There was never any doubt. You did what you had to do
. And yet the fist crushed his heart. He couldn’t feel his legs and feared they would collapse, dropping him to beg at Denua’s feet.
Evin was spared from the necessity of making a reply when Tarcia burst forth. “Your Majesty, please reconsider. There is no way to imagine what wonders we might discover by using him as a resource for our sorcelry. Not only will he survive rituals as no human could, but also, his unique combination of
human intelligence
with troll blood could unlock secrets we might never find in any other way.”
Evin wondered if Denua was letting her filthy pet plead for Gareth’s life in order to give Evin a false hope that she could crush, or if, because she loved him, she wanted him to fully realize the horrors she was about to spare Gareth. He was grateful for the time it gave him to master his body.
She leaned forward. “Enough, sorceler. There are plenty of peasants and beggars whose blood you may have, but this creature…this abomination… I will not suffer it to live. Evin, as my loyal subject, you shall have the honor of carrying my instruction to the executioner. What say you?”
Evin saw the look of consternation on Uliette’s face. He knew she’d realize that what he was being asked to do was highly unusual. He was the last person who should do this.
He did not quite keep his voice from breaking as he said, “I will do as you ask, Your Majesty.”
She nodded once. “Take this to the executioner.” She held out a parchment, rolled and sealed. He took it with a trembling hand. “Those are my instructions. You will return with the required proof once the creature has been destroyed.”
This time he couldn’t force a reply.
Denua sat back. Her eyes turned away from him. “That is all. Captain Uliette, bring forth the next supplicant.”
* * *
Simone had hoped to check on Evin after he returned from the execution, but she didn’t get to see him until the next day. How had he coped after carrying out Denua’s cruel order?
Denua had sent him, alone, to watch his former love be destroyed. The stink of burning troll flesh still lingered in parts of the castle, which was unpleasant enough for everyone. But poor Evin had been required to stay to watch the actual burning. After everything he had already suffered this year!
Simone had never reported her belief that Evin and the creature had been lovers. But had Denua guessed? Was that why she had punished him so?
Denua’s sorcelry made Evin adore her, but how could that be enough to blunt such unimaginable grief? How had he been able obey her order? In truth, he had to know that refusal would cost his life. But still. It must have been intolerable.
When Simone found Evin, it was quite by accident. He was moping at a window, on a high floor of the castle where she’d never seen him before. Very close to the window, in fact.
“Farmboy,” she said, and he looked at her sadly. Once again she felt the urge to rescue him, to solve all his problems.
But it’s too late. No one can fix this
. And what could she ever have done anyway? The creature was doomed from the moment Cydrich created it.
When Evin said nothing, she continued. “Will you be well? You’re not preparing to leap, are you?”
“No. I’ll be fine.”
“Oh, I’m convinced.” She walked over and, rather presumptuously, took him into her arms, an embrace he simply accepted, neither rejecting nor seeking comfort. “I know that had to be the most difficult thing you have ever done—”
“You don’t know. You really can’t know.”
“I suppose not. I’m sorry I couldn’t go with you. You should have had a friend there.”
“I did all right. You heard that swine, Tarcia. It was a kindness, really.”
She let him go. She was offering friendly support, but even broken and sad, he was Denua’s beautiful pet. It wouldn’t do for someone to walk by and get the wrong impression.
Evin said, “You were right all along. He could never be free while Denua lives. She saw him as a weapon, just as Cydrich did.”
“We’re all trapped, Evin. Some more than others. Even Denua is trapped, in the way she has to think about things. About everything. Elyrria depends upon her.”
“He was the one trapped!” Evin said. “For so long alone—”
“Evin. At least your trap is gilded. At least you adore Denua, so it will be easier for you.”
He turned from her and looked out the window. “You’re right. I should hate her, but I just can’t. She made me choose, and I had to choose her.”
“It’s better that way.” She didn’t say,
it kept you alive.
