“Hmmm. The family had no contact with Escator?”
“I was eight when I lost my family, Maximilian. I have no idea who my father corresponded with.”
“I’m sorry. I am asking too many questions, but I want to understand you so much.” He paused, one hand gently stroking her shoulder and upper arm. “Tell me about when you lost your family. When the plague struck and—”
“I’d rather not.” Ishbel paused. “Not now. Sometime else perhaps.”
“Of course. We have, after all, a lifetime.”
“And will you tell me about your time in the Veins, if I ask?”
“Yes, I will do that.” Ishbel was very touchy, which Maximilian could understand given the circumstances of the night, and he also understood that further questions likely would not be a good idea, but he wanted desperately to know how much she understood about her bloodlines. Thus far she’d given no indication she understood anything, either about her Persimius heritage, or about Elcho Falling.
“When I first received the offer of your hand from the Coil,” Maximilian said, “I looked at a map of the Outlands to see where Serpent’s Nest was. A mountain home, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Right on the edge of the world,” Maximilian said softly, watching Ishbel carefully.
“Serpent’s Nest is on the east coastline of the Outlands,” she said. “It is …”
“Yes?”
She shrugged. “I was going to say that it is my home.”
“Was.”
She did not reply.
“A mountain is a strange place for a home.”
She sighed. “Maximilian …”
“I know, I’m sorry.” He leaned over, and kissed her softly. She did not return it, and he knew he had stayed long enough. Besides, it would be dawn soon, and he had a long ride ahead of him to rejoin Egalion and Garth and the Emerald Guard — all of whom were no doubt fretting about his continued absence.
“I have to go,” he said. “I should be out of the house by dawn.”
“You need to leave while the darkness still affords you cover,” Ishbel said.
He hesitated a little before replying. “Yes. I shall tell you about that one day, if you want.”
She nodded, not really knowing what to say, only wishing that having said he would go, he actually would. The thought of solitude brought her a rush of relief. Perhaps, then, she could finally relax and snatch a few brief hours of sleep.
As if in answer to her prayers Maximilian rolled away from her and rose from the bed. He hunted about in the dark for his clothes, dressed, then sat down on her side of the bed as he pulled on his boots.
Having buckled both boots, he sat still, looking at her. “I had no idea I would want you so much,” he said. “I distrusted you, and —”
“Still do,” Ishbel said.
“Aye, yes, still do, although I distrust the motives of the Coil more. I shall be a watchful husband, Ishbel.”
“We have not yet agreed on marriage, Maximilian.”
He laughed, then leaned down and kissed her. “You must marry me, Ishbel. You have completely ruined my reputation with your seductions, and only marriage will save my name.”
She smiled, reluctantly, but with genuine humour.
Maximilian rose. “The King of Escator shall arrive with his full retinue in three days, Ishbel. He shall be gladder to see you than he had expected.”
He took several steps to the door, hesitated, then strode back to the bed and kissed Ishbel one more time, hard. “Three days, Ishbel,” he whispered, then left her.
Maximilian cloaked himself once more in the darkness, walking through the house undiscovered. Once in the stable, he located his horse’s stall, then stood for a long moment, his forehead resting gently against the horse’s neck, thinking.
Elcho Falling was more likely than not about to stir, and Maximilian needed to marry this woman, and return to Escator. There to … well, there to see what happened next. If Elcho Falling was about to stir, then Maximilian would need to be home in Escator.
Ishbel. Gods knows how they were blood-connected, or how many generations ago the Persimius family had splintered, but connected they most certainly were. Maximilian had not planned to seduce her. But having once taken her hand, he was unable to resist her. Partly this was their shared Persimius blood, but mostly it was the woman herself.
She was astounding. Maximilian replayed every moment of their lovemaking in his mind, remembering how she had felt beneath his hands and body, her scent and her taste. If, one day, she might respond to him with genuine passion … oh, gods … what a day that would be.
His ring chattered softly, asking if they were leaving soon. It had been quiet all night, as Maximilian had instructed it when they’d entered the house, and now it was restless.
“Yes,” whispered Maximilian. “Yes, we are leaving now.”
After Maximilian had left, Ishbel slept.
She dreamed.
She walked through a hall that glittered with glass and colour that spiralled in strange corkscrews far overhead.
She dreamed people filled this hall, tens of thousands of them, all standing back to allow her passage, all watching her.
She dreamed that she was filled with loss and sorrow, and in her dream she sobbed, because she knew what that sorrow portended.
In her hands she carried a goblet. It was heavy, made of exquisitely carved glass, with leaping frogs all about its outer rim.
It was a gift for the man who stood, his back to her, at the far end of the hall.
He was a dark man, and blackness seethed about him.
More than anything Ishbel wanted to turn and run, but her feet would not follow her command. Instead they carried her inexorably forward, until she stood before the man, and then her traitor legs bent beneath her, and she abased herself, and held out the Goblet of the Frogs to the Lord of Elcho Falling.
He turned his head a little, looking at her over his shoulder, and darkness and despair engulfed Ishbel’s life.
