The Laurentine Spy (42 page)

Long minutes passed before the door opened. The nurse stood in the doorway. “Your wife is awake, Mister Argante.”

Athan rose to his feet. “How is she?”

“Very tired. She’ll sleep again soon.” The nurse stepped away from the door. “You may see her, if you wish.”

Athan nodded. He walked across the parlor and stepped hesitantly into the bedchamber. A tiny seed of panic sat beneath his breastbone.
What am I going to say to her?

The room was full of candlelight and soft shadows. Saliel lay with her eyes closed. Her skin was translucently pale.

Athan shut the door. He walked over to the bed. “Saliel...”

Her eyes opened. She looked at him for a moment, then turned her face into the pillow.
Go away.

Athan stepped closer to the bed. “Saliel.” He swallowed, and tried to speak past the shame in his throat. “I’m sorry I left you. I’m sorry I didn’t look back. I’m sorry...about the baby.” He cleared his throat. “Saliel, why didn’t you tell me?”

Her eyes squeezed tightly closed. She didn’t answer.

“Please, Saliel...why didn’t you tell me?”

She was crying, he realized. Quietly.

He couldn’t stand and watch—and he couldn’t walk away.

The mattress dipped as he lowered himself onto the bed. He reached for her. “No,” he said, as she tried to pull away. “Please, Saliel.”

He held her as she cried. “I’m sorry,” he said, stroking her hair. “I’m sorry for everything that happened today.”

Saliel said nothing. Gradually her body relaxed and he knew that she slept.

Athan didn’t let her go, didn’t get off the bed to wash his face or take off his clothes. He stayed where he was, holding her.
I’m sorry, Saliel.

A
THAN WOKE SOME
time after dawn. Saliel still slept. Her breathing was soft and even. He heard the sound of shutters opening. Daylight spilled into the bedchamber.

He turned his head and watched as the nurse drew back the shutters from the second window. “I’ve rung for hot water and food,” she said.

Athan released Saliel carefully. He climbed off the bed. “Thank you.” He rubbed a hand over his face and felt stubble, coarse.

The suite had a bathing chamber, with a tiled floor and a washstand and a hip bath. Athan shaved and then stripped off his clothes and bathed.

He rang the bell and gave everything in his and Saliel’s luggage to be laundered. “Do you think it’s possible to find a new gown for my wife?” he asked the nurse.

“I should think so.”

“Perhaps something blue? It suits her.”

The nurse smiled. “I’ll see what I can do, Mister Argante.”

It was nearly noon when Saliel woke. Athan watched from the doorway as the nurse brushed her hair. He’d slept all night holding her, and yet he felt as awkward as an adolescent boy.
I don’t know what to say to her.

Her face was still pale, still shadowed with exhaustion, but an empty breakfast bowl stood on the bedside table.

“You ate something,” he said, relieved.

Saliel looked at him—a brief glance—before lowering her gaze. “Yes.”

Athan stepped inside the bedchamber. “You feel a little better?”

“Yes,” she said politely. “Thank you.”

The nurse laid down the hairbrush. “You may speak with your wife for a few minutes,” she said. “And then she must rest again.”

“Thank you,” Athan said. He stood aside for her, and then closed the door. The awkwardness returned.
What do I say to her?

The silence grew. Saliel didn’t look at him. She smoothed a wrinkle in the sheet.

Athan cleared his throat. He made himself walk towards the bed. “Saliel.”

“Yes?” Her voice was quiet. She didn’t look at him.

He sat on the edge of the bed. “Saliel...why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?”

She stopped smoothing the sheet.

“Why, Saliel?”

“I thought you’d prefer not to know.”

“What?” Anger pushed him to his feet. “How could you think that?”

She met his eyes. “A bastard child. A child you would never see. Do you think that would have made you happy, Athan?”

He opened his mouth—and then shut it.

“I thought it would be easier if you didn’t know.” She looked down at the sheet again. “I thought...you wouldn’t feel so guilty.”

His anger drained away. In its place was shame. “I apologize,” he said. “I didn’t realize.”

Saliel shook her head.

Athan cleared his throat again. “Yesterday... I’m sorry, Saliel. It’s all my fault—”

“No,” she said quietly. “It’s better this way.”

“What? How is it better?”

She raised her head. “I have the Eye, Athan. The child likely would have too.”

Athan swallowed. “Did you...did you not want the babe?”

“What would I have done if it was a witch, Athan?” Tears shone in her eyes. “What would I have done?”

Athan sat beside her on the bed. He took her hand. “Witchcraft grows less with each generation, Saliel. Not greater. The child probably wouldn’t have had the Eye.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. My uncle spent several years proving it.”

Saliel looked down. Distress creased her brow.

Athan reached out and touched her cheek lightly. “You have the Eye, Saliel, but you’re not a true witch. You can’t make people act against their will.”

“I burnt you,” she whispered. The furrows of distress on her brow deepened.

“
You
burnt me. You didn’t make
me
do it.” He put his arm around her and pulled her close. “Saliel, if you have children, I doubt they’ll have the Eye.”

“But you don’t know,” she whispered.

“No,” he said. “I don’t.”

He smoothed back Saliel’s hair. It had taken him a day to reach this point. He wished it had taken minutes.
If I’d stayed with you yesterday, none of this would have happened.
“Now you must rest.” He bent and kissed her pale cheek. “Sleep, my lady.”

O
N THE THIRD
day, Saliel tried to get out of bed. “No,” he told her, firmly.

“Women miscarry all the time in the Ninth Ward. And they don’t lie abed—”

“This isn’t the Ninth Ward.”

“But Athan—”

“No.”

On the seventh day he gave her a blue gown. “This is for you.”

