Chapter Four Idris
Chapter Four
Idris
The morning after the ball, I sleep late.
Abram starts stirring at some point and finally tiptoes out, carrying his shoes, apparently unaware he’s already woken me up.
I keep my eyes closed and wait to doze off again.
My hound, True, lies at the foot of my bed with his head resting on my tired ankles.
But my groggy thoughts turn to the garden, and the memory, and the curse that must be on me by now.
All you do to me will be etched in their blood, she had told Mervyn.
Mortal days are short, Speir had said.
I shake myself and roll out of bed. My father will be on me the moment I emerge.
He shadowed me almost all evening, trying to get a moment alone.
I would have retired earlier, but I knew he’d be on my heels asking questions I didn’t want to answer, so I stayed up and danced until a few hours before dawn, long after he had gone to bed.
True flops to his full length, now that he has the bed to himself, and nearly takes up the entire thing.
I pull on my clothes for the day. If I can put off getting caught alone, I might be able to avoid any unpleasant conversations until we’re home again.
I doubt Father will bring up our family’s past in front of our hosts, and I certainly don’t intend to.
I don’t know what to think of my father, of my entire family. And I know he’ll be furious that I said yes. I anticipate raised voices and vigorous scolding. My head aches from the late night and drink. Any kind of confrontation should be avoided at all costs.
“True.” I snap my fingers to get his attention.
My Goliath of a dog heaves a sigh and leaves the blankets, trotting after me as I move into the hallway. No one in sight. Good.
I take the hall toward the only exit I’ve seen, wishing I knew the secret passageways that doubtlessly line these walls. I slow as I come to a place where the hallway joins the Great Hall, motioning with a finger for True to sit. He obeys, ears erect and alert.
My father’s voice drifts from inside—his, and King Byrne’s.
They’re talking about the shipment of timber from Byrne’s land to ours.
Skyare always has a great need for ships and a distinct shortage of trees.
I’m well-versed in Father’s rants about imports and taxes and transportation delays, and from the sound of it he’s only about a quarter into explaining the difficulties to King Byrne.
Good, that will keep him absorbed for a while.
An excellent chance for me to slip by unseen.
I take a breath and hurry past the open door.
Their conversation continues, uninterrupted.
I look back and realize True, the good dog that he is, has maintained his sit command.
I open my palm to wordlessly signal he can move, and he trots across to me.
The click of his claws on the flagstones seems loud as a trumpet to me.
But there is no lull in my father’s lecture.
We hurry the rest of the way to the courtyard, which is sheltered by massive stone walls, and then through the grand gate into the open land. Penkirk Castle sits on the edge of an immense, brackish loch, surrounded by cloud-cloaked mountains. The ship that we took to get here sits at anchor.
I pull my greatcoat closer and set off in a random direction. The more space between me and my father, the better. The gravel path crunches under my boots.
In the distance, a woman stands on a dock.
The still water around her acts like a mirror, reflecting the endless silver of the sky.
She wears a dark coat, the only thing that sets her apart from the landscape.
From here, I can’t tell what she’s looking at.
The loch dissolves into a curling fog only a few feet beyond her.
I find my steps carrying me toward the dock, curious if she can see something I don’t.
Do the lochs down here hold monsters? Or kelpies? Our lochs only have otters.
True lopes ahead, barking in greeting. The woman turns, smiles, and offers her hand to him. The hand she holds out is bound in a cloth brace.
The young woman from last night! I quicken my pace.
We never exchanged names. I forgot to introduce myself, though she obviously knew who I was.
When I came across her yesterday, standing alone and colorless with anxiety, it hadn’t occurred to me to act out the formalities of making an acquaintance.
I had only wanted to find a way to help.
“Hello,” I call as I step onto the dock.
“Good afternoon,” the woman says. From under her bonnet, she glances toward me—not quite at me—just long enough for me to get an impression of her eye color.
Something between green and gray and brown.
Freckles spatter her face, like sprinkles of cinnamon.
Her hair has come out of its tidy bun in rebellious, frizzy strands.
Droplets shimmer along the curling tips.
“Is it afternoon already?” I ask, stopping a proper distance away and slipping my hands into my pockets for warmth.
