42

Rhiannon

Petén wakes with a headache for the fifth day in a row. It’s tedious, considering this is our honeymoon. But really, the decline must be gradual. Slower, even, than his father’s.

“Tea!” he orders his valet as he rubs his temples.

“No need to shout, love,” I say softly.

“Who’s shouting?”

“But my, you’ve awakened with a temper again. Headache no better?”

“Where’s Darren?” he says and tries to sit up.

“Laying out your clothes, of course. Stop panicking.”

“I’m hardly panicking.”

I lean over him and kiss the air near his cheek. “Drink this, husband.” I offer a steaming mug.

“It’s not helping.” But he takes the cup anyway. When he leans forward to kiss me back, I’m up, flouncing pillows and opening the curtains.

He blinks at the sun. “What bell is it?”

“Are we feeling better for the rest?” I skip past his questions.

“No, we are not. But damn the bones if I’ll let that stop me from attending the council meeting.” He shouts again for Darren.

“Oh, dear. Did you mean to attend?” I keep my voice light and sweet. “I would have awakened you earlier, of course, if I’d known, but you were ill in the night, and I just assumed…”

“I missed another meeting?”

All the yelling can’t be making the headache any better, but I don’t point it out. He’s like a wounded bear today. “You can attend tomorrow’s. Master Brogal has a special request but wanted to direct it to you, specifically.”

Petén glugs down the brew. “I’ll definitely attend tomorrow. Wake me, regardless of my state.” He struggles out of bed and stands, but it takes effort.

Darren appears, quiet and innocuous, as usual. He holds out Petén’s trousers and takes his robe.

“I assume you were there?” Petén asks me. It’s an accusation, as if I am to blame for his ill health. Well…fair enough.

“Was I at the council meeting?”

“Yes, damn the bones, the council meeting!”

I cross my arms and raise one brow.

He rubs his temples harder. “Sorry, love. Sorry. None of this is your fault.”

“We’ve been married less than a week. I do hope this isn’t going to be how you plan on speaking to me for the rest of our lives.”

“It’s not. Of course it’s not.” He coughs and draws a deep breath. “But we were to decide on the defense tactics, specifically this year’s budget for the shipyards. I wanted to push to keep taxes down and increase the watchtower rosters. We could have had warning of the Aturnian assault if…”

“Oh, my husband. Warning or not wouldn’t have changed the outcome. Aturnia put a hundred ships on our shore. A few more minutes in advance knowledge is not the solution.”

He winces at every word. I imagine my voice, which I’ve raised just a notch, is like knives at the base of his skull about now. “You’re forgetting the savants, Rhiannon. If our callers had been ready…”

“Half measures at best. Remember what Jacas, peace be his path, wanted?” I smooth my voice into velvet cloth.

“Yes, but—”

“He wanted a navy,” I keep going. “A real defense against attack by sea.”

“I remember, of course. But how can we build a fleet without straining the resources of our people? They’re already overburdened as it is.”

“Our people are resourceful. They can give more, for their ultimate good.”

He hunches, his head swiveling slowly toward me. “What did you do?”

“I approved the vote to increase the taxes and triple the workforce on the shipyards, starting immediately. It’s what Jacas would have wanted.”

“You what?” He tries to shout me down but coughs instead. Petén’s weaker than I thought. He reels and sits hard on the bed.

I take the cup from his hand and push him back against the pillows. Darren steps up but I dismiss him with a wave. “This is why I’ve been standing in for you.” I smooth his dark hair back from his forehead. Such a handsome face, I remind myself. “You’ll be better tomorrow. We’ll talk about it when it makes more sense.”

Petén stares at the ceiling, his eyes watery and bloodshot. He tries to fight the tonic, but his lids grow heavy and close. I don’t know what tendrils of dreams flood his mind, but I know by the jerks and grimaces they aren’t pleasant. Part of me wishes it wasn’t so, but…there’s no going back now.

As he fades into a restless sleep, I open drawers and close them as quietly as I can. Where is it, damn the bones?

The one document I need in my possession and it’s nowhere to be found? Looks like I’ll have to enlist a Bone Thrower to find where he put the wretched thing. Married a week and already counting the days until the end…