“I can get up?”

He nodded. “The surgeon says it’s all right.”

He still held her each night while she slept
. I will never leave you again.
It wasn’t a decision made from guilt—although guilt was there. It was made from certainty, from knowledge.

He’d watched a painter once, over several days. The man had created his background meticulously, using layer upon layer of pigment. When the painting was completed none of those individual layers had been visible to the eye. With Saliel he’d seen the final result. He’d known who she was as a person—private, relying on no one but herself—without understanding why.

Now I finally understand.

She wasn’t unusual; she was remarkable. And he was going to spend his life with her.

He saw the future in his mind’s eye. A house built of honey-colored stone beside the sea. A vineyard on the hillside behind. Children laughing.
We’ll make our own family, Saliel.

It was a subject—his not leaving her—that Athan dared not broach.
No arguments
, the surgeon had said when he’d allowed Saliel out of bed.
No excitement. Your wife needs quiet and rest.
And although he was no surgeon, Athan saw what the man meant. She was too thin, too pale, too fatigued.

On the twelfth day, they reached the Illymedes.

SPRING

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

T
HE
M
ORNING
S
TAR
docked at noon. Dark clouds massed in the sky. The harbor was crowded. Many of the ships were Laurentine, flying the pennants of noble Houses.

“Do you see the Seresin flag?” she asked as thunder rumbled in the distance.

Athan glanced at her. “Yes.”

“Which one?”

He pointed to a pennant with jewel-like colors: sapphire, emerald, ruby.

“Can you tell who it is?”

“Not my father,” Athan said. “The background would be gold.”

“One of your brothers, then.”

“Phelan or Vadel. It doesn’t have the heir’s border.”

“You’ll be able to join them.”

Athan looked down at his hands, resting on the wooden railing. “Yes.”

S
ALIEL WATCHED
A
THAN
fasten his cloak. “Don’t open the door to strangers,” he said.

“Can’t I come with you?”

“In this weather?” Athan shook his head. He drew back the bolt and opened the door. Rain fell outside. The deck was dark with water. “The port’s busy. It may take me a while to find a carriage.” He pulled his hood up. “Bolt the door.”

“The Spycatcher—”

He turned his head and looked at her. “I think he’s close, but I don’t think he’s here yet.” His voice was quiet, serious. “I wouldn’t be leaving you if I thought he was.”

I know.
“Be careful,” she said.

Athan laid his hand on her cheek. “Don’t worry about me.” He closed the door.

The bolt made a quiet
snick
as she drew it across. Saliel walked to the couch and sat and looked down at her hands.
This is it. The Illymedes.

She closed her eyes and built the image behind her eyelids—the cottage, the garden—but it didn’t have the power it once had. The dream she’d held onto for years now seemed empty, lonely.

The rain became heavier. It drummed on the deck.
Don’t cry when you say goodbye. You must not cry
.

She filled the cottage, the garden, with details, trying to make them seem less empty: two cats, half a dozen hens, a brown cow. Peas and beans and rows of potatoes. Tall hollyhocks with scarlet flowers—

Someone knocked on the door. “Mistress Argante?” The voice was familiar, female.

She stood. “Nurse Bruyes?”

“I have a packet of herbs from the ship’s surgeon, Mistress Argante.”

Saliel walked to the door. Thunder rumbled overhead. She hesitated, and then drew back the bolt. “Thank you—”

Nurse Bruyes stood outside. Behind her were three men.

Time seemed to stop. One moment she was pushing against the door, the next she was on the floor with her cheek pressed to the rug. The room spun dizzily. She saw familiar faces—Nurse Bruyes weeping, the Spycatcher.

Everything snapped into focus.

The Spycatcher.

“You hit her too hard, fool.”

Someone lifted her to her feet.

“Put her on the couch. And you—get rid of the nurse.”

She heard the sound of a knife being unsheathed. “No!” She tried to struggle.

The Spycatcher laughed. He stepped close. “My apologies, Ottler. Perhaps you didn’t hit her hard enough.” His lips drew back in a smile. “Lady Petra. How lovely to see you again.”

Saliel spat at him.

The Spycatcher wiped his cheek. “Your Guardian told me you were from the slums. I see we shall have to teach you some manners. Ottler, the couch.”

Ottler—large, dark, hard-eyed—forced her to sit, his hand at her throat.

“Search the rooms,” the Spycatcher said. His voice came from behind her. A knife blade touched beneath her jaw. “She won’t move. Will you, my dear?”

Ottler removed his hand.

“Will you?” Hard fingers twisted in her hair. The tip of the knife pressed more firmly against her skin, forcing her chin up. The Spycatcher’s voice was at her ear: “Answer me.”

“No.” She choked the word out.

He didn’t ease the pressure of the blade. Saliel felt her skin split open.

“Filthy, lying spy.”His voice was soft, hissing. “And you...you’re filthier than all the others. Lies fill your mouth like maggots.”

Saliel closed her eyes. Blood trickled down her throat, warm.

“I’ve been looking forward to this moment,” the Spycatcher whispered in her ear. “I’m going to enjoy breaking you. I’m going to enjoy every second of it.” He pressed the blade more deeply.

Her breath caught in her throat—a sob, a gasp. She opened her eyes. The parlor was empty. She heard movement in the bedchamber.

“I’ll put your eyes out,” the Spycatcher said. “And then you’ll tell me everything. Everything.” He released his grip on her hair. His hand slid down her cheek, her throat. “And when I’m finished with you, I shall give you to my men.” He caressed her breast with hard, pinching fingers. “You can be their whore. Believe me, by the time they’re done you’ll be glad to burn on a witch’s pyre.”