Shadow Queen Read online

  ‘It’s more than the binding, Tilde,’ he said, his voice bouncing back off the window like chips of wind-borne ice. ‘You’re loyal to him. Why?’

  You don’t understand what it was like, I wanted to say, living when nobody else did. But the words died in my mouth. Looking at him, wearing more grime and weariness than flesh, I thought perhaps he did understand.

  ‘I did what I had to,’ I said. ‘At first, that’s all it was.’

  Hunching his shoulders, he rested his head against the glass.

  ‘But, Sepp, there’s been so much … and I’ve been alone. I lost Grandmother, you, my court, even my mother’s kin … he’s never hurt me.’

  It sounded feeble, even to my ears. Words couldn’t convey the nature of a normal binding, let alone mine to Dieter.

  Sepp didn’t speak, and I edged closer, dared to put a hand on his back. His shirt was stiff with grit and dried sweat.

  ‘Sepp, please.’

  ‘What, Matilde? What do you want of me? Don’t you understand? I have no more to give!’ he cried, throwing off my touch, finally roused. ‘I spent it all, trekking back here. For you. Now you tell me you’re happy?’

  ‘No, I –’

  ‘I don’t want to hear any more,’ he cut me off. ‘You’ve made your choices, and you don’t owe me explanations. But don’t ask me to understand, and don’t ask me to be happy for you, because I’m not and can’t be.’ Blinking back a swell of tears, he went on, ‘I’ll not speak out against him or undermine him, if that’s what you’re worried about. So please, leave me.’

  Anger and shame kept me silent, conflicting responses tangling in my throat, so I turned and left, latching the door quietly behind me.

  He didn’t come after me.

  *

  Gerlach was waiting for me outside Sepp’s room and fell into step beside me. He had been my escort since I woke from the poison – since I’d committed to Dieter in deed as well as name. Evidence, perhaps, of Dieter’s fondness for me? The idea made me smile.

  ‘The lad seems distressed,’ Gerlach said, speaking suddenly when we were almost back at my own rooms.

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed hesitantly, wary now. Gerlach was not a loquacious man. If he spoke, it was with a purpose in mind, and I could not yet gauge it.

  ‘The Lady Amalia also seemed distressed this morn,’ he said.

  ‘She is … impulsive,’ I said, and Gerlach grunted, whether in agreement or disbelief I could not tell.

  We reached my rooms and I expected Gerlach to wait outside, as was his norm, but instead he followed me in. Turning, he latched the door, but didn’t advance further into the room.

  Baffled, I turned and confronted him. ‘Is there something on your mind, General?’

  He took a moment before he answered, saying only, ‘I’ve seen it before.’

  ‘Seen what?’

  ‘Prison sickness.’

  The words slid deep inside my marrow, like slivers of ice.

  ‘There are other names for it,’ he continued. ‘Bound is a popular term, and an apt one, but prison sickness describes it without the irony.’

  ‘You do realise you’re making very little sense?’ I said, perplexed.

  ‘Freedom is the only cure,’ he went on, ‘although if it’s not gained in time, even that will fail.’

  Shock rooted me to the floor. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Was the loyal Gerlach truly telling me to flee? It made no sense – unless it was some test of Dieter’s.

  ‘Have a care, General,’ I said, ice in my tone. ‘Your words are treason.’

  He shook his head, his look softening to one of pity. ‘You still have a chance, my lady, but every day you remain decreases it.’

  I took a step back, fear making my heart beat quick. ‘Why would I leave? My husband is Duethin, and for the first time since we …’ I faltered over how to express it diplomatically, ‘… since we met, we understand one another.’

  ‘My lady,’ he murmured, reaching for my hand and clasping it gently in his long fingers. ‘Matilde.’

  ‘Don’t …’

  ‘He’s not a bad man,’ said Gerlach. ‘In truth, he’s not. But you’re not in a position to appreciate it. He’s not good for you, and nor is his sister. They have you twisted around inside yourself so you don’t know up from down.’

  I shook my head, denying his words.

  ‘You don’t love him, Matilde,’ he insisted, his eyes dark with shadows. ‘You think you do, I know. It’s part of the sickness. He holds your life in his hands and your soul under his thumb; he has done since Aestival. Living under that strain … it breaks even the strongest, eventually.’

