Page 67 of The Traitor's Curse
Wake up in my own time. Wake up alone, he meant, unconstrained by his presence.
My perception of him had shifted enough that I recognized it for tact rather than embarrassment or avoidance. He didn’t want to crowd me.
And gods, I couldn’t have been more grateful. No silence had ever been so beautiful, an emptiness into which my mind and soul and mixed feelings could expand, like bedraggled butterflies airing out their damp wings.
Tears dripped down my temples for a while, as steady and gentle as the rain pattering outside my windows. The fire crackled, the room slowly warming. Faint gray light finally filtered in. My breath hitched and then settled into an easier rhythm than it’d had for a long time.
At last I drifted back to sleep.
When I woke again I felt much more alert. And I remembered everything, thank the gods, and didn’t need to go through that bloody awful process again—at least until tomorrow. The light hadn’t changed, still an indeterminate gray. The rain continued unabated, interspersed with the occasional wail of the wind.
When I turned my head and peered through the dimness, the mantel clock told me it was almost eleven, and I rolled out of bed with a start.
Gods, I hadn’t stayed abed that late since I’d been a raw youth.
Bathing and dressing took me twice as long as usual, my body seemingly unable to shake off the sluggishness of shock and exhaustion, and a hundred aches and pains I hadn’t noticed the night before making themselves known. Tavius had been rough with me, and then Benedict had been a bit rough with me in an entirely different way.
Four guards waited at the entrance to the private corridor, and two stayed behind while the others followed me obediently…where? My study, I supposed, for lack of any better ideas. Although I wished I knew what would be waiting for me there. Someone had probably seen Clothurn being arrested, and even if not, his servants would’ve gone looking for him when he didn’t go home. Lord Zettine had informants everywhere. I’d have bet my left testicle that he’d already received a full report on everything that had happened last night.
So where was he? It was midday. Had Benedict intercepted him? Why hadn’t he been raising a riot outside my rooms, demanding that I appear? Why didn’t I have urgent messages from my whole council, for that matter, or an emergency meeting already in session that no one had told me about?
Perhaps there was. I quickened my stride.
Outside my study I found only a page, who jumped up from a chair when I approached and opened the door for me. A short passage led to an antechamber where anyone seeking an audience with me would present himself and then wait, and a wary glance in that direction showed me nothing but a bored-looking clerk making conversation with an equally relaxed guard.
Mattia popped out of my study, bowed, and said, “Good morn—well, close enough, Your Grace! I have coffee waiting for you.” I followed him in, and the page shut the door behind us. “Lord Benedict was here and said you’d want some,” he continued. “And he asked me to tell you to go ahead and drink it. Which seemed a bit strange, but—”
Abruptly, I was far too weary to dance around the subject any more, at least not with Mattia. “He’s not giving me permission to have coffee, he’s telling me I don’t need to worry that it’s been poisoned,” I said. Mattia’s eyes went wide, and his mouth rounded into an O. “There was some concern. I think it’s over now. Pour me some, and you too, if you’re not too afraid to drink it. And tell me if anyone’s been here looking for me this morning. Lord Zettine, probably?”
“Poison? Ennolu preserve us, on top of everything else!”
“Coffee, Mattia,” I said, and went to sit behind my desk, hoping the familiar view might make everything seem a bit less surreal.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” Mattia said, and went to the sideboard. “But I—Lord Zettine wasn’t here. But there have been a few visitors, including the Surbini ambassador. They seemed to have heard—ah, rumors. About last night.” He put my coffee in front of me. “About Lord Tavius, and Lord Clothurn, and Lord Benedict. And you.”
Of course there were. I’d have been shocked otherwise.
“I’ll tell you about it later,” I said. “For now, all you needto know is that Lord Clothurn’s been arrested. And Lord Tavius is dead. Don’t answer any questions from anyone today.”
Mattia muttered and fussed, but I drank my coffee and ignored him, considering the problem of the rumors. In all likelihood, most of the palace had been on tenterhooks all morning waiting for me to emerge and provide clarity—or start putting people’s heads on spikes over the gates.
It wasn’t like Zettine to be on tenterhooks, was it? Hiding himself away and waiting for someone else to take action, rather than running roughshod over anyone he could bully.
Mattia subsided at last, refilling my cup and then sitting across from me in silence. His presence didn’t disturb me the way most people’s would; we’d spent so many years working together that I found his quiet company stimulating, rather than a barrier to contemplation.
A bracing sip of fresh coffee, and then another, and I let my mind drift, idly picking up thoughts and putting them down again, waiting for the moment when I’d…yes. That. So many little threads that had been floating in the breeze, waiting to be woven together into a coherent fabric.
I drained my cup and put it down with a click.
“Didn’t Lord Zettine’s youngest daughter marry a Surbini lady?” I asked. “Some great heiress. I remember hearing about the wedding gowns, they were encrusted with pearls, an absurd expense. Thank Ennolu they held it in Surbino so I had a good excuse not to go.”
“Last summer, yes,” Mattia said. “Why?”
“Am I right in remembering that one of their estates produces some staggering fraction of Surbino’s white wine grapes?”
Mattia chuckled, shaking his head. “Only you would remember such a thing, Your Grace. If you’d like me to verify it with the clerks, I can, but—”
“Just read me the part of the trade agreement we’ve been working on that deals with wine, if you’d be so kind.”
