Valenna’s lip trembled and she bit it. “If you’re blaming me for his death, then you may join me. I blame myself for that as well.”
This seemed to disarm Asherton. “He would not have wanted you to.”
The baby wailed and broke the spell between them.
Asherton sniffed and straightened. “We’ll talk at dinner.”
“We shall,” Valenna replied.
Chapter 33
Dinner was a blur. Magdala didn’t sit at the table, but waited behind Asherton like a shadow. Dressed in black, her hands folded in front of her, she stood in a long line of similarly clad bodyguards, all stony-faced and impassive. She shrank from them, doubting any of them had the bad judgment to fall in love with their charges.
Originally, Asherton was seated at the head of the table, but when Valenna entered—pale and tragic in purple silk, flowers woven into her glossy black hair—Asherton relinquished his seat to a befuddled duke and moved to sit beside her.
Magdala couldn’t help but notice how lovely Valenna was, and how vulnerable in her state of grief—a grief she and Asherton shared. He was anxious to speak with her—excited. Like he’d been carrying a heavy load for months and had found someone to share it with.
As he took his seat beside her, Asherton cut Valenna a charming smile and kissed her hand. Only when he smirked at Magdala did she realize she’d rolled her eyes.
She couldn’t make out what they were saying, but more than once, Valenna had to dash away a tear. Magdala grew increasingly miserable as servants wafted past her like shewas an empty suit of armor and Asherton leaned closer to Valenna. When the pheasant was reduced to a skeleton and the plates were piles of fruit pits and bones, Asherton finally stood. He took Valenna’s hand and helped her up—something he’d never done for Magdala. Not that she would have let him, but everything needled her that evening. Valenna’s dress fit her too well, her eyes were too beautiful even when red-rimmed with tears, her waist was too narrow, her hair too wavy, her skin too smooth.
“They’ll have food for you in the kitchen,” Asherton said in Magdala’s ear.
Magdala started. “I’m not going to leave you unattended …”
“Zephyr is with me,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at Zephyr, who was asleep in his chair, a napkin tucked into the collar of his century-old military uniform.
Magdala searched his face. “I don’t trust you.”
He squeezed her arm. “I have to go and sign my new policy into law. It will take a few hours, but no one is allowed in the room with me, except my mother. Not even you.”
“Remember the plan,” she said. “Tax cuts. Only tax cuts.”
He offered her a wan smile, but his eyes followed Valenna as she floated from the dining room. Why did the woman seem lighter than when she arrived? What had Asherton said to her?
“Go on and get something to eat,” Asherton said softly.
As she walked toward the servants’ kitchen, Magdala passed Angelonia coming down the corridor. She wore a dark blue, shimmering dress and had tears painted on hercheeks in white ink. Her new bodyguard was a hulking woman who had once dislocated Magdala’s shoulder in training.
Magdala nodded to the bodyguard out of professional courtesy.
“You know he’s a murderer, don’t you?” Angelonia's shrill voice startled Magdala. “You know he deserves whatever he gets.”
“The prince didn’t kill Julian," Magdala said. “I’m sorry that you haven’t found the justice you want.”
Angelonia spun on her heel and swept away, muttering curses. Despite her misguided hatred, Magdala felt sorry for her. She imagined how she would react if someone killed Asherton. Her chest flooded with rage at the thought, and she hurried to the kitchen.
The kitchen was alive with clattering pots and clinking crystal. The air fogged with steam from giant copper washbasins bubbling with boiling water. Servants filled metal baskets with dirty dishes and lowered them into the basins, then pulled them out and scrubbed them with horsehair brushes.
The bodyguards sat around a scratched wooden table, eating their own modest but adequate dinner. They laughed, shared jokes, and gossiped about their charges in the conspiratorial, contemptuous way employees like to speak of their employers.
It was all so different from Elegy—the lines between the guard and the guarded sharp as razors.
Choking down mashed potatoes and beef stew, Magdala missed Asherton so badly, her appetite soured. Since she arrived at Elegy over a month ago, Magdala hadn’t been away from him for more than a few moments at a time, and without him at her elbow, with his flirting and his quips, she was devouringly bored. Perhaps she had been bored her whole life, but only now noticed. The way you don’t realize how lovely it is to be warm in your own home until you’re outside in a frost.
“How was your prince today?” asked the woman who guarded Olivette, the queen of Sennalaith. Olivette, Magdala had learned, was both Valenna’s sister and had been the grinning older woman with her on the stairs. Her guard was a massive woman with bulging biceps and dark hair.
“He’s … a handful,” Magdala replied awkwardly.