  ‘No,’ I whispered.

  ‘It’s no shame,’ he said gently, pulling me a step closer. ‘What resources did you have to combat him? None. How can any mind stay strong, living under the constant threat of his displeasure? Every nicety, every touch of restraint he shows towards you twists you further and further the wrong way.’

  I snatched my hand away. ‘I’m not leaving him –’

  ‘He killed your family, Matilde. He branded you,’ he said. ‘He let you live even after you tried to betray him, knowing it might meld you to his cause. A little guilt makes a prisoner more malleable. Even now, you’re wondering if he’s testing you.’

  I had no more will to protest. I couldn’t even shake my head, and the thought that I hadn’t denied it made me feel sick.

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ I asked weakly.

  ‘I’ve watched a woman turn herself inside out over Dieter before,’ he said, his voice soft, his gaze pinning me. ‘I’ve no desire to see it again.’

  I stumbled backward, reeling with confusion, clinging to the one thing I knew was true: Dieter was not above testing me, and Gerlach would do anything his lord asked.

  ‘Get out,’ I ordered, unable to keep the rising hysteria from my voice. ‘Get out!’

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWO DAYS LATER, a knock at my door set my heart to thumping. I had been jumpy and fearful ever since my odd conversation with Gerlach, waiting for Dieter to reveal the test and whether I’d failed, waiting for Gerlach to start in again. To my surprise, Sepp stepped through the doorway. His sombre expression shrivelled the bloom of hope I felt at seeing him.

  ‘Matilde,’ he said softly, without preamble. ‘You need to come with me.’

  ‘What has happened?’ I asked, grim possibilities racing through my mind. Riot inside the walls, or the glimmer of Ilthean campfires signalling the army’s arrival?

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, but didn’t elaborate.

  I hesitated, and he frowned and added, ‘There isn’t much time, Tilde.’

  ‘Much time for what?’ I demanded.

  Instead of answering, Sepp pushed past me and opened the entrance to the thralls’ runs.

  I paused on the threshold of the lamplit corridor, uneasy at the lack of guards. I did not believe the guards’ absence to be coincidence, but it was difficult to credit that Sepp could have arranged it. Gerlach’s strange behaviour flashed to mind, but I dismissed the idea. Sepp’s distrust ran too deep; he would not work with Dieter, or any of his men.

  ‘Sepp, what’s going on?’

  He turned to look at me. ‘Do you trust me?’

  ‘That’s not fair –’

  ‘Do you?’ he demanded.

  ‘Yes, but I need to know –’

  ‘You need to come with me,’ he said again, turning away. ‘I’m not talking to you anywhere those guards of his can overhear us.’

  With a sigh I followed, and the stone door snicked shut behind us. His urgent stride gave us no time to speak as he led me towards the lower courtyard. As we stepped into the brisk night air, Sepp’s pace quickened even further and I had to trot to keep up. The hurry put a sting of fear back into my veins. What was so urgent?

  ‘Sepp, what –?’

  ‘Not yet,’ he said, his eyes scanning the shadows.

  I fell back, increasingly nervous of th
e familiar contours. The corner of the kitchen bore ominous new outlines that could have been peering heads. Was it the wind, rustling across the gravel of the garden, or the tread of unfriendly feet? The pitch blackness beneath the Pigs Gate set my heart to quailing. Only Sepp’s unhesitating step prodded me through into the thick scent of mulch and fresh manure. The pigs yoinked and grunted and came trotting to the side of their pens.

  Though mud slicked up and around our feet, Sepp’s stride didn’t slacken in the least before he ducked into the musky darkness of the stables up ahead, the gloom swallowing him in moments. I hurried in after him. The air that washed over me carried spores, I was sure of it: fungal fur would be taking root in my lungs with every breath.

  Shapes resolved out of the dim interior, slat-fenced stalls and the bulk of tack hooked to the walls. This section of the stable housed only the horses, for the ceiling was too low to admit an upper level. The hayloft, and the loft where the stable thralls slept, lay in the other direction, hidden by the darkness. Ahead of me, Sepp stood near the final stall – near what appeared to be the mouth of a tunnel.

  Sweat slicked my palms as I stopped.

