Chapter 31
I’d been through the garden maze enough times to have its paths memorized, so when I found myself utterly lost within its depths, it was by design.
The tall hedges concealed me from even the most strategic of vantage points within the castle, a womb of foliage that cradled me in a silence I desperately needed.
I sat on the cold stone path, arms folded across a bench, face buried in the crook of my elbow.
Time passed unmarked, save for the shadows changing shape through the leaves.
No one called my name yet, though surely my absence had been noted.
Hopefully Nicolas would have the good sense not to initiate another castle-wide panic.
Just this once, I wished to disappear without consequence, to have my solitude and seek out peace of mind.
Instead, my thoughts turned to darker possibilities.
If Florence could control whether I became pregnant, perhaps she might ascertain the sex of my child in advance. She might even be able to influence it, to coax my body to bear only little girls. I could let my eldest daughter marry a decent man, and that could be a future for the kingdom.
A pretty, foolish thought. I knew history well enough to know that queens who didn’t birth sons were not always blessed with long, stable reigns.
There would be nobility who disapproved of a king from outside the bloodline, just as some had reviled King Elias.
There would be bloodshed over whatever decision was made, even if it was in the kingdom’s best interest. My daughters could all die to rebellion, the crown passed on to some distant Montfort or even a new man entirely, as it had been with Sala and Korosa to the north, according to the texts within the library. Emperors, conquerors, madmen.
My thoughts returned to Nicolas. He knew of the curse, so he had to be aware of the implications it would create in raising a son.
There was a chance, a small one, that he would prefer the simplicity of daughters to the risk a son warranted…
but he was a dutiful prince, wedded to ceremony and prescribed custom over any deviation.
Even as a king with power to reshape the realm, he would remain carved from tradition, as immovable as the code he abided.
A son would come, by me or by whore, and I would be expected to masquerade as that child’s mother for the good of the realm.
Damn the realm. Damn the gods, too, for their role in weaving madness into sex and power.
Shadows loomed about, the Lord of Night’s presence palpable in their shifting shapes. They grew bolder as the stars came out, caressing my flesh. Then another presence joined: a familiar gait, the rattling of steel within a scabbard.
Lanternlight scattered the darkness.
“I thought you might be here,” said Quinn, hanging the glowing apparatus on a strategically-placed shepherd’s hook. The orange glow flickered with one last spiteful breath from the Lord of Night. “Perhaps not here, exactly, but somewhere within the maze.”
I wiped my tears on my sleeve. There wasn’t enough of me left to feel shame for the position he’d found me in.
But Quinn’s gaze held little amusement. “I told Nic I’d find you on my own so there wouldn’t be a scene. I…did not say how long it would take me to do so.”
In a few strides, he was near enough to offer his hand. I took one look at those digits, pale from the winter and calloused. In another life, Quinn should have been a knight; the noble life was an ill-fit.
“Unburden yourself, Alana,” he offered. “I’m all ears. Or eyes, in these particular circumstances.”
I tried to smile, but my lips wouldn’t budge. The attempt only made them tremble. I took a shallow breath and signed from below, rejecting his offer to stand. “I cannot be queen.”
“It is a tremendous role, but I think you may be underselling yourself. You’re a capable woman.” Sensing that I had no intention of rising to my feet, Quinn crouched in front of me. “Why do you doubt yourself?”
“Because I cannot bear the prince a son,” I replied. I wasn’t sure how to dance my way around the truth from there, especially not when the response so vividly perturbed the viscount.
“Is there something preventing…forgive me, is there a reason you fear this so deeply?” he asked. It was clear that he was trying to be sensible, and that his thoughts led down a different path. “Has the royal physician given you cause for concern?”
I shook my head. “No. I am physically capable.”
My hands stilled. I looked at my protector, the secret sitting like a stone on my chest, slowly drowning me. His offer was a lifeline.
“You’ve asked before…why I cannot speak to you,” I signed. My hands were slow, as every word felt riskier than the last. “If I give you the truth, you must swear to keep it between us. Even from Nicolas. He should not know that I told you.”
Quinn stiffened. He put a hand on the ground to stabilize himself. “Alana, I can’t—”
“What do you know of curses, Quinn?”
