Shadow Queen - By Deborah Kalin Page 0,44

me to sudden tears, though I blinked them back before she could catch a glimpse of my face.

‘I know he likes to make mock,’ she said, stepping closer, ‘but it’s not like he’s hurt you.’

‘That doesn’t mean I like him any better,’ I replied, ignoring the blush pricking at my cheeks.

‘You must hate me for sure, then, since I’ve tried to hurt you.’ Amalia dropped her gaze and pulled at a thread on her cuff.

Though she didn’t sound insincere, I suspected this was another ploy.

‘I’m sorry,’ she continued, ‘about the killing part, at least. I’m not saying I wasn’t right to be angry. Only … maybe I shouldn’t have tried to stick a knife in you.’

I gaped at her.

‘It’s all right, you don’t have to forgive me,’ she said peering at my throat as solicitously as if she hadn’t put the wound there. ‘Does it still hurt?’

I found my voice at last. ‘You tried to slice my throat and you’re … sorry?’

‘What more can I say? I’ll not lie, not with the wound still scabbed. Do you hate me for it?’

I turned away, overwhelmed by a flood of conflicting emotions. ‘You’re crazy. You and your brother, both of you are as crazy as hens that have been drinking from a blacksmith’s barrel.’

‘Sometimes I forget how difficult this must be for you.’ Her fingertips grazed my spine, then inched up to brush my nape. ‘I know my brother’s a good man – you don’t. How could you, after all?’

I shuddered, and her hand retreated momentarily.

‘You must be so very alone,’ she whispered.

A great sob lodged in my throat. I bowed my head over it, choking it back. In the face of my loneliness, her display of affection was a heady offer, waking in me a thirst for the comfort of simple contact.

Amalia ducked around in front of me, her knees bent so she could peer up at me. Uncomfortable with the intimacy, I raised my head and drew it back. She followed me, however, pressed as close as before, her gaze drinking me in. Prickling raced the length of my spine and settled in my belly.

‘I know I’m not what you’d choose, and neither is Diet. Still, we are here.’

‘You’re here for the throne.’

‘Diet may be. I’m not.’

‘No. You’re here for Diet.’

Her hand snaked up my arm and coiled around the back of my neck. Slight as the touch was, I couldn’t pull away, though I avoided her gaze.

In the end Amalia decided to stop waiting. While I was still staring resolutely away she leaned in and, with a twist of her neck spilling her frosted hair over her arm, pressed her lips to mine.

Before I had time to so much as blink, she’d pulled back.

‘Come to bed,’ she said.

Ravens help me, I did.

EIGHTEEN

EVERY INCH OF my skin flushed with memory as soon as I opened my eyes the following morning. I screwed them shut again, trying to deny what I’d done. But the memories rose up inside me – and Amalia lay warm and drowsy beside me.

Careful not to wake her with my shivers, I sat up and pulled on the nearest scrap of clothing I could find, a muslin shift so thin it was nigh transparent. I’d barely yanked it over my head when the latch of the bedroom door rattled, freezing me into a wary stillness.

Amalia stirred, but didn’t wake as Renatas stepped into the room, nursing a ferret kit in his arms.

Fear hammering spikes through my veins, I glanced from him to Amalia, certain she would wake up and discover him. Gesturing urgently for quiet, I slipped from the bed and fumbled for my veil.

Lonely people make easy marks, Grandmother harped. I had no time for her now.

‘Renatas!’ I hissed, tiptoeing closer. ‘What are you doing here? What’s happened?’

Dark circles haunted his eyes, but his attitude was calm. ‘I am tired of waiting,’ he said, meeting my gaze with a challenging stare and making no attempt to keep his voice down.

From the bed Amalia mumbled in her sleep. I gestured for him to precede me into the sitting room, but he ignored me.

‘I know it’s hard to understand, Renatas, but it’s important –’

He cut me off. ‘No. You don’t understand. I have no interest in living in this stone hovel any longer than I must. It’s clear who holds the power – and it isn’t you. So I don’t need your help.’

Behind him, Dieter appeared in the doorway, a mocking light in his eyes. He laid a