Page 62 of The Castle & the Cloister

Orden took in a breath once more, to fortify himself against the surge of red that was sure to rise up at the wet nurse’s glaring disrespect. But it never came. With the twin weights of Crispus’s body and her question bearing down on him, he found he could not answer truthfully, but neither could he lie.

“It is necessary,” Orden ground out.

He carried on, and this time the nurse did not stop him. As Orden went, an idea began to take shape. He knew something about Fia now—something she’d be loath to have others discover. And she seemed truly devoted to Ariana, willing to risk religious censure for her queen. She’d make a useful playing piece, Orden thought, and do a creditable job as Matria. The woman was halfway to an Inver already. Let her have a cloister, the companionship of the queen, and free rein to vent that latent viciousness, and she could be the pathway to the new Honoria he desired.

Yes. If Ari would flourish with a chance to stand beneath the light of the Beloved Three again, how much brighter would she shine with afriend as Raea’s Matria? And Fia, given her loyalty to Ariana, would deny the Invers nothing if it was asked on behalf of their queen. It was all so tidy, so perfect an arrangement, that Orden felt as if he’d been struck by inspiration from the very gods.

The din of their temporary encampment reached him before he emerged onto the road. As Orden came into view with Crispus over his shoulder, gasps rose up and Gaius the guard captain hurried to him.

“My lord! Was there trouble in the woods, or some accident?”

“Neither.” Orden dropped Crispus’s body carelessly, letting it sprawl in the center of the roadway. “I felt like doing a little hunting. The game was would-be assassins.”

Gaius’s brows shot up, in surprise and consternation. “I ought to have had men follow you when you left camp, my lord. Whatever punishment you decide—”

Orden raised a hand to silence him. “Peace, Gaius. I was never in danger. It was my queen that this dog threatened.”

He let his voice ring loud at the last, so that many would hear and spread it about camp to those out of earshot. Orden had made it apparent a hundred times that he considered Ariana to be something precious and untouchable, but the Invers were a stubborn and choleric bunch, prone to forgetting what they’d already been taught when their blood was up. Evidently, they required a reminder of both their king’s temperament and his priorities.

Orden caught sight of Lucian standing in the small crowd around him, a bemused look on the spymaster’s face. Hadrian stood nearby and nodded his approval.

“Shall I dispose of this traitor’s body, Majesty?” Gaius asked with alacrity, and Orden flashed a dark look at him.

“No. Let him lie in the road and rot like the refuse he is. Then everyone who passes him by will be reminded how I protect my own.”

It was only then that Orden caught sight of Ariana at the back of the knot of people surrounding him. She held Justus cradled in her arms, and her head was bowed over him. She looked carefully away so that Orden would not be able to catch her eye, but he could see the telltale tracks of tears on her face.

He had displeased her.

A howling chasm of despair opened inside the king. All he wanted, all he’d ever wanted since the moment he first saw Ariana Lyrien, was to stand between her and danger. He knew no way to keep her safe besides this. He would defend her to his last breath, with whatever strength and power he possessed. That she misunderstood his gifts hurt him more than he cared to admit. That she refused time after time to allow him to be her shield, or to be pleased when he served as such, drove him half-mad. It was as if she touched him and drew out his blood, and he could no longer live for his consuming want of her.

Within him, the stroke of inspiration he’d felt regarding the cloister calcified into adamantine resolve. If he could create a way for her to be a little more of who she was, perhaps she could better accept Orden and all he stood for. His family’s history, his inheritances, his own predilections. If he gave her this, perhaps she would finally realize she was safe with him, and fully let down her guard.

As the onlookers began to disperse, a rasping voice spoke from very near Orden.

