The Bone Palace

chapter 18

The demon days were meant to be spent indoors, either at home with family or in a cathedral for prayer and meditation. No one ventured out between dusk and dawn for fear of the Invidiae, the jealous demon sisters who gave the dead days their name—most didn’t venture out at all. So when Thea Jsutien arrived before noon demanding to speak with her, Savedra was at a loss.
Her equally disgruntled maid dragged her out of bed and helped her scrub off the remnants of last night’s cosmetics. On any other day she would have made Thea wait, and wielded her wardrobe like a weapon. Today, slow and aching with fatigue and bruises from her fall, she very nearly left her rooms in a robe with her hair in snake-tangles around her face.
Instead she found a plain black dress and let Marjana comb her hair and braid it and knot it at the nape of her neck. She wore no jewelry, not even her pearls—jewels and fine things were said to attract the Invidiae, a legend she had no desire to test. And if Thea had come to her here, she hardly needed to remind the woman of her station.
Marjana had left the archa waiting in the gallery’s solar, which offered an excellent view of the frost-decked gardens. It offered the garden’s chill as well—fire in every hearth was another luxury to be avoided; tea and cakes were right out. Savedra’s breath fogged the air as she sighed.
Thea had dressed simply as well. Savedra had never thought to see such a thing, but the woman could have been any merchant-wife in plain brown wool, her greying hair coiled neatly. She was of an age with Savedra’s mother, but today she looked much older.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” Savedra said. “What can I do for you?”
Thea’s shadowed eyes narrowed. Deep lines framed her tight-set lips. “What have you done with my niece?” Her voice was dry and strained.
“What?” Her wits were too dull for fencing.
“You heard me. Where is Ginevra?”
Savedra’s mouth opened and closed again. She sat gracelessly. “I take it the answer is not House Hydra, then?”
Thea scowled. “She wasn’t with us when we left the palace last night. She never came home. Do you mean to tell me you aren’t responsible?”
“I certainly don’t have her bound in the back of my wardrobe.” Now she forced her sticky mind to work—when had she last seen Ginevra? At the ball, of course, but when? A glimpse of red across the room, or had that been Isyllt—
“I don’t know what you meant by those costumes—”
“Those costumes were as much Ginevra’s idea as mine,” Savedra said. “And making people disappear seems more your style than mine, don’t you think? I don’t know what’s happened to her, nor do I wish her harm. She managed not to grow into a scheming bitch, despite your best efforts.” Saying what she felt was much too pleasant; she couldn’t make a habit of it.
“Her mother’s blood. Talia has always been too trusting. And look what good it’s done her now.”
Savedra didn’t bother to hide her frown. It might be a trick. If Ginevra’s chances for the throne worsened, she doubted Thea would scruple to use the girl in some other way. But if it wasn’t…
“I may not wish Ginevra ill, but why would I help a house that wants me dead?”
Thea’s chin rose, firming the soft flesh of her neck. “House Hydra has no quarrel with the Severoi. I may not be fond of the Alexioi, but I want no trouble with Nadesda, and that’s what your death would earn me, now isn’t it? Not all the houses feel the same, I’m sure, but if someone has tried to kill you, it’s no scheme of mine.”
Savedra didn’t believe her for an instant, but in the end that didn’t matter. “Will you ask the king for help?”
Thea sniffed. “I’m sure he has enough to worry him.” Of course she wouldn’t want the Crown investigating anywhere near House Hydra—who knew what they might turn up? “Do you swear you had nothing to do with Ginevra’s disappearance?”
“I swear it.”
“Then—” Thea scowled. “Then help me. I want Ginevra home and safe, and for whatever reason she seems to like you. I know you have resources, to have kept your place here so long…”
She wanted to tell Thea to go to hell and crawl back to bed. But if Ginevra was in danger, especially if it had anything to do with their subterfuge last night, she couldn’t turn away.
“All right,” she said at last. “I’ll see what I can find. I’m sure my mother will be glad to help, if it means forming a closer bond with House Hydra.”
