Winterbourne's Daughter Read online

  "I will punish her as I choose when she misbehaves."

  "Very well. And any punishment you dole out to her, I'll give to you tenfold."

  "I―you―" She hissed out a breath and then smiled tightly. "I have to treat her just as I treat the others. Otherwise you know they'll give her their own punishments when I show her favor."

  "So leave them alone as well."

  "You impudent―" She took a step forward, and he smiled.

  "Please. Go ahead."

  She stepped back again, her teeth clenched together so tightly he thought a few of them might crack. "You cannot order me about this way. You don't have the authority to do so and that's the end of it." She kept her eyes on his, standing her ground without any of the nervous tics that usually gave someone away. Vasya thought of the people who grew apprehensive at the mere sight of him. She was brave; he had to give her that. It was a pity she didn't possess any other honorable characteristics.

  He said nothing―as infuriating as it was, she was right―and she turned and walked away.

  *~*~*

  "How is she?" Emeline asked.

  "She'll be all right, Mistress," Alain said. If the doctor was confused at her showing such concern over a bondservant, he didn't say as much. "In fact, she's awake. Would you like to speak with her?"

  "Yes, please."

  He nodded and ushered her into the room, leaving the two of them alone. Emeline hurried to Lisette and sat down on the bed, clasping her hands. "Are you feeling better? Is there anything I can bring you? I'm so sorry; I had no idea―"

  "I'm all right," Lisette said, smiling and patting her hands. "I promise."

  Her smile looked a little dizzy, and Emeline gave her a skeptical look. Then she looked up as the door opened.

  Instead of the doctor, her mother was standing there. Emeline gave her a calm smile.

  "Emeline," Sidonie said. "I was coming to see when this one would be ready to work again. What are you doing here?"

  "The news of her collapse gave me quite a scare. She was once my attendant, after all."

  Sidonie smiled. "That's quite kind of you, dear. May I speak with you outside? And Lisette, if you're well enough to be sitting up and talking, I expect you to be back at work tomorrow morning. Understood?"

  "Yes, Headmistress."

  Emeline got up and followed her mother out into the hall. The doctor gave them a respectful bow and went back in to see to his patient.

  "I need to talk to you," Sidonie said. "Someone threatened me, and I need you to speak with the king about it."

  "Of course!" Emeline exclaimed.

  "You know what happened to that bondservant, so you also know that the Champion brought her to the doctor. He foolishly decided her condition was my fault, and―you know what he's capable of, Emeline. He frightened me."

  Emeline searched her mother's face for any sign of lingering fright, of even nervousness. As expected, she found none. She doubted even one of the Dwarves in a full rage could scare her mother.

  Sidonie did, however, look angry. That, Emeline believed. Very few people found it in themselves to say cross words to her.

  "I doubt he meant to do so, Mother. He was just worried."

  "He's a brute. Just because he didn't kill a small girl once doesn't mean he has morals."

  "I know. It's just that―"

  "There's kindness and then there's stupidity, Emeline. You give someone like that the benefit of the doubt and you'll end up with a knife in your back." She narrowed her eyes. "You're not interested in him, are you? You know such things aren't allowed."

  "I'm not, but could you blame me if I was? It's all right for Nazar to take anyone he wishes to his bed."

  Enough, she told herself. You've already taken leave of most of your common sense by saying this much; don't discard it completely. Her mouth didn't listen to her mind, however, and she went on. "I did my duty, I bore him a child, and now what am I? The loyalists bow to me and refuse to meet my eyes but as they turn away I can see them smirking. I can't―"

  "Oh, enough. You would rather be out with the commoners again, scrabbling for every bit of food on your plate? Working the fields with your pitiful excuse of a first husband? If you're bored, find a hobby. But don't wallow in self-pity. That's for weaklings." She paused. "Well?"

  "I don't... I don't know what you want me to say."

  "Of course you don't. I should have known better than to ask you to help defend me." With an aggrieved sigh, she turned and walked away, leaving Emeline standing there, twisting her hands together.

