CHAPTER 38

The next day a letter arrived from Etyan. Rhia had not seen Markave since their conversation, but she needed to give him space to consider her offer. She read the letter alone in her study.

Ree,

I’m so sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing, offering myself up at the Council like that, but it probably just made things worse. Of course no one wanted me. I’m a freak and a monster.

I can’t stand it in the city, it’s so crowded and dark, and everything reminds me of when I had a life there. I have no life now. I may as well be miserable here at the villa as anywhere! Don’t worry, I’m not going to run off again, and if you need me you can send for me. I know this is a difficult time for you, but I’d be no use to you, even if I was there. I’d just make you more stressed, worrying about me too. It’s better that I’m here.

I’ve told Mereut to keep the wine cellar locked. Like I said, I’m done with running away, inside or outside my head. But I do need some time alone, to think.

with love – E.

She refolded the parchment. Perhaps it was for the best, at least for now, that Etyan remove himself from the city. He was still a mess but he was behaving rationally. All his life she had urged him to think, and now, having run out of other options, he was finally doing so.

That evening Markave asked if they could talk alone. She led him into the parlour, sat down, smiled, and waited for him to speak.

Still standing, he said, “M’lady, I have been giving thought to your proposition but I am not sure how it would work.”

“In what way?” So many ways, she thought despite herself, but she kept her tone even.

“I am a commoner. I could never be the head of a noble House.” He sounded scandalised at the thought.

“You would not be. I have taken advice on this. You would, in effect, be my consort, with no holdings of your own save what I grant you.”

“I see.” He sounded relieved. “But if that is the case, how does this help House Harlyn?”

“It would give the House an heir.”

“An heir?” His voice was high, panicked. “Yes. It may be… our child, if we have one.” Hurriedly, she continued. “But if not, I have drawn up documents which make your children, by your first marriage, my legal heirs.”

“How can that be? They are not of noble blood either.”

“No, so once we are married I would formally adopt Tador and Kerne. There is legal precedent. It cannot be challenged in law.” Not that it would stop the Council trying if, this time next year, all that remained of House Harlyn was her self-exiled brother and Markave and his sons. Or son.

“And you are sure this is the best way, for the House, m’lady?”

“I believe so.”

“I ask because… I heard there was some hostility from the Houses major at the Grand Council, and I can understand your ladyship not wanting to seek a husband amongst them. But perhaps one of the minor lords…?”

“That is not going to happen. They would gain very little from it, given the terms I would impose, save the enmity of the Houses major.”

“Are the majors really determined to bring about our downfall?”

Rhia felt a flush of warmth at that “our”. “It appears so. But I – we – will fight them. And rather than doing so in the company of some minor lord thinking to take advantage of my House’s travails, I would do it with you at my side, Markave. You are… you have always been important to me.” Her face felt hot. “And I trust you utterly.”

Her steward nodded once. “Thank you.” After a moment he said, “I need to speak to Tador, and to my sister, about this.”

“Naturally. Please do that, with my blessing.”

“I will visit them tomorrow.” His family had come to the house to see Kerne a couple of times since he had fallen ill; Rhia had stayed out of the way to avoid any awkwardness.

The silence stretched. Rhia realised he was waiting for her to dismiss him. How would that work if they were married? She cranked her already forced smile wider, nodded and said, “I will keep you no longer.”

He returned a smile as uncomfortable as hers, and left.

She should tell Etyan what she was planning with their steward. But not yet. It may not even happen. Markave left around mid-morning, having first asked her, with that uneasy air he had developed, if she might watch his boy. Although she had finally been getting somewhere with the celestial model, she agreed at once.

Kerne was not doing well. The fever had reasserted itself, bringing a cyclic delirium. He would twitch and grasp at the covers before falling back into an uneasy sleep, eyes darting behind lids as the disease infected his mind with formless horrors. It had been this way with Father too, and watching her apprentice now was an unwanted reminder of that earlier loss. But watch him she must: in this state the sufferer might swallow their tongue or fall from the bed.

Markave’s first wife had died of rain-fever too. And that period, when they were both grieving, had been when she had come to see him, privately, as more than a trusted servant. It had been an odd, awkward attraction, never returned; she was not sure if Markave had even noticed. And it was long gone, replaced with something more complex, a mix of familiarity, trust and mutual understanding that she hoped they might build on now.

His second wife had died a traitor, something which still appeared to cause embarrassment, as though he were somehow responsible for her wickedness. He had not wanted to talk about it then, and she doubted he would now.

Kerne gave a weird hiccoughing gasp, drawing Rhia back into the moment. His face showed raw horror, even as he subsided on the pillows. On impulse, Rhia took his hand, offering what small comfort she could. She had read, in the enquirers’ papers, that to touch an infected person was unwise, but the rain-fever did not appear to spread like other diseases, seeming to strike almost at random.

Her touch appeared to help; Kerne sighed, his face settling into less anguished lines. She looked at his hand, calloused and hot in her grasp. When was the last time she had held someone’s hand? His nails were still bitten back to the quick; she never had found time to dig out that cure Father had given her.

Markave was out all day. When Brynan offered to take a turn watching Kerne, Rhia fled to her study, tinkering with the celestial model, then when that was too much copying some papers. She was too distracted for mathematics.

That evening she and her steward met in the parlour again, though this time they both sat down without anything being said. Rhia asked gently, “Have you reached a decision?”

“I believe I have, m’lady.”

“Good. I… just want to say again that whatever your choice is, I will honour it.”

“Thank you.” He dipped his head, then raised it and managed to meet her eyes. “I will do it, m’lady.”

She felt a genuine note steal into the smile she was wearing. “Thank you.”

“It is, as you say, the only sensible course.” His own smile softened. “And it is not an unpleasant prospect, if m’lady will forgive me for saying so.”

What was he saying? Did he have feelings for her, as she once had for him?

He must have seen her expression, as he half raised a hand. “Please, do not think I harbour any… inappropriate emotions, m’lady. It is just that I have known you all your life, seen you grow and change. I respect and admire you, even as – and I hope I may speak freely here – you sometimes perplex me; your mind is extraordinary, if you do not mind me saying so.”

“I… do not. I am flattered. And I think we should practise speaking freely to each other. We need to get used to that.”

“As m’lady wishes.” He spoke with a shy humour, something she had not seen from him before.

“You know that you will have to learn to call me Rhia.”

“That thought had occurred.” He cleared his throat. “There will never be a good time to ask this, so I will say it now, before we are committed further. Would I be able to draw on a small fraction of the House’s funds to help make my family more comfortable? My sister’s husband has been ill for some time.”

“I had no idea.” Why would she? Before now Markave’s personal life had been a closed book to her. “You could have asked anyway.”

“That would not have been appropriate.”

“I suppose not. This illness, is it… treatable?”

“It is not rain-fever but a condition he has had some time. There are herbs that alleviate it but they are unfortunately somewhat beyond my sister’s means.”

“Of course I will make funds available to your family. They will be my family too, after all.” What a peculiar prospect. With a sudden swerve not unlike that she had felt after the Council, she saw this union from her steward’s point of view, of the amazing good luck it represented for an ordinary family in the middle city. But that did not change what marrying Markave did for her, and her House.

“Thank you. I imagine there are preparations to be made.”

“Preparations? Oh, for our wedding.” How odd to say those words. “It will not be a sumptuous affair, Markave.”

“I am glad to hear it, m’lady.” Then he coloured, and corrected himself. “Rhia.”