Page 43 of Wild Reverence

XXIX

Poison That Grows, Wild and Beautiful

MATILDA

I had forgotten two important things about mortal kind.

The first? Consummation on a wedding night was very important, particularly when it came to marriages forged by alliance.

The second? Humans needed to sleep at some point.

When Vincent and I returned to his room in the tower, it was late.

The rain had ceased, leaving behind cloying, damp air, and the clouds had broken into ribs, exposing a setting moon and a smattering of stars.

Mere hours from sunrise, I realized. Even so, I was not expecting the two attendants to be waiting at the door, to help me undress.

I did not expect them to wash and perfume my skin again, to remove the pearled snood and brush every tangle from my hair, and to leave me in nothing more than a thin chemise. My belt remained firm about my waist.

Vincent, likewise, was again seen to by his brother, who removed his armor, piece by piece, his glittering chainmail, and his boots before fetching him a clean tunic from the wardrobe and nothing else.

“Sleep well,” Nathaniel said with that mischievous smile of his, a gleam in his eyes as the attendants bowed and followed him out the door. “We shall see the two of you at sunrise.”

Vincent said nothing. In fact, it looked as if he had just set a lemon wedge into his mouth.

“Good night,” I said, and Nathaniel closed the door, leaving Vincent and me alone, hardly dressed, with distance that felt like the ocean between us.

A tense moment ticked by. I anxiously traced one of the moonstones on my belt. Vincent looked at me as I looked at him, and a thousand words seemed to gather on my tongue. A thousand words, and yet I could not utter a single one.

“You can take the bed,” Vincent said brusquely. “I will sleep on the floor.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” I replied, clearing my throat. “I do not need to sleep. Or if I do, very rarely, and it will not be done here. You may keep the bed, and I will sit before the fire, and think about all the things your uncle said tonight, and what we should plan for.”

To make my point, I moved to the chair I had sat in earlier, sinking deep within it. I gazed at the fire, watching it dance.

“What we should plan for?” Vincent repeated, and as I hoped, he followed me, settling in the adjacent chair. “Tell me your thoughts.”

“To begin with, your uncle has no intention of retreating. He will use these next three days to craft a new plan, one that now accounts for me. And I would not have agreed to give him this interim had I also not needed time to prepare.”

“What preparations?”

I glanced at him. “I need to go below tomorrow and speak with Bade. While I am gone, I believe you should not only call upon your own allies, if you have not already done so, but also begin to evacuate the children, the elderly, the craftspeople, the most vulnerable who live here and have no desire or skill to fight. Relocating them to a safe place will also be wise in case there is a siege. Your resources will last longer for the people who can fight, delaying starvation as long as possible.”

“I did not think to evacuate anyone,” Vincent confessed. “This castle is a difficult one to siege, due to the river. That is why the Becketts built here to begin with. If the eastern bridge falls, we still have the western one to transport provisions.”

“Yes, but you must consider that there is a chance someone could ally with Grimald from the western side of the river, cutting off resources.” I paused, watching Vincent frown. “Do you have allies? And, if so, where are they?”

“The western side of the river,” he answered wryly. “That is why I am not afraid of a siege. Hugh of Delavoy’s lands border mine. He fought with my father and brothers for Adria’s cause before Bade took her from us. They were brothers-in-arms then.”

There was a hint of anger in his voice when he spoke of Bade’s decision to take Adria below, to save her life by making her immortal.

It was a myth that had drenched mortal lands like a flood once Adria had become the goddess of peace.

I held my tongue, thinking this needed to be a conversation for another day.

But a memory rose all the same, one that hinged upon Adria and my first assignment as herald.

The moment I had seen Vincent, not in a dream but in the real world.

There had been two heraldic banners when his brothers had arrived on the moors, weary and broken from a lost war. The white flowers and river-blue banner of Beckett, as well as another that had been stark and torn against the sky.

“The three mountains?” I said.

“Yes. That is Hugh’s sigil.”

“And he is a sworn ally of yours? He has given you a vow he cannot break unless you release him?”

“He made an agreement with my father, which I have honored. He is permitted to cross our bridge whenever he needs to but that means he must also help us defend it should it come under fire.”

“So there is no sworn oath to you?”

Vincent was silent. It made me uneasy.

