TheKingsViper (20 page)

Because it was a trap, of course. It had to be. The
under-steward was striding toward the far door and she would have to walk right
past Severin. They wanted to see if she would give herself away. What did they
expect, she wondered wildly—that she would throw herself into his arms and
confess her passion? That she would burst into tears?

Both of which she wanted to do.

Her soft shoes seemed to pound on the bare flagstones, each
footfall a drumbeat on her path to execution. Her mind raced. She had seen him.
There was no disguising that, though she’d done her best to keep her thoughts
from her expression. To ignore him would be so ridiculous as to look
suspicious. He was her acknowledged savior. She looked down at her sleeve and
fiddled with a button, trying to seize some time. Her teeth dented the inside
of her lip. She would have to say something.

So as she got within a few paces of Severin she stopped. “My
lord de Meynard,” she said softly, hoping her voice was blamelessly neutral.

He looked up and met her eyes. “My lady of Venn.”

She nearly lost her self-control then. Not just because she
missed him so much but because he looked awful. His skin was gray and his eyes
sunken. There was a big crusted bruise on one cheek and a scab on his lower
lip. There was something changed about him on a deeper level too, something
missing. She realized it was his self-possession. Severin had always carried
himself with confidence—not loud or aggressive, but an irreducible faith in
himself. He didn’t do so now. He looked brittle, she thought, as if he were a
bundle of kindling held together by a single length of twine, and that if that
string was cut he’d fall apart. His expression was so blank that he might as
well have been sleepwalking. For a moment she couldn’t think what to say, and
then she caught herself.

“It’s been many weeks since I saw you last.” Eloise’s mouth
felt as dry as if she had bitten into a crab apple.

“I’ve been ill, I regret to say. I am recovered now.” His
voice was toneless. His clothes were clean, she noted, but he was holding his
right wrist against his chest and the hand was bandaged rather badly.

“Your hand…?” she said weakly. There was old blood on the
linen.
What have they done to you?

“A minor hunting accident, my lady. Nothing to be concerned
about.”

Her heart was trying to climb up her throat and she felt
like she was choking. Every fiber of her being yearned for her to catch hold of
him and kiss him and tell him how much she needed him, and how frightened she
was for him. It was unbearable to have to stand there and make distant small
talk. It was more unbearable to know what the alternatives were. She swallowed.
“Have you been told? I am returning to Venn directly.”

“I had heard. I wish you a safe voyage, my lady.”

“Then I must thank you, Lord de Meynard, one last time. You
saved my life. You have the gratitude of Venn.” She felt as if she were forcing
the words out through a throat made of sand.

His mask did not shift, but his gaze sharpened almost
imperceptibly. “I did no more than my duty, my lady.”

“Would that every man did his duty with such courage,” she
answered. Picking up her skirts, she made herself drop a little curtsey.
“Farewell,” she said, hating herself, wanting to rip her hair in bloody chunks
from her scalp, wanting to vomit, wanting to die.

He didn’t answer. She couldn’t tell whether he was watching
her as she turned away to the door, holding her head high. She could not tell
if the under-steward or the guards or anyone had seen through the charade. She
only knew that that was it, her last glimpse. She would never see Severin
again.

* * * * *

When the door closed behind Eloise, Severin permitted himself
to shut his eyes and catch the tiniest moment of respite. Eloise was safe—or as
safe as she could be. He was grateful for the throbbing pain in his hand. It
helped keep his mind off worse things.

“She’s a fair girl,” remarked Lord Gevan, the King’s constable.
“I’d have been prepared to go through a lot myself, for one so pretty.”

“Pretty?” Severin summoned enough disdain to curl his lip.
“You think I went through all this for such piddling small change as
pretty
?”
But exhaustion was winning out over his contempt, and there was little bite to
his final words. “The King must be grateful that I’m not such a fool as you.”

“Yet still such a fool as to bait the man who owns your
life.”

“There’s only one man who owns me. And you, Gevan, are not
him.”

“Hh.” Gevan’s eyes narrowed. “You know, you’re not nearly as
smart as you think you are, de Meynard.”

“Evidently,” he answered with a sour smile and a lift of his
crushed hand.

