The Beauty of Darkness (37 page)

I walked over to the window and opened the shutter, hoping to see a glimpse of Lia and Berdi. The downpour obscured the forest beyond, and thunder rumbled overhead. I gently pressed on the back of my head, wondering how bad the gash was. Beneath the crusted patch of blood, there was still a sizable lump. It was ironic that a housekeeper armed only with an iron pot had nearly done in the Assassin of Venda.

How the Rahtan would laugh at that.

The name dug into me with a surprising sting—and longing.
Rahtan.
It brought back the familiar, the feeling of pride, the one place in my entire life where I had felt like I belonged. Now I was in a kingdom that didn't want me and in a cottage where I wasn't welcome. I didn't want to be here either, but I couldn't leave. I wondered about Griz and Eben. Surely Griz was healed and they were on their way by now. They were the closest thing I had to family—a family of poisonous vipers. The thought made me grin.

“What's so amusing?” Pauline asked.

I looked at the severity in her gaze. Had I done this to her? I remembered all of her kindnesses back in Terravin—her gentleness. I had thought that the young man she so earnestly waited for couldn't possibly deserve her and then when I learned he had died, I had hoped it wasn't by a Vendan hand. Maybe that was what she saw when she looked at me, a Vendan just like the one who had killed her baby's father. Though my smile had long faded, her gaze remained fixed on me, waiting.

“Nothing's amusing,” I answered, and looked away.

Another hour slipped by, and it seemed one labor pain hadn't subsided before another began. I dipped the rag into the bucket of cool water and wiped her brow. She didn't resist this time, but closed her eyes as if trying to pretend it wasn't me. I was getting a bad feeling about this. She was racked with another spasm.

When the pain finally passed and she relaxed again against the makeshift pillow I had made for her, I said, “We may have to do this alone, Pauline.”

Her eyes shot open. “You deliver my baby?” A smile broke her face for the first time, and she laughed. “I promise you, the first hands that touch my little girl won't be a barbarian's.”

I ignored her barb. It didn't hold the same venom as an hour ago. She was getting tired of fighting me. “You're so sure it's a girl?”

She didn't get a chance to answer. She was seized with a pain so strong, I was afraid she wasn't going to breathe again, and then on its heels came a sobbing scream. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “No. I think she's coming. Blessed gods. Not now.” The next moments were hot and blurred, her anguished wails tearing through me. She cried. She begged. I held her shoulders, and she bent forward in pain. Her nails dug into my arm.

My heart pounded furiously with every scream. It was coming. There was no more waiting.
Dammit, Lia!
I eased Pauline back against the pillow, lifted up her dress, then pulled her underclothes free before I could think too much about what I was doing. A head crested between her legs. She said a hundred things to me between each pain, a breathless one-way conversation of pleas to the gods and curses. She fell back crying, too tired to push.

“I can't,” she sobbed.

“We're almost there, Pauline. Push. I see its head. It's coming. Just a little more.”

She cried, a weak happiness briefly washing over her face before it vanished and she screamed again. I cupped the head, more of it emerging.

“One more push!” I yelled. “One more.”

And then the shoulders came, and with a last quick whoosh, it was in my hands, wet and warm, its tiny body arching, a small hand waving past its face. A whole baby, in my hands, slivers of eyes already peering out at the world. Peering at me. A gaze so deep, it carved a hole in my chest.

“Is it all right?” Pauline asked weakly.

The baby cried, answering her question.

“He's perfect,” I said. “You have a beautiful son, Pauline.” And I laid him in her arms.

 

CHAPTE
R
FIFTY-THREE

It was almost like a full tavern, so many crowded into one place.

I tried to imagine it as Terravin.

Except there was no ale. No stew. No laughter.

But there was a baby.

A beautiful perfect baby. Berdi sat on the end of the bed, crooning over him as Pauline slept. Gwyneth, Natiya, and I sat at the table, and Kaden lay sleeping on the floor in front of the fire. He was shirtless, his shoulder freshly bandaged, and his head rested on a folded blanket that Natiya had brought.

The rain poured down relentlessly. We were lucky the roof held. A bucket caught a single leak in the corner.