Thea acknowledged the debt with a frown and a nod, and rose stiffly. “I hope for all our sakes that you find her quickly, then. The turning of the year is no time to have affairs in such disarray.”
When Savedra was alone she chafed her frigid hands. Then she stood, shaking out her skirts, and returned to her rooms for a cloak, wondering how she would bribe a coachman to take her out on Indrani.
Isyllt and Kiril lay together, her head on his chest and their legs entwined. The blankets trailed uselessly off the foot of the bed, but Isyllt didn’t mind the chill. She didn’t dare take her hands off him, for fear he would dissolve like smoke if she did. Beyond the curtains, the cold light of Indrani brightened.
“I only wanted to spare you pain,” he whispered, stroking the line of her shoulder blade as if he meant to memorize the shape.
“It doesn’t work that way.” Her fingers traced the valleys of his ribs and the planes and hollows of his stomach. His skin had softened with the years, flesh and muscle lost beneath, but she still felt the familiar strength in his hands.
“No. I begin to understand that.”
Their magic moved as well, tendrils of power teasing and exploring, raising gooseflesh as they ghosted over skin. Neither Ciaran’s clever hands nor Spider’s poppy-sweet kisses could match the sensation of magic so inextricably intertwined.
“Three years of your life?” she said at last, kissing the stark line of his collarbone between each word.
“That was what she demanded. I didn’t have a better offer.”
She frowned and raised her head; her hair slid across his chest and tangled both their arms. “But how can she know? Can even a saint see the end of your life, to know where to snip it short?”
“I don’t know. It may have been a hollow threat, merely meant to make me miserable. Shadows know it would have been easier if she’d snipped the thread three years ago, instead of leaving me like this.”
Isyllt bit his shoulder in response, hard enough to elicit a hiss of pain. “Don’t be stupid. She’s had her time, then. The rest is yours.”
“Mine.” He laughed, his chest jerking sharply against her. “Five years I gave to Nikolaos Alexios. Thirty years to Mathiros. Three to Erishal. I can scarcely remember what I did when my time was my own.”
“Give it to me, then. I’ll make use of it.”
He laughed, until she smothered it with a kiss and her hair fell around them like a veil.
“Come away with me,” he said later, so softly she barely heard it. Sleep lapped slowly over her, but that drew her awake again. No bells rang on the dead days, but she guessed from the light that it was near the second terce—the hour of virtue.
“Where?”
“Anywhere but here. What’s left for us in Erisín?”
What was there for her? Twenty-four years of history. Ciaran and Khelséa and Dahlia, and a handful of other friends she saw less often. A lot of ghosts. The Arcanost and her classes. Her favorite shops and taverns and all the streets she knew as well as her own hands. Her home.
But what kind of home would it be without Kiril?
“It would break my oath.” How that oath was still intact she didn’t understand. But there had been no clause in her vow to serve and uphold about not keeping secrets from the king. The crafters of the oath had obviously understood the latitude her job often called for.
“You’ll suffer for it, true. But you’re strong enough to overcome it.”
“And let Phaedra and Spider throw the city into chaos?”
“Is it really our concern anymore? Erisín has endured worse than a coup.”
She couldn’t argue that. If it were only Mathiros she wouldn’t lift a hand to save him. Nikos had his own people. But no matter what Spider claimed, it was the city that would suffer for a revolution.
She didn’t realize she’d made a decision till she pulled away, dragging a sheet closer around her.
“I can’t leave. Not like this. I’ll resign my position and go with you when it’s over, but I won’t let Phaedra and Spider drag the city into their madness.”
Kiril sat up, the covers pooling around the sharp angles of his hips. The winter chill rushed to fill the space between them. “Phaedra won’t be easy to oppose.”
“I promised Forsythia justice. There will never be justice for all, but for this one I can do something.” She had never set great store on honor—it was transitory and subjective, and often directly opposed to practicality—but she needed some scrap of self-respect, and knew she wouldn’t keep it if her word meant nothing at all.
“Justice at the cost of your own life?”
