CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THE PRINCE
Only their feet were visible beneath the curtain of dripping sheets that hung from the line, but I could hear them well enough. I had come to pay Berdi for my week’s lodging before I left for Luiseveque. It was the nearest town where messages could be sent and the couriers were discreet for a sufficient price.
I paused, looking at Lia’s boots as she went about her work. Dammit, if everything about her doesn’t fascinate me. The leather was worn and dirty, and they were the only shoes I had ever seen her wear. She didn’t seem to care. Maybe growing up with three older brothers gave her different sensibilities from the girls of noble breeding I had known. Either she had never acted like a princess, or she rejected every aspect of being one when she arrived here. She’d have made a miserable fit for the court of Dalbreck, where the protocol of dress was elevated to laborious and religious proportions.
I fumbled for the Morrighan notes in my pocket to give to Berdi. Lia’s hands reached down below the bottom edge of the sheet, and she pulled another piece of wet laundry from the basket. “Were you ever in love, Berdi?” she asked.
I stopped, my hand still shoved in my pocket. Berdi was silent for a long while.
“Yes,” she finally said. “A long time ago.”
“You didn’t marry?”
“No. We were very much in love, though. By the gods, he was handsome. Not in the usual sense. His nose was hooked. His eyes set close. And there wasn’t a lot of hair up on top, but he lit up the room when he walked in. He had what I called presence.”
“What happened?”
Berdi was an old woman, and yet I noticed she sighed as if the memory were fresh. “I couldn’t leave here, and he couldn’t stay. That pretty much tells it all.”
Lia questioned her more, and Berdi told her the man was a stonecutter with a business in the city of Sacraments. He’d wanted her to come away with him, but her mother had passed on, her father was getting older, and she was afraid to leave him alone with the tavern to run.
“Do you regret not going?”
“I can’t think about things like that now. What’s done is done. I did what I had to do at the time.” Berdi’s knobby hand reached down for a handful of pegs.
“But what if—”
“Why don’t we talk about you for a while?” Berdi asked. “Are you still happy with your decision to leave home now that you’ve had some time here?”
“I couldn’t be happier. And once Pauline is feeling better, I’ll be delirious.”
“Even though some people still think the tradition and duty of—”
“Stop! Those are two words I never want to hear again,” I heard Lia say. “Tradition and duty. I don’t care what others think.”
Berdi grunted. “Well, I suppose in Dalbreck they aren’t—”
“And that’s the third word I never want to hear again. Ever! Dalbreck!”
I crumpled the notes in my fist, listening, feeling my pulse rush.
“They were as much a cause of my problems as anyone. What kind of prince—”
Her voice cut off, and there was a long silence. I waited, and finally I heard Berdi say gently, “It’s all right, Lia. You can talk about it.”
The silence continued and when Lia finally spoke again, her voice was weak. “All my life I dreamed about someone loving me for me. For who I was. Not the king’s daughter. Not First Daughter. Just me. And certainly not because a piece of paper commanded it.”
She nudged the laundry basket with her boot. “Is it asking too much to want to be loved? To look into someone’s eyes and see—” Her voice cracked, and there was more silence. “And see tenderness. To know that he truly wants to be with you and share his life with you.”
I felt the hot blood drain from my temples, my neck suddenly damp.
“I know some nobility still have arranged marriages,” she went on, “but it isn’t so common anymore. My brother married for love. Greta’s not even a First Daughter. I thought one day I’d find someone too, until—”
Her voice broke again.
“Go on,” Berdi said. “You’ve held it in far too long. You might as well get it all out.”
Lia cleared her throat, and her words rushed out hot and earnest. “Until the king of Dalbreck proposed the marriage to the cabinet. It was his idea. Do I look like a horse, Berdi? I’m not a horse for sale.”
“Of course you’re not,” Berdi agreed.
“And what kind of man allows his papa to secure a bride for him?”
“No man at all.”
“He couldn’t even be bothered to come see me before the wedding,” she sniffed. “He didn’t care who he married. I might as well have been an old broodmare. He’s nothing more than a princely papa’s boy following orders. I could never have a morsel of respect for a man like that.”
“That’s understandable.”
Yes, I supposed it was.
I shoved the notes back into my pocket and left. I would pay Berdi later.
Only a small remnant
of the whole earth remained.
They endured three generations
of testing and trial,
winnowing the purest from those
who still turned toward darkness.
—Morrighan Book of Holy Text, Vol. IV