A Little Hatred (The Age of Madness #1) - Joe Abercrombie Page 0,205

the gutter. The noise he made as she struggled to pull the blade out of him. She had to shake off an ugly shiver. ‘Though … perhaps playing with swords is a bad idea.’

‘Might be I’ll try an axe instead. Axes are always popular, where I come from.’

‘I had heard.’ And they smiled at each other. Savine told herself she found this girl’s artless ways endearing. The truth, as usual, was less sentimental. She did not trust herself to talk to anyone more important.

Whenever someone expressed their disingenuous condolences over her ordeal, or their unconvincing relief at her safe return, she wanted to knock them down and grind her heel into their eye. She’d been sniffing pearl dust all day. Just a pinch at sunup to chase off the nightmares. Then a pinch at breakfast to keep her head above water. Maybe a couple more before lunch. Only rather than keeping her sharp, the way it used to, it was making her twitchy and savage and strangely reckless.

‘Here.’ She undid the clasp of her necklace. Red Suljuk gold and the most stunning dark emeralds from Thond, beautifully worked by her man in Ospria at a cost that had raised even her eyebrows. She slipped it around the girl’s neck and fastened it. ‘I’ll swap you.’

The girl stared at it, nestling among that mass of beads, charms and talismans, big eyes bigger than ever. ‘I can’t take this.’

‘I can get another,’ said Savine, waving it away. ‘It looks far better on you. You have the chest for it.’

‘It looks like a gold ring around a turd.’ The girl glanced down Savine’s front. ‘And you’ve got twice what I’ve got.’

‘I have half what you have and some very expensive corsetry.’ Savine reached out with both hands, pushed the girl’s unkempt mess of red-brown hair out of her face and studied it. Presumptuous, undoubtedly, but she was in that kind of mood. ‘Honestly, you have some remarkable natural advantages.’

‘I’ve a what?’ she said, looking slightly scared.

Savine put a finger under her chin to tip her face into the light. ‘Fine strong bones. Excellent teeth. And your eyes, of course.’ Huge and pale and so very expressive. ‘I’ve never seen anything quite like them.’

She flinched a little, as if that somehow touched a sore spot. ‘Not sure whether they’re a blessing or a curse …’

‘Well, I know women who’d kill for them. Literally. An hour with my maids and I could have every person in here drooling over you.’ Savine gave the girl’s face a parting pat and let her go, frowning out at the oblivious gathering. ‘Just goes to show what a ridiculous lie it is. What a ridiculous fucking lie everything is.’ She realised she had spat that last phrase with sudden bitter fury. ‘Forgive me. I’m being terribly rude.’

‘You’re being amazing, far as I’m concerned.’ The girl looked down at the necklace, blushing now, which only made her look better. ‘My father saw me wearing these, he’d shit himself.’

‘I don’t know what my father would think, but he shits himself routinely.’

The girl grinned up. ‘You’re all right, you know that?’

And Savine felt, of all things, a sudden need to cry. She looked out at the Hall of Mirrors, blinking back the tears. There was some bald old man she could not quite place, staring right at her like a butcher at a livestock sale. She flicked her fan open as though she could hide behind it. ‘No,’ she muttered. ‘I’m not.’

She had to stop herself flinching at the sight of Orso, draped against a pillar, looking drunk and despondent. It was as though there was a hook in her throat, and every glimpse of him was a painful tug on it. She was ashamed to admit it, but she wanted him no less. She certainly wanted to be queen no less. Her one desire was to go over to him and put her hand in his and say yes, and kiss him, and hold him, and watch the smile spread across his face …

And marry her brother.

The thought disgusted her. But hardly any more than everything disgusted her now. She took a shuddering breath. He was lost to her for ever, and the person she had been with him was lost for ever, and she could not even tell him why. How he must despise her. Almost as much as she despised herself.

‘Lady Savine?’

She found, to her horror, that the king was standing right beside her with that haunted, fascinated expression