The Queen's Bastard (42 page)

Quiet rumblings had come out of Aulun at the news, officially carried, of Javier’s engagement to a Lanyarchan noble. Better still, raw delight had driven a clan of drunken Lanyarch men over the wall that defined their southern border and into a cattle raid on Aulunian territory. A Lanyarchan banner had been planted in the midst of a field and an entire herd of beefstock driven north. The outraged, frightened landowner had sent to Alunaer for help, and rumour whispered that Aulunian troops were amassing near the island nation’s northern border, though there weren’t yet stories of skirmishes fought along the border.

Still, troops encroaching on close–to–Lanyarchan–territory was excuse enough, even in the dead of winter. Stories flooded into Gallin, new tales every day. They said the clans gathered in Javier’s name, in Beatrice’s name, putting aside their own differences to come together and face the Reformation threat. They said that Lorraine grew agitated on her throne, unwilling to commit to battle in the middle of winter, but less willing still to lose her contentious northern neighbor from her empire. Even now, when Belinda turned her ear to the chatter shared by the embroidering women, they spoke of almost nothing else. She kept her tongue firmly between her teeth, resisting the urge to point out the unlikelihood of fresh news arriving from Aulun each morning. It didn’t matter: the point was to build confidence in the Gallic people and their monarchs that Lanyarch would stand up and fight for itself and Cordula given even a hint of support from the world across the channel. Gossip had its place in creating that confidence.

The worst danger of playing a Lanyarchan uprising was that someone might think to ask who Beatrice Irvine was, and wonder why no one remembered her. Belinda trusted that Robert would deal with that; that there would be a handful or more of men and women who remembered growing up with her, who remembered her marriage to some loyalist whose grounds were a gift from Lorraine. They would plant half-certain recollections in the minds of others, until Beatrice took on a life of her own, but it was still, always, a risk.

All the more reason, Belinda thought, to try to hurry the matter. The less time spent venerating a minor Lanyarchan noble who’d caught the eye of the Gallic prince, the better. She smoothed her embroidery out again and scowled faintly at it, reveling in the expression. Besides, never mind Beatrice’s history, Belinda was like to find herself bored to the very death if she had to stitch roses onto a tapestry for much longer.

“My lady Beatrice.” The voice was apologetic and unexpected; Belinda looked up to find Marius, elegant hat clenched in his hands, standing in the doorway. A titter arose from the women around her, sly looks exchanged as Marius bowed to all of them, perfunctory and polite, but left his gaze on Belinda. “May I speak with you, my lady?”

Genuine warmth lit Belinda’s smile. “It would be my pleasure, m’sieur.” She murmured an apology to the other women, leaving the room to a burst of laughter as the door closed. Marius, ever polite, offered his elbow, and Beatrice slipped her fingers through it. “It’s been weeks, Marius.” There was more question than reprimand in the statement, though Marius glanced at her to be certain of that. His dark eyes were mournful, as if he were an injured wild thing, not a man.

“I’ve been helping Sacha look for Eliza. It was…easier.”

Belinda let the confession go a moment, tightening her fingers against his arm. “Have you had any luck?”

“Of course not.” More realism coloured Marius’s voice than had touched either Asselin’s or Javier’s when it came to the topic of Eliza’s disappearance. “Liz won’t be found unless she wants to be. If I were her, I’d have gone to Parna, or Essandia by now. Somewhere far away from all of this.”

“Marius…” His name came to her lips again, too easily, and he shook his head in a preemptive denial.

“Maybe that’s the advantage to her station. A prince and his friends may look for her, but she has no financial obligations or familial expectations to keep her in one place. Where would you go, Beatrice?”

“Aria Magli,” Belinda answered, too much truth in the soft words. “If I were Eliza, as well-educated and as beautiful as she is, I would go to Aria Magli and become a courtesan or a rich man’s mistress. I think I might make friends there.”

“Liz isn’t especially good at making friends.” A guard opened a door for them and Belinda squinted against a sudden splatter of cold and rain.

“It’s hardly the time of year for a stroll in the garden, Marius.”

“There’s a bower just down the walk. It’ll keep the rain off, if not the cold. I won’t keep you long.” He quickened his pace as he spoke, moving against the rain and tugging Belinda with him. She groaned, half-laughing, and scurried to keep up.