“You’re doing well this summer,” Afon said with the slightest hint of a smile. His flawless Honorian was guttural and harsh, and when Orden met Afon’s gaze, he read nothing but enmity there, all the way down. “Better than I expected. I had thought it would be a struggle to convince Gileta that I am a suitable replacement for her to ally with. The two of you had nothing but a veneer of civility to bind you together, and you’ve not only cracked it, but ground the shards to powder beneath your boots. I don’t have to convince Gileta of my own worthiness any longer, or that I will ever be someone she holds in anything other than contempt. We have the moon to join us, and that is enough. I wouldn’t be surprised if by the time we leave Raea’s house, I have Song Royale at my side, as you once did. I will have everything else that is yours, too, before the end. Your wife. Your children. Your throne.”

“By the time we leave Raea’s house, I will have the order of the sun and all of the Solis Plains backing me as they have never done for another Inver king,” Orden said, swearing to himself that it would be so. “Gileta’s support will pale in comparison.”

Afon let out a disdainful sound. “Dolenza will keep you on a leash and make peace the price of her support. How will you war with me then,without the fog of witchsmoke to hide behind? Meet me sword to sword on the field of battle? I don’t believe you have it in you. You’ll cower behind your wife’s skirts instead, claiming a sudden bent for Ariana’s mewling pacifism. You’re as much a gelding as that Priest of yours—best look to the child you named heir so recently, and to your queen. The boy doesn’t have the look of you, and your soria has the eyes of a woman who’s seen another man’s bed.”

“Orden.” Ariana’s voice was like cool water, her sudden presence at his side as soothing as starlight. She put her hand on Orden’s forearm, and he relaxed instinctively. “Come away, my king. A wise man doesn’t allow a simple beast to raise his temper.”

Afon laughed, and the sound grated. “Yes, follow your queen. What did I say about her skirts? Best content yourself with being behind them, for I’m sure it’s someone else getting under.”

When Ariana spoke again, there was a glint of silver Orden had never seen before in her eyes, and a ring of prophecy in her words.

“Someday,” she said quietly to Afon. “You will be in torment and beg me for death. Yes, I know you dream of such a thing, with our positions reversed. But I will not be the one in agony, with a prayer for extinction on her lips. It will be you, and I cannot say yet whether I will grant it.”

A chill ran through Orden at the timbre of his star bride’s voice and the light in her gaze. With the gentleness she wielded as force, she led him away, and when Orden looked back over his shoulder, he saw Afon watching them go, both hatred and desire writ plain in every line of him.

XVII

It remains a constant irritation to me, that Raea’s house persists beyond our oversight. But just as our forefathers recognized the futility of raising the ire of the people of the Solis Plains, so, too, must I. They would set fire to their crops, salt their fields, and starve themselves along with the rest of the Hand before giving up their pagan goddess and their holy women, and if there was ever any proof that such folk would make worthy Invers once drawn into our fold, it rests in that belligerence. Yet by Tyrus’s drawn blade, I cannot for the life of me find a way to complete that conquest without unleashing the famine to end all famines. So we must continue to suffer this pernicious element at the heart of our realm. Someday, though, I do not doubt a scion of mine with more understanding will subjugate Raea’s cloister in a manner I am unable to conceive of.

—FROM DARIAS INVER TO HADRIAN INVER

The quality of the air had shifted. While it had been blazing farther inland, and still and dry among the fields and olive groves, the closer to the sea the royal party drew, the more oppressive the weather became. The atmosphere was heavy and thick, a tangible thing, and the king’s retinue toiled through it, sweat-soaked in their ornate gowns and doublets. The Priest fared a little better, dressed in loose, plain linen, but he was on foot rather than mounted, and all the Invers werebareheaded. Fia, who traveled with nothing beyond the single shoulder bag she’d arrived on the mountain with, had been given a wide-brimmed straw hat along the way by a devout farmer, and while the humidity frayed Inver tempers and led to outbursts, she grew more withdrawn the longer they traveled, silent and brooding astride her mule. The Priest thought that odd—he’d expected her to calm the closer they drew to the cloister she planned to make her home.