Page 10

10

The Decency to Suffer

I spend the next day resting in my—or, rather, Daenn’s room, under strict orders from Sigrid. I don’t have the energy to argue with her—melding Daenn’s and my magic has left me with a bone-deep weariness that means that I spend most of it sleeping, only waking to eat the warm foods Sigrid brings me. I don’t see Daenn again, to my relief. I do keep myself awake for a while after supper—torn between worry for Eskil and the others and wondering if Daenn will appear. This is his room—I refuse to think of it as ours—and even power-hungry kings have to sleep.

If he does return, it must be after I fall asleep for the night. But when I wake the next morning, there’s no sign of him still; even the other side of the bed is pristine.

I choose to hope he left me be.

Sigrid has clearly already come and gone, as there’s a tray with a bowl of warm porridge waiting on the carved stone table by the bed.

I’ve only just finished it when a knock comes at the door and the woman herself strides in, not waiting for me to answer. She must be confident she won’t find Daenn here too; there’s no way she would so brazenly enter if there was even the smallest chance he was.

“Up with you, darling. You are in desperate need of bathing.” She collects my bowl and ushers me to my feet and out the door before I even have a chance to protest.

Not that I want to. I am feeling far better today than I did yesterday, but a hot bath sounds lovely.

“Can we visit the infirmary again?” I ask instead. I have an irrational fear that my victims have passed away in the night.

Sigrid shakes her head, even as her gaze softens. “We don’t have time. But I stopped there first thing this morning, and I promise everyone was doing as well as can be, given…the situation.”

I swallow and nod. Her report will have to be enough.

I can’t help the apprehension that curls through me as Sigrid and I, and two guards who trail behind us, make our way to the hot springs. Bathing customs are different in the lowlands, more private. It’s been a long time since I’ve used a communal bath, and it feels like a strange concept now.

The guards stay outside the entrance to the women’s pool. Sigrid and I enter, and I search the cavern as steam wraps around me. It’s silent, dim.

And empty.

My relief must show. “I made sure you’d have the space to yourself,” Sigrid says. “You don’t need anyone pestering you while you’re still recovering, and we both know some would.” Her words are punctuated with a frown.

“Thank you, Sigrid.” It’s not enough to convey the depth of feeling I have for this woman. She’s both soothing and making my heart ache with her caring. I’ve missed her, how maternal she is. It reminds me of my mother.

She pats my cheek before gesturing around. “Now. Do you remember how this all works? Do you need help with anything? ”

There are clean towels stacked on a stone shelf carved into the wall, and a basket of soaps and oils sits just on the side of the hot spring, in easy reach from the water.

“Yes, I remember how to bathe,” I say wryly. “They do do that in the lowlands too.”

She tsks at my sassing, but her eyes are bright. “Then you’ll not need help getting out of that infernal dress you insisted on sleeping in, either?”

I bite my lip as I glance down at the black dress. I insisted on sleeping in one of my more informal lowland dresses. No way am I going to be caught in underthings if Daenn returns to his room.

But even the most casual of my dresses from the lowlands requires a maid to assist with them. Dressing yourself is for the peasants, as far as the Verkslish nobility are concerned.

“Yes, please.”

Sigrid helps me without any fuss, though I do hear a small noise from her when my new tattoo comes into view. I pretend I don't, and bless her, she says nothing about it.

I’m already halfway in the water when she speaks again. “Oh, dear, we’ve forgotten a change of clothes for you.”

I groan. How could I have forgotten that?

Because it isn’t something I’ve had to do for myself in years, no doubt.

“Don’t fret, darling. I’ll go pick something suitable for today’s feast.”

I whirl, stomach dropping. Water splashes around me at my sudden movement. “What? What feast?”

She raises her eyebrow at me. “Did you really think you’d marry our king without the customary welcome feast? ”

That’s exactly what I thought. The wedding had been so private. Why keep everyone out of that and still hold the welcome feast?

“I hoped.”