He sighed. “I’ll get over this. I was planning to ask for her hand, before…everything. When I feel better—”
A sharp pang of jealousy pricked Simone’s heart, but she feigned for him a pleasure she didn’t feel. “Ha! Well, good luck, Farmboy!”
Why should she be jealous? Denua had taken any number of lovers in her history, but handfastings were exceedingly rare. Surely she would never marry a bumpkin like Evin. However, marriage or no, she’d never let go of her pretty toy, so either way, it didn’t matter to Simone.
“Yes. Ha. I’ve just got to get my humor back.”
Simone left him to stare out the window. She had things to do, and she believed him. He would be himself again soon, and his love for Denua would conquer his feelings for the wretched troll-boy.
* * *
For a few more days, it seemed Simone regularly encountered Evin moping around all over the castle. But gradually his mood lightened, and he was more himself. Then he was glued to Denua’s side, and they behaved as happy, young lovers again.
Very happy, it seemed, because with the city beginning to return to normal, Denua announced a celebration with a dual purpose: to commemorate her salvation of Parige and all of Elyrria from the traitor Cydrich, and to announce her engagement to Evin.
If I didn’t know them, I wouldn’t believe it
. But Simone did know. Besotted by sorcelry, Evin could only love Denua, and she, for some reason, found special favor in him.
Handfasting would occur forthwith. Denua did not subscribe to the superstitions of peasants and said there would be no need to wait for the arrival of spring.
Chapter Twenty-seven
On the night of the celebration, the palace’s public great rooms were filled with nobles from Parige and flown in from cities throughout Elyrria, from the mainland to the Britannic Isles. The castle was bright with torchlight and sorceler’s lamps, alive with the sound of music and revelry.
Simone wore her dress uniform and mingled with the guests, keeping an eye out for trouble. She spotted Evin, looking more beautiful than ever in a short doublet of imported silk with silver accoutrements, including a shameless silver codpiece. Surely not his choice. Denua had dressed him to show him off, and he appeared distinctly uncomfortable.
He was listening with barely feigned interest to a monologue delivered by a corpulent and unpleasant-looking noble. The man gestured incessantly with his hands, jeweled rings flashing as he tried to convince Evin of some silly political belief or other. She took pity on the farm boy and went over to speak with him.
“Excuse me, milord.” She addressed Evin with a small bow. “Won’t you come with me to deal with a small matter for the queen?”
“Oh. Um, yes. Yes of course. Please excuse me, Lord Runciter.” He bowed a bit to the disappointed man and turned to walk with her.
“Lord Runciter was just telling me about the…important…tax situation…in the port at…” He gave up.
She laughed with a sincere amusement that surprised her. “Are you sure about his name?”
“Well, I was until you asked.”
“Oh, you’re probably right. I’m just trying to confound you. Actually, it looked as if you needed a rescue.”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh, I really did.” He lowered his voice to say, “No cleansing wand has ever been close to that man’s mouth. Did you smell that? I wanted to swoon.”
“I always speak kindly of nobility,” she said. A hint. “In any case, as we are at your celebration, I want to congratulate you again on your engagement.”
He smiled. “Thank you. It means a great deal, coming from you. You helped me with…tricky moments during the invasion. You didn’t owe me anything.” She started to pooh-pooh his remark, but he continued with a mischievous wink. “I’ll remember you after my ascension to power.”
She laughed gently. “I hope you won’t make that little joke to anyone else. They might mistake you.”
“Right. I know Denua will live forever. My place is to love and comfort her while I can. Besides, can you imagine an ignorant peasant like me taking the crown? Ridiculous. I still leave a trail of sawdust wherever I go, don’t I?”
The evening suddenly lost its luster for Simone. It seemed he understood his situation perfectly. She realized that he probably did not even harbor naive hopes about what would happen when Denua no longer found him a source of love and comfort. The court at Parige was the loveliest trap for anyone foolish enough to enter.
She saw him recognize the look on her face. Weren’t farm boys supposed to be half-wits?
“You’re my friend, Simone Uliette. I’ve had few enough, and I truly do know that you are my friend. I am sorry for the ways I disappoint you.”