He hadn’t sworn to keep the secret, but I’d enticed him into silence. Beneath his measured expression, he was clearly reconsidering. “Enough to fear the repercussions of crossing someone who wields them.”
“I crossed no one, but my father did,” I motioned, biting my lip. “I was cursed before birth.”
My hands fell to my lap. We stood on the precipice now; once I told him the truth, there was no going back.
Then again, if he did take qualm with it, if he did bring it to the prince or make it public in a way that would prevent the marriage…would that truly be the worst of outcomes?
“The curse compromises any man who hears my voice. It triggers an unnatural attachment. When I speak, men’s minds become clouded with false desire.
They believe themselves in love.” I froze, my arms crossed over my chest. “This is how it is with Nicolas. My father deafened himself to prevent the devotion. If I had a son, he…”
Quinn’s face drained of color. Then he was on his feet, pacing away before whirling back. His hand raked through his hair, loosening it from its strap. A strangled sound caught in his throat.
“Porses fottena seles.” The foreign words were rough, whispered. “Nicolas heard you in the woods. It’s why your parents had you out there to begin with, why you wouldn’t speak when we came for you. Why you didn’t scream in protest.”
He took it in, angry and protective and utterly devastated.
“And he knows?” Quinn asked sharply, almost accusatory. “He knows about the curse, and what it does? What it’s done to him?”
When I nodded, Quinn’s fists clenched so hard they shook. His whole body was riddled with vibrating tension as he mulled over my explanation.
“Nic, you bloody—” he cut himself off, having the wits to curse the rest in Hadrian.
“He knows, and he still… Why wouldn’t he tell me?
Does he not believe he can trust me, his dearest friend?
Does he think I would judge him? That I would take action without his command?
And you! Gods, I should have known. I should have seen… ”
Then his eyes widened. A hand moved to his chest. He stood there a moment, appearing to measure the beating of his heart. I watched him guardedly, unsure of where his thoughts had led him. He touched his throat, then his ears.
“I’ve never…” he started, dark eyes falling to where I sat. “I haven’t heard your voice.”
“No,” I confirmed. “I’ve always been very careful around you.”
Quinn laughed, but it was bitter, bordering on hysterical. He spun around, both hands falling on top of his head. “Gods, but it would have been simpler if you weren’t. No honorable man should feel the way I do.”
My lips parted at the admission of his feelings. It was hardly a romantic confession, as bitter as he sounded. When he looked at me again, his hysteria softened into understanding.
“A son.” He wore his horror plainly. “Gods. Alana.”
Quinn dropped to his knees in front of me. His hands hesitated near mine.
“I don’t know what to say.” A rare admission from an otherwise voluble man.
There was nothing he could offer to spare me the torment, but to see his anguish, to know he was as lost as I was…it brought a semblance of comfort. He took his hair down, running his fingers through it, as his thoughts raced.
Then he paused, turning to face me. “If you bear a son, I swear on my name I will sing to him in your stead.”
I stared at the viscount, my chest tightening from the overwhelming grief and gratitude that clashed within. Quinn took my hand and bowed his head.
“If you write to him, I will read it aloud. I will teach him signs before he can speak; I’ll teach him the lullabies my mother sang to me, tell him they’re from you.
Every achievement, every scrape and bruise, every moment he needs to hear his mother’s voice…
Let me be your words, Alana. He will never doubt for even a moment that you love him. ”
Quinn tilted his head up at me. My tears made good on their threat, falling hot and fast down my cheeks.
How could he possibly offer to do such a thing?
I took back my hand. As lovely a thought as it was, it was far too much to ask of him. Of anyone. He’d be stepping in as a third parent, another half to fulfill what I couldn’t.
“Help me,” I signed. “Get me out of here, Quinn.”
Quinn jerked back as though I’d struck him, his hand finding the cold marble of a garden statue for balance. The stone lion smiled with an open mouth, laughing in mockery.
“Alana…” he breathed, then found some strength in his next words: “What do you want from me, my Nightingale?”
There was no darkness to him, not like how he’d become when I’d asked him to poison Duke Augustine. Only a frightened boy looked back at me.
My hands moved frantically, too fast for him to follow at first.
Understanding crashed over him. “You’re asking me to…to elope with you?”
His voice cracked. I swallowed my own heartbeat, nodding steadily. Desire and despair battled across his features before he crushed it all back down.