I let the silence stretch. Stefan ran a hand over his face, keeping it there for a moment to cover his eyes. And then he sighed and dropped it, drawing himself up so that he stood rigidly straight, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.
He met my eyes steadily, so much so that I had to force myself not to look away. I’d never seen that expression on his face, and it chilled me, all the way down to my bones.
His voice stayed as level as his gaze, as even as his posture, as he said, “An estate in Arthovia, right on our border with them. Not huge, but large enough to allow its owner a seat in the Arthovi landholders’ council. It was…forgotten about, after your father’s execution, because as it’s outside of Calatria, itcouldn’t legally be confiscated by the Calatrian throne. Now it’s yours.” He paused, jaw working. “And mine, of course.”
Of course. My mind had ground to a halt, my mouth too dry to answer him.
Forgotten about. Hidden, he meant. Since it couldn’t be confiscated, the Lord Chancellor had been able to slip it past whichever clerks audited my father’s property records. That had been my inference, hadn’t it? That the Lord Chancellor had needed me to legitimize his family’s possession of something he couldn’t openly use otherwise. And that Stefan had known about it and had endorsed his father’s plan to do so.
And yet hearing him admit it aloudhurt, a stabbing in my side like I’d been running for too long.
“We’ve had tension with Arthovia of late,” he went on. “The full explanation would surely bore you—”
“Bore me?” Oh, how dare he? The condescending ass! “Bore me, Stefan? You mean you don’t want to give me a full explanation. I suggest you try. And if I’m too stupid to comprehend it, you can use smaller words until I do.”
“I beg your pardon,” he said, after a startled pause, his eyebrows rising. “I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Yes, you bloody well did!”
Stefan’s lips pressed together tightly. Trying to keep in another reflexive lie?
It shocked me when he said simply, “Yes, I did. Please excuse me. You’re right that I didn’t want to explain fully, but it’s largely because the crown can’t afford loose lips on this matter. I trust your discretion, but—it’s not only my reputation at stake here. It’s not my own business, but Calatria’s.”
The crown couldn’t afford loose lips on this matter? That strongly implied that Lord Benedict had been lying to my face, too, at least by omission. Maybe the mighty Lord Consort didn’t owe me a damn thing, and certainly not state secrets, but afterhis fine words about fellow twilight mages and understanding what I was going through, it cut like a lash.
I couldn’t afford to feel it now. Later, but not now.
“You’ve made it my business, though. And it was from the beginning, whether you like it or not, because the land was mine by right.”
A short silence fell, broken by my uneven breathing. Stefan’s face hardened, as if he’d come to a decision.
“I choose to trust you,” he said, and the words came out in almost a tone of surprise, as if he’d never even imagined choosing to trust someone in his life. “We’ve been fighting off the northern raiders for many years. You know that.” I nodded. Everyone knew that. The summer campaigns were a Calatrian fact of life. Treviso had kept goodwill with the Calatrian people in large part because he’d been such a skilled soldier and commander, protecting our populace well despite his insanity. “Under Benedict’s command, we’ve been fighting them more and more successfully. As a result, they’ve turned their attention to the villages on the Arthovi side of the mountains, even though the terrain’s harder to navigate. Arthovia blames us for that, or they’re trying to, because they don’t want to commit troops and resources to defending their own land, and they want us to do it for them. I was part of a diplomatic delegation to Arthovia until I returned a month ago. The talks went nowhere. But I wasn’t there to talk. I was there to…gather information.”
To spy, he meant. My mind whirled, everything I knew about Stefan shifting and reforming and slotting into place. His effete posturing, his drawling manner, his fucking quizzing glass: all the accessories of a man who didn’t want to be taken seriously, so that his real purpose, while lounging about foreign capitals, wouldn’t be suspected.
And I’d made the same mistake the Arthovians had. Did it hurt more or less to know that he hadn’t used me for his own purposes, but out of patriotism? It burned like acid either way.
“All right,” I managed to choke out. “So you, what, hope to use your new foothold in the Arthovi government to…” I didn’t know enough about politics or diplomacy to begin to imagine how he’d turn that to Calatria’s advantage. But he would. Of course he would. He was Lord Ettori’s son, through and through.
“Yes,” he said. “The plan was for me to take my seat on the council or to designate a proxy to do so, and to get to know some of the members whose estates are vulnerable to the raiders. Stir up dissatisfaction with the king’s lack of action. And any member can propose motions for a vote. It’s one of the rare times my father and I have been in agreement on a course of action, although I swear to you, Remi, our motives are different. He hopes to gain a foothold in Arthovia. Maybe foment rebellion, even. I just want them to defend their own country. How many more Calatrian soldiers should have to die because we’re fighting their war along with our own? While their king won’t divert funds from his own fucking palace renovation to do what’s necessary to protect his own people?”
Sincerity rang in his every word, and I started to laugh, a sick, hoarse sound that held no amusement at all. I staggered a few steps to my dressing table, propping myself on the edge of it with my face in my hands, sucking in as much air as I could.
“Remi?” His worried voice suddenly came from much closer to me. He touched my shoulder, hand wrapping around as if to support me. “Remi, fuck, what—”
“Don’t!” The hand fell away. I lowered my own and looked up at him, his white face and startled eyes, nothing but fear and concern for me—the man he’d used. The man hewouldn’t have had to use, if he’d only been capable of trust a little sooner. “Don’t,” I repeated. “Don’t touch me.”
He fell back a step, almost stumbling, and nodded, the hand clenching into a fist at his side as if he had to prevent himself from reaching out again by force of will.
At another moment, it might have softened me, that urgent desire to help me in my moment of weakness. But not now.
“I haven’t lost my mind,” I said. “But that’s a worthy goal. Even worth giving up my inheritance. If you’d come to the abbey. If you’d told me the truth. If you’d asked me, asked me instead of participating in this, in this—” My voice broke and trailed off into silence. I couldn’t explain any further.
But he nodded again, and he said, with savage force, “I wish to the gods I had.” After a long, miserable moment, he said more quietly, “There’s one thing I want you to know. He really did tell me you were eager to leave the abbey. He didn’t mention your sister at all. You have my word on that.” Gods, if that was true…I prayed it was, for the sake of Stefan’s soul, if for no other reason. I didn’t answer, and he sighed. “For the rest, I trust you not to tell anyone what I’ve told you. I do. But I do need to know how you found out about this. The Arthovi estate. All of it. And what you told the High Priest about our marriage. A hint of this getting out to the spies Arthovia absolutely has here in Nevaia could be disastrous.”
“I told him nothing about my suspicions, only enough to make sure you couldn’t lock me in the attic like you threatened,” I said, my tone as dull as my miserable thoughts. Gods, I needed to be alone. “As for how I found out? I guessed, Stefan. I fucking figured it out on my own! Because nothing else made sense. There wasn’t any other reason,” and I had to stop, my chest tight, and try to suck in enough air to fill my lungs, “for you to do this.Me. To marry me. For either of you to choose me out of everyone in the world who’s handsomer and richer and more important.”
His lips pressed together. “Richer and more important, certainly,” he said at last. “But not cleverer. And not handsomer, either, although you’re not really handsome, are you? Beautiful is the word I’d use.”
