The Poison Throne (34 page)

“Razi…” groaned Christopher impatiently.

“It matters
not
, Christopher!” Razi slapped the cup down on the table, and reached to help Lorcan sit up against his pillows. “I simply
cannot
. Let that be an
end
to it!”

Wynter leant across and tried to assist her father from the other side. Lorcan shrugged the two of them off and struggled to sit unaided. Razi let the big man flounder for a moment, before reaching under his armpits and heaving him forcefully into position. He went to hand him the beaker of draught, but Lorcan caught Razi by the wrist and pulled down until the younger man had to either spill the drink or stoop to his eye level.

“What the hell has happened?” said Lorcan, not unkindly. “That you need to withdraw so thoroughly?”

Razi’s anger wavered and his mouth became unsteady. “There have been… insinuations. Rumours that I cannot bear to tolerate.”

Lorcan stared into his eyes. “What?” he said, trying to read Razi’s face, still gripping his wrist. “What have they said?”

“Certain of the councilmen, those who…” Razi laughed, a dry bitter sound. “Those who support my brother… have… in an effort to discredit me…” he glanced desperately at Christopher, shook his head and ground his teeth.

Lorcan slowly released Razi’s arm, his face taut. He took the beaker. “Then you are right to draw away,” he said softly.

Wynter did not understand. She looked from her father to Razi, hoping for a clue. “What?” she asked finally. “What have they said?”

“Oh!” Razi threw his hands up in frustration, his cheeks burning. “It doesn’t matter! Suffice it to say I cannot tolerate it!”

“What have they
said
?” insisted Christopher.

“That you are my catamite, Chris!” shouted Razi at last, spinning and holding his hands out, his eyes wide. “My catamite! I will not tolerate it!”

Lorcan winced and Wynter gasped, and the two of them turned involuntarily to look at Christopher. They expected rage, but the young man just squinted at them, obviously not understanding. “What does that mean?” he asked uncertainly. “What is a catamite?”To Wynter’s amazement he turned to her, “Wyn,” he asked, “what does it mean?”

She felt her face grow hot. “It means, Christopher… um… that Razi. That he has… that you are… his toy. That he has fashioned you as… his plaything…” she ducked her head, too mortified to expound, and almost immediately Lorcan surprised them all by murmuring something in Hadrish.

Christopher knew
that
word, all right. They watched as his jaw dropped and Wynter waited for the outrage, the hurt. To their immense surprise the young man just threw up his hands in relief and laughed.

“Oh Razi!” he said, “Is that
all
! Oh, friend! You don’t know a bit of me, if you think that matters! And as for yourself, what does it say about you? Except that, were you so inclined, you’d have excellent taste in men!” He grinned at his friends, expecting them to share the joke.

Lorcan dragged his hand over his mouth, shocked, and looked sideways at Razi. The tall young man glared at Christopher, his body bowing forward with the strength of his emotion. “It may not matter to
you
, Christopher, but it matters to
me
.” The light drained from Christopher’s face at his friend’s cold rage. “You are
not
in one of your bloody Merron camps
now
! The rest of the world doesn’t share your people’s dubious tolerances for such men, and I for one, will not be associated with their practices.”

Christopher blinked, and Wynter saw him stiffen with anger and hurt, his scarred hands knotting at his sides, his bruised mouth compressed to a thin line. They all stood in awkward silence for a moment, then Christopher turned and walked stiffly from the room.

Razi looked at the empty door, then turned and began to put things back into his bag. “That draught…” he began, but his voice failed him on the first try. “That draught,” he said again, much stronger, “is very powerful, Lorcan. You won’t be fit for anything but sleep for the next good long while. So you will have no opportunity to gad about and orphan your daughter.” Lorcan just silently watched Razi’s face as he finished tidying. “If you need me,” Razi continued, snapping his bag shut and not meeting Lorcan’s eye or looking at Wynter. “Send a page to fetch me, any time of the day or night.” He turned to leave.

“You are right to move out,” repeated Lorcan slowly. “But you are a fool if you let this come between you and a true, loyal friend.”

