The Queen's Gambit (44 page)

He slept quietly, with no fever to toss his sleep. After a while she grew bold enough to grasp his slack hand, and his skin felt cool to the touch.

A slow sense of relief spread through her. Pressing her cheek against his knuckles, she let her tears fall freely. She had not lost him, she thought, giving thanks in her heart. He was going to live. He would recover, and they could forge a new life together.

“Pears says you heal quickly,” she whispered to him, gently pushing his black curls away from his brow. “I am so glad of it, for you must get well as fast as you can. There is so much ahead of us.” Her throat choked with fresh tears. “When you are awake I shall sit here and beg your forgiveness as I beg it now. Oh, Talmor, I have made so many mistakes. I have been blind to the things that truly matter. I refused to see the truth that lay before me all the time.”

Behind her, Pears stopped snoring. She glanced over her
shoulder, but he shifted in his sleep and in a moment a low rumble issued from his lips once more.

“I am so sorry,” she whispered to Talmor, who breathed quietly and steadily. She studied the rim of his dark lashes on his cheeks. “My folly has cost us both so much, but if we can start again, perhaps I'll be able to do better. I don't really know how to be a queen. I came to the throne with good intentions, but they mean little compared to what we actually do. I thought ruling was a matter of dignity, hard work, and taking up responsibilities, but it involves more than that, something I lack. Perhaps Lervan has it, and that is why the people have turned to him instead of me. I don't know. It hurts to be rejected by my nobles. It hurts to know I have lost my people's respect, if I ever had it. I think when I came here and everything was going so terribly wrong that I went a little mad. I was such a fool. I—I thought only of my misery and never considered the harm I would do, both to my sweet baby and to you, my dear friend. Please forgive me. I do not think I can ever forgive myself.”

Emotions choked her throat, and she paused a moment, swallowing hard. “I remember what you said about the islands, how lovely and gentle they are, with soft days and fragrant nights. Let us go there, away from all that has gone so wrong for us. Let us go far away.”

Talmor turned his head slightly on his pillow but did not awaken. She let her fingers slide across his, and sighed.

The confession did not relieve her troubled heart as she'd expected. Although she'd decided to run away to exile with him, saying it aloud gave her no comfort.

She watched him a moment, studying his face, then bent her head and gently kissed his hand. Rising, she turned around to find Pears standing behind her, watching her.

Their eyes met in silence. Embarrassment swept her like flames, and her chin lifted haughtily for a few seconds before she mastered herself.

“He loves ye,” Pears said softly. “Know ye that?”

Her throat closed on a lump as she nodded. “We shall go to Saelutia.”

Pears scowled. “Ah, not there, I beg of ye!”

“Why not?”

“Because it ain't no good for him there, bless 'im.”

“ 'Twas his suggestion.”

“Aye, I'm sure he offered it, but his father took him there when he was just a scrap of a boy, thinking to get rid of him and all the bother he was.”

Her brows knotted in sympathy. “Was his childhood so very difficult?”

“Aye, 'twas rotten,” Pears said frankly. “His half brothers hating and tormenting him night and day, and him with a temper that his father couldn't beat out of him. Well, he learned to control it finally, after he nearly burned one of his brothers to death, but he was provoked, majesty. He didn't do it out of meanness or by intention. Scared him so much he swore he'd never do it again.”

“And his brother?”

“Got well and is married now, with a passel of children just like him.”

“I do not understand this fire in Talmor,” she said warily. “What power does he possess?”

Pears looked uneasy. “That's for him to tell yer majesty. But I'll swear to ye that he's never used it against a living soul except his brother, and only because he was provoked harsher than a boy can take. He's no monster, but he can't live in Saelutia, no matter what he said to ye. I seen that myself.”

She felt her tender new dreams crumbling around her. “I don't understand.”

“Well, there's odd ways in them islands. Things unseen that the natives understand and we don't. All I know is that from the day Talmor stepped ashore he heard voices in his head and all kinds of things that nearly drove him out of his wits, bless 'im. For three days we put up with it, him tortured and unable to sleep and crying his heart out that he couldn't stand no more of it. His pa meant to leave Talmor with them, but one of the elders said it were sinful to mix Mandrian blood with the holy blood of the goddess, and that Talmor was cursed.”

“How?”

“He said Talmor had fire he couldn't master and was hearing voices of the gods that he'd never understand. He said that Talmor would go mad and die if he lived there. That he had to stay off the islands and far away from his mother's people.”

“Did he ever meet her?”

“No. She'd been sacrificed to appease the goddess Aldana after she sinned.”

Pheresa gasped. “That's horrible!”

“Aye, pagan ways get right bloody at times. At least the fellow was honest. Talmor's pa brought him home and even got a Saelutian tutor to make him learn how to handle them curses. But he can't go back to—”

“No,” she said quickly, her cheeks very hot. At that moment she would have given her crown if Pears had never overheard what she'd said. “I—I wasn't serious about it. I was just saying things to cheer him.”

“Yer majesty's right kind,” Pears said with a fleeting smile. “But he's got some potion in him that's making him sleep heavy. It's been the first he's had to deaden the pain, bless 'im.”

Astonishment mingled with fresh anger swept her. “And Mandrians call everyone else barbarians,” she said with heat. “Such cruelty is inexcusable.”

“But that's changed now, thanks to yer majesty not giving up on him.”

“I owe him much more than that.” Gazing down at Talmor, she began to cry. “His arm—”

“He'll never blame yer majesty,” Pears said. “Ye needn't fear it.”

