Page 135

“Except for the rotten ending,” put in Roland. “That really let it down.”

“Yes, Entner may find he has to re-write that ending before he tours the provinces,” said Oswald thoughtfully.

“It was the resourcefulness of the actors that made it a success,” said Linnet. “If it had not been for their delivery, the lines they spoke were really rather dull.”

“I’m just glad it’s over,” said Mason. “How soon can we leave?”

Oswald was looking round. People were starting to file out of the Great Hall, but no-one seemed to be in a particular hurry. “It will probably take a while. Did you wish to have some particular speech with Mr Entner?” he asked Fenella, who blanched.

“No,” she said hollowly.

“Not even to forbid him from touring with it?” frowned Mason.

“I rather think the stable door is now bolted,” said Oswald. “Banning it would only see it gain more infamy. And who would regulate such a ban? No,” he said shaking his head. “It is far better to just brazen it out.”

“The King’s leaving,” said Mason in an aside. “That should get everyone moving.”

Indeed, there did seem to be something of an exodus in the King’s wake, and it was not long before they were able to follow suit. Fenella took his arm when he offered it and they made their way out of the hall, with many people slapping him on the back or congratulating them on the evening’s entertainment. Fen’s smile was definitely forced by this point, though she was clearly giving it her best attempt. When they reached their rooms, Fen hovered a moment by their door. It was plain she wanted to say something, but knew not how or what. “Husband-” she started, but he cut her off.

“Go to bed, Fenella.”

She swallowed. “Aye husband,” she said quietly and shut the door behind her.

“Early start on the morrow for you two,” said Linnet looking at her husband and Oswald. “You’ll be leaving at first light for the encampment, is that not so?”

“Aye,” Mason agreed.

“Roland’s coming too, in his official position as King’s champion,” said Oswald.

Roland had not accompanied them back to their rooms, but stayed out drinking with his friends.

“No doubt he’ll return soon,” said Linnet, ever the optimist.

Mason grunted. “Young fool,” he said. “It’s on him, if he spends the ride sick as a dog.”

“We’ll retire, I think?” said Linnet looking to her husband.

“I’ll join you in a minute, love,” said Mason, his gaze fixed on Oswald.

Linnet bade them a good evening and slipped away to their bedchamber.

“You sleeping elsewhere, again?” Mason asked him abruptly.

Oswald eyebrows rose, “No,” he replied shortly. Though to be honest, he had not been sure until that moment.

“Good,” said his brother and turned on his heel to follow his wife.

When he entered his bedchamber, the candles on Fen’s side had all been snuffed out and she lay quiet and still, facing the wall. Oswald undressed and washed and then joined her under the covers, blowing out his candles. He lay on his back for a moment, staring at the ceiling, and then in a swift motion, he rolled onto his side and dragged her body against his. They both lay silent in the dark room. After a while he felt her relax into sleep, and only then, could he join her in oblivion.

**

Fen woke before it was light and lay a moment in confusion, before realizing what had woken her. Oswald had left their bed and was moving quietly around the room. She glanced toward the window and could see it was still dark outside. But of course, he was journeying north to collect the Princess Una today. She lay still, as he silently packed his things for the overnight sojourn. She had gathered the King’s party would be journeying all day and would reach their destination early evening time, where they would set up camp and spend the night. It would be tomorrow morning that Princess Una would join them, and they would then journey back. It seemed an odd exercise to Fenella, but she understood that King Wymer was fond of symbolic gestures and needed to play the victor, despite the fact he was capitulating in having the Blechmarsh princess under his roof. She closed her eyes as she recalled the nightmare that was the previous evening. Against all odds, her husband had returned to their bed, but there had been no words of reconciliation or forgiveness. And other words, awful, hurtful words she had overheard him utter, still echoed in her mind, giving her pain. True, he had not intended for her to hear them, but perhaps that just made them more honest.

“That’s because I can’t trust her…Her being here is a constant inconvenience I don’t need.”

Those words had struck a blow she didn’t know if she could recover from. She was inconvenient, not necessary. Worse, she was unwanted. The thought crushed the breath out of her chest and made her pulse race with fear. What would become of her this time? How many times could she be rejected? She remembered the mockery of the play the previous evening and just felt devastated. There had been no compassion for the ridiculous figure of the Lady Mawby. She had been a figure of derision, not pity. It was hard not to take it personally. No-one at court would be remotely surprised, thought Fen, when her husband sent her down to his country estate and she was never heard from again. That must have been what they were all anticipating from the outset. Even she, naïve country wife, had expected it. She could have coped with it then, she thought bleakly. Before Oswald Vawdrey had made her fall in love with him all over again, and then just as easily withdrawn his affections. Would he wipe her from his memory as effectively this time as he seemed to do the first, she wondered? A tear trickled from under one eyelid, but she dared not wipe it away lest he saw the movement and realized she was awake. She couldn’t speak to him yet. Not while her emotions were raw and exposed. She needed time to pull herself together, to prepare herself for his rejection after the solstice was over. She heard the trunk shut, and her husband straighten up. It seemed for a moment that she felt his gaze sweep over her, and then the door shut quietly behind him and he was gone. Fen rolled on to her stomach and hid her face in her pillow. She knew that sleep would not come now, while her senses felt lacerated. But if she lay very still, maybe she could hold herself together in one piece and not fall completely apart.

It was three hours later that Fen set out to meet Mathilde Martindale to start on their tapestry. Despite the fact she knew they would never complete it now, she thought it best to see as much of the good friends she had made, before she left forever. There had been a light snowfall in the night and it was chilly walking along the flagstone corridors. Fen walked along the Lower Gallery wondering where her friend had got to and pulling her woolen shawl tighter about her. Bors shuffled along at her heels as her escort. She was just wishing she had brought her gloves when a page darted out from the shadows holding a folded paper. He stopped before her expectantly.