“What brings you to my door, good man?” I took care that my words held the right amount of disdain for a messenger.
“I bring you an invitation, Lord Feldspar. May I step within your chambers and recite it for you?”
“Of course. A moment.” I patted about in my garments, found my key, and, opening the door, I preceded him into the room.
Riddle shut the door firmly behind us. I removed the wig and hat gratefully and turned to him, expecting to see my friend. But he still stood at the door as if he were no more than a messenger, his face both grave and still.
I said the words I hated most. “I’m so sorry, Riddle. I had no idea what I was doing to you. I thought I was giving the Fool my strength. I never intended to steal from you. Have you recovered? How do you feel?”
“I’m not here about that.” He spoke flatly. My heart sank.
“Then what? Sit, please. Shall I call for someone to bring us food or drink?” I asked. I tried to keep my words warm, but his manner warned me that his heart was sealed against me right now. I could not blame him.
He worked his mouth, took in a deep breath, and then let it out. “First,” he declared, in a voice almost hard despite its shaking, “this is not about you. You can be offended. You can offer to kill me—you’re welcome to try to kill me. But it’s not about you or your pride or your place at court, or who Nettle is or my common parentage.” His words grew more rushed and impassioned as he spoke, and the color rose higher in his face. Anger and pain sparked in his eyes.
“Riddle, I—”
“Just be quiet! Just listen.” He took another breath. “Nettle is pregnant. I will not let her be shamed. I will not let our child be shamed. Say what you will, do what you will, she is my wife and I will not let our joy be dirtied with politics and secrets.”
I was the one who sat down. Luckily, the bed was behind me when I did so. If he had driven the air out of me with a blow to my belly, the impact could not have been stronger. Words rattled in my head. Pregnant. Shamed. Wife. Dirtied. Secrets.
A baby.
I found my voice. “I’m going to—”
Riddle crossed his arms on his chest. His nostrils flared and he exclaimed defiantly, “I don’t care what you do. Understand that. Do whatever you wish, but it won’t change anything.”
“—be a grandfather.” I choked on the word. Incredulity melted his face and he stared. It gave me the moment I needed to organize my thoughts. Words tumbled from my lips. “I have money saved. You can have it all. You must leave soon, before travel is too difficult for her. And I think you must flee the Six Duchies entirely. She is the Skillmistress; she is too well known for you to …”
“We are not leaving!” Anger tightened his slack face. “We refuse. We were lawfully wed—”
Impossible. “The king forbade it.”
“The king can forbid whatever he likes, but if a man and a woman make their vows before the Witness Stones, with at least two witnesses—”
“Only if one is a minstrel!” I interrupted him. “And the witness must know both parties.”
“I wager the Queen of the Six Duchies knows us both,” he said quietly.
“Kettricken? I thought Kettricken was a party to forbidding the marriage.”
“Kettricken is not the Queen of the Six Duchies. Elliania is. And she comes from a place where a woman can marry whomever she wishes.”
It all fit together as tightly as the blocks that make up an arch. Almost. “But your other witness had to be a minstrel …” My words trickled away. I knew who their minstrel had been.
“Hap Gladheart.” Riddle confirmed it quietly. A smile almost twisted his face. “Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”
My fostered son. He’d been delighted to call Nettle sister. I found I had clamped both hands over my mouth. I tried to think. So. Married. In public and yet in secret. Yes, Elliania would do it, and possibly not realize that in flaunting her husband’s authority she was doing far more than simply asserting her belief that a woman should have complete control over who she wed. Or didn’t wed, and merely slept with.
I let my hands fall away from my mouth. Riddle still stood as if he expected me to leap to my feet and pummel him. I tried to recall if I’d even felt that impulse. I hadn’t. No anger: That was drowned in dread.
“The king will never accept this. Nor Kettricken, nor Chade. Oh, Riddle. What were the two of you thinking?” Joy warred with tragedy in my voice. A child, a child that I knew Nettle wanted. A child that would change their lives completely. My grandchild. And Molly’s.