Razi listened to this with his back turned, his head tilted, and left without replying.

Christopher must have been standing or sitting in the receiving room, because they heard Razi say before he left, “I have business to discuss with you, Christopher. First I must wash and dress for court, but I shall return within this quarter, and I will speak to you here.”

“Oh aye,” said Christopher. “We should be sure and have Wynter attend as chaperone, in case this dubious Merron compromises your Highness’s virtue.”

There was a moment of stillness, and Wynter’s heart dropped when Razi coolly replied, “You will be fit to travel within a week, Freeman Garron. I want you to be ready to leave as soon as I tell you.”

All the sarcasm had gone from Christopher’s voice when he said, “Oh, Razi. So soon? What of Wynter?”

Wynter strained to hear a reply, but there was none. Only the abrupt click of the hall door shutting, and then silence.

Papers

C
hristopher was still in the receiving room when Wynter finished with her father. He had taken her favourite seat by the window and was gazing down into the orange garden, his arm on the sill, his face grim. Wynter dragged a chair from the other side of the room, pulled it close enough that Christopher’s knees brushed the arm of it, and sat down.

“My father is asleep,” she said.

He didn’t turn to look at her, uncharacteristically morose. She nodded in understanding, closed her eyes in companionable silence and leaned her head against the wall.

“How can you bear this place?” he said quietly. “It’s poison. It’s like breathing poison, day after day ’til your spirit sickens and dies.”

Wynter opened her eyes. The sun was reflecting off something in the garden, the glossy leaves of the trees perhaps, and the ceiling shimmered with dancing light. The room smelled of fragrant orange blossom and the uniquely stirring spice that she’d come to associate with Christopher.

“Why don’t you leave here?” he said. “Put Lorcan in a cart, pile all your belongings around him and just go.” She smiled at that. He made things sound so easy!

“Why do you grin?” he asked. “You said it yourself: you’re not dependent on the throne for your bread. Use your talents, Wynter, set up a shop somewhere safe and free. Move away from all these vipers and parasites.”

She sighed and dosed her eyes. “It’s not that simple, Christopher. People can’t just set up shop where they like. You need papers, licences, and we don’t have them… Not until the King releases them.” She tilted her head to look at him. He was gazing at her, still as a statue, his hands on the arms of his chair.

“There must be somewhere you can
go
!” He insisted quietly, and she was surprised to hear desperation in his voice. “Your father is a lord! Surely he has lands…?”

“You don’t understand,” she said. “My father is a
Protector
Lord. It’s just a title, that’s all. It means
he who will protect the King
. It’s very powerful and it has many privileges, but there is no land attached to it, Christopher, and only a small annuity. Once outside of these palace walls, we must truly fend for ourselves, and we cannot do
that
until Jonathon releases our papers. So, you see why we can’t just go? You understand?”

“I don’t want to just abandon you here, girly. How will you manage?” Christopher shook his head, and though she found his concern for her touching, she had to laugh at his solemn protectiveness.

He looked so hurt that Wynter reached forward, smiling, and laid her hand affectionately on his face. “Christopher, I don’t need you to…” she said, then paused, looking into his eyes. He turned his cheek into her palm and held her gaze sadly.

The atmosphere between them thickened, and Wynter’s smile faded. Just for that moment, she let herself acknowledge the fact that Christopher was leaving. Razi truly was sending him away. She ran her callused thumb over his bruised and lacerated eyebrow. She might never see him again. “Christopher,” she whispered, no humour at all in her voice as she took in the damage the King had wrought on him. “
Look
at you. This place will kill you if you stay.”

“And what of you?” he asked softly, his eyes searching hers, his cheek still resting in her palm. “We’ll be leaving you all alone.”

She knew he was right. Razi was becoming more and more a distant moon, and Lorcan… poor Lorcan, how long did he have left? Truth be told, thoughts of the future filled Wynter with dread. But as she looked at Christopher’s worried, battered face, she thought,
there’s nothing you can do about it, Christopher Garron, except get yourself killed
. She gave him a confident smile. “I’m
fine
here,” she said. “It’s what I’m bred for. There is nothing you can do for me here, Christopher, that I cannot do for myself.”