“Well, we are done here. You may return to your own
chambers.”

“My own?” Severin didn’t allow any hint of hope to rise in
his voice or heart. He didn’t think the constable was that subtle, but it was
possible that this was only another ruse designed to break his spirit.

“I imagine they’re in need of some airing, after all this
time.”

Severin’s throat seemed to stick together. “I’ll be sure to
open the shutters,” he muttered.

“You do that. I’ll be seeing you later, doubtless, at his
majesty’s pleasure.” He walked off.

Severin wasn’t sure his heart was still beating. Slowly he
pushed himself off from the wall and turned to follow.

“My lord?”

His heart plunged painfully into the pit of his stomach.

It was one of his guards. Severin turned back, bracing
himself. His guards were always scrupulously polite to him. Even when beating
him, or burning him, or crushing his fingertips in that vise, the soldiers had
always addressed him by title. He was nobility after all, and that mattered.

“Your sword, my lord.” The guard held out a belt and
scabbard. Severin thought he detected a shade of nervousness in that bluff
face.

Dear God. It really is all over.

He took the weapon without a word, trying not to show how
shockingly heavy it felt now.

“No hard feelings, my lord?” the soldier grunted.

Severin’s smile was more ghastly than even he intended.
“None at all.” He had the satisfaction of seeing the big man’s face blanch.
Good
,
he thought. His reputation was intact, even if he wasn’t.

Squaring his shoulders, he walked stiffly away toward
freedom, alone.

* * * * *

The three-masted carrack
Bright Fire
reached the Isle
of Venn in less than two days, flying across the swells before a brisk wind.
Despite the chill, Eloise spent almost all that time on deck, sitting forward
among the roped cargo, bundled up in furs. She was glad her maidservant was
hiding down below in the cabin, battling seasickness. She was going to make
damn sure the woman was sent back on the next boat to Kingsholme.

As the sailor in the crow’s nest hailed the first sighting
of land she went right up to the bow, clutching her furs about her. The wind burned
her cheeks and whipped at her hair, tangling the curls ferociously. Slowly the
blue line of the island lifted above the horizon.

The bite of the wind forced tears down her cheeks.

I’m home. There are the Stacks. There is the headland of
Venn Keep. I’m home, and soon Father will meet me on the dock, and I will be
Eloise of Venn again, just a girl on an island, and it will be like none of
this ever happened. Everything will be the same as it used to be before I left.
The only difference will be inside me. The only difference will be me knowing
that there is something I cannot have, no matter how much I want it. I will be
like my Old Edith, who lived out her life mourning her son and her husband,
tending to strangers and the children of strangers, always alone. If she could
endure it then so must I. And nobody will ever know.

She lifted a hand to wipe at her face, the tears coming
quickly now.

I will hear, eventually. They will not break him, but
there will be news sooner or later, either that Severin de Meynard has died, or
that he has gone on to do something else terrible for the King’s sake. Maybe I
will hear that he has married. I will not curse that day. I will rejoice for
him. Maybe he will remember me sometimes, while he lies in another’s arms. Maybe
not. It doesn’t matter. It does not matter, so long as he lives. So long as he
knows I was true to him. I kept my promise. He will know that I loved him.

It was entirely permissible among the people of Venn to weep
with joy at sighting home after trials at sea. For the first time in weeks,
Eloise sobbed.

* * * * *

After the public ceremonies in which he was officially
embraced and returned to the fold of royal approval, Severin was included in a
more private audience. There was a lull before things properly started. Court
officials and nobles of highest degree stood around informally, refreshing
themselves with wine while they waited for business to begin.

“Well,” said Arnauld, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re
looking better now, Severin.”

“Thank you, your majesty.” The bruises were certainly faded
out, though some injuries would take longer to heal. And his right hand…after
they’d crushed the fingertips, two of his fingers had turned black and refused
to heal. The King’s own chirurgeon had amputated his smallest finger and half
of the one next to it in order to stop the rot spreading.

“You understand it was necessary, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“I would have taken your word for it, but you know that your
innocence had to be established publicly, for everyone to see.”

“Yes. I know.”

“So.” He clasped Severin’s shoulders and hugged him briefly
before thrusting him to arm’s length. “You will forgive me, won’t you?”

