Shadow Queen - By Deborah Kalin Page 0,69

Roshi sat cross-legged by the fire.

‘A bear could be savaging me, and you’d never know,’ I said.

She glanced over with an amused expression. ‘Oh, I think I’d notice that. All the snuffling, you understand, and bears do have an unmistakable odour.’

I elbowed myself to a sitting position as Roshi watched whatever she was brewing.

‘You could untie me,’ I snapped, when I’d finally managed to sit up.

‘Not until you’ve learnt to behave,’ she replied, giving the pot a stir.

I examined the forest, trying to guess our location. We couldn’t have been more than a night’s walk from the Turholm. I had dim memories of waking, slung over the pony’s back like a sack of meal, with Roshi walking in front. Had she walked all night? A pale and papery look to her skin suggested she might have. In which case we should have been clear of the forest by now. Unless …

‘So,’ I said, ‘we’re not heading for the Skythe grasslands.’

‘No,’ she said, her voice flat. ‘We’re not.’

‘Interesting. I wouldn’t have thought you had any better place to seek sanctuary. Or any other place at all, for that matter,’ I goaded.

She poked again at the pot, leant forward and inhaled. A faint whiff reached me, stinging and sharp like nettles and citrus gone rancid. Removing the pot from its perch with a forked stick, she poured a wooden mugful of the tea and brought it to me. ‘I don’t need sanctuary.’

‘Those who’ve kidnapped queens normally need a place of safety.’

She nodded at the mug. ‘For your headache.’

‘I don’t have a headache.’

Her smile called me a liar. ‘You will. And I’ve not kidnapped you.’

‘This isn’t what I’d consider a pleasure jaunt,’ I said, holding my hands out in front of me to display my trussed wrists. On either side of the rope the flesh stood out in ridges, red and chafed.

‘I’m sorry about that,’ she said, her voice totally without chagrin. ‘We’re still too close to the Turholm to risk otherwise. Drink your tea,’ she added. ‘The headache you don’t have is making you white around the eyes.’

The sharp burn of ginger overwhelmed any other taste hidden in the brew. Once I’d gagged down a sip Roshi, apparently satisfied, turned and shook Sepp awake. He stared at her blankly for a few moments, then rubbed his eyes and finally nodded. After he’d got his bearings his glance slid to me. Finding me awake made him jerk upright.

As Roshi bedded down for her rest, Sepp watched me. I drank my tea, watching him in return.

The forest ticked by around us, insects creaking in the hidden depths, bird calls echoing through the open wooded corridors, a breeze curling as if by whimsy this way and that. After a while Sepp sat back against an elm tree, occasionally glancing my way.

I sat until the tea went cold in its mug.

‘She says you’re sick,’ he said at last.

I didn’t respond and, with a nervous glance at Roshi, sleeping on her side curled into a ball, he stood and stepped quietly across to me, flinching at the sight of my wounded wrists.

‘I’m not comfortable about it,’ he said, ‘but she says you’re not well, Tilde.’

‘Her only evidence seems to be that I love my husband.’

‘Tilde …’ He picked at detritus on the forest floor, digging his fingers into the earth, not daring to meet my gaze. ‘You don’t mean that. He’s done something to you, something to warp the way you think.’

My laugh had no humour in it. ‘Do you know, when I first met Roshi, she thought me ill in the head for not liking him?’

Emotion heated his cheeks and I wanted to bite my tongue for being sharp with him. Angering him now wouldn’t be my smartest tactic.

‘Sepp, I’ll be the first to admit it’s strange. I’ve hardly let up lately, complaining how much I dislike Diet. But you have to understand – we didn’t exactly meet under the best of circumstances.’ Now that was a diplomatic way of phrasing it. ‘I had a lot to overcome before I could see the good in him.’

Sepp avoided my gaze. ‘And you have overcome it? The massacre of our people, people we loved, friends?’

I dropped my hands to my lap, stinging under the reproach. How dare he! He hadn’t had to live through the Aestival slaughter, nor the days and weeks since. But I fought back the rising anger to keep my voice clear. ‘Other bindings have started on harsher foundations. He’s gentle, Sepp, and considerate.’

‘Which is