But that wasn’t the true cost. The importance of her own life had always been a fluid thing, to be guarded or gambled on a whim. The price of pursuing justice now would be another chance at spending that life with Kiril.
“Could you do it so easily?” she asked. “Leave everything you’ve lived for? Or would you only be miserable?” He had said it himself: he didn’t know what to do with his own life. She might start over, if she had him. She had always known, in those lonely hours when she dwelled on such things, how easily Kiril had defined her. How easily he could become her world. And she also knew that his love for her was real, but nowhere as broad or as deep as hers.
“I don’t know. But I’m willing to try.”
“We both make ourselves miserable all too well. I’m not willing to help you.”
The silence stretched taut. Finally Kiril rose to collect his scattered clothes. Isyllt watched him dress, and her stomach felt too small.
A knock at the door snapped the strained stillness. Isyllt hadn’t realized she was holding her breath till it left in an aching rush. She winced as her feet touched the icy floor, huddling in her worn and faded robe as she went to the door.
Her wards recognized Savedra now, but without them Isyllt might not have known her on first glance—she’d never seen the other woman without silks or velvet or the luster of pearls.
“I’m sorry,” Savedra said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Isyllt’s cheeks warmed. “You didn’t. Come in.”
Kiril emerged from the bedroom, his clothing rumpled but in place, and now Savedra blushed. “I should go,” he said. He nodded politely to Savedra as he passed. “Lady Severos.”
Say something, Isyllt thought as she followed him to the door. Stop him. Don’t let it happen this way— But her tongue was numb, her jaw locked. Her hand twitched as he crossed the threshold. He paused on the first step, his mouth twisting in that sad familiar smile. He caught her hand before it fell back to her side, brushed his thumb softly across her knuckles. Then he turned and faded into the shadows of the stairwell.
“I’m sorry,” Savedra said again as Isyllt closed the door. “I didn’t know—”
“It’s all right. You saved us some argument and awkward farewells. What’s wrong?” No one went visiting on the demon days if everything was well.
“Ginevra Jsutien is missing. Her aunt believes she’s been abducted.”
“Do you believe it?”
“I don’t know. Saints know Thea is a liar and a schemer, but I believe she’s upset. What if someone thought she was one of us last night?”
Isyllt frowned. “We both had our veils off after the assassin attacked the princess. When did she disappear?”
“I don’t know. I can’t remember when I last saw her.”
“Damn. Who would want her gone?”
“I would, if I were any more ruthless.” Savedra’s mouth twisted. “Though I find myself liking her. But everyone knows Thea wants Ginevra to be queen when Ashlin is gone, and I imagine there are plenty of factions who oppose that.” She rubbed at her injured arm fretfully. “You don’t think Phaedra had anything to do with it, do you?”
“I wouldn’t put much past her, though so far she’s taken victims who wouldn’t be missed.”
As soon as she said it, memories clicked like puzzle cubes: the protests in Archlight and riots in Elysia; the angry families in the Justiciary demanding answers; all the pale bodies on slabs in the Sepulcher.
“Saints and shadows.” She shook her head, impressed by the plan even as her stomach clenched. “They’re not random.” Liar, she thought, remembering Spider shrugging the deaths aside, and laughed.
Savedra’s eyebrows rose and she went on. “They’re killing refugee girls. And why not—there are enough of them in the slums, easy to snatch. But for every girl that disappears, the Rosian community gets angrier. There’s been rioting in Elysia already. It will get worse now that the army is home and the city is even more strained.”
“They’re antagonizing the Rosians on purpose?”
“They must be. They want the throne—turning the city against Mathiros can only help them. An unloved king is easier to overthrow, for reasons both practical and thaumaturgical. Then they seize the throne and the killings stop.”
Savedra rocked back. “But a coup would throw the city into more chaos. They would have to kill Nikos, too, and then the Octagon Court would snarl like dogs over the throne.” Her face paled as she spoke. “And why now? The demon days are hardly an auspicious time to do anything.”
“They are if you’re a demon. Phaedra’s power will only increase over the next few days, and the city is at its most vulnerable.”
