She meant more than demon birds, but Savedra couldn’t accept the absolution. She carried a store of little secrets daily, like a child’s cache of treasures, but this one was too big, too heavy.
Distant voices rose to fill the silence, the sound of shears and wheels and rakes. In addition to the looming solstice celebration, the palace staff now had an extra strain. A rider had passed Savedra and Ashlin on the road back from Evharis, and they had seen the dust of a marching army blurring the sky behind them. The king would be home soon.
Nikos stopped his circuit and lifted a hand before either of them could speak again. “There’s no point in recriminations. I’m only happy neither of you was harmed worse. What exactly did you find, anyway? The secret history of the vrykoloi?”
He joked, but Savedra’s mouth pinched too tight to smile. She caught herself fidgeting with the edge of her bandage and dragged her hand away. Ashlin stayed quiet, waiting for her to speak. Something blossomed behind her breastbone, so hot and sharp she wanted to cry. Saints help her. She’d dared one foolish love; she wasn’t sure she could survive another.
“Please,” she said at last. She couldn’t lie, not to him, but neither could she lay the inadequate story bare. “Let me keep this for a time. It’s… a family mystery. Let me look for answers before I share it.” Her hands twisted in her lap, till her stitches itched and throbbed. “Forgive me.”
“Vedra. Love.” Three swift strides brought Nikos to her bedside. He cupped a hand against her cheek, tilting her head up. “You’ve done nothing that needs forgiveness. Keep your secrets. I trust you.”
She was her mother’s daughter. She didn’t flinch. That felt as damning as any lie. “Thank you,” she whispered. From the corner of her eye she saw Ashlin flinch for both of them, turning her face to the wall.
No, this wasn’t a secret any of them could survive.
Despite her promises of rest to the physicians, Savedra was out of bed within the hour. Her maid frowned and
tsk
ed, but helped her bathe and dress and pin up her hair. She needed armor as well as wits to face her family.
Fog drifted heavy through the streets, and even with her cloak and the shelter of a carriage, she was chilled through by the time she reached Phoenix House. The last light of evening glowed behind the rooftops, tinting the grey haze with sepia and rose. The maid directed her to her mother’s study, where Nadesda and Sevastian sat with the remains of a quiet supper and letters sprawled on a table between them. Sevastian’s sleeves were rolled up, his shirt open at the throat, and Nadesda wore a dressing gown and her hair unpinned, sable coils unraveling across her shoulders. The quiet domesticity caught in Savedra’s throat.
Her father rose to embrace her, his beard tickling her cheek with his kiss. “You look exhausted. I thought you were going to Evharis for your nerves.” A teasing smile accompanied the last.
She tried to smile back, but it felt more like a grimace. “Hello, Father. I’m sorry, but I need to speak with the archa.” The rudeness of it made her throat ache, but she didn’t have the strength for a pleasant visit tonight.
Sevastian’s brow creased but he nodded. “Of course.” He caught his jacket off the back of his chair.
“Father, I am sorry—”
He smiled ruefully and laid a warm hand on her shoulder as he passed. “I knew she would be archa when I married her. One grows accustomed.”
When the door clicked shut, Savedra knelt before her mother’s chair and winced; she’d bruised a knee somewhere during the flight from Carnavas.
“Vedra, what on earth are you doing?”
“I won’t beg a mother’s indulgence, but as a daughter of this house I crave a boon, Archa.”
Nadesda’s eyebrows rose. “What boon is that?”
“Three questions, answered honestly.”
Her mother studied her for a moment, the ghost of a frown tightening her lips. “Very well. Three honest answers you may have.” She rose and crossed the room, elegant as ever in her robe and bare feet, and touched the charm of silence on her wide mahogany desk. “Well?” she said, when the distant noises of the house had faded to nothing.
Savedra chewed the tip of her tongue and tried to organize her thoughts. “Who was Phaedra Severos? Darvulesti was the name she married into.”
Nadesda frowned. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “I feel I should. A distant cousin, perhaps? Someone I met at Evharis?” She shrugged. “I’m sorry. But we do have family records, if you need to know.”
