“You know nothing of what happened. Of what is happening now. You stole what was not yours, and now you have the gall to ask for more. To think that Eidon would ever bless you with any of it!”
He laughed again. “He already has, Mad. How do you think we held Torneki?”
“How do you think you nearly lost it in the first place? I heard you had a big plan, a magical talisman, and it almost got you all killed. It did get Father killed.”
Leyton’s face turned dark. “You will not lay that at my feet.”
“I’ll lay it where it belongs. You have seen minor breezes, seasonal winds . . . small victories. Those are nothing. You were at the Gull Islands. You saw what happened there.”
“And it will happen again.”
She glared at him. “Eidon is giving you the opportunity to admit your error and turn from it.”
“Abramm’s dead, Maddie. He’s not coming back—”
“He
is
coming back, Leyt. And he’ll have them all.”
“Oh, please!” He threw the yolk-covered knife and fork onto his nearly empty plate with a clatter, then sagged back in his chair. “No one believes you, and you only make yourself sound like a crazy woman! Where are the rest of the items? Are you keeping them in your quarters?”
“You cannot have them, Leyton.”
“I am king. I can have whatever I want. Either give them to me, or I’ll send my men searching for them.”
“Send your men, then, for I’ll never give them to you.”
He went very still, eyes widening. When finally he spoke, his voice was low. “So. Ronni was right about where your true loyalties lie. I thought . . .” His pale brow furrowed, and his eyes flashed with sudden anger. “I
defended
you, Mad! And here you betray me like this?”
“How the plague can you accuse
me
of betrayal when you—”
He surged to his feet and cut her off: “Captain LaSalle!”
The anteroom door opened, and an officer stepped in—tan, lean, and dimpled. He had not been there when she had come through moments before. “Take four men and search the First Daughter’s quarters and the office of her finance secretary,” Leyton said. “You are looking for a crown, an orb, a jeweled sword, a signet ring, and a white robe of peculiar fabric. Bring them to me at once. If you do not find them all, bring in more men and search the nursery and the quarters of all the Kiriathans who are staying in the palace. For the moment no Kiriathan, no member of the First Daughter’s staff, is to leave the palace grounds. And I want Meridon arrested at once, regardless.”
Maddie erupted in outrage. “What! You can’t arrest a man for no reason!”
“I have plenty of reason, dear sister.” Leyton gave her that infuriating look of condescension he was so good at. Then he turned to LaSalle. “Do you understand, Captain?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Nothing but ill will come to you if you do this,” Maddie said quietly as the man left. “You will get no help from the scepter, or any of the rest of it.”
Leyton turned to her, still looking amused. “So you are a prophet now? I thought you Kiriathan Terstans didn’t hold with that sort of thing.”
“Don’t mock me, Leyton. You are making a terrible mistake.”
“Well, I have a terrible responsibility, and not much hope of deliverance elsewhere. . . . Unless you’re planning on marrying Tiris ul Sadek.” He cocked a bushy brow at her, and when she said nothing, he snorted. “I didn’t think so.”
With that he strode to the door, told the man on guard to see that she stayed there until he returned, and left.
While Maddie was speaking with the king, Carissa had nursed one-yearold Conal and sent him off to the nursery with Prisina, then forced herself to eat the rest of his small bowl of porridge, the first food she’d consumed since the night of the coronation. Afterward she sat at her breakfast table sipping her last bit of morning shae’a as she read through the Words and prayed for deliverance from the deep melancholy that had seized her.
A mantle of hopelessness combined with a sense of deep inadequacy to sap her strength and ambition. Everything seemed too hard and fraught with the near certainty of failure and disappointment. She felt alone, unwanted, and irrelevant—wondered why she even bothered to get out of bed. Even Conal was needing her less and less these days as he transitioned from mother’s milk to solid food. Today she’d deliberately fed him less of the porridge than he would have eaten just to get him to suckle longer.
A silly and futile vanity.
Why did Eidon bless everyone else and never her? Even the good things he gave her he took away; and his promises always expired unfulfilled. Was it because she never really trusted him fully? But how could she when he never seemed to know she was alive?
