She can feel Seymour’s eyes on her for the rest of the journey. She tries to gauge which direction they’re going. She thinks they are on the south side of the island, perhaps not too far from Cnothan. The road is jarring, and soon the ache in her lower back cannot be relieved even by moving. When she shifts again, Seymour says, “You are not used to the slightest discomfort, are you?”
“Why should I feel ashamed of that? I dare say neither were you before you ran away from my brother.”
That shuts her up. Cecilia decides to have some fun.
“Whydidyou run away from Henry? If you’d been clever enough, you could have kept your dull little palace and worked against him without him realising.”
“I would not expect you to understand.”
Cecilia laughs, then kicks her shoes off and curls her feet underneath herself. “It is as I thought. You were too stupid to be able to enact a clever plan.”
“If you wish to think so,” Seymour says. Cecilia leans forward, meaning to pinch her again. Quick as her panther, Seymour slaps Cecilia’s hands away and almost topples her from her seat. She manages to catch herself, although it causes the manacles to cut into her wrists unpleasantly.
She laughs. “You are fascinating, Lady Seymour. How can a woman be such a pin poppet one moment and such a needle the next?”
Cecilia has never truly been attracted to women, although she’s dallied with a few just to see what it felt like, and she’s tempted to try with Seymour. It would certainly pass the time while she works out how to escape.
“I bet my brother had a lot of fun with you,” she says.
Seymour stiffens. Ah – so there is a chink in her armour.
“Maybe when he finds you, I can convince him to share you with me before he puts you down.”
Cecilia is buoyant once more, trembling with the thrill of the insult.
She has forgotten that the two of them are not alone.
The panther rises like a moving shadow from the floor. It climbs up onto the seat next to her, and then, slowly, climbs into Cecilia’s lap, pinning her hands beneath its bulk.
“My apologies,” she says, as the panther places its front paws on her chest.
“My apologies, what?” Seymour says.
The panther brings its great face close to Cecilia, golden eyes gleaming with the light of barely contained bloodlust. It licks its lips with a flick of pink tongue.
“My apologies, Lady Seymour.”
“No.”
The panther bares his teeth. She feels his growl through her gown, a vibration against her skin. She remembers the way he pulled Lorena’s oesophagus from her throat.
“My apologies, Queen Seymour.”
There is a moment when she thinks it has not been enough. Then the carriage jolts to a stop, and with one swift motion Seymour pulls the curtain back, opens the door and steps down. The panther licks its lips once more, then leaps down after her.
Cecilia waits a moment, forcing her breathing to slow. Then she pushes herself up and peers out of the vehicle.
They are in a clearing in the middle of a manicured wood. Before her stands a house of wooden beams and white plaster that looks like a skeleton in the moonlight.
“Are you going to tell me where we are now?” she asks the Feorwan as they help her down.
“Why would I do that?” they say.
The house is smaller than the lodging she’s used to, but infinitely better than the ship’s cell. Inside, a large fireplace has been lit and several dogs are spread out on a rug before it, their paws stretched towards the warmth. Above the fireplace, a lighter patch of paint indicates the absence of a portrait; perhaps one that would have given Cecilia a clue as to her whereabouts.
They go through to a small banqueting hall containing a single long table. There isn’t even a gallery for musicians, only a rood screen behind which they can play.
“I’ve seen finer brothels in Perfugi,” she says as she is shown to her seat.