  Weakling.

  It wasn't an inaccurate statement, she thought. Were Lisette's mother still alive, she couldn't imagine Lisette hesitating even a second to defend her life or good name.

  But then, Thekla actually had a good name to defend. Sidonie...

  Shame immediately welled up like blood from a reopened wound. How dare she think such things? Sidonie was her mother; she might have worked her way up to the rank of loyalist by now if she hadn't been so busy caring for her. She'd repaid her once by running away with no word as to where to reach her, but even then Sidonie hadn't disowned her, which had surely been her right.

  And the Champion was a frightening man. She'd only seen him in the Arena a handful of times; she couldn't imagine being face-to-face with him when he was angry. Just because her mother hadn't shown that fear outright didn't mean that the encounter hadn't rattled her, and she hadn't even been able to spare a reassuring word?

  Emeline took a deep breath. She knew where King Nazar's private reserves of liquor were; now seemed an ideal time to partake.

  *~*~*

  Vasya paused at the sound of the high-pitched yelp and turned to go back down the hall. He found the source of the noise at a room several doors down from his, where a tiny light-haired girl stood next to a sword that probably weighed half as much as she did. She'd swung at the quintain she'd dragged up next to the wall, only to miss the training dummy and hit the stone instead, judging by the way she was frantically rubbing her arms.

  "You might want to start with something smaller," he told her, trying not to smile. "Work your way up to the broadsword."

  She let out a loud sigh. "I know," she said. "But Mommy used this one."

  "Who was your mother?" he asked, knowing that he should just turn and walk away right now. Odds were that he had been sent against this girl's mother in the Arena and had taken her life.

  "Sandrine."

  No, he thought. She wasn't one of his. A wound she'd gotten while sparring had become infected, and she'd passed away two weeks later. "I knew her," he said. "She was a brilliant fighter."

  The child grinned. "I'm gonna be brilliant, too."

  "What's your name?"

  "Esfir."

  "Well, keep practicing, Esfir," he said. "I'm sure you'll make your mother proud."

  She beamed at him, and Vasya headed towards his room. He would talk to Gennadi about the little one, see if they could figure out a way to buy the child's freedom before she got to the age where she would actually be sent against other fighters.

  Vasya stopped before he reached his doorway, knowing at once that someone was in his room.

  The door was ajar and he could hear footsteps inside, and then the unmistakable sound of someone bumping directly into the wall. If this was an assassination attempt, they should've sent someone more skilled.

  Still, just in case there was more than one, he stayed outside for a long moment, closing his eyes to adjust them to darkness. Then he stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him.

  He needn't have worried. There was only one other person to be seen, and she was so drunk she could barely stand.

  She could swing, however, and he easily dodged the blow. The sight of the fist coming at his face almost had him reflexively punching back, until he fully realized who his drunken visitor was.

  "Mistress Emeline?"

  "So!" she said dramatically. "You certainly have her fooled, don't you? Lise
tte," she elaborated. "But you never tricked my mother, no. Won't trick me, either," she said, nearly toppling into him as she leaned forward to poke him in the chest. "How dare you threaten her?"

  He knew he should stay silent, knew that he should turn his back and wait for her to get bored and go back to the main castle. How had she gotten in here?

  But he thought of the smirk on Sidonie's face as she'd walked away, of the stripes of dried blood he'd seen stained into some of the servants' shirts, grim reminders of a whipping.

  "Were she any sort of decent human being, the threat wouldn't have been necessary."

  Emeline let out a screeching half-curse and swung at him again. He sidestepped easily and she careened forward, tripping over her own two feet and sitting down hard. She blinked up at him, clumsily trying to shove her hair out of her face, and he turned on the lantern.

  "Why did you come here?" he asked, as she struggled to her feet. "To hit me a few times to make yourself feel better?" He shrugged. "Go ahead."