“Only just.” She has a bouquet of wild flowers in one hand. She shifts it into her bound one and kneels to rub True’s neck under his collar. He’s nearly taller than her like this and leans all his weight into her scratching. Her smile grows wide, unguarded, and I find myself smiling with her.
“How’s your wrist?” I ask.
“Well enough.” She tilts her head back so she can see me better. A simple brown ribbon secures her bonnet, framing her cheeks and hanging in a loose knot under her chin. “Thank you for your help, by the way.”
I shrug. I saw the turn at the end of the dance, and her wince when King Byrne held her hand too tightly.
He should have noticed his mistake and done something himself.
But I suppose he was too distracted to even realize it had happened, and of course this girl wouldn’t have wanted to point out the accident to a king.
“Let me give you your cravat back,” she adds, her cheeks coloring. She reaches to undo the knot.
“Keep it,” I say with a wink.
Her whole face turns red now. I can’t help grinning. She’s easy to fluster.
She shakes her head and whispers to True, “Your owner is a flirt.”
True’s only response is to sniff at the dock. I let her statement lie.
“Can I ask what you are doing out here?” I say. “It’s a bit cold for standing around on the water.”
“I wanted to think.” She takes her flowers and prepares to stand, not looking at me.
I offer my hand, and she hesitates, then takes it and lets me help her rise.
Her fingers are curiously callused, though I’d taken her for a lady at the ball.
Southern kings, in my limited experience, tend to put undue emphasis on social class, so it surprises me a little that King Byrne had been magnanimous enough to not just invite commoners but dance with one.
I open my mouth to ask her name, as I should have done last night.
“Idris,” calls a voice behind me.
I stiffen and glance back. Father is nearly at the dock. He raises his arm, motioning me to come his way. Perhaps standing out on the water with a strange girl wasn’t the best place to lie low, even with the fog for cover.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I say reluctantly. I can’t outright refuse to go to him.
The young woman dips a shallow curtsy. I’m still holding her hand, somehow, but let go now and start toward the shore. True trots behind me.
“Good day, Father!” I call with as much levity as I can muster. “And how are you?”
He frowns and steers me away from the water. “I take it you are feeling more at peace today?”
I shrug. “What is there to be upset about?”
He scrutinizes me a moment before he seems to catch on to the anger that still simmers just under my skin. “I felt the same way you do, once,” he says. “But it is for the best, Idris. There is nothing we can do to help what happened long ago.”
He still thinks I’ve said no. I don’t correct him. Let him think he knows. Let him think we are the same. I want to savor how wrong he is about me.
“There’s no need to look to the past now,” Father goes on. “You’re at the beginning of your life. And I have cheering news.”
“Oh?” I hold out my hand so True will bop his nose against it. He obliges, and the simple normality of it cools some of my temper.
Father nods. “You know, of course, that part of the reason we came here was to visit Princess Catharine.”
“It would have been hard to miss,” I answer dryly. True wanders off to sniff at the grass.
“Yes, well, it seemed to me that the two of you got along well last night. King Byrne thought so too.” He smiles at me. “This morning, he agreed to an arrangement between you two. All you need to do is propose.”
I stop walking and stare at the ground. Before today, when I had pictured my inevitable arranged marriage, I had imagined I would be pleased. Nervous, of course, but excited. So the sudden flood of dread—and something else that’s dark and coiling and hot—takes me by surprise.
“Does Catharine know about this?” I ask, buying time. My mouth tastes bitter. Does she know our fathers arranged for her to be given to me like a birthday present?
My father waves this away. “She has expressed her willingness before.”
Willingness, I think, remembering her polite friendliness yesterday.
Imagining a life with a willing, quiet, compliant wife.
Always a little formal, a little guarded, a little shielded.
Willing but never wanting. Poised but never passionate.
I don’t even know her well enough to imagine if she’d be as miserable with that life as I would be.
“If you speak to her before we leave, we can have it all settled in a few months,” Father goes on. He searches my face. “Don’t let the past swallow your happiness, Idris. You have a future.”
“Do you think this erases what happened last night?” I demand. The strange tangle in me burns into fury. “That you can give me a wife and a family and expect I’ll just fall into line with all I know now?”