Chapter 15 A YesNo Sort of Question #2
“Second wife?” Ayla said at last, echoing him. “But—you don’t—you don’t wear a ring?”
His own eyes glanced down at his hand, still curled on the table.
“No,” Niel agreed. “I do not.”
“You’re married?”
He should have mentioned a wife, her petty inner self said. What kind of man takes over a castle and makes a lady his captive, and doesn’t even mention having a wife?
“You sound as amazed as if I just told you I knew a bear who could speak Ancient Himrek,” Niel muttered, sounding embarrassed rather than angry now. “Is it that improbable?”
“It surprised me, that’s all. You are married, then.”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Marriage is rather a yes or no sort of question,” Ayla informed him.
“I am half-married.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“That isn’t possible.” Did he mean just that he’d promised himself to a woman? Some lover he revered so dearly as to call her ‘wife’ without any bonds tying them together? But the knight hadn’t struck her as a romantic.
“It is. We wed by proxy. It is not consummated.” His tone was tradesman-like, serious.
She relaxed a little, though not much. Not a romance, then.
He hadn’t even spoken vows to her face, or washed her hands in the marriage-bowl, or fed her a sip of wine from the marriage-cup.
She hated the idea of him performing any wedding ceremony with some unseen, devastatingly beautiful woman, one who was doubtlessly courageous and bold and made her own choices. The sort of woman Niel would want.
Why did it matter? She wanted nothing to do with the knight, not in that way.
“You haven’t met her?” Ayla asked, trying not to sound too interested. Just minutes ago, she’d been terrified of this man’s anger. What was wrong with her?
“I have,” Niel said, cutting off a piece of his meat with a frown. “Years ago. I went a few times with my father to treat with them. But she was betrothed to my brother then. He renounced our family to get out of the betrothal, and it fell to me instead.”
Corin, the Queen’s general. Ayla frowned. Surely no heir to a dukedom would give up all his power just over a betrothal.
“Wait. I thought he renounced his titles to side with the Queen.”
“No. Not at first. It was to break the betrothal.”
Ayla’s head tilted to the side.
“Mercy. Is your wife that horrible?”
Niel shook his head quickly.
“I don’t think it was about her. Corin had a woman of his own he wanted. Anyways, he never met her, funnily enough. He was off at court every time I traveled with father.”
Such was the lives of women, Ayla thought wearily as she lifted a bite to her mouth and slowly chewed. Traded to men, or tied up in betrothals, at men’s mercy to keep or break.
“Well… did you like her?” she forced herself to ask. She kicked down the strange jealous surge in her blood at the thought.
“I tend not to like anyone,” he muttered. “Anyways, as I said. Half-marriage. I don’t intend to honor it. But if I wanted a wife, I could take the one I already have.”
And not me, she filled in. Well, that was fine. It was best if Lord Niel wanted nothing to do with Ayla, just as she wanted nothing to do with him.
His offer to let her come with him had not been made with some ulterior motive, at least not one she could identify. Because he had a wife.
“Poor woman,” Ayla said. Niel shot her a questioning look, eyebrows raised. “Scorned by one brother, and now, apparently, the other,” Ayla explained.
“That? Oh, she doesn’t care.” He sounded dismissive.
“How could you possibly be certain of that?”
“She’s a princess of Aronthia.” That was the country to the north, the one Niel’s father had traitorously allied with to overthrow their own country, Enar.
Mercy. He was married to a princess. Not seeming to notice the way Ayla’s face fell, Neil continued on.
“Probably has a list of hopeful lovers a mile long. It’s just politics.
We wanted an army; they wanted a valid claim to the throne of Enar.
I may be seventh in line, but I’m still of the Arevon blood. ”
Could a traitor rightfully be in the line of succession? Ayla didn’t know. That was the business of the true nobles. Not of women like her.
But marriage and a man’s dominion over a woman’s life: that, she had opinions on.
“I’d still be hurt,” she told Niel. He raised an eyebrow, curiosity written on his face.
“What? If a man you barely knew went a different way? How could you take offense?”
“One man, perhaps not. But two brothers? In a row? I’d feel certain something was wrong with me.”
“A flaw so big a man can see it from a thousand miles away?” He smirked and took a sip.
“An unflattering portrait, perhaps,” Ayla agreed with a shrug. “Or an unfortunate name.”
Niel nearly spat his drink out, and coughed instead. She looked at him in surprise, and waited for him to smooth his expression. The knight shook his head, lips pressed dangerously tight, as if suppressing a chuckle.