“The fault was mine.”

“Nay!” Pears said gruffly. “He won't see it that way, unless ye make him. Why every knight knows he could be crippled in battle. And a protector is prepared to take any risk for the one he serves. Talmor won't brood over it.”

“But I must repay him. I must find a way to—”

“Don't be a fool!” Pears said sharply, then gulped as
though he realized what he'd said. “I—I beg yer pardon, majesty. I didn't ought to say that.”

She said nothing.

“It's just that Talmor's a steady man with a good head on his shoulders. But if ye get to pitying him and weeping over him and saying how sorry ye are for ruining his life, why ye'll cripple him certain.”

She fought back her tears, tormented by the temptation to ask this plain-spoken squire if there was any hope for her and Talmor now that he'd been so terribly injured. Would Talmor, with all his pride, believe her love was honest and not simply born of pity?

The silence between them stretched out uneasily. Clearing his throat, Pears brought forth her replenished salt purse and the dagger.

She took both in surprise. “How did you get this?” she asked, holding up the jeweled dagger. “I thought Sir Thum kept it.”

“Ain't his to keep, is it?” Pears said, evading her question. “Ye found it. 'Tis yers now.”

“Thank you.”

“He'll mend quick,” Pears said, nodding at his master. “As soon as he's able to ride, we'll go forth and trouble ye no more.”

“How can you say that!” she cried, forgetting the need to be quiet. “Nay! I'll not turn him out like a dog to fend for himself.”

“He can't serve as yer protector. Ye know that.”

“There are other positions.”

“He's proud-hearted. He won't accept pity.”

“What, then, will he accept?”

“Why, a good pension and a word of kindness, thanking him for his service—”

“I'll do nothing so cold-hearted and cruel,” she said angrily. “I'll not turn him away as though I do not care, as though I—”

Something made her glance over her shoulder. She saw Talmor awake and watching her. Everything inside her froze.
How much had he heard, she wondered. From the bleak look in his eyes, everything.

Her heart sank. Any ploy she might use now would be hopeless. Any assurance she gave him would not be believed.

She told herself that everything vital and important to their future depended on what she said next. He looked so fragile lying there, so hurt and weak, so close to the veil between worlds. If she erred now, he could yet slip away from her.

All her training in court life, training in masking her feelings and holding her regal composure, came to her aid now. In an instant she knew that if she gave way to her desire to rush to his side, weeping and casting assurances at him, all would be lost, just as Pears had warned her. Feeling a fresh surge of tenderness, she wanted more than anything to take his hand and share everything in her heart. That was the only way to make him understand, but his face was set hard with suspicion.

Seeing him look at her in that way, as though she'd become an enemy, cut her to the quick. Firming her lips, she ignored her tumultuous emotions and swept him with her most imperious look.

“I am told you heal quickly,” she said briskly. “The queen is pleased to learn it.”

He frowned, looking disconcerted, and she hurried on, not giving him a chance to speak.

“The queen depends on you, sir, to return to her service as soon as possible.”

In an instant his suspicion formed anew. Bitterness worked his mouth. In a weak, thready voice, he whispered, “I regret I cannot serve your majesty again.”

“That's right,” Pears said with more boldness than was permissible. “I was just telling the queen that ye'll want to ride out as soon as—”

“Have done,” she snapped at the squire, and, red-faced, he retreated.

She turned back to Talmor. “You will continue to serve,” she said. “You will remain with me.”

“Impossible.”

“Why?” she demanded, although inside she quailed at her own deliberate cruelty. “You pledged your allegiance to me, sir. I do not release you from service.”

Anger flashed in his eyes, but again Pears could not keep quiet. “Yer majesty is forgetting his arm.”

Devastation flashed through Talmor's face. She watched him struggle through the realization, the memories of what had happened, the awful future that stretched before him. This man had prided himself, indeed had built his life, on his prowess as a warrior and man of arms. Now his foundation was swept away. She understood all that, and ached for him.

Yet she dared not show the pity he so obviously feared.
Stay strong,
she told herself desperately, forcing herself to say, “You have another arm, do you not? There are one-armed knights who serve in the army. You are not released from duty for an excuse as feeble as that.”

“How . . .
kind
,” Talmor said bitterly.

“Nay, sir. I am not kind at all. For all you've suffered and will continue to suffer, I—I am sorry.” She swallowed hard but did not allow herself to falter again. “But we each carry our scars from this ordeal, sir. I cannot afford to lose even one man who supports me if I am to remain queen of this land.”

The fierce anger in his eyes faded. He let his head sag on the pillow and sighed, as though very tired.

Watching him, she felt herself quaking inwardly at the barrier she was building between them with every word. This was not what she wanted. She yearned to take his hand in hers and admit her love, an emotion that was aching for release now inside her. She wanted to tell him everything, make him understand that she would run away with him anywhere if only they could be together. Her throne no longer mattered the way it once had. Oh, why must he look at her so bitterly, like a stranger, while his squire urged him to leave her?

Men and their confounded pride,
she thought.

“I regret . . . I must insist on dismissal from . . . service,” Talmor said tiredly.

“Refused.”

“Majesty—”

“Refused!” she said.

Anger flashed in his face. “Your majesty is . . . desperate indeed.”

“As soon as you quit this bed,” she said ruthlessly, “you will train to use weapons with your left arm.”

“I would be as useless as an untrained novice. Starting over . . . 'twould take years to—”

“You have until early spring.”