Savedra’s fingers clenched in frustration; the motion made her wounded arm burn. She smoothed her skirt before wrinkles set in the heavy silk. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” she muttered.
“Is that your second question?”
She snorted. “No. What do you know about Varis’s schemes?”
Her mother’s frown deepened. “I’m sure he has some, but he hasn’t taken me into his confidences. He’s been keeping things from me, I know. He never could lie to me, not since we were children.”
Savedra sighed, but as she drew breath to speak Nadesda raised her hand. “No,” she said slowly. “It’s true that he hasn’t told me anything, but I am the archa of this house. I know more than that. Are you certain
you
want to?”
She nodded, jaw too tight for speech.
“He’s been to Sanctuary.” Her mouth quirked disdainfully on the name. “Talking to the sort of people one finds there. He wants the Alexioi off the throne, and I think he’s finally prepared to take steps.”
The words settled in her stomach like stones. For a moment Savedra thought she would retch. “Why? Why would he? I thought—” Her voice cracked. “I thought he loved me.” Stupid, stupid and childish. Her face twisted with the need to cry, but her eyes stayed dry. “And why Varis? When has he ever cared for politics?”
That was more than three questions, but Nadesda didn’t bother reminding her. “Oh, Vedra. He’s always cared. And he’d do it because he loves you, don’t you see? No,” she said before Savedra could protest. “You don’t. You can’t. What do you know about Varis’s scandals?”
“Who can keep track of them?” she snapped. “He mocks the Arcanost, questions their teachings, insults half the Octagon Court and seduces the rest. He wears the most awful virulent colors imaginable and brings demimonde opera singers to court. What does any of that have to do with Nikos, or me?”
“Those are the ones everyone sees. Those are his
armor. But there was another, once, before you were born. Before he was born, even.” Savedra caught herself leaning forward as Nadesda’s calm earnestness dulled the edges of her anger and frustration. “Alena Severos and King Nikolaos were lovers.”
That set Savedra back on her heels, which she regretted when her knees creaked. “Before she married Tselios?”
“Yes, and before the king married Korina, though after the betrothal. Oh, it was never announced, but everyone marked how they shared too many glances and too little conversation, tried not to touch one another in public but always seemed to end up alone together.”
Varis had always been clear that “Uncle Tselios” was only his mother’s husband, but had never even hinted that he knew who his real father was. “You mean—”
“Exactly. Nikolaos shipped her off to a mountain estate when she became pregnant, and bribed Tselios to cover it up. So Tselios ended up with a royal favor and a royal bastard in his pocket to pull out whenever he needed.”
“But what happened? Why did I never know?”
“Because Nikolaos was smarter than Tselios, and never let rumors build. And when Mathiros was born the two children looked nothing alike. And Tselios was a petty tyrant, and Alena and Varis both hated him. She tried to escape at least twice—once back to Nikolaos, poor deluded thing, and once away from all of them—but he caught her both times. After the second try, he started poisoning her to keep her weak and biddable.”
Savedra didn’t realize she’d pressed a hand to her mouth until she tried to take a breath. “How did you find out?”
“Varis found the poison years later and told me. I was
his only ally with Alena so weak. It was her brandy that was poisoned, which only made it worse. And by the time we stopped it, it was too late for her health.”
“What did you do?”
Nadesda’s smile was chilling. “We poisoned Tselios. And we stood over him as he choked and vomited his life out. He had plenty of enemies, and we were only children. No one accused either of us.” Her smile faded. “Alena died less than a year later, and Varis came to Erisín. He wanted… I don’t know what. Justice for his mother, recognition from Nikolaos. Anything. But the king paid no attention to him at all. There was no use in causing a scene—no one remembered by then. No one cared. And then he was sent to Iskar, and by the time he returned Nikolaos was dead. So there was never a chance for more.”
She leaned back in her chair, shoulders slumping. “And now he sees you, another mistress to an Alexios forced aside by a royal marriage. Nikos may not be anything like his grandfather, but that hardly matters to Varis.”
