Shadow Queen - By Deborah Kalin Page 0,61

Dieter’s command over the clamour. He didn’t join the fray, instead remaining in front of me, sword at the ready.

One of the ragged men loomed out of the fight, and swung his axe at Dieter’s head.

Dieter flexed back to avoid the blow, his sword raised in defence. The wind of the axe’s swipe ruffled his hair then whistled past my cheeks. The attacker had underestimated Dieter’s agility, and the force of his swing left him overextended. Roshi darted past me. A strange expression crossed the attacker’s features and he dropped to the ground like a rotten tree, Roshi’s blade buried in his heart.

Yet more of Dieter’s men streamed out of the Turholm and plunged into the fight.

‘I want them alive!’ Dieter ordered again.

A few straggling clashes later, it was over, the tide of Dieter’s men easily overwhelming the ragged band. Like clockwork winding down, they separated, resolving from a swirling tangle of limbs into individual men, some standing, some kneeling, some motionless on the ground. The Vestenn knelt, head hanging, a cut to his temple bleeding into his dazed eyes. Blood lay dark and already congealing on the paving stones.

‘Escort them to the cells,’ Dieter ordered. Then, pointing at the Vestenn and Sepp, he continued, ‘And have those two brought to the council chamber.’

Turning, he linked my arm through his and we moved inside, Roshi and the drightens gathering in our wake like magpies caught by the current of a passing hawk.

‘The lad?’ said Dieter.

‘Sepp,’ I supplied, then hesitated over how to explain him.

‘Tell me.’

Distracted by the impossibility of Sepp’s arrival, my answer slipped out without thought. ‘He’s my cousin.’ Then I clamped my lips shut, cursing the misstep. The last thing Sepp needed was to be considered of political worth.

‘Yes,’ said Dieter, giving me a strange look. ‘I know.’

‘You know?’

Dieter rolled his eyes. ‘You Svanaten – always so pure and righteous. Did you think the rest of the world couldn’t figure it out? He’s Helena’s son, born on the bloody side of the sheets. Given his age, she must’ve been not much older than you are now when she was tumbled.’

I couldn’t answer, the words lodging in my chest like a tangle of thorns.

‘She couldn’t wed a common thrall. Not Beata’s daughter,’ Dieter continued, shaking his head, his familiar mocking smile reasserting itself. ‘A formidable woman, your grandmother. Ravens forbid her daughter should marry beneath her – though Beata not only let her precious son wed a goatherd, she allowed the goatherd’s mother to pour memories into her head.’

‘Easy for you to say! The only thing more putrid than the swamps surrounding your family’s holdings are the morals! Here, it’s a wonder Helena wasn’t executed, with Grandmother wielding the axe herself.’

Dieter shrugged. ‘The fact that she wasn’t is your clue, Matilde. What we’re told is fact is not always so. When it comes to morals and rules, I dare say it’s almost never true. The Turholm is littered with illegitimate children, as are the holdings. They’re simply hushed over and ignored. I have one myself, you know.’

‘A child?’ I gasped, a hush from behind telling me I’d spoken too loud.

Dieter snorted, pinning my arm closer to his side to quicken my lagging steps. ‘No. A bastard in the family. In my case it’s a brother.’

My head was swimming. I’d spent years piecing together snippets of conversation and significant pauses, looks given and avoided, then for even more years I’d carefully hoarded the unspoken knowledge that Sepp was my cousin. Now, not only had I blurted it out, careless and casual, but I’d learnt it was no secret after all.

As we drew level with the council chambers, I gripped Dieter’s arm. ‘Please don’t hurt Sepp,’ I implored him.

He gave me a leaden look, and shook his head. ‘I’ve far more important concerns right now.’

Really, to hear Dieter tell it, almost anyone could have overthrown my family. In a lot of ways I was lucky it had been him. I wouldn’t have liked my fate had the Somners been behind the coup.

Grandmother muttered in the back of my head, too quiet and quick for me to catch her words, although her disgruntled tone was clear. It was the first time she’d stirred since the poisoning, and her return made me uneasy. Grandmother would not approve of my new circumstances and, once the poison and its damage had receded, I would hear more than half-formed mutters from her on the matter. I pushed the uncomfortable thought aside as we turned in to