“Shadows. Nikos is in danger.”
“Go to him. Warn him and keep him close.”
“What are you doing?”
“Going to the Garden. I need to convince Little Kiva not to riot again, and I think I know someone they might listen to.”
Carriages were scarce on the dead days, so Isyllt walked to the Garden. There were more people on the streets of Elysia than there should have been, and too many of them scowled and clustered in angry conversation.
The Briar Patch was closed, as was every shop and tavern on Thistle Street, but smoke trickled out of the chimney. Isyllt hammered on the kitchen door; her hand ached before the latch lifted and Mekaran’s frowning face appeared in the gap.
“What in the black hells do you want, necromancer?”
“I need your help.”
His frown didn’t fade, but the door opened. “Your timing is bad. But maybe you can help me in turn.” He ushered her inside, into warmth and the comforting smell of garlic and ginger. “Dahlia is sick.”
Isyllt’s stomach tightened. “The influenza?”
“What else?” His mouth quirked. “I want to blame you for sending her on errands in the cold, but I know that’s ridiculous. There’s someone sick in every house, lately.” He wore no paint today, and coppery stubble shadowed his jaw. His clothes were plain and dark, and even his hair had begun to fade, cinnamon-brown roots showing beneath the dye.
“Is it bad?”
He shot her a scalding look. “Bad enough. Can you do anything for her?”
“I’m no healer. But let me see her, please.”
Dahlia’s room was a small one above the kitchen, hardly wider than a closet. Warm enough, at least, between heat from below and the brazier glowing by the foot of the bed. The cot was layered in blankets, and Dahlia had burrowed into them. Her hair spread in lank tangles across the pillow and her cheeks were blotched with fever and an alarming yellow flush.
“Lady Iskaldur.” She coughed as soon as she spoke, deep and wet. The whites of her eyes were washed yellow; Isyllt winced at the sight. Bruised lids sank shut a moment later, and the rasp of the girl’s breath deepened.
She remembered the last time she’d sat a sickbed like this—her friend Ziya caught the influenza when they were fifteen and living in a freezing tenement attic in Birthgrave. No money for a physician and only the scant herbcraft Isyllt had gleaned from her mother to fight the illness. If Ziya had died that night, Isyllt would have lost everything.
Instead Kiril had found her, and offered help in exchange for her apprenticeship.
She didn’t realize she was crying till a tear slipped off her chin and splashed the blanket. “How long has it been?” she asked, scrubbing her cheeks.
“Two days,” Mekaran said from the doorway. “The fever hit yesterday and the jaundice came this morning. What is this plague? I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Neither have I. The Arcanost swears it’s just influenza, but they’re lying to prevent a panic.” She sank onto the edge of the bed and took Dahlia’s clammy hand in hers. The symptoms were an unnatural mix of influenza and the bronze fever. A fever the city hadn’t seen since the summer of Lychandra’s death….
Isyllt remembered her fevered dreams—blood and more blood, and black wings. She closed her eyes and extended her magic, sending tendrils of power questing through Dahlia. Death answered, a shadow in the girl’s lungs, a sickly yellow glow pulsing through her veins and coiling in her liver. Not the sharp echo of a mortal illness, not yet, but the potential was there.
She forced her awareness deeper, clenching her jaw as Dahlia began to shiver at the invasive chill. Dimly she heard Mekaran’s indrawn breath, but he had the sense not to interrupt. There. Scarlet ribbons twined the muddy yellow of the plague, shining with a faint porphyry glitter. The taste of cinnamon spread across her tongue.
Phaedra had taken the dead plague as well as the dead queen’s flesh, quickened it and melded it with the influenza till she had a new plague that would spread in winter. Isyllt’s breath hitched at the ingenuity of it, the skill involved. Silently, she cursed Kiril and Mathiros and all the fates for making this woman her enemy.