Savedra didn’t cry. She’d trained herself out of the habit too well. But her eyes ached like bruises as she looked up at her mother. “Does it matter to you?”
“Oh, darling.” Nadesda knelt beside her, holding her close and pressing Savedra’s face to her soft shoulder. “Darling, you can’t go on like this—it’s tearing you apart.”
“You’re right,” she whispered against Nadesda’s collarbone, inhaling the comforting scent of perfume and warm skin. More right than she knew. “But what else is there? And that doesn’t answer my question.”
Nadesda drew away, pulling Savedra up as she stood.
“Your happiness does matter to me. And I do think Nikos would be a better king than his father, at least in peace. But the people who most want Mathiros off the throne don’t want to simply replace him with his son.”
“What can I do?”
“I don’t know. What will you do?” Her mother’s dark eyes were serious now.
“If I expose Varis it will only bring trouble down on the whole house. Don’t think I don’t know that.” She didn’t glance at the window, at the lightless bulk of Sphinx House. She didn’t need to. “I am a Severos, Mother, no matter where my other loyalties lie. But I can’t let him assassinate anyone. I’ll talk to him. Maybe I can make him understand.”
“Maybe you can.” The sadness in her voice belied the words. “Saints be with you, then.”
Varis’s housekeeper didn’t want to admit Savedra, but wasn’t prepared to deny a member of the family. Since his carriage was visible around the back and lights burned in the upstairs windows, she could hardly claim he was out visiting. She stammered something about the lord being busy, but Savedra broke in with her brightest smile.
“It’s all right. I won’t stay long. I’m sure he won’t mind. I can see myself up.” She turned toward the sweeping marble stair before the woman could argue.
Savedra tried to marshal her thoughts as she climbed. What could she say to him? Surely she could sway him. He’d been her doting uncle all her life, and Nikos couldn’t be held accountable for his grandfather’s sins. And Ashlin—Her throat tightened at the thought of the princess. Ashlin didn’t deserve to suffer for a political marriage she
didn’t even want, but it was rankest naïveté to think that would stop anyone who desired her out of the way.
The library door stood open a crack, spilling a bright sliver of gold across the hall. The hinges didn’t squeak as she laid a careful hand on the wood. But her greeting died unspoken as she looked inside.
A woman stood on a stool in the center of the room, surrounded by lamps. A tailor crouched at her feet adjusting her hem, his mouth glittering with silver pins. A beautiful woman, to judge by the figure wrapped in white silk, but her face was veiled, dark hair carefully pinned up.
Savedra froze in the doorway, pulse quickening in her throat. In her turmoil over Nikos and Ashlin, she had almost forgotten Phaedra. Or whoever Varis’s mysterious book-stealing friend truly was. She nearly fled to regroup, but her toes scuffed on the edge of a carpet and Varis turned.
“Vedra.” For the first time she could remember, he didn’t look happy to see her. He covered it quickly, though, pulling on a smile and bowing over her hand. “Hello, darling. You’ve caught me at a rather inopportune moment, I’m afraid. Which is what happens when one doesn’t announce oneself. Or knock.”
“Inopportune? Like the time Mother walked in on you with the twin contortionists?” Her smile ached as she held it in place.
“Acrobats. They were acrobats. And not, I might add, doing anything unusually acrobatic at the time. Your mother likes to exaggerate that story more than it deserves. She didn’t knock either, as I recall. Besides, I’d much rather be walked in on doing something worthy of gossip. This hardly qualifies.”
“Mysterious women are always worthy of gossip.” She curtsied toward the woman on the stool. “Forgive me for interrupting.”
The woman waved a hand dismissively, earning a
tsk
from the tailor. “Not at all. Few things are more boring than standing still for hours at a time. And now I’m curious about these acrobats.”
Her voice pricked the nape of Savedra’s neck, soft and husky and oddly familiar. But not, as she’d imagined from Iancu’s description, Sarken; this woman’s native tongue was Selafaïn. The words were casual, the woman’s face not quite turned her way, but she felt the weight of her stare like a hand. Her arm throbbed beneath her sleeve. Did they know?