“Please. Would you send me back to my stitches? I hadn’t thought you a cruel master, my lord. I’ll bear the cold a while, so long as I don’t have to go back into that stifling apartment. At least the air is refreshing.” She smiled at her feet, watching the path, then transferred the smile to Marius as he ducked beneath an arch of leafless branches and into a gazebo well-protected from the weather. He didn’t so much as pretend a smile in return, and the expression fell away from Belinda’s face as her forehead wrinkled. “Marius?”

“My mother,” he said in clipped, precise tones, “has decided it’s well past time I was married.”

Belinda caught her breath, dismayed laughter riding it. “Who is she?” From the way he spoke, there had to be a bride already selected, a match made of good financial sense and, if Marius were lucky, a title to go with it. It ought not sting, that it did was discomfiting.

“Sarah Asselin,” Marius said through his teeth. Belinda blinked at him, honest surprise warming her cheeks.

“Sacha’s harpy-voiced sister? Marius, she’s—” Belinda broke off, then said, helplessly and with perfect honesty, “She’s a brilliant match, Marius. How—?”

“It seems Sacha was well-advised in sending me home to change clothes.” Every word was spoken like a blade, cutting against Belinda’s skin. “It seems I caught his sister’s eye that day. Her mother has spoken with mine and the noose is all but tied. I do not want her, Beatrice. I do not love her and I do not desire her. I—”

“You,” Belinda whispered, “are bound by financial and family ties where Eliza is not, and even if you and I had made promises of forever to one another, your parents have the strength to break those vows and send you where they will. She’s a better match than I am, Marius. She’s prettier, wealthier, and younger than I, and you’ve been friends with her family all your life.”

“Javier could—”

“Could what?” Belinda asked gently. “Forbid you to marry her? What would you do? Go to him and ask him to release me now? Ask him to set this game he plays with Aulun on its ear for the sake of our happiness? He’s a prince. Even if you could ask him, he couldn’t agree.” She stepped closer, curling her fingers against the merchant lad’s chest. “This does not end happily for the likes of you and me, Marius. We’ve known that all along.” His heart beat too hard beneath her touch; Belinda’s met it in rate, pulse quick and uncomfortable in her stomach. “Do you like her at all?”

Dismay and outrage, suffused with guilt, surged through the young man, flushing his cheeks. “She’s Sacha’s sister, Beatrice. I’ve never
thought
about her—”

“—about her soft curves under your hands, or her mouth and body opening to accept you?” Belinda reached for his emotions with witchpower, striving for delicacy instead of heavy-handed overwhelming thought. An abstract fondness for the Asselin girl was there, no more thought of than a passing admiration for a fine horse or well-bred dog. She whispered encouragement to that, tying abstraction to the impulse of desire that made Marius blush more deeply. That want served to accentuate his guilt and dismay, but it could, would, tie the merchant’s son to the lord’s daughter, if he didn’t fight it. Belinda wondered at the gentleness in herself, to try to soften Marius’s pain. “This game with Javier may go on for months, even years, Marius. Waiting on a possibility is throwing your life away.”

Marius’s jaw clenched. “It’s my life to throw away.”

“It isn’t.” Belinda closed her eyes, almost swaying with unexpected regret. “We all have duties, Marius. We all have things we must answer to. Wishes don’t make horses, my love, or beggars would ride. You must like her,” she said. “Find it in yourself to love her.”

“I only love you.”

“You must learn to let it go.” Words were half at odds with the tangle of emotion she wove, binding his want for Belinda to his unexplored desire for Sarah Asselin. That it was meant for his benefit was true; the young man would be better off out of love with Belinda Primrose. But the interweaving could benefit her as well, a cool calculation that seemed more like herself than the concern for his heartache. Should his love for Sarah be permanently bound to his desire for Belinda, she would never lose him as an asset. Whether true emotion, born on its own and growing in strength once the match was made, could undo what she put into place, Belinda didn’t know. If so, using him again in the future might be lost to her, if unfettered emotion could scrape away the ties she wrought. But his loss would be no great matter in the longer term: she could not long anticipate staying in Lutetia or Gallin once Javier’s plan to shake Lorraine on her throne was seen to fruition, unless the prince had his way and the promises he’d made were real.

“I only want you,” Marius repeated stubbornly. Belinda turned an unkind smile and stepped a little closer, bringing her lips close enough to brush his ear.

