The Laurentine Spy (36 page)

Athan glanced down at his steaming soup.
I had all that and thought nothing of it.
Shame heated his cheeks. “It must have seemed very strange.”

“Yes.”

He raised his eyes to her face again. She was still looking at the tablecloth. “Were you happy?”

She shrugged with a shoulder. “I got used to it.”

“But were you happy?”

Saliel sat in silence for a moment. The crease between her eyebrows grew deeper. “I was afraid. I was always afraid they’d send me back.”

“You think they would have?”

“The nursemaid said they would, if I didn’t mind my manners or speak properly.” She shrugged again. “It was an effective threat.”

“I can see that it would be,” Athan said, keeping his voice calm. He imagined her as a child, quiet, watchful, anxious, afraid of making the slightest mistake. “They schooled you. That’s why you speak Corhonase and Marillaqan.”

“I had the same lessons as the other diplomats’ children.”

Athan picked up his spoon and stirred the surface of his soup. “How long were you in the Aspides?”

“Six years.”

“Then where?”

“They sent me back.”

“Back?” His gaze jerked to her face. “To the Ninth Ward?”

“Yes,” she said. “When they were recalled to Laurent.”

Rage flared inside him. He released his spoon carefully, laying the handle on the side of the bowl. “What filthy people!” But some of his anger, his disgust, was for himself.
I will discard her too, when I return home.

Saliel seemed surprised. She looked up, meeting his eyes fully. “On the contrary. I owe them a debt I can never repay.”

“How so?” he asked, baffled.

“They gave me an education. Without that I’d still be in the Ninth Ward.”

“They gave you
half
an education. “

Saliel shook her head. “They arranged for my tutoring to continue for a while. I think they felt some responsibility for me.”

It wasn’t responsibility. It was guilt. “A while?”

“A year. I think...they must have been posted abroad again.”

He studied her face. She’d still been a child, thirteen, fourteen years old. “What happened then?”

Her gaze fell. “I paid for the lessons myself.” Her lips twisted slightly in a movement he recognized: shame.

Athan grew cold. She’d been a whore.
She wasn’t a virgin when I bedded her. She
—

“I was a pickpocket. A finger thief.” Saliel opened her right hand and spread her fingers. “I stole to pay for my lessons.”

His relief was intense. At its heels was shame, equally intense.
She was a virgin that night.

“When I was old enough, I found work as a governess.”

“A governess? But your birth—”

“My employers were commoners,” she said. “Merchants. I never worked for a House.”

No noble House would let you through the door
.
Your birth is too base
. Athan looked down at his soup without seeing it. “Did you enjoy it?”

“It was better than the Ninth Ward.”

Of course it was. Anything would be.

Without her education she’d still be there, trapped, condemned to a life of grinding poverty. At best she’d be a scullery maid, at worst a tavern wench, a whore, a beggar. Her intelligence would count for nothing,
she’d
be nothing.

Athan rubbed a hand over his face. He raised his head and looked at her. “Why did you become a spy?”

Saliel was silent for a moment, frowning. “Being a governess is all very well. But...I disliked it.”

“Why?” he asked, although he could think of a dozen reasons.

Her mouth twisted into a smile that was faintly bitter. “I disliked being a servant—which was foolish. What else can a foundling from the Ninth Ward hope to be?”

He shook his head silently.

“I dreaded my future. Moving from family to family, hoping that each new position would be...not unpleasant. Saving the money I earned so that when I grew too old to work I could rent a room in a boarding house somewhere.” She pressed two fingertips to her forehead. “And it was always awkward with the other servants. I was above them in status, but below them in birth. They never knew how to treat me.” Athan had an image of her, lonely and excluded. Something in his chest tightened painfully.

“One day an acquaintance of my employer approached me. He’d heard I spoke Corhonase. He asked whether I’d be prepared to spy for money, and I said...yes. I thought I could buy a life for myself, afterwards. Independence. I thought it was worth the risk.”

She must prize independence highly, to risk her life for it. Athan looked down at his soup and stirred it with his spoon. “What will you do when you return to Laurent?”

“Buy some land,” Saliel said, without hesitation. “By the sea.”

It was a good answer. Similar to what his own would be if he had no House. He stirred his soup, round and round. “You like the sea?”

“Yes.”

Saliel didn’t look at him. Her soup was untouched. Did she think she shouldn’t dine with him?

Athan laid down his spoon again. He looked across the table at Saliel’s bent head. If her birth matched her voice, if she truly was a diplomat’s daughter—

She wasn’t. She was a foundling from the Ninth Ward, and he’d be cast from his House if he married her.

Even so, I should make the offer again. I owe it to her.

His gaze fell. He stared at the tablecloth. Home. Family. They were simple words, but what they meant was huge. The Seresin country estate where he’d been born, where he’d run wild as a child. The mausoleum where he expected to lie alongside his ancestors. The family gallery, where his portrait hung alongside the likenesses of his brothers and sisters. That portrait would be removed and burned. He’d be erased from the family records.

Such a future—to be adrift without Name and blood ties and birthright—brought cold terror to his skin. House Seresin anchored him. It was who he was.

If only her birth matched her voice. If only she was a diplomat’s daughter—

Athan looked at her. He took a deep breath. “Saliel, marry me.”

Her head jerked up. “What?”

“We’ll pretend. We’ll say you’re from one of the far colonies.”