“No luck. Enjoy your bath, darling. I’ll bring you a change of clothes.” She turns away, sweeping up my lowland dress.

“Sigrid! I want one of my black dresses!” I stand on my tiptoes and lean forward, tempted to run after her—but she’s nearly out the door, and I have no desire to run naked before my guards or anyone else who might be lingering nearby.

“Black is hardly suitable for your welcome feast!” she calls over her shoulder—and then she’s gone.

I sink back into the water, scowling. She sounded far too delighted. She’ll bring me a clan dress, and I wouldn’t put it past her to spirit away the rest of my lowland wardrobe while I’m trapped here in the hot spring.

I’d even wager she intentionally ‘forgot’ a change of clothes precisely to reach this outcome.

Resigned to my fate, I turn to the basket and set about picking out some soap. I’m hit with a strong wave of aching nostalgia as I bring each to my nose. The citrus and floral scents favored by the lowlands were sharp and heady.

Clan soaps are crafted with far more earthy, grounding scents. Things like pine and fir, sage and vetiver. I missed them far more than I realized.

Once I find some I like—pine, with the lightest hint of chamomile—I set about cleaning myself. The heat of the water has soaked into my muscles, and I feel more refreshed and relaxed than I have in… a long time. Longer than I’ve been here, certainly, but even beyond that. Verksland baths are a different experience from the clan bathing pools .

I’m simply floating in the water, savoring it, when Sigrid returns with a decidedly not-black dress. It’s green, in fact. It might even be the same dress they tried to put me in for the wedding.

I slowly rise, pointedly scowling at the offending color.

“No time to fuss at me, darling.” She extends a towel toward me with her free hand. “We’ve got to get you dressed for the feast!”

I reluctantly exit the water and take the towel, drying myself. Sigrid helps me step into fresh underthings, then the dress, but I do the ties at the sides while she sets to work scrubbing my hair dry. The dress is sleeveless, so it must be the one from yesterday after all—clan dresses, like lowland dresses, usually have long sleeves—though the reason is more practicality than fashion, given how cold the mountain or flying can be. The only exception are the wedding dresses, which have either short or no sleeves, to better show off the marriage bracelets. I feel exposed and bare after so many years wearing the long, sometimes gaudy sleeves of lowland dresses.

I have missed being able to dress myself, though. Not that I’ll ever breathe that truth to anyone.

She twists and pins my hair up into a snug crown in record time, only stepping back when she’s satisfied with her work. The finishing touch is some kohl around my eyes and a shining, red-tinted oil to my lips.

“You look beautiful.” She beams at me. “Come. We’re going to be late.”

I follow her from the hot spring, nervousness already coiling in my belly. The guards fall in behind us again as we make our way to the great hall. I can’t help but notice they hang back farther than Kettil and Eskil did. I can’t blame them. What if proximity to me causes the magic to lash out again? I didn’t do it intentionally before, which means it could happen again.

I should tell Sigrid to leave; if anyone’s at risk, she would be the most. But selfishly, I don’t. She’s the only welcome face, and I’m certain even if I were selfless enough to say something, she’d lecture me thoroughly and then proceed to ignore me.

My nerves only grow the closer we get to the great hall. It’s been years since I’ve interacted with these clansfolk, aside from Daenn and his warriors. I’m not looking forward to having to make polite conversation with any of them. I never truly enjoy shallow niceties—and with the chasm of time that has distanced me from everyone and the pall of guilt weighing heavy over me, it sounds unbearable now.

We slow as we near the great hall. A low swell of voices carries to us, and the sound makes me want to turn and run.

“Where’s Daenn?” I ask faintly. If I have to suffer through this because he forced me into a marriage, then he could have the decency to suffer through it with me.

“He’s attending to some clan matters that must get done. He’ll be here as soon as he can.” Sigrid pats my hand, as if I were worried about his absence.

I’m not.

“Are there any clan matters the king’s wife needs to attend to? Urgent ones?”

She laughs. “Yes. Attending the welcome feast in her honor.”

I make a face at her.