  She started to take a step forward, and then she froze. "No. You're tricking me. I'll hit you and then you'll kill me and say I started it."

  "Why would I do that?"

  "Because you hate me."

  "Not true, and I believe you know it," he said, looking around the otherwise-deserted room, his gaze lingering on the door momentarily. He was between her and the exit, and even if he hadn't been, it wouldn't make much difference on a night like this―the fighters had gotten their payments tonight, and most were currently busy spending them at the tavern. He saw her face as the realization hit. "Otherwise, this would be the worst idea in the world, wouldn't it?"

  Then something flashed behind the nervousness, something dark and bitter, and Vasya realized that a part of her had been hoping that Sidonie had been right.

  If she was miserable, he told himself, that was none of his concern. She was far from the only unhappy one in this castle.

  Not for the first time, he was glad of the fact that the other fighters didn't stop by his room for random visits. It was bad enough that she was in this building at all; if she was discovered in his room specifically, the king would have his head.

  It was doubtful that she'd thought through the ramifications of this visit, he thought, as Mistress Emeline scooted away until her back was pressed against the wall. He wondered if this was the position Lisette would've eventually found herself in if there had been no coup: trapped in a marriage that was beneficial only to the king and searching for any way out―even a permanent one.

  "Promise you won't punch me again?" he asked lightly, sitting down next to her.

  "Promise," she said, her voice suddenly very small and her eyes shining. The crying stage of drunkenness was never fun to deal with, but at least she seemed to have left the confrontational stage behind.

  "What's it like?" she asked quietly.

  "What?"

  "Having everyone love you?"

  He couldn't help a laugh. "Is that what you think?"

  "You're the favorite," she said, pausing to sniffle and rub at her nose. "Nobody laughs at you behind your back. Or to your face."

  "No, they just send me into the Arena to fight to the death."

  She clapped her hands over her face and started to sob, and he remembered too late that sarcasm wasn't the best way to deal with a drunk person. "Mistress, I'm sorry."

  "You don't have to apologize," she mumbled into her hands. "It was a ridiculous thing to say. The loyalists think I'm useless and so does my husband, but I don't have anyone trying to kill me."

  "And I don't have to spend most waking moments around the king and the loyalists, watching my every step," he said. She didn't reply, and didn't uncover her face.

  He carefully took one of her wrists, tugging it down so she'd look at him. "Emeline."

  By the Goddesses, she was young.

  Which wasn't precisely true. She was a mistress and a mother and stood to inherit a kingdom should Nazar die before their child came of age. But she remained younger somehow than any of the fighters he'd known, including those who were years behind her in age; she was all wide, worried eyes and quiet words and hesitation. The idea of someone with her temperament trying to navigate all this...

  "What did happen between you and my mother?" she asked.

  "I was upset, and I spoke out of turn about her treatment of Lisette."

  "She could have died," the Mistress said, and he wondered at the fierce emotion in her voice. Royals did tend to have favored servants, yes, but a friendship was unheard of.

  "I ordered her not to treat her in such a way again. I may have threatened her," he admitted. "I honestly don't remember all of my words."

  "She can be awful," Emeline said and then covered her mouth again. "I'm so sorry," she muttered. "I shouldn't say that. She's my mother. She's done so much for me."

  She looked like she might be ready to cry again, so he quickly spoke. "How did you get in here?"

  "A passage," she said. "I can't tell you where. But it was installed so royals could use it, either for safety reasons or to simply sneak out and have trysts with their chosen fighters." She blinked, giving him an unsure sideways glance. "Not that I―it certainly wasn't my intent to―"

  "Really?" he asked, affecting a disappointed face. "Because when I walked into the room, my first thought was 'now here's a lady bent on seduction'."

  She let out a snorting giggle. "It isn't right, I suppose," she said. "To feel toward Mother as I do. I love her. But it's just that―"

  "You don't like her much."

  "Yes. Exactly."

  "Don't fret about that. Neither does anyone else."