  ‘You need to hurry, Matilde,’ Sepp said.

  Rustlings from the stall near him spoke of another presence, one of the horses disturbed by the unusual visit. Squaring my shoulders, I stepped forward.

  ‘Watch your step,’ Sepp added, but it was too late. My foot sank into a warm pile of horse manure. Ignoring the wet warmth seeping through my thin shoes, I joined him near the furthermost stall. Taking in the sacks gathered in a heap in front of the stall, a nameless dread chilled my spine.

  Roshi stepped out of the gloom of the stall dressed for practicality in boots, goat-leather pants and tunic, her hair gathered back into a braid at her nape. She carried a leather hackamore in one hand, a coil of rope in the other.

  ‘It’s time to go, Matilde,’ she said.

  ‘What are you talking about? I’m not going anywhere,’ I said, panicked.

  ‘Yes you are, and you’re leaving now,’ said Roshi. ‘We have provisions enough to last us a fortnight if we’re thrifty. This tunnel will bring us out closer to the walls than I’d like, but if we keep our heads low, we’ve a solid enough chance of escaping notice.’

  ‘In case you’ve forgotten, there’s an army out there, marching towards us and in all likelihood intent on destroying my land and beheading my husband. I won’t let it happen!’ I said, hot tears springing to my eyes. My voice had risen, sending abrupt echoes through the quiet stable, startling the sleeping horses. Quietly but firmly, I finished, ‘I’ve lost one family already. I’ll not walk away from another.’

  ‘We need to hurry,’ Sepp said to Roshi, who nodded, turning to bridle the pony.

  ‘I’m not leaving,’ I insisted.

  Roshi shared a look with Sepp. I didn’t wait to find out its meaning. Readiness sharpened my muscles as I mentally measured the spaces in the stable aisle, then I turned, already running. As I clawed and shoved past Sepp, my soiled foot slipped on the dry rushes, losing me precious moments as I righted myself.

  Roshi must have whipped around, for the next thing I knew she’d snagged my forearm. The stall slats stopped her from gaining a good grip, but it was enough to slow me. Not that Sepp needed any help: he too was fast, hooking my leg out from under me. I landed on my back with all the grace of an upended turtle, slamming into the rammed earth hard enough to wind myself. Blackness shrouded my vision. When it cleared, Roshi had jumped the stall to crouch over me. Hands on my shoulders, she peered into my face. Behind her, Sepp bent to the provisions, working swiftly.

  ‘I won’t lose him too,’ I said, breathless and dazed. ‘He’s all I have left.’

  ‘He’s the one thing you don’t have,’ she replied. ‘But until you’re clear-headed enough to see it, and to see him without forgetting it, it isn’t wise for you to be around him.’

  I squirmed in the sodden rushes, but Roshi’s legs gripped me too tight.

  ‘It’s time we freed you,’ said Roshi with a hesitant smile. ‘Your way, this time.’

  ‘I won’t!’

  ‘I’ll bind you if I must.’

  I spat, but my aim was dreadful, the gobbet brushing a few stray strands of her hair.

  ‘Fine,’ Roshi said. ‘Sepp, the rope, please.’

  Sepp passed the coil of rope over my head. As Roshi lifted a hand from my shoulder to take it, I shoved her off me and into Sepp’s legs. They both dropped in a tangle and I scrambled to my feet, lifted my skirts and ran. A bang and a startled whicker sounded behind me, but I didn’t look back. Ahead, a light flickered to life – one of the thralls had been woken by the clamour. Hope rose in me as the light strengthened.

  Roshi took me down in a tackle that splayed me face-first into more horse manure. ‘Willing or not, cousin, you’re leaving,’ she murmured. ‘Now.’

  Hauling my hands behind my back, she snaked the coarse rope around my wrists, tying it so tight it burned, no matter how little I struggled. After she’d bound my wrists, keeping one knee planted in the middle of my back, pinning me, she stood. It all happened so swiftly that the light had not yet moved forward. There came a single moment of freedom from Roshi’s pressing weight, then I was being hauled to my feet. I turned my head to find it was Sepp helping me to stand.

  Between them, he and Roshi hustled me forward, towards the sturdy pony standing ready in the aisle, laden with the provisions.

