Dragon Rose(58)

“You were chilled—you did not know what you were doing.”

“I knew exactly what I was doing,” I said, and pushed back my chair. “And if you don’t believe me, come here, and I shall show you all over again.”

A chuckle, but even to me it sounded forced. “No need, Rhianne. Sit, and finish your dinner.”

Always blocked, always denied somehow. I was not sure exactly how he did it, except that of course he’d had many years of practice. Was I the first of his wives to speak in such a way, to invite the intimacies a husband and wife should share? Surely that couldn’t be true, and yet something in his manner seemed to speak of hesitancy, of not knowing the best way to respond to my sallies.

He was not the only one unsure of what to do next. I suppose it was foolish of me to believe he would drop everything and come and take me in his arms, and yet disappointment surged through me. Although my exertions of earlier in the day should have encouraged my appetite, I found myself pushing the food around on my plate in a listless manner that certainly would have earned me a rebuke if I had still been at home to receive it.

Not to say he didn’t notice; I felt rather than saw his eyes on me, but he made no comment. I did force a mouthful down from time to time, more because I knew he expected it than because I wished to.

After what felt like an interminable silence, I asked, “Who puts the flowers on their graves?”

“What?”

“When I was in the—the clearing. Some of the graves had flowers on them. Who puts them there? Sar?”

“I do.”

“You do?” Startled, I looked up from my plate at him, although of course I could see nothing but the low-dipping hood, the shadows where his face should be.

“You sound surprised.”

“I—well, that is—” I floundered, struggling for the correct thing to say, and had to settle for, “That is to say, I did not think you ventured out of the castle all that often.”

“I do…but not at a time of day when you would notice. I see very well in the dark.”

There being no good reply I could think of for that, I made some sort of noncommittal sound and drank a little more of my spiced wine. By then it was hardly more than lukewarm.

“They deserve some sort of remembrance,” he added, surprising me once more. I would have thought he’d let the subject go. “So few recall their names, or faces. It has been such a very long time.”

A long time, indeed. If what Theran had told me was true—and I had no reason to believe it was not—some of those young women had been sleeping in that quiet ground for almost five hundred years. No one spoke of the Brides once they were gone from Lirinsholme, and if their families grieved, they did so in secret.

As mine must be grieving now, I thought, and swallowed. It had been so easy to get caught up in my life here, in that oddly compelling portrait which was even now hidden in my chambers, in my interactions with Theran and my conflicted feelings for him. Here all was new and different, but in Lirinsholme, my family would be going about their normal round of life, and so noting my absence far more keenly. I could only hope that time would begin to smooth over the wound, even though it could never heal completely.

“It is very kind of you—” I began, but Theran waved a hand.

“It is the least I can do, considering.”

Considering what? I wanted to ask. Such avenues of questioning had been shut down before, and so I did not think I would have any more success this evening. Instead, I gave up picking at the food on my plate and stood, then moved toward the windows. Of course I could see nothing at this time of day, save the glint of a snowflake here and there as it touched the uneven panes of glass before melting quite away.

From the sound of wood scraping against stone, I could tell Theran had stood as well and come toward me, although he stopped a few paces away.

“What do you see?” he asked.

I didn’t reply at first, but only stared out into the blackness. Was this what that unknown Bride had seen so many years ago—unending dark, with no hope of light or relief? What else could have driven her to write those same words over and over again?

It has all gone black.

“I see nothing,” I said at length. “But I do feel a dreadful draft coming through your windows.” And I turned away and went to him, again pressing myself into his warmth, wrapping my arms around his waist.

This time he did not seem quite as startled. He allowed me to stay there for a moment, and I felt his arms settle about me, the drift of heavy wool as it covered me from shoulder to toe. So much more comfortable that way, and in here, in the warmer air, I could smell something sweet and aromatic in the fabric.

“You are a forward little thing, aren’t you?” he murmured, almost absently, as if he hadn’t intended to speak the words aloud.

“I’m not, really,” I remarked. “My sister Therella was the one who paid more attention than was seemly to young men. My mother quite scolded her for it. I suppose she might scold me for my behavior now, only since I am your wife, there is really nothing untoward about me coming to you like this.”

“Save that I am the Dragon of Black’s Keep.”

“Well, save that, of course.”

He actually laughed aloud, and I felt his breast move beneath my cheek as he did so. The arms encircling me tightened for a moment, but then he gently extricated himself from my embrace, holding me a handspan away from him, as if he wanted to see me more clearly.