Yes, she thought. I know what walks there. It is good indeed, that someone came.
‘A seamstress is coming,’ Marith said suddenly, to change the subject. So much tension still between them. It does not occur to him, she thought, that I might feel anger, or pain. Disappointment, even, perhaps, in him. I saw him abased and abject. He knows what I saw. Yet it does not occur to him that I might no longer want him. That I might wish to leave. Marith looked awkwardly at her, then smiled bright and innocent, his eyes caressing her face. ‘She’s to dress you as a queen. I told you I’d adorn you as the most beautiful woman in Malth Tyrenae; you’ll have to settle for being the most beautiful woman on Third, which is far less of a compliment. She’s to bring everything she has.’
‘A new pair of shoes would be more useful,’ Thalia said brightly in reply. Don’t think of it. Don’t think of it. This is what he is, also. Beautiful and sad and full of pride in himself. A shining prince in a shining tower. That was a better thought.
‘Oh, I’m sure you can have every pair in Toreth. I’ll have some made in solid gold for you, or sewn from rose petals sent in a fast ship from Chathe.’ He smiled like a boy and she tried to smile back.
The seamstress came a short while later with gowns for her, and she forgot her discomfort and her anger in the glorious game of trying things on. A cloak of black velvet, edged and lined with fur, clasped with silver roses. A dress of deep golden-green silk, embroidered at the neck with flowers and leaves in bronze and brown. Another in apricot, embroidered all over with tiny gold stars. Grey velvet, soft as breathing, trimmed in silver and dark twilight blue. Satin green and blue and gold like a peacock’s tail, the pattern shifting as the dress moved. White silk, sewn with green and pink like blossom. Slippers and boots, in fine leather, with buckles of silver and gold. Thalia gazed at them all in astonishment. Marith looked at her with hopeful eyes.
‘A goldsmith will come later, too. Bring you jewels to match. Sapphires, like your eyes. Diamonds. Rubies, of course.’ He stroked her face, light in his eyes. ‘The dresses will have to be altered. You’re far too tall and slender for most of the women here. But that can be done quickly.’ He shot a hard glance at the seamstress. ‘Very quickly.’
‘You don’t have any money,’ Thalia said at last. Money was something else she was slowly becoming aware of, realizing the advantages of its possession, the consequences of its lack. All her power and her status, and she had been stripped to nothing, within a few moments of walking out from her Temple with nothing of her own. ‘How are you paying for all this?’
‘I don’t have any money now. But one day I’ll have everything. And I want you to look like I already do.’ He sighed and rubbed his face, laughed shortly. So unhappy again. Ashamed. She shouldn’t have said it, Thalia thought. Should have let him pretend all was as it had been when he last stood in this room dressed in these clothes. ‘I can borrow money. I’ve got drinking debts I can’t possibly ever meet now anyway, beautiful girl. A few dresses and some diamonds are neither here nor there.’
Thalia ran her hand over the grey velvet dress. Soft as skin, smooth to the touch.
‘Try it on,’ Marith said eagerly. ‘No, try the gold one first.’
‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’
He laughed, more happily this time. ‘Of course.’
She put on the dress, a maidservant helping her. The bodice was low and tight-fitted, the skirt slim, swirling around her legs. It was heavy and strange on her, after the loose light dresses she was used to. Like the dresses for the great ceremonies of the Temple. Like the liveries of the servants scurrying around the keep with their heads bowed.
Marith gazed at her with a song in his eyes and she forgot that, too. His fingers closed on her hair and pulled at her gown and sent the seamstress running, shining fabric piled in her arms.
‘I’ll see Lord Relast, now, I suppose.’
Aris Relast looked entirely nonplussed: ‘His Lordship … uh … is indeed eager to meet with you, My Lord Prince.’
‘Kept him waiting, have we?’ Marith stretched and yawned. Aris Relast stood in the doorway, his face sour. Marith smiled at him sweetly. ‘I suppose I’d better let him attend, then.’ He stood up, feeling the room lurch around him. Several hours of drinking and fucking possibly not the best preparation for what he was about to have to do. He’d been aware of knocking at the door earlier, Lord Relast presumably wanting it confirmed to his own face that his son’s murderer really was still alive. It might have been politic to seem at least vaguely grateful for his hospitality, rather than ignore it entirely and open another bottle of wine.
Two things, Deneth Relast could want of him. He had genuinely no idea which it would be.
In either case, he’d have one perfect afternoon to hold to himself first.
Marith pulled on his coat, the rich dark Altrersyr red, slightly obvious perhaps. Thalia wore the grey dress. It made his coat look brighter and more vibrant beside her. His queen. He’d have a red dress made for her, too. Blood and firewine and her mouth.
Back down the long corridors, the wide staircases. Memory choked him for a moment. So many times, he’d walked here with Carin. His hands felt suddenly sticky, still covered in Carin’s blood. The way skin felt after touching something unclean. Knowing it was there, not visible to the naked eye but throbbing so that he could almost hear it. He rubbed his hand on Thalia’s dress, trying to think himself back to the glorious afternoon. She mistook his gesture, smiled and stroked his hand back, her face still bright with pleasure. She seemed easier in herself also, things mended between them, the haunted look fading from her eyes. Far easier to apologize appropriately, half-drunk and in ecstasy.
I love you, he thought. I love you. I’m sorry. You know I am.
Dusk was already pressing at the windows. He’d forgotten, somehow, after months spent in the changeless seasonless dream of the Sekemleth Empire, that night came in earlier here. All day, Deneth Relast must have been waiting, to receive his son’s murderer. He looked at Thalia a moment, looking at the dusk, whispering words. Should it be a killing night for her? She must count the days still, mark it in her mind. The moon would be different in Sorlost. A man? A woman? A child?
A pulse beat in his ears. Disgust and desire. Desire and disgust.
They stopped outside the heavy door of Lord Relast’s private chambers. Aris knocked. The door opened. They went in. Deneth Relast rose from his desk as they entered. A handsome enough man, in his youth, grey-haired and grey-bearded now, his stocky body going a little to fat. Sad for Landra and Carin both, that they’d inherited their father’s body and their mother’s face.
‘My Lord Prince.’