She’d not sat there very long before a bespectacled clerk in a gray suit arrived with the divorce papers she had requested of Trap. He pulled them out of a leather portfolio and arranged them across the table for her to examine and sign. He would wait while she did so.
She stared up at him, unable to breathe, shocked that Trap had actually done it, even as she’d spent the last two days assuring herself that he would. She had asked him for this, after all, then fled his presence when he’d sought to persuade her otherwise. What else was he to do?
The little clerk cleared his throat, watching her with birdlike eyes, radiating disapproval. She glanced at the papers, but even that made her throat close up and tears blur her vision. “Can I look them over and get them back to you?” she asked, her voice shaking pitifully.
He exhaled a short burst of annoyance but said only, “Of course,” then packed up his portfolio and left.
She wouldn’t look over the papers. She couldn’t even stand to sit at the same table with them. So she went and sat in her chair before the window, where she could look out on the waterpark and grieve.
How could it all have come to this? Why did she have to make that stupid suggestion? Why couldn’t she have left well enough alone?
The night of the ball he had been so gallant, so attentive, so wonderful. Asking her to dance not once but five times. She’d said yes the first time, and could hardly believe it when she found herself in his arms. He’d smiled down at her as if he were truly enjoying himself, and she thought she might burst with happiness.
But then the dance had ended, and she’d heard the whispers, a snatch of snide comment here, a bit of deprecation there, the heads bending together, the eyes watching them. She hated the way everyone faulted him and impugned his character. Thus, as much as she would have loved to have danced with him again, she’d refused the next time, unwilling to put him out there for the world to snicker and sniff at.
Why did Conal’s hair have to be red? At least if it were black or brown or even blond, people would have some cause to believe the truth. But Eidon hadn’t chosen that, naturally. When had he ever made things easy for her?
Finally she’d asked to go home and saw she’d disappointed him—again. The expression was quickly veiled, and gracious as ever, he’d tucked her hand between his elbow and his side and walked her back to the palace. And all the way there, she’d thought about the divorce and whether she should or shouldn’t offer it. It had so distressed her, she didn’t think she’d even made a decision until the words were tumbling from her mouth. And then he’d kissed her.
The moment would live in her memory forever. She’d yearned for him to do it for so long, yet it had taken her completely by surprise when he had. It was tantalizing, magical, delicious—everything she’d dreamed it would be. She’d felt him tremble beneath her hand, felt his lips grow hot upon her own, and she’d leaned toward him eagerly, hoping he would take her in his arms and make love to her that very night.
Instead, he’d pulled away, gently but firmly, so grim-looking it seemed he’d needed all his self-control to force himself to kiss her. Confusion and hurt had swirled through her, and the cold hard truth had slammed into her—he’d done it out of kindness and the desire to reassure her he was content with their relationship.
Yes, he’d said he’d loved her, but she knew what he meant. He meant the kind of love Kohal Gentry always spoke about in Terstmeet, the kind of love Terstans were to have for one another and all men. A love that treated others in grace and kindness, regardless of how unattractive they were. A love based not on personal attraction but on duty to Eidon.
But duty couldn’t inspire passion, and that was what she wanted from him. And though she had hoped desperately in that gentle embrace that he would take things further . . . she had seen in that moment the truth that he never would. Because he didn’t want it. Hadn’t he claimed as much only a few minutes prior to kissing her? He’d never expected it nor wanted it. Not from her.
It was that realization that had brought her to tears. And when he’d asked her what was wrong, it had only made things worse. For how could she tell him? And how could she blame him? To him, the idea would be unthinkable. He knew her past better than anyone.
So she’d run from him without explanation to closet herself in her bedchamber. Sagging against the door as she closed it, she had let the tears flow.
Suddenly she was transported back to the stairwell of her home in Springerlan—her first husband lurching out of the shadows, his hand clapping over her mouth and nose so that she couldn’t breathe as he’d thrown her back upon the stairs and shoved up her skirts. . . .
