27. Pillory

The door shut and I turned back to face the room, but remained staring at my ranunculus, my right hand having returned to my pocket and the hagstone within.

I resolved not to speak first.

Absolute quiet was broken by the crackle from the fireplace.

Apparently, Alric had resolved not to speak first as well.

I looked up to find that same look at me from under those well-shaped brows, his face and figure remaining in that same pose.

“Thank you,”

I began, despite my resolution.

“For what do you thank me?”

he asked, his voice flat.

“I’m sure you did not have to allot what you did for each woman.

We will all be comfortable in the summer, warm in the winter.

And I am sorry if it leaves you bereft.

I know that was a lot of coin.”

“I certainly cannot retire when I had intended,”

he answered.

I winced.

“Again, I apologize.

It was… an unfair sentence.”

“Do you not understand, truly, how kingship works?”

he asked, lifting his elbow from the fireplace to cross his arms.

He rested the back of his head against the wall behind him.

“I understand that what he says is law—”

“No, that is not what you lack understanding.

You do not question his sentence.

Even when it seems unfair, you obey your king, unconditionally.

You have much to learn about Tintar.”

“You mean the place I have just arrived?”

I quipped, all of my patience gone.

If his face ever showed any expression, I would imagine the tiny quirk of his mouth was his way of smirking.

“You are without a king and without a god.

And now you have King Hinnom and Mother Earth to serve.

And you are without the appropriate discipline to do so.”

“Then I must learn, mustn’t I?”

My affirmation did not amuse him and his mouth flattened even more.

Then he said, “You really must, madam.

Or I may as well have cut you down back in that little chapel.

Your new king is not to be underestimated and my goddess is not unkind, but she is just.

Serve her well.

Serve both well, I beg of you.

As you are to be my wife, I will not be dragged down with your disrespect.”

“Why are you making this difficult?”

I said.

“Neither of us want this.

I know I do not.

And I would imagine, based on your ire, you do not want to have anything to do with me.

But we can learn to abide each other.

Unless you think we can attain a divorce after a time.”

“Our king rarely untangles his own webs.”

I sighed.

“I do not mean to be contentious.”

“You do not mean to be contentious.

And yet you could have accepted your fate back in Eccleston and saved everyone the trouble.”

I fought for my breath.

“There are times, captain,”

I said, once I had found it, “where you seem a decent man.

And then there are times when I find myself wondering if you have a heart beating inside your chest.”

His glare was contemptuous.

“I think,”

I continued, “you are not angry with me.

I think you are angry with yourself.”

“Is that so? Please tell me why, Edith.”

The use of my name nearly unseated me, but I was too irritated.

“You are angry with yourself, Alric, because you fell for my ruse.

Your soldiers, these Procurers as you call them, they fell for it too.

And you must now live with that mistake.

But we all have to live with our mistakes, so I—”

“Oh believe me, madam,”

he cut me off.

“You are quite the mistake.”

We stood staring at each other, him in repose, me leaning into the back of the couch, gripping it with my hands, my chest expanding with breath I tried to slow.

His eyes dipped, ever so quickly, below.

Ah, yes, I thought to myself.

He cannot forget that I am a woman.

I was not a woman unversed in seduction, having had my share of lovers in my time in Eccleston, but neither was I that rare pedigree of woman who can use her wiles to erect an entire existence that is to her advantage.

However, I saw this as an arrow in my quiver.

“I agree,”

I said.

“I am a mistake.

Your mistake.

That you must marry.”

“That I must marry,”

he repeated, his voice no longer flat but bitter.

I tilted my head to one side.

“Which rumor shall I endorse, captain?”

He blinked.

“Elaborate.”

I thought of Zinnia’s earlier explanation.

“There are two.

I will, as a graceful and supportive wife, only confirm what you prefer.

There is the rumor that you took one look at me and you were enraptured, you could not cut me down.

Or my companions.

Priestesses or no.

What actually transpired, my disguise, is another rumor.

Which shall it be?”

He looked away from me and dropped his arms.

He walked towards a chair, one facing mine and put his hands on the back.