Then she gathered herself and launched her magic against Phaedra’s. Dahlia shuddered and writhed and Mekaran swore. Death-magic flashed like a scalpel, slicing the ribbons of haematurgy. Crimson unraveled into yellow, and the yellow in turn began to fade. Magic spread the dead fever—if she could break Phaedra’s spell, only the natural illness should remain.
She opened her eyes as Mekaran’s hand closed on her shoulder; she felt the violence harnessed in his manicured grip. Dahlia had curled into a shivering ball, her breath coming in soft keening gasps. Her lips were bruised blue, as were the tips of the fingers Isyllt still held. Sweat cooled on Isyllt’s brow.
“The plague is sorcery. Another attempt to weaken the city.” She let go of Dahlia’s hand and pulled the covers tightly around the girl’s neck. “I broke its hold on her.”
Mekaran released her; her shoulder throbbed where his fingers had ground flesh to bone. “You nearly killed her.”
She nodded, unclenching her aching jaw. “I’m no healer,” she repeated. “But it worked. She’s still sick, but the taint is gone. The jaundice should clear soon—if it’s anything like the real bronze fever, her urine will be bloody when it passes. Keep her warm and full of soup and tisane—she’s strong enough to fight the rest.” Or so she prayed.
Mekaran’s frown remained, but his shoulders slumped. He added fuel to the brazier before leading Isyllt back to the kitchen.
“What do you need my help for?” he asked as he poured tea. He set a cup in front of Isyllt, followed by a plate of yesterday’s bread and honey.
Between sips of tea, she explained about the murdered women, the riots and the growing unrest. “The last thing the city needs during the demon days is rioting. Violence and destruction will draw spirits like a beacon, and only further these demons’ plans.”
“And this demon witch who made the plague is the one who killed Forsythia.”
It wasn’t a question, but Isyllt nodded anyway. “Between you and Ciaran I thought you might talk some sense into the instigators. Once we deal with this sorceress they can march on the Justiciary all they please, but not in the next five days.”
Mekaran stared at the mug cradled in his broad hands. “I know some of the leaders. I’ll talk to them. They’re angry, though, and the marigolds who refuse to help them are a likelier target than demons no one has seen. Pray they listen.”
Isyllt laughed grimly. Her prayers were spread thin these days, and she knew the sort of answer she was likely to receive.
Nikos wasn’t in his chambers, and rather than hunt him through the palace Savedra settled in to wait. His room was cold, the air heavy with ash and incense—he didn’t often pray, but the doors of his shrine were open now, the burners streaked with ashes. She hoped the saints were listening.
She knelt in front of the cabinet, letting the scent of sandalwood and myrrh ground her as she gathered her wits. She’d waited too long to tell him and the story had grown too convoluted. A coup she could understand, even Varis’s misguided need for revenge on the Alexioi, but demons and stolen corpses—
Footsteps broke the spiral of her thoughts and she straightened her shoulders. The connecting door to Ashlin’s suite swung open, and Nikos entered with the princess at his heels. Savedra’s carefully planned explanations crumbled in surprise, and she drew back into the shadows to regroup. Neither of them turned in her direction.
“What is it?” Nikos asked when the door was latched behind them. His face was drawn, his voice strained. He inspected a bottle of wine on the sideboard before he poured, and Savedra smiled in approval—she’d insisted he seal all his bottles, and always check them before he drank.
“I’m sorry to trouble you,” Ashlin said slowly, waving aside an offered goblet. “I know this isn’t a good time for distractions.”
“You’re my wife,” he said with an exasperated laugh. “You’re allowed to distract me whenever you wish. Some might even encourage it.”
Ashlin didn’t so much as smile. Savedra knew she ought to speak before she eavesdropped further, but her tongue was frozen.
“I’m pregnant.”
Nikos’s mouth opened and closed again. “Are you sure?” Savedra felt as though she’d turned to stone.
“This is the third time. I know the signs.”
He drank before he spoke. “Forgive me,” he said after a long swallow, “but—”
Her mouth twisted. “But how can that be, when we haven’t shared a bed since I lost the last one?”
Savedra’s hands ached, clenched white-knuckled in her skirts.
“I would never accuse you….”
