his back. A sick nausea unfolded into limp relief as he laced his fingers between hers. He was glad they were talking. He did love her. He was sorry for everything. He was also angry, and resentful and confused. She could even feel the sharper pain of her own back through him. The bits of herself scattered through her sense of him were like flat notes in an orchestra, and she realized that the dullness she’d been laboring under was actually a loneliness so keen it would have brought tears to her eyes, if she’d let it.
Gavin’s hand tightened on hers. “Your back still hurts,” he said. She was baffled—was that really all he’d felt in her?—but before she could say anything, he smiled. “Guess what I’m going to do tonight, as soon as Elly’s done with the rushes?”
She managed one of her truncated shrugs.
“Have dinner with Firo.” He laughed. “Elly insists. He wants me to talk Elban into keeping a garrison in Cerrington, and I guess I don’t have a reason to be suspicious of him anymore. Do you want to come? We’re having that duck you like.”
She shook her head. She didn’t trust herself to speak.
“This other secret of yours,” he said. “Am I going to find out eventually?”
She nodded.
“Well, then, I won’t bother you about it.” He pulled on her hand and slid his other arm around her shoulder, pulled her over to him and kissed her forehead. “I’ll never let anybody hurt you again, Judah. I promise.” Then he let her go. Standing up, he put on his coat, winked at her and left the room. The confidence was back in his walk, and his steps were light and comfortable again.
“I traded us to Elban,” she said to the empty room. “So he’d let Elly go. He’s going to use us to send messages. He’s going to cut us to pieces.”
Chapter Twelve
Seven days later, the four of them stood together on the balcony over the Lord’s Square, even though the summer solstice was still weeks away. The Seneschal stood with them, a row of guards stony behind him. A sizeable crowd had gathered among the linden trees in the Square. Someone had taken the time to set up the courtiers’ dais in front, where they were protected by more guards and soft scarlet ropes; many of them were already there, glittering and resplendent. Behind them stood the higher-class commoners—wealthy but landless merchants, well-regarded clothiers, factory managers—and there were a great many of them, too. Around the edges were the true commoners. The markets had been closed but the factory fires still burned, so there weren’t as many commoners as usual. Most were still working.
No banners flew. People wore what they’d had on when they’d heard the drums. Judah had never seen the city in its normal dress before. The white-badged guards were a heavy presence in the Square. On her first tentative forays out of the parlor Judah had seen that Theron was right: there were more guards than usual in the House. Now, though, her eyes slid over the guards, barely noticing them. She realized that she no longer wondered about her mother when she looked out over the city; she knew where her mother was. But she couldn’t help thinking of Darid’s mother and his sisters: the one who could knit, the one who wrote letters.
The Seneschal had come shortly after dawn. His face had been somber but Judah had seen—or imagined—a faint glimmer of mania in his eyes. “A messenger arrived this morning,” he’d said. “Lord Gavin, your father has been injured.”
Nobody reacted. “How?” Gavin finally said.
The Seneschal shook his head. “It’s war, Lord Gavin. This is what happens in a war. People are injured. Even City Lords.” He told them that the army was marching back now. It would reach the barracks outside the city within the hour; an hour after that, Elban’s own guard would enter the city itself, bringing the Lord with them. They should wait on the Lord’s Square balcony, he said. It was only proper.
So they waited. The drums grew louder. Gavin stood in front, noble and somber despite the queasy excitement Judah could feel coursing through him, elated one minute and nervous the next. Elly was next to him, equally composed despite the fact that—as always—she’d had to be dragged up the stairs and onto the balcony, and now clung tightly to Judah’s hand. They’d found Theron and put him in some clean clothes. Most of his