  She laughed again, and the following silence felt almost companionable. Then she slowly got to her feet and stumbled to the door, fumbling with the knob for a good minute before she managed to figure out how it worked.

  Most all of the fighters would still be at the tavern or out in the courtyard celebrating. Now would be the best time for her to get back to the castle proper.

  He escorted her down the hallway, making it only about ten steps before he heard a shaky, "Don't feel good."

  Far too familiar with that tone of voice, he immediately stepped behind her, gathering her hair back in one hand. An instant later she hit her knees, throwing up a fairly impressive amount. He could imagine her after the conversation with her mother, downing the drinks quickly, gathering all of her courage and anger together and fortifying it with alcohol before she'd found her way to his quarters.

  She finally groaned and then coughed. Vasya kept a hand at her elbow, helping to steady her as she got to her feet.

  "I'm okay from here," she said.

  "You sure?"

  "Uh-huh. Besides, I can't show anyone where the door is. I'm drunk, but I'm not that drunk." He laughed, and she gave him a lopsided grin. "You know? You're really not that scary."

  Chapter Five

  This one simply wasn't fun anymore.

  Grisha sighed as he regarded the deformed shape in front of him. It had been fascinating to watch it survive all this time―first without the use of its eyes, then its tongue. He regretted taking that out so soon as time went on; it would've been quite pleasant to hear honest screams as he took off fingers and toes.

  No one had lived through the amputation of even one limb before, let alone three. He was getting so much better at his craft, improving every day.

  Still, all good things had to come to an end at some point, and the time to play with this one was done.

  He slit the thing's throat and hefted it over his shoulder, tossing it outside to his private courtyard for the pigs to take care of.

  On to the next one.

  Then he changed his mind, deciding to go to the upper levels instead. The Mistress was quite fond of wandering around at night, and he was equally fond of catching glimpses of her whenever possible.

  Grisha drifted through the halls, his disappointment growing with every corner turned that didn't reveal Emeline's
silhouette. Then he came to the Hall of Windows and found her sitting on one of the sills, staring out into the night. Smiling, he spoke.

  "Trouble sleeping?"

  Emeline turned quickly, swallowing hard when she saw who was lurking in the doorway. "Just enjoying the night, Grisha." She stood up, no longer feeling safe at her perch on the stone windowsill. A push could so easily be blamed on a deliberate fall.

  "Hm. I'm not sure you're being honest with me, my Mistress."

  She straightened her shoulders, almost snapped at him, and then hesitated. Mistress though she was, her husband paid far more attention to this man's words than he did to her own. "What do you mean?"

  "Look at you," he said, sidling a few steps closer. "Your dress is gold, your necklace and your lips red. The gloves you favor meld both of those colors. When you wear veils, they're red, orange, or gold. Everything about you speaks to a love of day. Not night."

  As he'd spoken, he'd looked her over, his gaze lingering so that she felt as if his hand had trailed down her body. She resisted the urge to wince and instead spoke calmly. "If you go by surface appearances, yes."

  He let out a pleased humming sound as he smiled. "Fair point. And what shadows might you be hiding?"

  "I'm not certain that's any of your concern," she said, twisting restlessly at the ring she wore on her pinky finger.

  "How could you say such a thing? If I have behaved in a way that makes you think I hold no esteem for you, then I deeply apologize," he said, kneeling. Though the words and gesture were properly apologetic, there was mirth in his eyes as he looked up at her and continued. "I am far below the level of Mistress, after all, and as such only exist to serve my lady."

  "I thank you, but such offers are not necessary."

  "Was that another lie I heard?" he asked, regaining his feet. "Come now. What has you wandering the halls so long before dawn? Fretting about your daughter, perhaps?"

  Her gaze darted to his. "What about her?"

  "Oh nothing, nothing. But it is her Introduction tomorrow, isn't it? And it'll be too late for her then."

  She turned away, returning her gaze to the moon, her hands clenching and unclenching as she tried to talk herself out of the urge to strike him.