“It’s true, though. It isn’t yours. I’m sorry.” She squared her shoulders, a soldier facing discipline. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, and I won’t dishonor the oaths I swore any further by lying. I know the odds are poor that I’ll keep it any longer than the others, but I thought you should know. If you wish to begin divorce proceedings—”
“Slow down, please. You’re making my head spin.” He set his goblet aside. “Most state marriages last at least five years before public scandal and divorce. But if you’re that unhappy….” All of them flinched at the hurt in those last words. More than injured pride, and Savedra’s chest ached; he loved Ashlin after all, or something close. “I don’t suppose you’d tell me whose it is? As long as it’s not my father, I think I could stand to hear anything.”
That drew an outraged laugh, but Ashlin sobered quickly. “I’m sorry, but it’s not my place to say.”
“No,” Savedra said slowly, pushing herself off her knees. “But it is mine.”
They both startled. Nikos’s goblet teetered on the sideboard and fell, spraying wine across the carpet with a metallic thunk; Ashlin groped at her belt for an absent blade. She flushed as Savedra stepped out of the shadows. “Vedra—”
“My place,” she went on, cutting her off. “My place, and my child.”
Nikos blinked, and his jaw slackened in confusion. It tightened again with the realization that followed. “You can’t mean—”
“Yes. I’m the—” Her voice broke. “The father. Forgive me. No, forgive Ashlin. I understand mine is the worse betrayal.”
Nikos lurched away from the wall and Savedra tensed for shouting, for rage, even for a blow. But he turned back to the sideboard to fetch a new goblet and pour more wine. His hand shook and garnet-red drops splashed the table.
“It was my fault,” Ashlin said. “I pressed the matter, abused my position and Savedra’s trust.”
“Please.” He laughed bitterly and raised his cup. His throat worked as he swallowed. “You said no lies. I know you too well for that.”
“I’m no ravished maiden,” Savedra said, her voice so dry she hardly recognized it. “Let’s place no blame beyond what we’ve earned.”
“Vedra—” His eyes were dangerously liquid. Her composure would shatter if his did. “Is it over, then? Between us?”
She started forward, stopped short as if held by a leash. Her cheeks tingled; her hands shook. “I love you. I love you as I always have. I would never leave you willingly, but what I’ve done—” She forced the words past her tightening throat. “It’s treason.”
“You love me.” No mockery, no doubt. “Do you love Ashlin, too?”
She saw the princess tense as if for a blow. No assassin could ever wound them all so gracefully. “Yes.”
“Well, then.” He drained the rest of his cup. “Doubtless my father could be decisive about something like this, but I don’t think I can. I need time, and more wine. I trust neither of you have spoken of this to anyone else? Good,” he said when they both nodded. “Then please don’t. I—Excuse me.” With that, he left, easing the door shut behind him so it didn’t make a sound.
Ashlin and Savedra stared at each other.
“When did you know?” Savedra managed at last.
“I’ve worried since we got back from Evharis. The timing was right for a child to catch—which I should have thought of then, but I was too drunk and stupid. And then this morning my breasts began to ache, and I knew.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I looked for you this morning. I thought of waiting, but that would only have put the burden on you, and been a coward’s choice. I’m sorry, Vedra. It seems that all we can do is hurt one another.”
She turned back to her rooms and shut the door behind her.
Savedra stood for a moment, stunned and sick, before she remembered the reason she’d needed to talk to Nikos in the first place. With a curse she ran after Ashlin, catching her before she reached the door of her suite.
“Wait! Saints, Ashlin, your timing is impossible.” She couldn’t look the princess in the eye, but she forced out an explanation of Phaedra and Isyllt’s suspicions.
“Blood and iron,” Ashlin swore. “No, we can’t let him wander off to drink himself stupid now. Where would he go?”
They searched the library, the stables, and the wine cellar with no luck, and Savedra silently cursed the cold and empty halls. Whenever she and Nikos tried to find a moment alone, the palace was crawling with servants, and now it was desolate.