“It matters not,”

he replied.

“Both bring me tremendous shame.”

A tautness in the back of my throat rose.

How dare he? Was I so undesirable to be considered a bride? Plenty of men had hinted at marriage in Eccleston, but I had never encouraged anything more than casual affection and mutual satisfaction.

I was already married to Thrush.

I understood the man’s disgrace at resignedly believing us clerics of Agnes, but must he be cruel? “So you are ashamed at your thinking me a priestess?”

“I knew,”

he said, hands flexing on the chair, but his face still smooth.

“I knew you were deceptive.

But I was tired and I could not find your Council of Ten, cowards that they are, breaking our trade agreements and knowing your city would be invaded, hiding from Tintar and letting their constituents be slaughtered.

And my men, most of them, are prone to faith in luck and therefore, they believe in a lack of luck and killing clerics would guarantee an utter lack of luck.

I let them vote and I should not have.

So, yes, it brings me shame.

I let my weariness and my men cloud out my better judgment.”

I did not ask what shame the first rumor would bring, how shameful being my husband was and why.

“So, you are determined to be difficult?”

“I am determined,”

he began, “to marry you and never speak to you again.”

“You are a child, sir.”

“And you, madam,”

he snapped, voice now strident and enraged as he came out from around the chair, walking towards me, “are a pillory.

You are a pillory.

You are my pillory and I cannot get out.

Even if I am granted a divorce after this marriage, this mockery of a marriage, the shadow of this will never leave my reputation.

These are shackles to which, it would seem, there is no key.”

In all the days and nights in Nyossa, he had never lost his patience.

Even when cutting the neck of one of his own men, he had not shown the whites of his eyes.

He had only raised his voice to be heard, never with emotion.

This temper was new.

He had left me speechless.

I had no rejoinder.

I whirled on my feet, black skirts flying and charged into the corridor, door slamming behind me.

In a haze of outrage, I somehow made my way back to the dormitory, my hand running over the dark blue rock.

When I arrived and stepped inside to find the women having each chosen a bed and undressed to their shifts, I realized I had found it easily and this surprised me.

They had lit a candle in the sconces because the dormitory had no window.

It must have been placed further in the center of the keep, neither on the Pikestully side nor the sea side.

I would sleep little tonight without a window.

I found Helena’s cot, removed my boots and dress and slipped in next to her.

She turned on her side and faced me.

“Thank you for the mural,”

she whispered.

“You are a bland cook.

Not bad, just very uninspired.

I cannot have you in the kitchens being yelled at for using too few spices.”

She gave me a ghost of a smile.

“And Maureen too.

I owe you much.”

“You have paid me a debt I can never return with your friendship.”

“As you have paid to me.

You will not be able to sleep without a window?”

I shook my head.

“I cannot.

I will need the lightleaf every night.”

“Well,”

she started.

“What?”

“Won’t you be sharing quarters with the captain? After tomorrow.”

I closed my eyes.

“I had not even thought of it.”

“You likely will.”

“He hates me.

I do not think he would mind if I stayed here.

He will prefer it, if I were a betting soul.”

“This king is a terror.

I believe they will make this marriage as real as they can so as to appease his …insanities.”

“You really think so?”

“I do.

Are you scared?”

“Of the captain? No.

I mean, I dislike him and he me.

But I believe he will not try to have his way with me if that’s what you mean.”

I regretted my words immediately.

“Oh, forgive me.

That was so insensitive—”

“Do not,”

she interjected.

“Do not.

I will weather this.

Like any other woman it has ever happened to.

Do not treat me as some delicate thing.”

I leaned in and placed my forehead to hers.

She continued.

“I need to say something because I want it to be said at least once.

And I need to say it to someone and you are my kindred.”

“Whatever you want to say, I have two ears for you. Always.”

She had not shown grief since her assault, but now her eyes fell shut and I felt her brow crease.

The tip of her nose grazed my own.

Her voice a cracked whisper, she confessed, “I think he thought I was Maureen.

In the mist.

I can never tell her, Edie.”