“No, Athan.” She shook her head. “Your House will check my pedigree. You know they will.”

“I’m a fourth son. They won’t check that hard—”

“I will not pretend to be noble.”

“Gentry, then,” he said, leaning forward. “You don’t have to be noble. It’s not important I marry well—”

“No.” She met his eyes squarely. “I will not pretend.”

He looked back down at the tablecloth, at the bowl of soup. Part of him was relieved.
Too risky a deception. If it was discovered—

“Eat,” he said. “Your soup will be going cold.”

Saliel made no move to pick up her spoon. “Which is your House, Athan?”

He closed his eyes.
Not now.

“Athan, which House?”

He raised his head and looked at her. “Seresin. My father is the Count.”

Her mouth opened. She shook her head. He saw how shocked she was, how appalled. She stood abruptly.

He pushed to his feet, almost knocking his chair over. “Don’t,” he said. “I beg you.”
Don’t walk away from me.

Saliel bowed her head. “Your House has royal blood, Athan. I can’t be in the same room as you. You know that.”

Before Corhona I would have agreed with you.
“This isn’t Laurent; it’s Marillaq. I refuse to shun you.”

Her head lifted. She looked at him. “And once we reach home?”

He couldn’t meet her eyes, couldn’t open his mouth and tell her.

She spoke the words for him: “You’ll have to shun me. You’ll dishonor your House if you don’t.”

He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. We both know how it is in Laurent.”

He opened his eyes and looked at her. “Saliel, if you truly were a diplomat’s daughter—”

“Don’t,” she said sharply. “Don’t say it.”

Athan swallowed. It was a struggle to keep his voice steady: “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head.

“Sit,” he said quietly. “Please.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she did.

They ate their soup silently. The maid took away the empty bowls. They sat without speaking. Athan could think of nothing to say.
I should have let her leave. It would be more comfortable than this.

“Athan?”

He looked at her. Bright hair, gray eyes, a pale face. Regret clenched in his chest.
I wish—

“If you don’t mind me asking...” Her voice was diffident, hesitant.

“Anything,” he said. “Anything at all. Forget about my House.”

“It was your House I wanted to ask about.”

“Oh.” He looked down at the table. “What?”

“How is it that a Seresin is a spy?”

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

T
HE SERVING MAID
brought the rest of their meal—roast lamb, vegetables—and a bottle of wine. Athan carved the meat. He didn’t speak. His expression was inward-looking, frowning. Saliel didn’t dare ask the question again. She put food silently on her plate.

Athan served himself. He poured two glasses of wine. He didn’t begin eating. He sat looking down at his plate. “I was in Marillaq when Corhona tried to invade. I saw the gorge, after. That’s one of reasons I became a spy.”

“Oh.” She felt herself flush. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to pry—”

He looked up. “The other reason is because I was bored.”

“Oh.” She picked up her cutlery, aware of Athan watching her. He wasn’t relaxed.
He expects me to judge him.

“Why were you in Marillaq?” she asked.

Athan blinked. “Marillaq? I was with my uncle. He was studying the trolls.”

“Trolls?”

“They live in the fir forests,” he said. “Little gray men.”

She stared at him. “Really?”

He shook his head. “They’re a superstition. But the locals believe they exist. That’s why they put out troll bowls.”

“Troll bowls?”

“Beside the doorsteps.” He gestured at the platter of meat. A portion of lamb lay to one side. He’d cut it into tiny pieces.

“That’s for trolls?”

He nodded. “To keep them happy.”

Saliel began to eat. The potatoes were crisp-skinned and seasoned with rosemary, the lamb tender. “What happens if they’re not happy?”

“Milk sours. Calves are stillborn. Hens don’t lay.” Athan picked up his knife and fork. “Things like that.”

Keep talking. It’s better than the silence.
“Why was your uncle interested in trolls?”

“It’s what he did. Studied things.”

“And you helped him?”

He nodded. “My parents gave him charge of my education.”

“Why?” As a Count’s son he’d have had tutors.

Athan frowned. He speared a piece of meat on his fork. “Being in a House is like being in the Citadel. It’s restrictive and...and
boring.
So I played pranks. One day I went too far. I was sent to my uncle.”

“It was a punishment?”

He was silent for a moment, frowning at the meat on his fork. Then he shrugged. “My parents didn’t know what else to do with me.” He began to eat.

“How old were you?”

“Twelve.”

So young to be sent away. “Did you enjoy it?”

Athan’s face lightened. “Very much. I saw the world with him. Marillaq, the colonies, the island nations. We were even in Corhona for a while.”

“Corhona? They have trolls?”

“No, but they have a bat that drinks blood. It feeds on cows while they sleep—” He saw the expression on her face. “Forgive me. It’s not a topic for the dinner table.”

She shook her head. “What else?”

“A snake in the Oceanides that mesmerizes its prey.” Athan reached for his wine glass. “It catches their gaze. They’re completely helpless.”

Saliel looked down at her plate. “Oh.”

“It’s extremely disturbing to watch,” she heard him say. “It’s almost as if the snake has the Eye.”

“Oh.” She pushed her food around on the plate. Vegetables. Meat.

“My uncle studied anything to do with the Eye. It was his particular interest.”

Change the subject.
“He sounds like an unusual man. How long were you with him?”

“Nearly eleven years.”

“Eleven years?” She glanced up. “So long?”

Athan nodded.

“Did you never see your family?”