Shadow Queen - By Deborah Kalin Page 0,88

the Iltheans dropped back to a walk, leaving the chariot to pull ahead in a rattle and creak of wheels. Sidonius drew in on the reins, slowing the horse to a brisk walk and finally stopping.

I’d expected something showy, a sweeping turn perhaps, or a pull sharp enough to stand the horse on its hind legs. Instead, the chariot rocked on its axis and tilted slowly forward to resting.

Silence stretched between us. Dieter and Gerlach remained on their horses – my father’s horses – and Sidonius and I stood in the chariot. We all four stared across the yards separating us, the only noise that of the pennons of the pavilion rustling and murmuring in the breeze.

Sidonius moved first, his hand on the small of my back. I clutched at my skirts as the damnable bucket tilted beneath us. Pain shot through me as I stepped down. Then the breeze brought a hint of Dieter’s scent, triggering a flash of memory from our last night together. The night I had turned to him, the night we had consummated our binding. Heat flashed across my skin.

Sidonius guided me into the shadow of the pavilion as Dieter and Gerlach dismounted and stepped inside. The four of us stood behind chairs opposite each other.

‘It’s been a long while, brother,’ said Sidonius.

‘You’ve grown since I saw you last,’ Replied Dieter, before pulling out his chair and sitting, legs outstretched and one elbow crooked onto the chair’s arm, as if completely at his ease. Gerlach remained standing, belying Dieter’s composure.

I pulled out my own chair and sat before Sidonius could hand me into it. My cheeks burned to sit before my husband dressed as an Ilthean and allied with his brother. But I had only to remember Clay, the weight of his hands pressing me into the earth and death, to firm my resolve, though it did nothing to banish the creeping sensation which stalked my nape at the thought of leading an army of serpents towards the Turholm. There’s no temporary when it comes to power, child. Give those serpents a toehold and you’ll spend buckets of blood before you dig them out again.

‘I can’t help noticing you’ve marched an army onto my lands,’ said Dieter. ‘Nigh up to my gates, in fact.’

‘You claim sovereignty over the Turasi?’ said Sidonius, taking a seat and casting an arch look my way. ‘I had heard the position belonged to another.’

‘You need more reliable sources,’ Dieter said equably, not looking my way even for a heartbeat. ‘You also need to give me reasons for marching an army onto Turasi soil. Make it a good one, won’t you?’

Sidonius responded to Dieter’s easy stare with one of hooded hatred. ‘You hold the future vassal king of the Turasi. For your sake, I hope the boy remains unharmed.’

Dieter picked at a nail. ‘The Duethin has never been, nor will ever be, a vassal to Ilthea,’ He said, then looking up, he fixed Sidonius with a glare and added, ‘No son of a snake will ever sit the throne. The boy is nothing more than the half-caste spawn of a svanaten. And who are the Svanaten?’

For the first time he shifted his gaze to me. ‘They are dead,’ he said, triumph and cruelty threaded through his voice. ‘They are ashes scattered before the wind.’

It took all my strength to hold Dieter’s gaze until he turned away, releasing me.

Sidonius leant forward a fraction, his smile crooked, his cheeks bright with colour. ‘The emperor’s reach is longer than yours, brother. The Turasi will fall under his sway as countless other peasant tribes have done before. I have the power to negotiate an agreement which will see you live.’

‘Your emperor’s promises, and therefore yours, are a false coin,’ Dieter said. ‘They will buy nothing from me.’

If the insult angered Sidonius, he didn’t show it. ‘I understand you killed Helena of house Svanaten,’ he said, with no trace now of the fury he had shown when he first learned of her death.

‘I’m afraid she did not find the homecoming she wished for.’

‘She was fleeing justice,’ Sidonius went on. ‘Jurgas Avita Angeron will look kindly on you for dealing with her in such a manner – and let me assure you, the emperor’s gratitude is no trifling matter. Yield the boy, and we can talk of your reward. Refuse’ – here a grim tone darkened Sidonius’ Voice – ‘And there will be no clemency for any of your people.’

Dieter looked up at the wind-rippled ceiling as