That is the only comfort she refuses to provide. Why? Because she is a sad, lonely woman with far too many outrageous fantasies about a man who has attempted and threatened to kill her. Call it jealousy or an obsession, but it is her money, and she’ll be damned if Sigvid gets laid once a week while she lay crying over what her fingers couldn’t provide.
“And why do I even have to bring this up? He is Sigvid bloody Thordsson. Avina, this is the man who burned Timber Province villages and fields to the freaking ground! He pillaged towns and didn’t just kill your soldiers. No, he committed war crimes on deserters and prisoners of war fromyourarmy. Yet, you feel guilty because your advisors forced him to fight for his life? What did you have in mind for his fate?”
Avina refuses to respond and instead finishes her second glass of wine. Her cheeks flush a dusty rose, but whether from the sweet wine or his accusation that she holds affection for someone like the Salt Prince is unclear.
Ha! Affection for Sigvid? Bertie’s sense of humor is ripe from the wine.
“I worry for you, Shadow. You have a big heart and trust too easily. That’s all.”
Bertie drops the subject, and they lapse into people-watching while munching on a tray of crostini appetizers they stole from a table of Timber lords.
“Bertie?” She considers the bit of information Sigvid relinquished during the torture. A tiny nugget of knowledge she has spent some ofher free time exploring. And now, without letters to trace back, she decides to ask the man who knows everything and everyone in the Ridge.
He looks over at her with a quizzical expression.
“Have you heard of a Lord Leto back home?”
“Ah, you mean Lord Lembo-”
“No.” She interrupts more harshly than she intends. “I am certain I mean Lord Leto.”
He chuckles at her intensity. “Shadow, you still spend a chunk of your time in the Sapphire Palace-”
“I am coming to you because you know everyone, and your memory of people and places is impeccable. Please, Bertie.”
“Which is why I find it comical that you came up with some wildly fabricated name like Leto. It reminds me of the ‘wager wigs’ the older royals pick during their closed-door gambling den sessions.”
Her vacant eyes must be enough for him because he sighs and leans closer. “Your grandfather started secret gambling dens for him and his buddies to hide away from their wives. The men enjoy wearing masks and donning false names. I went once and found the whole thing extravagantly cloak and dagger.”
“Does anyone use the name Leto?” She presses.
He shrugs. “No one to my knowledge.”
“I need another drink.” She disappears and pours herself two glasses of wine, finishing them both at the bar before jerking him to the dance floor. They spin unsteadily under the black night. He twirls her around, fluttering her short black dress around her kneecaps.
Her attire did not need to be stately at the Arena due to the rule prohibiting any overt political maneuvering from occurring. Instead, she will enjoy good alcohol and excellent music while wearing a dress that would appall someone like Duke Samson.
“You know, cousin. I may not be attracted to women,” he pauses to drain a bottle of wine he had absconded with, “but you are prettier than you give yourself credit. No, don’t shake your head at me, Shadow. Tell me Rendel isn’t the only man you’ve been with.”
Avina cradles an unopened bottle of wine in her left hand while herright throws the last of some ginger mead from the Salt Province down her throat.
“Unfortunately.”
“Oh ho, what about the night of your engagement party?”
Her blush betrays her thoughts to Bertie.
“Ah, ha! And I'm telling you now, that man was Prince Sigvid.” Bertie bursts into uncharacteristic giggles.
Is this his third or fourth bottle of wine?
“Is that the reason for your obsession during that whole war mess?” He waves his hand as if a ‘war mess’ is something you encounter daily. “Because you hoped he would finish what he started in Uncle Ceowald’s study?” He slurs his words.
Avina laughs so hard that she pulls a stitch from her side. “You are so drunk.”
“And you are not drunk enough. Here.” He pops the cork of her bottle and then hands it back.
Avina doesn’t think and takes a long swig.