Afterward he’d stood at the foot of the stair, grinning down at her as he’d refastened his trousers. He’d spoken, but she’d not discerned his words, only the mockery in his tone. Then he was gone, leaving her to lie there uncovered, bruised, and weeping. Cooper had found her not long after. Cursing under his breath, he’d fetched Elayne and they’d brought her to her room and cleaned her up. . . . But it hadn’t done any good. It never did.
Not then, not the night Trap rejected her, not in the days that followed. No bath could take away the sense of shame and filth she felt, and she knew herself to be soiled in a way that could never be cleaned.
Why would a man like Trap want anything to do with a woman like her?
“Damaged goods,”
she’d once joked . . . before she really knew what those words meant. No joke anymore.
She’d had another nightmare that very night.
Now she stood before the window and prayed for guidance. Should she sign the papers? She’d asked for them. He’d complied with her wishes and sent them. Why would she want to bind him to her when he didn’t really want her? Wouldn’t the same sort of love as he’d professed for her dictate she set him free with no regrets?
Leaving the window, she went to her desk and found inkpot and pen, then returned to the table and the hated document. She sat down, uncapped the inkpot, dipped in the quill . . . then sat there, letting the ink drip off its tip onto the creamy paper as the tears flowed once more with a vengeance. Finally she threw the pen down and left the room.
By the time she reached the nursery she had herself under control and spent a mindless hour watching her nephews and little Abby, who never failed to have a smile for her. While the children napped, she sat with Elayne and worked on her embroidery.
After a time Elayne asked quietly if something was troubling her.
Carissa started, and the heat rushed into her face. “No. Not at all.”
“Mmm . . . well, forgive me if I overstep, my lady. It’s just . . . you’re weeping.”
Abruptly Carissa realized tears were trickling down her cheeks. She stuck the needle into the taut fabric and touched trembling fingers to the moisture.
When Carissa said nothing more, Elayne added, “You keep too much to yourself, my lady. It’s not good to be so fiercely alone all the time.”
And still Carissa could not speak. The notion of telling the dear woman what had happened—of telling anyone, for that matter—seemed a harder thing than to strip naked and dance a jig for her.
Elayne’s knitting needles clicked in soothing rhythm. “You’ve been distant and sad-looking ever since the ball. Yet the only thing I’ve heard about you that night is how splendid you and your husband looked while dancing together and that later he kissed you at the foot of the stairs by the west entrance. Surely that cannot be the cause of all this sorrow.”
Carissa focused on her needlework, stitching rapidly for a few moments. Then the vigor of her movements slowed and came to a stop. The designs blurred before her eyes, and a lump filled her throat. Elayne’s arms wrapped around her, and in moments she was sobbing outright, like a child in her mother’s lap—all the loss and frustration and disappointment she’d kept inside for so long finally bursting out of her.
When it had passed and she had regained her poise, she stayed there, strangely strengthened by the older woman’s arms.
And after a while she said, “Trap sent me papers of divorcement today.” She felt Elayne’s start of surprise and went on miserably. “I asked for them. That’s why he kissed me . . . but he didn’t mean it. Not the way I wanted him to. . . .”
“He kissed you because you asked him for a divorce?”
“No. He did it to reassure me that he was content with the way things are, not because he loves me. But then, how could he? I keep forgetting what I am.”
Elayne’s arms dropped away from her and the woman drew back. “Ah, my lady, do not let Rennalf do this to you.”
“I cannot help it. He’s already done it.”
“He’s done no more than you allow him.”
Carissa watched her fingers track the designs on her embroidery. “You say that, but I don’t know how to stop it. It happened. I can’t make it go away.”
“You can stop going back to it all the time. It wasn’t your fault, Carissa. Eidon commands us to leave the past behind us, so why do you keep dredging it up to torture yourself?”
“You don’t understand. Trap knows about Rennalf.”
“I cannot for one moment believe that Duke Eltrap would ever care about that, nor why in the world you would think he doesn’t love you. He’s done everything for you. He married you, didn’t he?”
“Our marriage has never been consummated, Elayne.”
There. The dreadful, shameful truth out in the open at last. Let her say he loved her now. “He’s never suggested it.” Mortified now by her confessions, she staring fixedly at the needlework in her hands. “Nor has he shown any interest in doing so,” she added stiffly.