The dimples showed slyly at that and he gave her a wicked smile. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure of that!” he smirked, and she bared her teeth at him and swatted his cheek lightly so that he play-acted agony and they broke apart without awkwardness.

They sat for a few moments, leaning back in their chairs, a pensive silence settling between them. Christopher’s eyes drifted shut. “Lord. I am just about worn to a thread.”

Wynter patted his knee in sympathy. “Go lie down.”

But he just sighed instead. “Our Razi is in a bad way, ain’t he?” he murmured. “That remark… about my people.” He snorted in disgust. “I swear… I ain’t ever been so close to punching him.”

“Those things they’ve said, though, Christopher… they’d upset any man.”

He opened his eyes to look at her again.

“Up North,” she said, “They’d hang a man for those sort of… activities.”

“I know all about the North,” he said with quiet disdain.

Wynter regarded him closely and realised there was so much she didn’t know about him, so much she didn’t know about Razi. Her eyes narrowed in thought and she sat up straight, her head tilted.

“No,” he said with an amused smile, “I’m not.”

“Not what?” she said, startled.

“I’m not what they say I am. It just ain’t the way I’m made.”

She blushed, then hesitated and bit her lip.
And Razi?
she wondered. It was hard to think of Razi in that way at all. She had never seen him as anything other than just… just Razi. She met Christopher’s eyes and he grinned stiffly against his bruises, amused at the question in her face.

“Would it make a difference to you?” he said. “If he were? Would you think any less of him?” His grin faltered when she didn’t answer, and fell away entirely when she had to acknowledge to herself that it
would
make a difference. She wasn’t sure
how
she would feel about it, but it would make a difference. Christopher shook his head in disappointment. “You people,” he said. “You…” He left the sentence unfinished, just spread his hands and dropped them again in despair. He glowered out the window, mulling things over in his head. “Razi, Razi,” he murmured, “What are we to do with you?”

Wynter was still staring pointedly at him, and he grimaced and flung his hands up again in exasperation, “Good Frith!” he said, glaring at her. “It’s just lies, all right? When Razi finally unbends enough to enjoy a bit of sport, it’s a woman he takes to his bed! Now! You have it! I wish you joy of the knowledge! You can continue to look on him with unblemished pride and love! He is excellent and perfect and not at all
dubious
!”

Wynter laughed, too relieved to take his anger seriously, but he turned stiffly away to look out the window again, his face grim, and she realised that he was genuinely upset with her.

She shook his knee, trying to lighten his mood. “We were brought up to call it the
loving
act, you know. My father told me it’s an expression of love, not sport!”

“Oh, I have no doubt!” snorted Christopher. “Half of Razi’s problem is that he’s forever confusing the sport with love. He can’t seem to relax himself enough to just have some bloody fun. He’s too busy running off getting his heart broke by every set of brown eyes as looks his way.”

“But surely…” she checked herself and sat back, amazed to find herself discussing this subject without the slightest blush, and with
Christopher
of all people. She frowned and thought about that for a moment. This was a subject that usually reduced her to a paroxysm of stuttering and scarlet mortification. And yet… she looked up at him. He was regarding her with puzzlement, still not quite over his anger but wondering what the pause was all about.

“Surely,” she continued, settling back in her chair and watching him. “It’s all the better when you are in love?” This was what her father had told her, that the act was an extension of your love, that it should be saved for a man she loved completely and who she trusted to love her the same. She realised that she wanted very much to hear what Christopher had to say on the subject.

“I’d say it’s very
much
the better when you are in love,” said Christopher, staring back at her. “That’s what my dad told me anyway.”

“But… you don’t know?”

He paused, his eyes slipping from hers. “I ain’t never combined the two,” he said softly.

“You’ve never been in love, Christopher?”

His lips parted, he began to say something, hesitated, and snapped his mouth shut with a grimace. Wynter swallowed. Christopher kept his eyes down for a moment and then met her eye again. “I ain’t never combined the two,” he repeated with one of those sudden and unexpected flashes of shyness.