“Was I too cruel?” Ayla blushed.
“Hildegund. Her name.”
“Ah,” Ayla said diplomatically. “Nothing a pet name can’t save. But I fear you will do great damage to the poor woman, if you really intend to abandon her.”
“I didn’t expect you to have such a charitable view of marriage.”
“Well. Perhaps if one is married to…” her eyes met his and she trailed off abruptly, unwilling to finish the thought. She felt a blush rising to her cheeks. “And my views were quite different before I met Lord Blackfell.”
“Hm. Well, she can’t complain. She’s the one who chose to have a handmaid speak her vows, rather than travel herself. I’m sure neither of us have the slightest interest in each other.”
“You wouldn’t give her a chance, if she arrived at your doorstep?”
“What, this doorstep?” His eyes flicked to the window, to indicate the army camped outside, though from where they sat in the room all they could see was dark sky, not the fires of the army camp.
“I suppose if she brought an army, I would at least allow her inside the walls and offer her a cup of wine.”
“How charitable. What if you liked her? What if she pleased you more than you remembered?”
“What are you expecting me to say?”
Ayla blinked at him. That you’re capable of love and longing? That a woman could hold some measure of power over you? That there is at least one single romantic bone beneath your hardened warrior’s flesh?
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I am merely trying to take your measure. Would you let her in your bed?”
“No.”
“Then you must find her looks displeasing.”
“I don’t care about her looks. Aronthia is playing a long game,” Niel told her. “They are thinking about conquest and succession. I would sooner throw myself off a cliff than give them an heir to manipulate. All I need is their army, and not for long.”
“But after the war, surely…”
Was she really trying to convince this man to take his wife into his arms? She had no business fixating on Lord Niel’s marriage bed. She knew she ought to drop the subject, but her mind kept poking at it.
“There is nothing. Not for me. There is only one way this ends.”
Ayla’s stomach twisted.
“But…” she frowned at him, tapping her fork’s tines lightly on her plate. “Aren’t your father’s reinforcements coming?”
“To Blackfell, yes. I don’t intend to die here, with my work unfinished. But I have sworn myself to a cause, and I have no doubt it will cost me my life.”
A long silence yawned between them. A hollow opened up in Ayla’s stomach, a sickening, dizzy feeling.
Niel’s marriage dropped down into it, unimportant beside what he’d just said.
The fire crackled, its logs shifting. She watched the flames dance in Niel’s dark eyes, and felt a confused mess of thoughts swirling in her head.
“I have no idea what you expect me to say to that,” Ayla at last said slowly, “except that it sounds extremely foolish and hateful to me. Surely you cannot despise Enar that ferociously.”
“How can you still love it, after what you’ve endured?”
“The Queen has nothing to do with how Blackfell acts behind doors,” Ayla said dismissively, almost fiercely. She had to believe that.
“A country is its noblemen,” Niel said quietly. “Oh, the crown sits at the center, but the nobility exert their will over the pieces of it, from the cities to the small and far-flung reaches. And they are rotten, Ayla. They are like a piece of meat infested with maggot and rot from the inside.”
She wrinkled her nose at the image he painted.
“That’s disgusting.”
“Yes,” Niel agreed. “It is. Men like Blackfell should not rule. Bloodlines, bloodlines; we keep turning in circles, allowing the worst of us to hold power because their fathers’ fathers’ fathers’ clawed their way atop a bloody heap generations past. Well, enough.
I will not suffer the tyrants among us to rule. ”
“But your father,” she said. “Isn’t he…?”
“One of those?” Niel asked bitterly. “Deeply so. Or do you think a man comes to conclusions like this from a happy upbringing? I will tear down Blackfell, and Ashbrin, and if I am still alive after that, I will tear down the duchy of Mount Eyron, too, which will mean I am the enemy of both Enar and of its would-be conquerors. So you understand it: once I make my move, I will be without allies. This war will kill me. But Maker be damned, I will see this world changed before I leave it.”
“I do not think the only way to change is through killing,” Ayla told him quietly. Privately, she also didn’t think it would create much in the way of change. Surely other men would rise up to fill the place of the country’s noblemen he removed. Who was to say they’d be any better?
But he sounded so certain. Like an arrow that had already been loosed and was on its way to a far and distant target, its landing already a guarantee.
“Finish your supper,” Niel said, ignoring her words. “The kitchen made mention of a ginger cake. I should like to try it when you are ready.”