A Dowry of Blood (A Dowry of Blood #1)(18)
Magdalena tucked her arms though mine and led me with deliberate steps through the crowd, leaning over conspiratorially.
“You must sit with me tonight at dinner. I must have you close, Constanta. I want us to be the best of friends.”
You waited for us at the long wooden table, already seated at the left of Magdalena’s chair and making a show out of nursing a glass of grenache. I doubt any of it actually passed your lips. I still had some of my taste for food and drink then, as the undying life hadn’t yet entirely bled them of their pleasure.
Magdalena poured me a double measure of wine. Her crow-quick eyes watched my every movement, following the glass as I raised it to my lips, and you observed us both like one of your experiments. Trying to look disaffected, of course. But I knew the gleam that came into your eyes when something seized your attention.
“Try the polbo á feir,” Magdalena said. “It’s a peasant dish, but one I favor, and my kitchens make it better than anyone. You’ve got to dunk the octopus in boiling water a few times before butchering it; that’s the secret to keeping the meat sweet.”
I obligingly opened my mouth for her when she raised up a bite on her fork. The flesh was tender, spiced liberally with paprika and slick with olive oil.
Magdalena beamed, watching me chew with the delight of a child bottle-feeding a kitten.
“Will you eat?” Magdalena asked you, poised to hand-feed you as well.
“I never have any appetite when I travel,” you said, plucking the fork from her hands and setting it back down on her plate. You held her wrist between thumb and forefinger, slyly suckling oil off her little finger. If she saw the flash of your sharp teeth, she didn’t show it.
“If it wouldn’t be rude for me to ask,” you began, leaning in closer. “How is it that one as beautiful as yourself is not yet married? I’m sure it’s expected of a woman of your station. Ever since your father disappeared...”
A look of pure glee came over Magdalena’s face, and she dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“I think I shall never marry, my lord. I will simply take lovers and never let any man shackle me with wedding vows.”
“Ah, but I’m sure your wealth attracts all manner of little birds hoping to fritter away a piece of it in their nests. You must receive suitors by the boatful.”
“Indeed,” she said with a laugh. “And I entertain every one. I hear their love poems and their declarations, I accept their gifts and I grant them a private audience, but that’s as far as it will ever go. Not that they know that, of course. They sincerely believe they have a chance, poor boys.”
You hummed your approval, dark eyes shining in the firelight.
“And if they have hope, they continue to behave themselves and allow you your little indulgences and eccentricities. Very clever, Magdalena.”
“A third of the men in this court want to bed me and wed me, another third despise me but won’t speak against me because I’ve carefully collected records of their affairs and murders and misdeeds, and the other third simper and fawn because they know where true power lies, and they wish to ingratiate themselves with it.”
“And the women?”
“Ah,” she said, her voice almost a purr. She broke eye contact with you and shot me a smirk. “Women are another matter entirely.”
Her fingers brushed against my leg under the table, equal parts bold and tentative. I seized her hand in mine, unable to decide whether I wanted to cast her off or pull her closer.
I squeezed her fingers and let her hand go, and she withdrew her hand into her own lap. But we were seated so closely together we were almost touching, and I could feel the living heat wafting off her body. Her blood smelled strongly spiced and sweet as fortified wine, shot through with a salacious, irresistible musk.
I wanted to take her away from you and pull her into some darkened hallway, unfasten the lace ruff from around her throat and run my mouth along the pale slope of her neck. I wanted to feel her lifeblood bursting in my mouth, savor every note of her complex bouquet.
Instead, I swallowed through a dry throat and said, “I’m sorry to hear about your father’s disappearance.”
Magdalena let out a peal of laughter. She was flushed from drinking and dancing, and her shoulders were loose with joy.
“I’m not! I deposed him, Constanta. Didn’t your husband mention?”
I shook my head politely, wondering what kind of madhouse I had been brought into. Magdalena threaded her arm through mine and pulled me in closer. I noticed that you were lightly holding her free hand, running your thumb over the delicate bones in her wrist.
“My father,” Magdalena began, her lips almost brushing my ear. “Was a tyrant. Feared by the people, stubborn in all his strategies, and untrustworthy with the family fortune. I spent my life in his shadow, trying to wrest control away from him, or at least convince him that I could be trusted with diplomatic responsibilities. He didn’t see my skills for politics. But I will not accept a world behind bars, Constanta. I must always have my freedom. So I worked my magic with gossip and bribes and carefully exposed secrets, and the next thing you know my father is wasting away of gout in some remote hunting lodge, out of the public eye.”
“You banished him?”
“He quietly… showed himself out. Barely left a trace. With his reputation ruined there was no life for him here anymore. And that’s when my life truly began.”