

It was the thinness, the way his bones jutted from beneath his skin—and it was more than that. It was what was inside him.

Athan stepped closer to the mirror. He studied his face.
I’m my uncle. I’m making the same decisions he did.

He turned away and hung up the towel.
No, I’m not.
His uncle had never scandalized their House with his pranks, he’d never been a spy—

His fingers slowed, unbuttoning his shirt.
I didn’t tell her the truth tonight. It was more than what I saw at the gorge, more than boredom
.

The code book was snug against his chest. The oilskin wrapping was warm. Athan pulled it out. He turned the package over in his hand—oiled cloth, neat stitching.
I wanted them to notice me.

They’d notice him now. He was a hero.

Athan hid the code book under his pillow. Sleep was slow to come. He lay awake, staring up at the ceiling. He heard a dance tune in his head. Ladies shrieking. The sound of goat droppings scattering across a marble floor.
I wanted them to notice me.

Why had he never realized it before?

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

S
ALIEL ATE LESS
for breakfast the next morning, but she felt ill again in the carriage. They stopped for lunch at Selac. Athan walked with her through the busy market square. He didn’t appear to see the richly-colored bolts of fabric, the strings of glass beads, the displays of spices and the thick-rinded slabs of cheese. He scanned the square, watchful, alert.

The inn had no private dining parlor; they ate their lunch in the taproom. Sunlight fell across the table in diamond-shaped squares, bright and pale. Athan said little. There was a frown on his brow. He looked inward, not outward.

Saliel chewed her food and swallowed, drank the ale in her mug, but it was tasteless—the bread and cheese and meats, the ale.
His mood is dark because of me.

It was dusk when they arrived at Epern. The inn had a private parlor. A maid laid the table, curtseyed, and withdrew. Silence built between them as they ate. She heard the logs burning in the fireplace, the clink of cutlery...

“You must promise me you’ll marry.”

Saliel raised her eyes. “No, Athan.”

“It makes you ill, doesn’t it?” His mouth was bitter. “Thought of being with a man.”

Yes. It does.
Saliel put down her knife and fork. “Athan—”

“Let me show you.” His voice was quiet, fierce. “Let me show you how good it can be. How good it
should
be.”

She flinched slightly, pressing back in the chair. “No.”

Athan’s face tightened. “It is because of me.”

Saliel laid her napkin on the table. “No, it’s not.”

“Then promise me you’ll marry—”

“Athan, please don’t discuss this with me again.”

He held her eyes for a long moment, and then looked down at his plate. “As you wish.”

A
THAN DIDN’T SPEAK
with her again about marriage, or about the marriage bed. He was a son of Laurent’s greatest House; his manners were impeccable. He was courteous and attentive—and when they were in public, watchful.

They traveled fast, descending from mountains to foothills to snow-covered plains. The winter became gentler. Snow lay less thickly and the ice on the lakes thinned until dark water could be seen.

Saliel was aware of a sense of urgency, a prickling of unease. She looked behind her often. No one watched them, no one followed.

With the urgency and the unease, was nausea. It didn’t matter how much she ate at breakfast, how straight or winding the roads were: every morning, nausea.

Her monthly flow hadn’t come on the plateau, but it had been like that in the Ninth Ward—too little food, no monthly flow.
It’ll come tomorrow. I’m not with child. It’s the carriage.

But her flow didn’t come. Each afternoon the illness faded—and her fear grew.
What shall I do?

It wasn’t something she could discuss with Athan. His mood was dark; it would be darker still if he thought she bore his child.

On the tenth day they reached the coast. They halted for the night in Flers. The smell of salt spray and seaweed and fish was strong. There was no private parlor to be had, but the three merchants who dined at the other table ate hurriedly and left, talking in low voices about the price of peppercorns.

A serving man brought pastries filled with crushed almonds and a pot of tea, and busied himself clearing the merchants’ table.

Saliel poured two cups and passed one to Athan. “How far to the port?”

“We’ll reach it tomorrow. If the weather’s in our favor.”

The serving man picked up his tray. Cutlery clinked as he walked across the room. The door swung shut.

Saliel sipped her tea. It tasted as it smelled: of apples and honey. She glanced across the table at Athan.

He was looking at his plate. His expression was frowning, bitter.

He looks inside himself. And he hates what he sees
.

Saliel put down her cup. “Athan?”

His head lifted slightly. His expression became attentive, courteous. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry I burned you. At the Citadel.”

Athan shook his head. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

Yes, I do.
She looked down at the pastry on her plate. “When did you discover who I was?”

“First Battle,” he said. “When you sneezed in the catacombs.”

“Oh.” She looked up. “Athan...”

“What?”

She leaned forward. “You have to forgive yourself.”

He couldn’t. She saw it on his face, the way the muscles around his mouth and eyes tightened, the way he looked away from her.

They ate their dessert silently. Saliel chewed slowly, not tasting the almonds, the sugar. Athan had to forgive himself. He
had
to. It was too terrible to think that he would carry guilt and self-hatred with him forever. Too terrible to think that it would poison his life.

But she didn’t know how to help him forgive himself. Didn’t know what to do, what to say.

What if I accept his offer? What if I let him show me how it should be?

Dread clenched in her belly. Her mouth was dry; she couldn’t swallow.

Saliel pushed her plate away and reached for her cup, tried to drink, tried to swallow. Memory of their wedding night was there if she allowed herself to remember: fear, revulsion, pain.

It won’t be like that. Everything’s different now. I like him.

And Marta had been correct: he was a handsome man.

Even so; dread.

Saliel tried to understand the dread as she drank the apple-scented tea. It wasn’t because of who Athan was, or because of his appearance. It was because of his size. He was so much larger than her, so much stronger.
I won’t be able to stop him.

And yet I trust him with my life.

She sipped slowly, trying to find her courage. When she’d finished she placed the cup in its saucer and looked at Athan. She clasped her hands together and inhaled past the tightness in the chest, in her throat. “Athan.”

He lifted his head. “Yes?”

“If you wish, you may show me.”

His brow creased. “Show you?”

She saw the instant he understood. He became very still. “I may?”

Saliel nodded.

“Why?”

Because I want you to stop blaming yourself. What happened wasn’t your fault.
She looked down at her plate. “You said it should be good between a man and a woman.”

“Yes.”

She swallowed to clear the constriction in her throat. “I’m not certain of that.”

“Then let me show you,” he said. “Please.”

She raised her eyes. The intensity of his gaze was almost frightening. “Athan...”
I’m scared.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said, as if he’d heard her speak the words aloud. “I promise. And I won’t make you with child.”

You may already have.

“You’re certain?”

She looked at him. The self-hatred was gone from his face. Instead of shame and guilt, she saw hope.
I can do this for him.
“Yes,” she said.

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

A
THAN OPENED THE
door and stepped into her bedchamber. Saliel stood beside the fireplace, dressed in her nightgown.

She was afraid. He saw it in her eyes, in the way she tensed as he walked towards her.
I did that. I’m the reason she’s scared.