“Where is Hugh now?” I pressed. “Why is he absent? Where are his warriors, ready to defend the bridge?”

“Grimald arrived yesterday morning. As soon as he made camp, I sent a missive to Hugh by way of my fastest rider. It will take him time to gather his warriors, but he will come.”

“Do you want to send me?” I asked. “I can go and deliver any message you write.”

“No.”

I was surprised by how swiftly he answered, as if he had considered it.

“I want you here,” Vincent said. “The words I sent before are enough. He will come.”

“Then let us speak of the evacuation, because it should commence as soon as the sun rises. Where can your people go for the interim, where they will be safe?”

“The closest place I can think of is Drake Hall, the Delavoy ancestral home.”

Good, I thought. If this was a reluctant ally, it might change things when Vincent’s people arrived, eager to find refuge.

Vincent continued, “When you go below tomorrow, I will begin the evacuations to Drake Hall. Do you know how long you will be away, or when I can expect you to return?”

I shook my head. “No. But I should return soon. No longer than a day.” A weariness began to steal over me until I remembered our moment in the hall.

Our wedding feast, and how—when I had grasped his sleeve and leaned into him during the kiss—he had flinched.

“I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable tonight.”

“What are you speaking of?”

“During our kiss. I should not have taken hold of you. I should not have leaned into you.”

Vincent sighed, gazing into the fire. “You did not make me uncomfortable. You merely surprised me. I am not accustomed to such things.”

“Being touched?”

His eyes flickered to mine. “It has been a while, yes. And don’t think I failed to notice the very same in you, when we were walking to Fury Bridge.”

I knew what he implied. He spoke of the moment when he touched the small of my back.

And I did not tell him that the last hands to touch me in such a way had been possessive, sometimes rough, eager to draw out my secrets.

I did not tell him that I rarely slept in another’s presence because I feared they would kill me for my power, even when I was beside a lover, and that to fully rest and surrender beneath someone else’s hands and mouth and eyes was a vulnerability I could not risk.

But with Vincent… he had always been gentle, even in dreams when childhood had started to melt from our bodies and we had slowly become more aware of ourselves. How easily he could have used me in those moments, and yet he never had.

“Would now be a good time to practice?” I asked.

He stared at me for such a long moment I thought he had not heard me. That perhaps I had only thought it, an echo of what I wanted. Until he held out his hand.

“Yes,” Vincent said. “Come closer to me.”

My fingers slid across his. When he tugged on mine, I rose, walking to where he sat. Wordlessly, he invited me to sit on his lap and I settled close to him, feeling the warmth of his legs seep into the backs of my thighs.

I turned until I could look upon his face, our mouths close, our eyes aligned. I draped one of my arms across the expanse of his shoulders.

“Will you show me?” he asked, a throaty whisper that made the hair rise on my arms. “Show me where I should touch you?”

I swallowed and reached for one of his hands.

“You can touch me here,” I said, bringing his palm to my shoulder, the shadowed dip of my collarbone.

“And here.” I guided his fingers down the full length of my arm.

“As well as here.” I set his hand on my waist, just below my belt.

I watched as Vincent glanced down, his thumb gently pressing on one of the moonstones.

I realized, too late, that it was the Gatekeeper’s eye.

“This is an odd stone,” he said, studying the shadows within the gem. How they resembled lashes, fanning across pale skin. “Like a sleeping eye.”

I huffed a nervous laugh, drawing up my sundial on its chain, keen to distract him.

“And this is how I keep time when I am in another realm,” I explained, and my plan worked.

Vincent cupped the sundial in his palm, gazing down at it.

“I can see the sun’s strength here, and can tell if it’s dawn, midday, afternoon, or eventide.

And this”—I paused to grasp its companion chain and orb—“is my lunar disk.” I set the mirror that reflected the moon’s phase into his palm. “Another way for me to keep time.”

“Where did you come by these?” Vincent asked, unable to hide his awe.

“The disks are from my father. The belt was from my mother.”

“And who are your parents?”

I hesitated, realizing too late that he had snared me as I had snared him.

Vincent’s gaze lifted, meeting mine. He let the sundial and lunar disk slip from his palm; I felt them dangle on their chains.

“You don’t have to answer me,” he said, his palm returning to my waist. My chemise gathered beneath his touch. “But I would like to know more about you, Matilda.”