When I had tracked down the room Pauline had directed me to in the village, I'd found it empty and ransacked, with the windows flung open in spite of the rain.
They fled
, I thought,
through a window.
That was a very bad sign. The innkeeper claimed he'd seen nothing and didn't know where they'd gone, but I heard the terror in his voice—and then I saw the fearful curiosity as he peered into the shadows of my hood. In my haste, I had left the mourning scarf behind.

I pulled the hood farther down over my face and ran to the abbey grounds. I instructed Natiya to go the cottage with our horses and supplies while I hunted down Berdi and Gwyneth. I searched the streets and peered through tavern windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of them somewhere, but then the innkeeper's terror registered with me again. He had been as afraid of me as of whoever had ransacked the room and was eager for me to leave. I ran back to the inn. Berdi and Gwyneth would never have left without Pauline. I found them hiding in the kitchen.

It was a tearful, but hasty reunion. Gwyneth said she'd seen the Chancellor and soldiers outside her window and heard their brisk demands to the innkeeper to be led to Pauline's room. They were baffled at how the Chancellor had known Pauline was there. They confirmed the innkeeper was trustworthy—and he had stalled as long as he could, giving her and Berdi a chance to flee. When I told them of Pauline's condition, the innkeeper sent us on our way with food and supplies that we packed onto Nove and Dieci.

Natiya had been able to find the cottage but said Kaden had already delivered the baby by the time she got there, and had wrapped him in his shirt. She had bandaged the cut on his shoulder, which I knew was inflicted by Pauline, but she had also tended a gash on the back of his head. He'd told Natiya he had received a heavy blow from an iron pot. From whom? I wondered. That was why he hadn't shown at our rendezvous point, and perhaps explained his heavy sleep now. He never stirred when we walked into the cottage.

I watched his even breaths. It was strange, but I wasn't sure I'd ever seen him sleep before. Whenever I was awake, he was awake. Even that one rainy night months ago when we'd slept in a ruin and his eyes were closed, I'd known a part of him still watched me. Not tonight. This was a deep sleep that worried me. It made him seem more vulnerable. I hadn't even had a moment to express relief when he had walked into the cottage this morning, but now I stared at him, emotion welling in me. I kissed two fingers and lifted them to the gods.
Thank you.
He was injured, but he was alive.

“I think I still have a few leaves of thannis in my pack, Natiya. Will you steep them and make a poultice for his head?”

“Thannis?” Berdi asked.

“A foul-tasting weed that has some helpful uses beyond drinking. It grows only in Venda. Good for heart, soul, and growling stomachs when food is scarce—except when it seeds and turns from purple to gold. Then it becomes poison. It's the one thing they have in abundance in Venda.”

The mere mention of the weed made an unexpected yearning swell in me. Memories that I had buried tumbled loose. I thought of all the proffered cups of thannis—the humble gifts of a humble people.

Gwyneth angled her head at Kaden sleeping by the fire and frowned. “So how did all”—she twirled her hand in the air—“
this
come about? How does one go from being an Assassin to being your accomplice?”

“I'm not sure
accomplice
is the right word,” I said, snapping beans and adding them to a kettle. “It's a long story. After we eat.”

I looked over my shoulder at Berdi. “Which reminds me, I promised Enzo I'd tell you he hasn't burned down the inn yet. Boarders are fed, and the dishes are clean.”

Berdi's brows shot up. “Stew?”

I nodded. “Yes, even stew. And not half bad.”

Gwyneth rolled her eyes with genuine surprise. “The gods still perform miracles.”

“No one was more surprised than I was when I saw him in the kitchen wearing an apron and cleaning a fish,” I said.

Berdi huffed, her face beaming with pride. “Knock me dead. I told him he had to step up. Could have gone either way, but I had no choice. I had to take the chance and trust him.”

“What about that farmer?” Gwyneth asked. “What became of him? He never returned to the inn as promised. Is he dead?”

That farmer.
I heard the suspicion in how she described him. Berdi and Natiya both eyed me, waiting for my answer. I hardened my expression, adding a slab of salted pork to the kettle before I put the lid on and hung it over the fire. I sat back down at the table.