“You’re my friend, milord, and I’m sure I have no idea why you talk of disappointment.”
“My past. You were right. What you said about him. And what you didn’t say about me. We weren’t just friends.”
“Evin, don’t—”
“No, you’re right. I won’t speak about it. I can keep shut, but with you it’s different. You know there are sacrifices. I couldn’t tell him how I felt. But I can tell you this. I’m glad you’re my friend. I’m glad you understand that there are difficult sacrifices.”
Disappointing her? Sacrifice? He had to sacrifice his friend—his love—to satisfy Denua. But there was something more in his words. Was he saying this marriage was a way of sacrificing himself to Denua for some reason?
How could he think the handfasting would disappoint
me?
A footman approached and interrupted. “Milord, the queen wishes you to meet Count Gascon.”
Evin glanced at the servant in annoyance, then looked into Simone’s eyes and said, “I will make whatever sacrifices are necessary.” He searched her face.
The thought raced through her mind:
He knows you want him
. But she didn’t! Did she?
Before she could imagine how to reply, he said, “I will always be your friend,” and turned to leave.
* * *
The handfasting ceremony took place on the next Lordsday, while nobles and dignitaries were still in town.
Evin was privately glad that it never occurred to Denua he might want his parents to see the ceremony. His father was a rough and thoughtless sort who might offend people who did not take such lightly. Evin wanted his parents to remain unnoticed by the people of Denua’s court and far away from his schemes.
Given Denua’s long rule, a royal handfasting was a rare event. Though cold, the sun shone brightly, so the people turned out to see the spectacle. The commoners of Parige stood in cheering throngs along the avenue, which communicated between the castle proper and the cathedral where the ceremony would be held. In his suite in the castle, Evin could hear the noise from outside, and the valet who came to fasten the many buckles of his shining black boots told him that the cathedral was already filled to bursting with nobility.
Evin sighed. These people so loved their ridiculous, complicated customs. Why couldn’t Evin and Denua just find a yard with a nice tree, have a priest nick their hands, and be done? Parigians had to make everything tricky.
The bride and groom were to make their way to the cathedral in separate coaches. White for her, black for him. Each coach had been placed, with wings tucked in, atop a sort of cart made of lacquered wood in the same style and an actual team of horses connected at the front. In order that they might wave to the public, they would be pulled to the cathedral like vegetables to market. After the ceremony, they would return to the palace to consummate the marriage, then join an all-day feast, already in progress in their honor. The timing for everything would be tricky today. But all the preparations were complete, and though he was nervous, Evin assured himself that he would not panic.
The hour arrived.
The bride’s coach had curtains of deep, blue velvet—just like a priest’s robe—to prevent him from seeing Denua as he and his guards and footman and driver loaded into the groom’s coach.
The drive to the cathedral was agonizingly slow. He tried to affect a smile of radiant happiness as he rode, waving to the shouting throngs. As if they cared about him. He was sweating despite the cold. He didn’t know any of these people, and he wanted this all to be over. Denua’s coach would be lumbering along behind, curtains open, and she would be waving and smiling as well. What was she feeling? Did she enjoy being on display?
Finally they arrived. Ceremonially dressed guards formed up around the coaches, and his own guards dismounted to join them. Then the footman let him out and he could really see the cathedral.
If Evin had only just arrived in Parige, he would have said the cathedral was the largest building in the world. It was beautifully carved from blocks of gray stone, and its most prominent features were the flying buttresses reinforcing the walls in rows along the length of the building. Far above, he could see the shapes of gargoyles, but closer to the ground, images of—he assumed—the aeons and their saints and prophets were cut in bas-relief around the mighty, arched portals.
One of the portal doors swung wide for him now. He stopped gaping. Today he was not a tourist. Surrounded by his formation of guards, he marched inside.
People stood all along each side of an aisle lit with multicolored light from stained-glass windows high above. Guards parted, allowing him to lead. He walked through the light, watching its different colors move over him, just like the patches of moonlight had caressed Gareth’s skin on that first night—
Concentrate.