“Only me?” she asked. “Shall I tell Nina that, then, or have you forgotten her already, my lord? You wanted her surely enough. Imagine now that it’s Sarah’s pale form beneath you, and tell me that you only want me.” She dropped a hand, brushing her fingers over his groin, and chuckled at the hardness she found there. “Shall I come to your chambers on your wedding night, Marius, and watch you take a virgin as you took Nina? You will be the husband, strong, indomitable, and only I’ll know the weakness in you that wishes to submit.”

Witchpower set her blood on fire, pushing off the winter cold until Belinda felt she could strip to the skin and go unscathed by wind and rain. She wet her lips, touching her tongue to Marius’s earlobe, and he shuddered, a sound of desire strangled in his throat. Belinda’s own rational mind warned her of danger, but the salty taste of Marius’s skin and his too-fast pulse were a delight to her, making her smile against his throat. “Or would you risk it all for me? Your marriage, your stature, your friendship with the prince? Will you have me and damn all consequences, Marius? We mustn’t, you know,” she breathed, mocking with laughter. “We mustn’t grunt and grasp and twist against one another, or seek pleasure in sharing bodies. Or would you break that commandment, my love? Would you fuck your brother’s wife?”

Marius groaned again and knotted his hands in Belinda’s hair, bringing his mouth to hers, savagery in the kiss. She laughed at his bruising strength, giving in for a few seconds before pushing away again, feeling her body flushed with desire and danger. “We mustn’t,” she said again.

And behind her, a woman’s voice murmured, “Forgive me, my lord. I wish I had not been right.”

Sickness curdled in Belinda’s belly, birthing ice that burned the witchpower’s heat from her blood. Marius flinched back, so much an admission of guilt that Belinda wanted to let fly a sharp cry of laughter. She turned away from him, faint curiosity cocking her eyebrow, no admission of guilt in her colour or expression. Her hands were not cold, despite the churning in her stomach and the shards of ice making their way through her body. She curtsied, brief perfunctory thing, then wrinkled her forehead as she looked from Javier to Akilina and back again. “Been right, my lady?”

“What are you doing, Beatrice?” Strain filled Javier’s voice, shock sheeting off him as a precursor to the anger Belinda could sense growing in him. Akilina, at his side, stood as a bastion of smugness, though only severe disappointment and apology was visible in her demeanor. Belinda’s witchpower remained chilled beneath the need to play out this scenario flawlessly, else she might give in to its impulse to step forward and slap the expression off Akilina’s face. Javier, cheeks flushed with colour that did his complexion no favours, drew breath, and his voice cracked like a boy’s when he spoke. “What are you doing with Marius?”

“Saying good-bye, my lord.” Belinda dipped another brief curtsey, turning toward Marius as if in apology. “He’s just come to tell me that he’s to be wed.”

“Marius?” Javier’s voice cracked again, but this time with command. Marius blanched, then curled his hands into fists and let go a low laugh.

“Beatrice protects me from myself, my prince. I came here to beg her away from your side, rather than agree to the match my mother’s made.” He closed his eyes, his skin grey in the winter shadows. “More fool I, as she told me quite plainly that we were not meant to be. Forgive me, Jav, for my jealousy. Yes,” he added dully. “It seems I’m to be wed. Sacha’s sister, of all people, and by the ides of March, if my mother’s will be done.”

“Sacha’s…? And you…you came here to—?”

“To play the part of the fool. That’s always been my role, hasn’t it, Jav? You the prince, Liza the lover, Sacha the strong right arm. I’m the young one, whose passions and naïveté rise and fall so quickly as to make you all laugh. I believed you, Javier.” He spoke bitterly, ignoring Akilina’s presence, and Belinda’s stomach clenched again, this time in warning. She lifted a hand to stay Marius, and Javier lifted his to stay her. Fingers curled in reluctant acquiescence, she dropped her hand and watched Akilina from the corner of her eye. Smugness had left the countess as surely as it had filled her, and she cast her gaze from Marius to Javier, angry at losing control of a scenario she had clearly believed she owned.

“I thought you might find us a happy ending from all of this. Tell me, did you ever intend to give her up, or was it a story to make me hold on while you found a way to keep her close to you? I know as well as you do that she’s like no other woman.” Marius’s eyes flickered to Belinda, poison in them instead of lust, then returned to Javier. “She wakens desires I never dreamed I had. I can only hope she has the same effect on you.”