thought, seeing the room turned into a smoking pit, but still there was no murmur from her. Perhaps the poison had burnt her out.
Thralls moved through the gathering, distributing food, refilling drinks and tidying up any mess.
‘Matilde.’ Dieter welcomed me warmly and beckoned me to his side.
Grateful for the chance to rest, I didn’t hesitate to share his couch, although I did draw the line at reclining in public like some weak-spined Ilthean noble, an attitude not shared by all the drightens.
Only Maja of House Saschan sat upright, her legs crossed, staring at the carpet’s pattern as if it held important secrets. Though seemingly oblivious to the talk ebbing and flowing around her, she was a sharp player and I did not doubt she caught every nuance of every comment.
Krimhilde of House Raethn lay on her stomach, her head pillowed on one arm, in conversation with her brother Merten, who sat in a nest of cushions by her. Rein of House Falkere, whose son I might have wed had Dieter not staged his Aestival coup, had his eyes closed and his face turned to the ceiling, drawing deep on a pipe as he listened to the whispers of Evard Somner.
Dieter lay a proprietary hand on my shoulder as the drightens directed a barrage of questions at me. How was I feeling? I looked unwell still, did I have the strength yet to share their counsels? Who could have committed such a cowardly act?
Exhausted from my illness, lack of sleep, and the sudden exertion, I didn’t have the breath to answer. Dieter spoke for me. Perhaps he sought to cement the image of his power over me – or perhaps he understood how I struggled for the energy to speak.
After a while the flurry of questions died away, and the drightens talked of trivialities, their conversation going around in circles, never settling, never committing. They glossed over any suggestion of a vote whenever the subject arose, their eyes shifting constantly, measuring and assessing the currents, gauging the positions of the other drightens.
Dieter’s fears were true: they were at a stalemate.
While they prevaricated, there would be no vote. If they did not vote within a fortnight, there would be no ratification and Dieter would need to conquer them all to keep the throne.
Even with the Skythes to back him, Dieter wouldn’t have the manpower to withstand all the tribes united against him. His only hope now lay in divisiveness, and he was bending all his charm and cunning to the task, with a comment here, a silence there, a significant glance at one and a thoughtful appraisal of another’s speech. Though he appeared at his ease, he was working hard to keep the drightens separated, his grip on the back of my neck betraying his tension.
A thrall appeared in the doorway, bowing awkwardly before daring to enter. Scanning the room, her eyes settled on me.
‘Excuse me, my lady,’ she said, stopping before me. ‘There’s a messenger in the courtyard, with an armed escort, calling for the Lady Matilde.’
Just like that, the safe ground I’d worked hard to create beneath me – Dieter’s trust, the drightens’ disregard – were suddenly at risk.
All eyes turned my way.
‘Matilde,’ murmured Dieter, suspicion sharp in his tone. ‘Is there something you want to share? Perhaps you’ll tell me now who it was you contacted, while I was busy evading the Skythe trap you set for me?’
He was talking about the damnable pigeons again, the birds that had been released while we were securing the Nilofen as allies. Sigi had not been able to tell me anything of them or the message they might have carried, but that had not allayed Dieter’s suspicions. Now there arrived a messenger, calling for me by name, awakening Dieter’s distrust again. And where Dieter distrusted, the drightens discovered a keen interest in following suit.
‘You’ve made a mistake,’ I said to the thrall. ‘My husband is the Duethin – the messenger would be asking for him.’
‘No, my lady, he was definitely asking for you. He said he’d speak to no other,’ said the thrall. ‘However, it’s possible he’s lost his wits. He has the starveling look of a stray, and his eyes keep rolling in his head.’
‘You could have added that snippet earlier,’ I snapped, fear making my tone hard. ‘He doesn’t know what he’s saying, obviously.’
No one laughed. No one relaxed. Stray and lunatic or not, the stranger was armed and asking for me by name. Was he a plant, or a