  I summoned one last shred of resistance, digging in my heels and pulling against their guidance. I only needed a few more moments, and we would be discovered. ‘You’ll have to knock me out to take me,’ I said.

  ‘Very well,’ Roshi said, then swung her fist at my temple, the crack of the impact turning the world black.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  WHEN I CAME to, the throbbing in my head was an instant reminder of what had happened.

  I lay still, focusing on the sounds around me as I tried to work out where I was. The smell of leaf-mould and forest litter filled the air. Fern fronds, gathered beneath a length of canvas, served for my bed. Everything was damp, including the bracken of my bedding.

  A blanket covered me, at least, a thin but sturdy arrangement of layers of wool and goose-down sandwiched between an outer shell of canvas. Pity my skin wasn’t as weatherproof as the blanket.

  Branches formed a false sky, alive with shivers and the darting movement of birds. The time was hard to gauge beneath the dense canopy, but night appeared to have passed.

  I rolled onto my side, careful to retain the ruse of sleep, surveying the makeshift camp through slitted eyes.

  A cast iron cauldron balanced on a rickety spit above a small fire nearby. Steam dragons twined above the cauldron, but the slight breeze was against me and brought no scent of what was brewing.

  The pony stood tethered on the fire’s far side, its eyes half closed and its tail twitching at occasional midges and mosquitos. Sepp lay nearby, head down, eyes closed, mouth open and faintly snoring. Roshi sat cross-legged by the fire.

  ‘A bear could be savaging me, and you’d never know,’ I said.

  She glanced over with an amused expression. ‘Oh, I think I’d notice that. All the snuffling, you understand, and bears do have an unmistakable odour.’

  I elbowed myself to a sitting position as Roshi watched whatever she was brewing.

  ‘You could untie me,’ I snapped, when I’d finally managed to sit up.

  ‘Not until you’ve learnt to behave,’ she replied, giving the pot a stir.

  I examined the forest, trying to guess our location. We couldn’t have been more than a night’s walk from the Turholm. I had dim memories of waking, slung over the pony’s back like a sack of meal, with Roshi walking in front. Had she walked all night? A pale and papery look to her skin suggested she might have. In which case we should have been clear of the forest by now. Unless …

  ‘So,’ I said, ‘we’re not heading for the Skythe grasslands.’

&
nbsp; ‘No,’ she said, her voice flat. ‘We’re not.’

  ‘Interesting. I wouldn’t have thought you had any better place to seek sanctuary. Or any other place at all, for that matter,’ I goaded.

  She poked again at the pot, leant forward and inhaled. A faint whiff reached me, stinging and sharp like nettles and citrus gone rancid. Removing the pot from its perch with a forked stick, she poured a wooden mugful of the tea and brought it to me. ‘I don’t need sanctuary.’

  ‘Those who’ve kidnapped queens normally need a place of safety.’

  She nodded at the mug. ‘For your headache.’

  ‘I don’t have a headache.’

  Her smile called me a liar. ‘You will. And I’ve not kidnapped you.’

  ‘This isn’t what I’d consider a pleasure jaunt,’ I said, holding my hands out in front of me to display my trussed wrists. On either side of the rope the flesh stood out in ridges, red and chafed.

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ she said, her voice totally without chagrin. ‘We’re still too close to the Turholm to risk otherwise. Drink your tea,’ she added. ‘The headache you don’t have is making you white around the eyes.’

  The sharp burn of ginger overwhelmed any other taste hidden in the brew. Once I’d gagged down a sip Roshi, apparently satisfied, turned and shook Sepp awake. He stared at her blankly for a few moments, then rubbed his eyes and finally nodded. After he’d got his bearings his glance slid to me. Finding me awake made him jerk upright.

  As Roshi bedded down for her rest, Sepp watched me. I drank my tea, watching him in return.

  The forest ticked by around us, insects creaking in the hidden depths, bird calls echoing through the open wooded corridors, a breeze curling as if by whimsy this way and that. After a while Sepp sat back against an elm tree, occasionally glancing my way.

  I sat until the tea went cold in its mug.

  ‘She says you’re sick,’ he said at last.

  I didn’t respond and, with a nervous glance at Roshi, sleeping on her side curled into a ball, he stood and stepped quietly across to me, flinching at the sight of my wounded wrists.