Shadow Queen - By Deborah Kalin Page 0,87

for the quick and easy way. Most of us scorned him for it, for usually it is the most easily broken.’ He paused and shook his head. ‘But Dieter always had a trick up his sleeve which turned the quick and easy way into the best way.’

‘You mean his ruse with believing.’

‘Yes. Use the victim’s mind to make the lie true,’ The shadow-worker said. ‘Brilliant. Amoral, but brilliant.’

I considered the black raven snapping in the distance. ‘Must it be amoral? Couldn’t the same trick be used to make a sick patient believe themselves healed?’

‘Don’t let Roshi hear you talk like that – she has a most decided opinion as to your regard for Dieter.’

This time it was my turn to shrug. ‘She has good reason.’ There were no words to explain the riot of confusion which made up the way I felt about Dieter, so I didn’t try.

‘My lady, if I may say, you look ravishing,’ Came Sidonius’s voice, and I turned to find him approaching, wearing the self-satisfied smile I’d heard in his tone. ‘Dressed as you are,’ He continued, ‘I see the likeness to your aunt.’

The mention of Helena made me shiver, and I could find no response that didn’t choke me.

‘Silence is a good attribute,’ Sidonius noted. ‘You might want to cultivate it. Particularly during the parley.’

His words started a trip-hammer in my breast. Parley meant Dieter.

‘Come,’ He said.

‘Now?’

‘Second thoughts, little queen?’ said Sidonius, his choice of epithet sending a chill down my spine.

I had to stiffen my neck against the urge to turn and check for Clay’s approach.

‘Might I suggest it’s perhaps a little late?’ he added.

‘You may not,’ I snapped.

Sidonius examined me with a critical eye before offering me his arm in its white silk sleeve. ‘In that case, your throne awaits, lady.’

I rested the tips of my fingers on his arm, taut and warm beneath the thin layer of silk, and let him lead me towards the parley, and Dieter. My knees felt weaker with every step, his pace quick enough to make my bound rib twinge.

A makeshift pavilion had been set up, an open-sided tent of white silk, excess scraps of cloth fluttering at each corner. A small party on horseback were picking their way across the plain towards the pavilion already.

We had no mounts of our own, not directly. Instead, a single horse stood harnessed into the traces of a small open carriage.

‘In you step, lady,’ said Sidonius.

‘I’ll ride the horse,’ I said, not moving.

He took no notice, urging me into the carriage with a hand on the small of my back to block off any escape. The carriage creaked as I stepped in, then rocked and tipped as Sidonius followed me. He stood dead-centre, lifting the chariot’s prow from the ground.

I clutched at the lacquered wooden rim, terrified by the thought of landing on my backside in the dust.

‘Closer to me,’ said Sidonius.

‘I’m fine here,’ I said, curling my fingers tighter.

He pulled me towards him, forcing me to release my hold on the rim and step back. Only a fraction of an inch separated us as he reached around and tucked me into the crook of his elbow. He picked up the traces and the horse flicked glossy ears back and forth, shifting on its hooves as it felt the subtle change in its harness.

An escort formed around us: soldiers in bronze breastplates, scraps of white silk knotted to the tips of their lances. Sidonius flicked the reins and gave a sharp cry in my ear and the horse burst into a trot. The chariot’s rattling start swayed me tighter into his grip. Unsteady with the jolt and sway, pull and lag, I didn’t fight, but concentrated instead on controlling the pain shooting through my body and the nerves making my hands hot.

Heralded by the beat of hooves and the rattle and creak of the chariot, clad in the garb of the Iltheans and cradled in the arm of his brother, I made my way towards my husband.

THIRTY-FIVE

DIETER REACHED THE pavilion ahead of us. He had Gerlach with him, and two of his men. Surrounded by a brace of ilthean soldiers, I nevertheless felt weak by comparison. So be it, I thought. He made me weak.

The thought birthed a spark of anger, which I visualised gathering close in cupped hands and nurturing, to steel myself against the coming confrontation. Even from this distance, unable to make out the exact nature of Dieter’s expression, I wanted to quail with shame.

After a time,