“But will you deny that you married her first?”
“I will not.”
The Wittenbrand calmed again, hanging on his words. They could sense drama in the air as a pike senses blood in the water.
“Or that she has a prior claim to you? To your wealth and your body?”
“I will not,” my husband said, but he shot a look at Grosbeak that promised punishment later.
There was a murmur of excitement from the crowd.
I risked a glance at my old friend. Despite the warmth of the firelight, he looked green and grim and cracks were forming in his clay horse’s body.
“Why would you betray me?” I asked him in a low voice.
“Why would I not?” he replied with an up-thrust chin. “What did I owe you? You, who paraded my corpse and humiliation through this world and the next.”
But he would not meet my eye and I knew not what to do, anxiety rising in my throat until it seemed it would choke me.
“And if she is your living wife, you may not have another,” Coppertomb said grimly. He spread his arms wide, addressing the crowd like a showman. “Look upon this would-be usurper, Court of Wittenhame! See how his weakness is exposed. Who can rule us who is ruled by a mortal? The dead fly in his perfume is this mortal wife of his — the error in his judgment, the flaw in his weave, the hole in his barque. It is this wife who claims him — this wayward mortal. She is usurper and fraud, a wife only in name, for she knew from the first of the existence of others, that they were not properly dead or buried and had prior claim to him. How could she lie to our court as she did and not face consequence? How could she lay claim to one of ours and not face punishment when we reveal she has grasped too high and risen too fast? This one’s mortal wife, last of her kind, is incriminated in every way, and therefore is not his at all, but by right of the Wittenhame, ours to do as we please with. And we shall revel in her punishments. We shall feast on her terrors. We shall find joy in her screams. And he shall be made to watch all of them to remind him that he is but a vassal to us, but a supplicant before the throne of the Bramble King.”
Coppertomb stepped forward, offering his hand to me as if he expected me to take it, but his eyes were on Bluebeard. And if he expected my husband to flinch or back up, then he was disappointed for Bluebeard merely tapped his steepled fingers against his chin and regarded us.
Coppertomb took another step forward as if trying to show his threat was serious.
I stared at Bluebeard, willing him to look at me. Had he not planned for this? Were we taken unawares after everything?
Behind us, someone began to beat a low rhythm on a hide drum and my heart beat in time with it as I looked between my accuser and my husband.
And I shouldn’t have panicked. Not after all that had taken place. For had he not saved me again and again? Had he not planned all things for my benefit? But I could not help it. The threat was too near. The accuser too … accurate. I had never deserved any of this, and by my husband’s refusal to gift me with his gaze, how could I be sure he would ever look upon me again at all?
I swallowed hard and then I forced the words out — the only ones I could think of to save myself.
“I challenge Ki'e'iren. I will not have my place taken. If she wishes to displace me, then she will fight me.”
There was a murmur of appreciation from the crowd. The Wittenhame adored a good challenge. I was counting on it.
“It is not your role to defend,” Coppertomb chided. “You have been found out. You have been exposed. And you will suffer your due.”
“But the role of wife is mine if I take it by right of challenge,” I pushed. “That is the Wittenbrand way. To take what you can by force or violence, is it not? And I will take it. I have walked the Path of Princes. I have wandered the lands of Death. I will not be cheated of my right now.”
“You cannot deny her this,” Bluebeard said to Coppertomb and when I looked at him his eyes were twinkling. “None of you can deny her this. She has issued her challenge. Let us see her make her play.”
And the roar of approval that swept the Court of the Wittenbrand left me trembling, for I did not know how I was to defeat anyone, much less my savage enemy, but all our fates depended now on me.
CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT
“Meet on the dance floor.We shall observe the challenge there,” Coppertomb announced, spreading his arms wide as if in a joyous announcement. I noticed his cheeks were brushed with gold dust. He looked young beside my Bluebeard as a willow whip looks beside a mighty oak.
Bluebeard cleared his throat, and I barely held back a smile when I realized that all who were gathered hesitated, waiting for his command.
“I rather think this dais a better place for a contest,” he said mildly, still tapping his chin, but now with a look of devilry in his eye. “After all, if my wives are to battle, I think all deserve to see the result. Do you not, Wittenbrand?”
Behind him, another cheer rose up and Coppertomb flushed hot.
“The dance floor is just as adequate,” he said firmly.
“But if we adjourn there, how will we admire … this?” Bluebeard asked, his voice dripping with disdain at the word “this.”
