29 Imogen #2
The empress tapped the handle of her knife, lips pursed ever so slightly.
“It seems you should thank me for securing you such a good husband. They are so very hard to find.” Her cool gaze slid to Theodore, and in a voice as threatening as it was soft, she said, “I am so eager to hear of this new agreement.”
Servants filled my wine and set a plate of fragrant vegetables and herbed lamb before me. But I found my appetite gone.
Theodore was austerity itself. “There is much to discuss. But we’ll do so in private. With my marshal and steward present.”
“Nonsense. You’ve come all this way.” The empress waved a heavily ringed hand toward the far end of the table, where Markis and Aleka sat amid the group of nobles. “They’re here. Tell me.”
Theodore went still, but he spoke with such smooth gentility, such placid confidence, that I couldn’t help but awe. “We have changed the wedding contracts that we originally agreed upon.”
The empress made a strange sound in her throat. Took a hearty drink of her wine. “The contracts that I, foolishly, did not ask you to sign in my presence.” She gave a dark chuckle. “And what changes proved more important than our newfound allyship, Theodore?”
“Mother,” Halla said in a meek voice. “I agreed to his changes of my own accord. I was not threatened or coerced.”
The empress scoffed. “That was not my concern.”
I bristled as the conversation down the table died to a hush.
Theodore cleared his throat. “I asked Halla for a half marriage,” he said, regal and calm.
“A ceremony, but no binding. In the eyes of my kingdom, and the Great Gods, she is not my true partner or queen, but recognized as more of a mistress.” He pulled in a shallow breath and pushed it back out.
“In exchange,” he said, but this time there was a tightness in his voice, “I agreed to bring her home for a wedding feast.” He swallowed. “And to give her a child.”
My heart raced, but I sat there quietly, clinging to my goblet like it was an anchor. I reminded myself that it was a farce, a ploy, and still my insides churned.
The empress rubbed at the knuckle of her first finger, blinking and staring between both Halla and Theodore. Then she leaned back in her chair. “And this half marriage has been consummated?”
Theodore’s mouth parted slowly, but it was Halla who spoke. “Yes, Mother.”
The empress clapped her hands. “Very good, then.”
I set down my goblet. My head had felt dizzied from the moment I’d entered the room, but this made me want to tip.
To thrash. It was a lie, surely, but if Halla truly wanted to force Theodore to keep his promise, why would she tell it?
The empress’s fury and imminent threats would no doubt do wonders to help her get her way.
The empress threw her hands into the air.
“You look shocked!” she said to Theodore.
“Those contracts were to ensure my daughter’s happiness.
But if all she wanted from your union was a trip home and a child, who am I to speak against her.
” She gave her daughter a beatific smile, but there was a dissonance in her eyes.
“My daughter has always known her own mind. Haven’t you, Halla? ”
Halla dipped her chin. A bright blush had climbed up her throat, and her hands were balled tightly against the table’s edge.
“Now, eat,” the empress said, “A wedding feast will be planned, of course, as there is much to celebrate. Shall we have it down in Mustkiva? There’s so much more space there. And all that light.”
Halla nodded once more. I could sense Theodore’s distress and confusion, but I could not bring myself to look at him. I could not bring myself to do much at all but stare at my damned plate of food.
My mind buzzed like a trapped fly. Something about all of this was wrong—the strange fort, the empress’s uncharacteristic benevolence at being undermined, the gown I wore, and the missing vial.
A pain hammered my temples as I tried desperately to piece it all together, but I could not line up the edges for the life of me.
What was more, I could hardly breathe, though I could taste the acrid scent of the tallow candles at the back of my throat.
I could hardly feel the ample warmth of the room for the chill that had slipped beneath my skin.
I reached for my wine so quickly that it tipped and spilled across a loaf of bread.
“Queen Imogen?” Halla asked, with profuse innocence. “Are you well?”
Theodore pushed back his chair like he was about to stand and come to my aid, but I held up a hand, stopping him. “I’m well,” I said, my voice sounding weak. “I’m tired, that’s all. It’s been a long day of travel, and even after a lifetime in the mountains, it seems they don’t quite suit me.”
The empress leaned back in her seat, watching me with scintillant eyes. “And why would they,” she said, amused. “You are a thing of the sea, after all.”
I righted my goblet, wishing desperately that I could leave and gulp fresh air, that I could be away from Halla and Theo, sitting so close.
