Nettle & Bone(19)

“Prince Vorling is a monster,” said the queen crisply. “He is undoubtedly hurting her in all manner of ways, although he has learned not to do anything that might cause a miscarriage. We shall hope the next child is a son, so that your sister has some chance of retiring from his immediate attention.”

Marra’s mouth hung open, but there were no words in her throat. But he won’t let her go. He’ll kill her, then.

“Until she has a son, however, she is at his mercy. And so are we.”

“But…” croaked Marra.

The queen yanked the needle through the fabric with an impatient flick. “Think, Marra! We are a very small kingdom and his knife is at our throat. If the protection of the Northern Kingdom is withdrawn, then the Southern Kingdom marches on us to seize our harbor.”

“But … but they didn’t before…” Marra felt as if she were stumbling through the steps of a dance that was far more intricate than she had believed.

“They did not, because the Northern Kingdom would have stopped them. If not for our sakes, so that the South did not control the harbor. But if the Northern Kingdom let it be publically known that we had fallen out of favor and they were no longer interested in defending us, then we will have Southern troops surrounding the castle in a fortnight.”

Marra tried to imagine the fields around the castle sprouting with tents and swords and pikes and could not.

Another stab of the needle into the cloth. The stitch would be too tight and would pucker the fabric. “Or,” said her mother, “if we defy Vorling before he has an heir that might conceivably inherit our throne, he well might decide to march on us himself and raze this entire city to the ground in a single bloody day.”

Marra swallowed. “But Kania…”

“Is threading a very dangerous needle right now. Did she ask you to get her out?”

“No…” Marra felt as if she were standing a few paces behind herself, completely outside the world that could be so strange and cruel and complicated. “No, I … no.”

The queen nodded.

She wanted to say so much more. She wanted to say that Kania thought that a son would be the death of her, but maybe Kania was wrong or perhaps the queen was wrong or perhaps everyone was wrong and nothing could be made right. But another thought was beating at her skull like a moth against a windowpane.

“Did you know?” asked Marra. “Before?”

“I knew that he had questionable appetites,” said the queen. There was nothing in her face or her tone that asked forgiveness. “I had hoped he was wise enough to keep them quiet. I did not think he would be fool enough to torment his wife to miscarriage and death.” She shook her head, her lips a grim line.

Death? But … It took far too long before it finally occurred to Marra that her mother was talking about Damia, not Kania.

Oh.

Oh.

So he did kill her.

And Mother knew.

She did not know how to feel. It was too huge, too strange. She did not know if she wanted to weep or rage or throw herself from the castle wall. There was nothing in her heart or her history that told her what to do with this new knowledge. It was too big. She had to shove it aside and focus on Kania or else she would be lost completely.

“We could get her away,” said Marra hopelessly. “She could come and stay with me. Take orders with the sisters. He couldn’t get her, then.”

“Marra,” said the queen, her voice softening. “Marra, love, do you think a man who tortures his wife and would wipe out a kingdom on a whim would be stopped by an abbey’s walls?”

She was still standing too far back from herself, trapped in amber. She watched herself bow her head and say, “No. Of course not.”

The fury rising inside her was doused at once. Her mother had known, and she had also known that there was nothing she could do. It was too late. Perhaps it had been too late since Vorling came courting Damia, many years before.

Don’t let her drag you into this hell along with us, Kania had said, her eyes dull with agony, clutching at her sister’s robes. Run away.

The knowledge bloomed inside her like blood soaking through a bandage. Prince Vorling had picked a tiny, vulnerable kingdom who could not fight back. He had done it deliberately. He had married their daughters, knowing that he could torment them at a whim, and they would have to take whatever he gave, to keep their people safe.

… Oh.

“Don’t do anything foolish,” said the queen. “Don’t talk to anyone about this. If word gets back to the prince, it will go badly for your sister.” She set her embroidery aside. “I don’t talk about it, either, for the same reason.”

“Will she be all right?” asked Marra. She knew that the answer was no, but she wanted the queen to comfort her, to tell her that everything would come out for the best, the way that she had when Marra was very young.

“She’s managed this long,” said the queen. “She is riding a dragon, and all of us in the kingdom are riding along with her.”





Chapter 6


Marra had spent fifteen years in the convent all told. Half her life, barring a few months. She could embroider and sew and knit, and she knew, perhaps, a little more of politics than an ordinary nun might. But she could do nothing to save her sister.