“You’ll be fine, darling.” She gives me a reassuring smile and squeezes my hand, but there’s reluctance lingering around her eyes.

“Then why do you look like that? ”

“I need to return to the kitchens.” She looks truly sorry to abandon me.

“Oh.” Of course she does. She’s probably already spent far more time with me than I deserve. “Go, then. I’ll be fine. Make sure they don’t burn anything.”

“You will be fine. And Lars and Bjorn will be with you until Daenn comes; don’t worry.” She gives my hand one last pat, kisses my cheek, and then bustles away. She never goes anywhere slowly.

I stare at the entrance to the great hall; I can barely see some of the gathered clan around the corner. I keep my eyes pinned there as I speak. “I don’t suppose you’d take me back to my room?”

One of my guards—Lars—answers in a monotone. “We have strict orders to escort you to the welcome feast and stay there with you until the king arrives.”

I sigh. Of course they do. Lars used to be easy to wheedle, though. Maybe I can persuade him if I look pitiful enough.

Probably why Daenn assigned two guards to watch me. Bjorn has always been far less sympathetic to rule-breaking than Lars.

I can’t do this. I can’t face this crowd alone. For a fleeting moment, I do wish Daenn were here—not for the man himself, but because I’m sure no one would dare approach if he were looming at my side.

I’m working up the nerve to raise my chin and enter the great hall with the regality of the Queen of Verksland when a familiar voice calls from behind me.

“Emana!”

I turn at my name. A man is striding down the hall behind me. He’s tall, thin, and sleek. He wears the fitted leathers of the gryphon warriors, and his short black hair is combed straight back. He slows before me, gaze slowly tracking up and down my figure.

Viggo. A distant cousin of Daenn, and currently the next in line to become king. He and Daenn have never been on terribly good terms, perhaps because Viggo used to have a tendency of aggressively flirting with me that Daenn thought disrespectful. Viggo’s father was chief to the South Peak Clan, and he was a vicious, warmongering chief, often making unsanctioned raids on lowland farms and villages that Daenn’s father had to bring him to task for on occasion. I know Viggo has taken on the chief’s mantle since I left the clan, but I don’t know if he’s like his father.

Hopefully not, since Viggo is still Daenn’s heir, at least until Daenn produces an heir.

My chest aches instinctively at the thought, sharp and deep and painful, so I shove the thought of producing heirs right off a mental cliff and return my attention to my new companion.

“Viggo. You look well.” I’m surprised to see him here. When we were children, it was not unusual for him to visit our clan’s mountain, but since he’s clan chief now, I imagine his duties usually keep him in his own mountain.

He gives me a slow, lazy smile. “As do you, Emana.” His face twists into something near sympathy, but it looks a bit too put-on to be believable. “I’ve heard what Daenn did to your husband. It’s a tragedy we have to meet under these circumstances. I’d always hoped that if you were to return and marry back into the clan… well, you are wasted on my cousin. But what else could we expect from him? Dragging you back here and marrying you with only his own lackeys to witness, as if you’re a shameful secret—it’s quite like him.” He tsks as his gaze tracks over me again. “If it had been me—and a few ye ars sooner, of course, as I’m married now—you would have gotten the wedding you deserved.”

I bristle. I said nearly the same thing to Daenn myself regarding the wedding, but hearing it from Viggo, who has always hated Daenn… and having him leer at me while he says it?

I want nothing more than to—

“Viggo.”

I jump at the icy voice behind me. Viggo stiffens and takes a subtle step back. I turn to look at Daenn—he’s approached without a sound, he’s radiating anger, and it’s entirely focused on his cousin.

If Viggo’s words hadn’t made it clear already they aren’t any friendlier than they were, Daenn’s posture certainly would now.

“Why are you on my mountain? And why are you holding my wife back from entering her own feast?”

My stomach tightens at that term of address on his lips.

Viggo holds up his hands defensively. “Is it a crime to greet an old friend? We were just chatting. It’s why I’m here, after all. I heard you’d gotten married and came to congratulate you.”

