should the new couple need anything. One was a young Mother of Ambassador Enai’s household. Her head was bowed beneath a simple pink-and-white godscarf, her light brown hands folded patiently around a silk bag. Charm beckoned for her with her name.
She came inside.
“Hal,” he said, “this is Talsil, whose desire-of-reflection is strong, and has shared with me that she finds you very beautiful.”
The prince stared at Talsil for a long moment, seeming at war with herself, both terrified and intrigued. “Talsil,” she said, licking her bottom lip. “You are also very beautiful.”
The young Mother smiled, rounding her face pleasingly. Charm knew her to be full of humor and familiar with the ways of Aremoria, such as only one who had lived here most of her life could be.
“What do you do?” Hal asked. She darted a glance at Charm, who smiled, too, amused at her.
“I write for Ambassador Enai, and teach the children of his household the art of writing and Luminous calligraphy. But—” Talsil winked. “I have other skills with my hands, and brought with me a very fine oil that warms almost instantly to the touch.”
“Worms,” Hal whispered, then blew out a heavy sigh. She raised her eyebrows at Charm.
“I would like a massage,” Charm said. “It has been a stressful day. Talsil is quite talented at tracing the breath of God upon the muscles of one’s back, wife.”
“Are you?” Hal managed a real smile this time. “I would like to know what words the Luminous has put against my skin.”
Talsil did not wait for further permission, but headed with swaying hips for the bedroom.
SOME HOURS LATER, in the dark, Charm lay upon his side, naked. Hal rested with her back to him, one hand reached behind to hold his. Nothing else of their bodies touched.
On the prince’s other side, Talsil slept, limp and snoring in tiny little gasps Charm found endearing. He wished he were so satisfied, but this evening had been so much effort. While pleasure had been found, amongst the three of them, between himself and his wife it had been layered with hesitations and averted eyes.
Only the low fire put light into the room, and Charm traced the line of Hal’s creamy shoulder with his gaze. “Was it too awful?” he whispered, unable to stop himself.
Hal tilted her head enough that one eye caught the orange light. “I am all right, Charm. But I will tell you, since my mother confessed she is dying, the scale of what I consider to be awful has shifted every single day.”
HOTSPUR
Dondubhan, spring
SPRING CAME LATE on Innis Lear, but when it did, the arrival spread soft color across the whole of the land. Pale purple clover speckled the bog, and weeds along the banks of the Tarinnish burst with brilliant yellow and warm white flowers. The grass flushed hot green, and birds flooded the blossoming cherry and apple and dogwood trees of the queen’s garden, filling the skies with their eager song and splattering the ground with their shit.
Mora’s child was a healthy girl, named Cealla for Mora’s mother. The baby was dusky pink and bald, and did not cry overmuch, but mewed like a kitten and even at only two weeks managed to grip Hotspur’s lengthening curls with impressive obstinance whenever Hotspur wrestled her from one of the besotted soldiers.
The birth of a new heir should have calmed the world, but there was a breathlessness to the settled wind, a waiting tension.
Or perhaps it was only Hotspur.
Hal was married. Hotspur thought she didn’t deserve to be jealous, didn’t deserve to be angry at all—yet she was. She could not forget the yearning in Hal’s voice when she said, Hotspur. She could not forget the touch of Hal’s lips, the control and purpose of her hands, demanding a promise.
What mattered, Hotspur told herself, was the alliance with the Third Kingdom. How it would shift the coming war. Vindomata had already taken back the March, with Burgun at her side. It had begun, and Hotspur was more of a weapon than ever. The Wolf of Aremoria would choose the end.
No matter whom she loved.
She wished Connley were here.
For weeks after the Longest Night, her own husband had been quiet and supportive. Hotspur had told him of her confused feelings of being trapped between Mora and Hal Bolinbroke. He’d said he understood, but when Cealla had been born, Connley had vanished from Dondubhan. An untroubled Rowan insisted it was the prerogative of the Witch of the White Forest to go