“He returned to his own kingdom. He's fine, I assume.” I hoped. I thought about the general who was challenging him back in Dalbreck. I couldn't imagine Rafe not prevailing, but I remembered the gravity of his expression, the lines that etched near his eyes every time one of the officers brought it up. There were no guarantees in such things.

“Dalbreck. That's where he's from,” Natiya interjected. “And he's no farmer. He's a king. He ordered Lia to—”

“Natiya,” I sighed. “
Please.
I'll explain.”

And I did, as best as I could. I skimmed over details, emphasizing the major events in Venda and what I had learned there. There were some details I couldn't relive again, but it was hard to skim past Aster. She was still a deep bruise inside me, purple and swollen, and painful to the touch. I had to stop and recompose my thoughts when I came to her role in this.

“Many people died that last day,” I said simply. “Except the one person who deserved to.”

When I was finished, Gwyneth leaned back in her chair and shook her head. “
Jezelia
,” she said, musing about the Song of Venda. “I knew that claw and vine was there to stay. No kitchen brush was going scrub it from your back.”

Berdi cleared her throat. “Kitchen brush?”

Gwyneth stood as if the ramifications had finally sunk in. “Sweet mercy, are we ever thick in it now!” she said, circling the room. “The first time I laid eyes on you, Princess, I knew you were going to be trouble.”

I shook my head apologetically. “I'm sorry—”

She stepped close and squeezed my shoulder. “Hold on. I didn't say it wasn't the kind of trouble I like.”

My throat swelled.

Berdi stood, the baby still cradled in one arm, and walked over and kissed the top of my head. “Blazing balls. We'll figure this out. Somehow.”

I leaned against Berdi's side and closed my eyes. Everything inside me felt like a rush of tears, sick and feverish, but on the outside, I was dry and numb.

“All right, enough of that,” Gwyneth said, and sat down opposite me. Berdi took the remaining chair. “This is a whole different game now. The Eyes of the Realm seem to have set their sights on more than order. What's your plan?”

“You're assuming I have one.”

She frowned. “You do.”

I had never voiced it out loud. It was dangerous, but it was the only way I could ensure that my voice would be heard by the whole court and those who were still loyal to Morrighan—if only for a few minutes.

“Something I've done before. But not successfully. A coup d'état,” I said. I explained that I had led a rebellion with my brothers and their friends into Aldrid Hall when I was fourteen. It hadn't gone well. “But I was armed only with righteous indignation and demands. This time I intend to go in with two platoons of soldiers and evidence.”

Berdi choked on her tea. “Armed soldiers?”

“My brothers,” I answered. “I know when they return that they and their platoons will back me.”

“Two platoons against the whole Morrighese army?” Berdi questioned. “The citadelle would be surrounded in minutes.”

“Which is why I need evidence. The hall is defensible for a short time with the cabinet as hostage. All I need is a few minutes, if I can expose at least one of the traitors with evidence. Then the conclave might listen to everything I have to say.”

Gwyneth snorted. “Or you'd get an arrow in your chest before you got a chance to say anything at all.”

It was well known that during conclave sessions, guards in full regalia, armed with bows and arrows, were posted in two gallery towers that overlooked Aldrid Hall. An arrow had never been shot by them. It was ceremonial, another tradition held over from earlier times, when lords from across Morrighan convened—but the guards' arrows were real, and I presumed they knew how to shoot them. The last time I had stormed in, I'd known they wouldn't shoot the king's daughter. This time I didn't have that assurance.

“Yes, it's possible I could get shot,” I agreed. “I can't figure everything out at once. Right now I just need to find evidence. I know the Chancellor and Royal Scholar are involved, but when I searched their offices, I turned up nothing. They're so clean not even a dust mote dared to hang in the air. There is also—”

I stopped.
My mother.
These two small words I couldn't force loose.
No. Not her.
They were a wall inside me, unscalable even after what I had seen. I couldn't say her name in the same breath as the other traitors'. She would never have put Walther at risk. She loved him too much for that. Some things were true and real. They had to be. I closed my eyes, seeing the sky full of stars and the rooftop she'd led me away from.
There's nothing to know, sweet child. It's only the chill of the night.