Severin looked him in the eye and said nothing. The room
went silent.

“Come on, man.” Arnauld was vexed. “I want you to forgive
me.”

He dipped his head. “I am your loyal servant, your majesty,
now and ever. You know that.”

Arnauld’s brows knotted. “You used to be my friend.”

Again, Severin did not reply. That he could look the King in
the eye like that and say nothing made every other man in the room goggle.

“What’s your price, Severin?” Arnauld’s teeth showed under
his lip. “Money? Lord Chancellor,” he called over his shoulder; “the baron’s
annual income from the treasury is to be doubled.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” said Severin mildly, coldly.

“Land? I’m not giving you land. I don’t want to risk you
becoming ambitious like these other wolves.”

“Ambition isn’t my vice, your majesty. You know that.”

“Then you tell me, what is the price of your forgiveness?”

Severin curled his lip. “Because of what I did for you, you
lost a queen. Because of me an innocent maiden will never now be wed. Because
of me the Earl of Venn will never have an heir. My name is poison on every lip,
your majesty. My price? Give me back my honor.”

“Your honor?” Arnauld took a step back, raised his hands and
shrugged. “Then…you marry the girl.” He looked round the room as if expecting
some challenge. “Why not? Give the Earl of Venn a grandson.”

No emotion showed in Severin’s guarded countenance, but
something stirred in the depths of his hard black eyes. He tilted his head
questioningly.

“Not a full marriage, of course,” amended Arnauld. “No land
to come with it, Severin. I need to know that you are my man. Left-hand
contract. But…take the girl. I command it, in fact. Give her your name. It’s
better than none, isn’t it?”

“Sometimes I doubt that, your majesty.” Tightly, he smiled.

Chapter Six

They married in the chapel of Venn Keep, before the statue
of Mithras the Oathkeeper. There were no guests, and the only witnesses were
Eloise’s father, a handful of castle servants and his personal guard.

* * * * *

On her wedding night, caught in the undertow of her climax
as if by fierce waves, Eloise sobbed into the coverlet of the marital bed,
unable to stifle her tears. Tears that were the last dregs of a vat of
loneliness she had carried within her. Tears of emotional exhaustion and shock.
Tears, above all, of release.

At once Severin grew still, no longer thrusting into her. He
laid one hand on the small of her back and held it there as she shook beneath
him, then slid his fingers up her spine in a long caress. Her body had ached so
fiercely for his touch, for so long, that pleasure rippled through her skin
from his fingertips like an echo of her orgasm and she couldn’t help a low cry
escaping her lips.

Instantly he withdrew his hand. Then he stooped over her,
his lips to her ear.

Eloise swallowed her sobs, holding her breath so that she
could catch his words. The official witnesses no longer mattered to her. All
her longing was for some expression of affection. Some sign that he wanted her,
that he’d yearned for her, that he took delight in their union.

His voice was ragged with strain. “It’s done.”

Then he pulled out. She saw his hand reach for her torn
shift. First of all he wiped himself off on the white silk, then he swabbed the
wet mouth of her sex, and finally he thrust the crumpled cloth out through the
curtain of the bed and tossed it to the floor. She heard footfalls on the
boards.

Her heart felt as if it had frozen in her breast.

“Good night, my lord de Meynard,” came the murmur through
the curtains. Then more footsteps, and the sound of several people whispering,
and the noise of a door opening and closing. Followed by silence.

Well
, she thought nauseously,
my bursting into
tears isn’t going to have done anything to improve his reputation.

Without a word Severin rose from where he knelt behind her
and descended from the bed. His throwing back the heavy curtain let in a draft
of cooler air and a gleam of candlelight. Eloise rolled to her side, watching
as her husband kicked his hose off and tracked back and forth across the room,
ignoring her. He went to the chamber door and shot the bolt. Then he checked
behind the window hanging and the arras, lifted the lids of the chests and
glanced behind the screen that shielded the chamber pot. Firelight danced on
his naked skin, clothing him with guttering shadows. Finally he turned back to
the bed and walked all around, drawing back the curtains before stooping to
glance beneath the frame. Eloise sat up slowly, wondering.