Page 5 of The Flame and the Forsaken

“Like what?”

“Like you’re going to stab me.”

She grinned.

“Right, so if you can’t controlthat, then they’re going to make our lives very difficult. I heard Father talking to Steward Law about having attendants stay in our bedchamber with us to make sure we...” Erran twisted his mouth.

“That’s an archaic, revolting tradition no one follows anymore.” Her brows furrowed. “He wouldn’t dare.”

“He might. The man’s already bloody arsed with me over the Yesenia thing. Thinks I’ve shamed him before all the Southerlands. The forsaken son.”

“Only shame in what you did is not fighting harder for her,” Mariel said, surprising him. “Is it any wonder she ran off with a tree-dweller? At least the Quinlanden lad was willing to go where he wasn’t wanted for the love of her.”

“Is there...” Erran squinted, tilting his head and shaking off the wound she’d intentionally inflicted. “Is there something that me... thatI, personally, have done to you that causes you to treat me like a feckin’ dog?”

“You disparage dogs with such a comparison.” Mariel sized him up with a look so full of vitriol, he felt compelled to take a step back. “Time to put on a fair show for your mummy.”

If Hestia Rutlandhad married into any other family, Mariel might have had a fondness for her.

She had an oddly cheering presence, with her bright-orange shawls, elaborately plaited hairstyles, and thick gold boots under leather gowns that were equally dressy as utilitarian. Rumor had it that under those billowy skirts, she always had two daggers, one strapped to each thigh, and that when she was still a Leecaster, she had welcomed occasions to use them. She had an unexpectedly gregarious laugh that made Mariel wonder what she must have been like before she’d joined the wealthiest family in the Southerlands.

But the woman sitting across from her in the dining hall had been a Rutland for longer than she’d ever been a Leecaster, and the way she held the narrowing in her eyes, as she watched Mariel and Erran in agonizing silence, was something she’d clearly perfected in her married years.

“Are you not going to eat, Mother?” A note of anxiousness emphasized Erran’s careful words.

“Trying to decide if I have an appetite,” Hestia replied smoothly. Her eyes shifted toward Mariel. “I’m sure you’re aware it has come to my notice you requested a separate bed from your husband.”

We’ll be getting right down to it then.

Mariel glanced at Erran, then admonished herself for even considering they were allies. “Aye, well?—”

“It was me, Mother,” Erran said, cutting in. He swallowed a sip of his drink. “I’ve been feeling poorly since I returned from Warwicktown and didn’t want it to pass to Mariel as well.”

“Poorly how?” She stared at him, clearly unconvinced.

Mariel held her breath, waiting to see how the exchange played out.

He nodded at his belly. “Nothing you’d want to hear about at mealtime.”

“Or any time,” Hestia said with a sour grimace. “Are you feeling better now?”

“On the mend.”

“Then I’ll inform the staff that you and your wife are ready to cohabitate.” Hestia traced one finger along the edge of the tablecloth before leaning in. “Unless it’s not what you want?”

It was Erran’s turn to look at Mariel. She offered a light, reluctant nod, still chiding herself for her inability to control her temper outside with him. She’d lost her cool, and even considering her role as the “wronged wife,” she’d gone too far.

Sharing a bed was the last thing shewanted, but keeping the Rutlands happy with her was the only way to keep them from looking more closely at her interest in their business dealings.

“Of course it is,” he said with a grin that deepened his dimples. Mariel buried her face in her bowl of fruit and silently cursed every Guardian, including the sixth one.

“Then I’ll see it done.” Looking far more pleased than she had when they’d started their meal, Hestia turned again toward Mariel. “And how is your aunt, pet?”

There was no aunt. “Sick Aunt Anna,” Mariel and Destin’s father’s supposed aunt, was just her excuse to disappear in the evenings.

The best way to lie was to tell the truth, so Mariel answered just as she would have if Hestia had asked her how her midnight heists were going. “As well as can be. Every visit I ken she gets stronger, though it’ll be some time before she no longer needs me at all.”

“You have a kind heart, Mariel. I do hope she’ll understand that when you have bairns, though, she won’t see you near as much.”

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