Her hands were clenched together. She made them relax.
"After a short courtship we were married at Court. A quiet wedding, not like yours will be, but there was a discreet banquet later, and Helena sat at the head of my table and laughed. She looked very much like you, Claudia, if a little shorter. Her hair was fair and smooth. She always wore a black velvet ribbon around her neck, with a portrait of us both inside it."
He smoothed his knee absently.
"When she told me she was pregnant I was more happy than I can say. Perhaps I had thought the time was gone, that I would never have an heir. That the care of Incarceron would pass from the family, that the line of the Arlexi would die out with me. In any case, I took even greater care of her. She was strong, but the constraints of Protocol had to be observed."
He looked up. "We had so little time together."
Claudia took a breath. "She died."
"When the child was born." He looked away, out of the window. Leaf shadows flashed over his face. "We had a midwife and one of the most renowned of the Sapienti in attendance, but nothing could be done."
She had no idea what to say. Nothing had prepared her for this. He had never talked to her like this before. Her fingers were knotted back together. She said, "I never saw her then."
"Never." His dark glance turned to her. "And afterward I could not bear to see her image.
There was a portrait, but I had it locked away. Now there is only this."
He drew from inside his shirt a small gold locket, tugged the black ribbon over his head and held it out. For a moment she was almost afraid to take it; when she did, it was warm from his body heat.
"Open it," he said.
She undid the fastening. Inside, facing each other in two oval frames were two miniatures, exquisitely painted. On the right, her father, looking grave and younger, his hair a rich brown. And opposite, in a low-cut gown of crimson silk, a woman with a sweet, delicate face, smiling, a tiny flower held to her mouth.
Her mother.
Her fingers trembled; glancing up to see if he noticed, she saw he was watching her. He said, "I will have a copy made for you at Court. Master Alan the painter is a fine workman."
She wanted him to break down, to cry out. She wanted him to be angry, to be scorched with grief, something, anything she could respond to. But there was only his grave calm.
She knew he had won this round of the game. Silently she gave the medallion back.
He slid it into his pocket.
Neither of them spoke for a while. The coach rumbled along the high road; they passed through a village of tumbledown cottages and a pond where geese rose up and flapped white wings in fright. Then the road ran uphill, into the green shade of a wood.
Claudia felt hot and embarrassed. A wasp blundered through the open window; she waved it out and wiped her hands and face with a small handkerchief noticing how the brown dust of the road came off on the white linen.
Finally she said, "Fm glad you've told me. Why now?"
"I am not a demonstrative man, Claudia. But only now am I ready to speak of it." His voice was gravelly and hoarse. "This wedding will be the pinnacle of my life. Of hers too, had she lived. We must think of her, of how proud and happy she would have felt." He raised his eyes and they were gray as steel. "Nothing must be allowed to spoil things, Claudia.
Nothing must get in the way of our success."
She met his eyes; he smiled his slow smile. "Now. I am sure you would prefer Jared's company to mine." There was an edge to the words that she did not miss. He picked up his stick and thumped on the carriage roof; outside, the coachman gave a low call, drawing the horses to a restless, stamping, snorting halt. When they were still, the Warden leaned over and opened the door. He climbed down and stretched. "What a beautiful view. Look, my dear."
She stepped out beside him.
A great river ran below them, glinting in the summer sunshine. It ran through rich farmlands, the fields golden with the ripening barley, and she saw that butterflies were rising in clouds from the flowery meadows beside the road. The sun was hot on her arms; she raised her face to it gratefully, closing her eyes and seeing only a red heat, smelling the dust and some pungent crushed yarrow in the hedge.
When she opened them again he was gone, walking back to the following coaches, swishing his stick, speaking a pleasant word to Lord Evian, who climbed out and mopped perspiration from his red face.
And the Realm stretched before her to the distant misty heat of the horizon, and she wished for a second that she could run into its summer stillness, escape into the peace of the empty land. Somewhere no one else would be.
Somewhere she would be free.
A movement at her elbow. Lord Evian stood there, sipping from a small wine flask.
"Beautiful," he breathed. He pointed a plump finger. "Do you see?"
She saw a glitter miles away in the distant hills. A brilliant diamond-white reflection. And she knew it was the sunlight on the roof of the great Glass Court.
KEIRO ATE the last scrap of meat and leaned back, replete. He drank the dregs of beer and looked around for someone to refill the tankard.
Attia was still sitting by the door; he ignored her. The tavern was full; he had to call twice to get attention. Then the alewife came over with a jug and as she filled said, "What about your friend? Doesn't she eat?"
"She's no friend of mine."
"She came in behind you."
He shrugged. "Can't help being followed by girls. I mean, look at me."
The woman laughed and shook her head. "All right, handsome. Pay up."
He counted out a few coins, drank the beer, and stood, stretching. He felt better after the wash, and the flame-red jerkin had always looked good on him. Striding between the tables he ignored Attia as she scrambled up to follow and was halfway down the dim alleyway before her voice made him stop.
"When are we going to find them?"
He didn't turn.
"God knows what's happening to them. You promised ..."
Keiro swung around. "Why don't you get lost?"
The girl stared back. She was a timid little thing, he'd thought, but this was the second time she'd confronted him, and it was getting annoying. "I'm not going anywhere," she said quietly.
Keiro grinned. "You think I'm going to desert them, don't your
"Yes."
Her directness threw him. It made him angry. He turned and walked on, but she came after him like a shadow. Like a dog.
"I think you want to, but I won't let you. I won't let you take the Key."
He told himself he wouldn't answer her, but the words came out anyway. "You have no idea what I'll do. Finn and I are oathbrothers. That means everything. And I keep my word."