An hour passed before they found a groundskeeper who pointed them toward the palace temple. The memory of the black crypts and the queen’s empty coffin sped Savedra’s stride, till Ashlin had to jog to keep pace.
His guards waited inside the temple, but directed Ashlin down to the crypt. “His Highness ordered us to leave him,” the unhappy sergeant said. And, more reluctantly, “He’s been drinking.”
Ashlin’s smile didn’t fool anyone. “I think I can carry him if he’s too drunk to walk. Stay here.
“I hate these places,” the princess muttered as they descended the stairs. The lantern swayed in her hand, and their shadows capered back and forth. “The dead should be burned and given to the sky, not locked up in vaults like preserves. And you call my people heathens.”
After several twists and curves, they saw a glimmer of light ahead. Nikos had set his lantern on the ground outside the Alexios crypt; its glow cast his face in shadow where he sat beside his mother’s sarcophagus, legs sprawled in front of him and a bottle of wine in his hand.
“I probably shouldn’t be found here,” he said, tilting the bottle. “I’d be called morbid and unstable in no time.”
Savedra’s hands clenched in her skirt. “Nikos—”
He waved the bottle in a silencing motion; wine sloshed black against the glass. “Wait. Listen.” He caught the edge of the coffin and pulled himself up; Savedra winced, remembering the scrape of stone as it opened. He took another long pull and set the bottle down.
“Vedra, I love you. I wouldn’t give you up for propriety, or my father, or even a political marriage. I don’t ever want to give you up.”
A painful knot lodged in her throat—before she could swallow it he went on.
“Ashlin. I know this marriage isn’t what either of us wanted, but I find myself not half as miserable as I expected. You’re clever and strong and competent and only a termagant every other decad or so. I like you, and the alliance is a good one. I can’t think of any daughter of the Eight that I’d rather be saddled with. You could have forced me to set Savedra aside, and you didn’t. And—and so it seems heartless and hypocritical for me to force you to set her aside.” He fumbled for the bottle again, and Savedra was too stunned to speak.
Ashlin wasn’t. “Do you mean—”
“I mean I don’t want to lose either of you. If… if you bear the child, I’ll accept it. I would gladly have a child with Savedra—this is the closest I’ll ever come. And—” He looked away, throat working as he swallowed. “And if you don’t, we’re no worse off than before.
“I just—” His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “I just don’t want to end up alone and miserable like Father.”
Savedra’s paralysis broke. She crossed the room in swift strides and took him into her arms. He sobbed once and pressed his face into her neck.
“I won’t leave you,” she murmured, fingers tangling in his hair. “Not ever.” It wasn’t something she’d ever promised before—it was the sort of vow fate took too much joy in breaking. She turned and stretched a hand to Ashlin. “And I don’t want you to leave, either. Stay with us.”
“This is madness,” Ashlin said, staring at them. Then her hand rose to clasp Savedra’s. “We’ll kill one another in months.”
They stood that way for a long moment, precariously balanced until Nikos laughed breathlessly and pulled away. “Then I won’t have to worry about what will happen if Father finds out. But we should go up, or the guards will think we’re already murdering one another.” He squeezed Savedra’s free hand and knelt to retrieve the wine bottle.
“We have to talk,” Savedra said. “Isyllt and I have learned something.”
“Not here,” he said as they left the crypt. “I’ve exhausted my morbidness for the day. And what happened to the lock?” he added as the heavy door swung shut behind them.
“This is important—”
Savedra knew they weren’t alone a heartbeat before a ghastly white shape flitted out of the darkness. Taloned hands closed on Nikos, tugging him down the corridor. He yelped and the bottle shattered on the floor.
Ashlin’s lantern shattered an instant later as the princess lunged after him. The air reeked of wine and smoke and olive oil, and a strange inhuman musk. Savedra snatched up the second lamp and followed, terrible visions flashing through her mind.
Nikos and his assailant had vanished when they reached the next turn, with no trace to show which way they’d gone. The tunnel was silent save for the harsh echoes of their breath, and the voiceless laughter of the fates.