Halla had set her hand gently atop his, and wisely, he’d not removed it.
His thumb rested atop hers, and knowing that it was for show was still not enough to keep me from to dive across the table and rip at her.
A servant came around to pour me more wine, and I tried desperately to breathe, to calm, but no matter how I tried, the discomfited buzzing in my skull wouldn’t cease.
As I lifted the fresh wine to my lips, the buzzing came clearer. Two memories assailed me. The first was of the nekgya on Nemea’s ship, sitting there with sand and kelp, sword and crown. I heard Eusia’s voice ring through my ears:
Only the king will do.
And you, all on your own, will find your way back to him.
And if you don’t, well, one way or another, I’ll have his blood too.
I saw that vision of Nivala weeping before Eusia, telling her that Nemea had lied about being a God. How he’d taken her to bed with the falsehood.
Over the overflowing platters and curling candle smoke, my gaze locked onto Theo. His hair cascaded over his temple, and melancholy softened the hard lines of his face.
“A baby,” I whispered to myself, my body so charged that I thought I might vomit. Beneath the table, I ran my finger over the scars on my palm.
The empress’s voice droned beside me as she and Halla spoke of the details of the wedding feast. Musicians had come and started a soft tune that only added to my suffocating overwhelm.
I squeezed my eyes shut and a moment later felt the pressure of a boot upon my toe.
I knew from the tender yet steady pressure who it was.
I pulled my foot back, throat hard from caught tears.
Suddenly, the empress hammered the table and rose, her chair scraping loudly over the bare stone floor.
“Come, Halla.” She took her daughter’s hand and placed a quick kiss on it.
“If you’ll all excuse us, my daughter and I have much to discuss.
” Nivala strode from the table, leaving Halla to rush from her seat and scurry after her, where they both disappeared through a door on the other side of the dais.
I waited for three agonized breaths before I too rose and left the throne room, my guards close behind.
Somehow, my resolve held fast—not once did I let my gaze stray to Theodore.
When I crossed the throne room’s threshold, that dizzying, choking pressure instantly began to ease.
I forced deep breaths, moving quickly, winding through the halls.
“Your Majesty.”
The strain in Theodore’s voice made me pause. I turned.
He stood in the middle of the hall, his armored retinue behind him. Gods damn him for looking like that. Like safety. Like warmth, the kind that would burn away the worst sort of cold. And damn my body—my heart—for responding as it did.
His throat bobbed. “May we speak?”
My six guards flanked the walls between us.
We were surrounded, in an unfriendly land, and yet I noted the maddening way the candlelight limned Theodore’s crown, his cheeks, his mouth in gold.
For a moment, I was unable to reply. “Of course.” I looked to my retinue.
Then to his. “Perhaps our guards can find us a place—”
“Your chamber.”
Gods. The halls were empty. We were surrounded by Varian soldiers and sailors but even so, this was rash. Foolhardy. I widened my gaze, gave my head the barest shake. “It would be wise to speak in the open—”
“In your chamber.” He curled his hand at his side. “Now.”
My blood sped. I drew my shaky hands across the velvet of my skirt and held tight. “As you wish.” I knew it was imprudent. And yet I was unable to deny him. To deny myself. “I’ll walk ahead with my guards. You walk behind with yours.”
He agreed with a single nod, and we strode through the endless, drafty halls like a company of trooping soldiers. Finally I was deposited inside my chamber, where I paced at the foot of the bed before Theodore appeared on the threshold.
The look upon his face turned me molten. He spoke to his guards without ever taking his eyes from me. “No one enters until morning.” Then he closed the door and locked it.
The fire spilled more heat into the chamber than I needed. A flush had warmed my cheeks, and I took the fur stole from my shoulders. Theodore did the same, throwing his coat across the chair.
“I never touched her,” he said, taking the crown from his head and setting it atop the mantel.
“I know.” I pulled loose the top lacing of my bodice, easing its weight from around my chest. “I just… it’s awful to hear.”
Theodore removed his deep-green coat and threw it atop the fur. “I know.”
Like a storm approaching, he eased in close, and I could just smell the barest hint of wine on his exhale. We stood like that, nearly touching, quiet, our breaths slowly ticking up speed, until he raised a single hand to the side of my neck. He leaned in like he would kiss me.