“You have a clan to manage. A wife due to birth your child soon. Warriors to bring to heel after that recent—”

“My clan is well in hand without you hovering like a mother gryphon.” Viggo’s tone is light, but his smile is strained. “You tend your clan, and I’ll tend mine. Better yet, lavish your extra attention on your wife. You need all the help you can get, if the rumors flying hold any weight.”

Daenn’s fingers curl into a fist, his anger palpable in the air. I’m more than ready to escape this awkward standoff. Pointedly turning back to Viggo, I give him one of the lowland curtsies. “It’s good to see you, Viggo. ”

He smirks like he’s won some sort of victory. “Always a pleasure, Emana.”

He strolls past me, past Daenn, giving his king the same smirk.

Daenn’s jaw works as he finally focuses on me.

I speak before he can. “So good of you to show up.”

His gaze softens slightly. “I came as soon as I could.”

Something knots in my chest at his voice. Gentle, familiar, more like my Daenn. I swallow. “Shall we?”

He nods, flicking a hand at my guards. They bow and head back down the hall.

Daenn closes the distance between us and offers me his arm. I almost refuse it, but reluctantly, I take it.

The material of his tunic is smooth and thin under my hand, leaving nothing to the imagination and doing nothing to hide the way his muscles flex at my touch. He is again wearing gloves; they are clearly a permanent fixture of his wardrobe these days.

He guides me into the hall. It truly does look like the entire clan has gathered, and I can’t help but grip Daenn’s arm tighter at the sight. Everyone stares at us.

There’s not as much fear as I expected—yes, there’s some, and there are certainly people who look on with disdain or scowls, but far more than I expect look at Daenn with respect.

Some even approach to speak with him. Everyone is undoubtedly reserved—both the clansmen and Daenn himself—but they don’t act like they fear him. And he listens to each and every one intently, asking questions and making suggestions about whatever it is they’ve approached him about. It doesn’t fit the picture I’ve constructed in my head. He’s not acting like the heavy-handed tyrant I expected. Like a monster who murders a man to steal his wife.

Their reception of me is more mixed. A few greet me enthusiastically with warm hugs, and one of the kitchen staff takes the time to point out they’ve made my favorite sweet cakes for my homecoming.

But others are more wary. No one says anything about what I’ve done with my new unnatural magic, but I can practically hear them all thinking it. I didn’t do it intentionally, wield it like an Elyri or a lowlander, but I’m not sure they care.

Given that three people are comatose in the infirmary, I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t want to be near me either.

As we finally make our way down the hallway after the festivities end, I’m so exhausted I’m almost tempted to curl up right here and go to sleep. Instead, I push my shoulders back and focus on keeping my steps steady. No need to show how weary I am.

“You should have told me you were tired,” Daenn says into the silence around us. “You didn’t have to stay so late.”

I blink. I guess I wasn’t hiding it as well as I hoped. “It would have been bad form to sneak away from a feast in our honor.” I can still remember how Tolomon snarled at me when I quietly suggested just that at a party his parents threw for us shortly after our marriage. It was the first time he truly lost his temper with me, and it shocked me into silent compliance.

Daenn stops walking and gives me a look. “When have I ever cared about ‘form’?”

A smile tugs at my lips before I realize. “You’re king now. Kings—” I stumble into silence as I realize what I’m doing.

We aren’t friendly. There’s no reason to speak to him like we are.

I clear my throat and quicken my pace. A thick disappointment wraps around my rib cage, a feeling I can’t even begin to account for .

I absently rub at the silver tattoo branded into my arm. There’s phantom residual heat to it. We can never be like we were before. Why can’t my heart understand that?

It’s a moment before I hear him start walking again, and the silence is much heavier than it was.

When we reach his room, he opens the door for me. I stride right in, already loosening the side ties on my dress—until I see him, out of the corner of my eye, closing the door behind him.

With him on this side of the door.

Horror curdles my gut.

Daenn is staying here tonight.