“Yes.” No need to admit to the rather glaring exceptions to that ability.
“Then is Tertulyn on Calanthe?” he persisted with relentless logic. “You should know.”
I hesitated—and visibly so, curse it—because he immediately spotted it, gaze sharpening like a wolf on the scent. Bright Ejarat, I should’ve been able to spin a lie without thinking. This being vulnerable to someone confused me on many levels. Con had neatly trapped me in this, too. I’d have to admit to this blind spot in my abilities, something I’d really hoped to keep from him a bit longer.
“How about we agree to something?” Con said, gently enough that his voice lost its rough edge, and I could hear how it might have been before the toxic fumes in the mines robbed him. “Instead of lying to me, just say you’re not going to answer. That way I’m only fighting my own ignorance, not deliberate misdirection.”
I firmed my lips over several replies. He waited me out, a mocking glint in his eyes challenging me to deny it. “Agreed.” I really hated that he was right. I’d asked him to use his brutality and ruthlessness to help me save Calanthe. I had to trust him far enough to do that. But not so far that I didn’t keep a close eye on his plans—nor would I relinquish my power to him. “I’ll answer, but you must promise to keep this a secret.”
I’d have liked to ask him not to use the knowledge against me, but ha to that.
To my surprise, he went down on one knee, lifted the black netting at my hem, and kissed it. He looked up at me, the golden flecks in his eyes catching the light like the sun glinting on the sea. “Euthalia, my queen and lady wife, I swear to keep your secrets as my own.” His hand slipped under my skirt to caress the spot high on the back of my thigh where he knew a pattern of golden bark and spring leaves twined over my skin. He’d traced it with his tongue the night before, a sensation my body remembered distractingly well. “I promised this already,” he continued, pointedly stroking the marks that revealed my nature, “since your secrets protect you. But I ask you to think about this: What about Tertulyn, who knows so much about you?”
Somehow that hadn’t occurred to me. My ladies all knew something of what I hid beneath the heavy makeup and elaborate clothing. But Tertulyn knew the most of anyone. Here I’d been so worried about what Con might do with my secrets when I might already be doomed. All because of a woman I’d thought was my friend.
3
Lia’s crystal-clear gaze rested on me, in astonishment at my vow and gesture—good for me, that I surprised her—and in dawning horror as she followed my meaning. She sagged a little, and I firmed my grip on her leg, in case she fainted.
But my Lia wasn’t the fainting type. Still, she glanced at the bench with longing. “Why don’t you sit?” I stood and took her hand to guide her to it.
She resisted. “I can’t sit.” She sounded annoyed about it, too, and gestured at her elaborate gown. “I’m dressed for court,” she added, as if that explained anything.
“You sit on your throne,” I said, not understanding at all, and she threw me a look I figured meant she pitied how dense I could be. Fortunately, as much as my idiocy about everything to do with the formal customs of Calanthe irritated me, I had no illusions about my failings that way. “You’re going to have to explain things to me, Lia. I think I’ve proved myself an eager student of your other lessons,” I added, reminding her of how much she’d already taught me in bed—and how much we both enjoyed it.
It was the right thing to say—despite Ambrose’s wry insults, I was getting better at finding honeyed words for courting—and for the first time that day, Lia smiled at me with some of the genuine warmth of the woman inside the queen. “My ladies help Me sit,” she answered on a sigh.
I moved behind her. “All right, what do I do?”
She glanced up, over her shoulder at me, clearly astonished. “You don’t mind?”
“Why would I?”
“I know that you … think the Calanthean styles are frivolous.”
Ah. They were, compared with what I’d known. I didn’t want her to think she couldn’t ask me for help, though. Whatever I could do to get her to stop seeing me as the enemy. “So, I pull this fluffy bit to the side?”
She muffled a laugh. “Yes, and then sweep that section smooth, and hold this part out.”
I did, and she sat with a tiny but grateful moan. “These shoes are not meant for standing in for very long.” She toed off the offending slippers. With their pointed ends and jeweled heels that looked more like rapier tips than anything meant to support body weight, I wasn’t surprised.
I sat beside her. Then on impulse picked up her silk-stocking-clad feet, propped them on my knee, and started massaging them. The memory flooded back of my father doing this for my mother during family time after balls and receptions. She’d sat with her feet on his lap and he’d rubbed them as they dissected how the event had gone.
It was the right thing to do—I was on a roll—because Lia groaned. She sounded like she did during sex, which had the same arousing effect on me, and she closed her eyes. She had feet as lovely as the rest of her, soft and well tended, her unadorned toenails gleaming through the sheer material, looking like petals from those roses, in all shades from white to bloodred.
“Thank you,” she murmured, a note of surprise in it. Then she narrowed her eyes, the elaborate fake lashes nearly screening their glint. “Why are you being nice to Me?”
“I’m your husband. We’re supposed to be good to each other.” I didn’t tell her about my father, but I liked remembering that my parents had loved each other. Not that I deluded myself about my own marriage. Still, there was a lot of ground between a loving marriage and wanting to kill each other—surely we could find something in the middle. “And you’ve had a rough morning,” I said instead. “As to your clothes … Yeah, it’s true I like you better naked, but I get it. I have my armor, you have yours.”
Her eyes opened wider as she considered me. “That’s exactly how I think of it.” She seemed surprised that I understood. “All right,” she said, seeming to come to a decision. “The reason I don’t know whether Tertulyn is on Calanthe or not is because she isn’t from here. She’s from Keiost.” Lia arched one elegant black brow, the diamond at the point winking as it lifted, and she paused to add significance to the information.
Aha. I took a moment to think through the ramifications. “You only sense people born on Calanthe?”
“Not just people—any living creature—and not just on the island, but for some distance around Her. And I know what you’re thinking: You are correct that I’m not able to feel where you and your people are.” She dipped her chin, acknowledging that she’d handed me a potential weapon. One I might’ve used against her when I arrived on Calanthe bent on conquest, had I known. Then she smiled, both sweet and lethal. “Though I am able to discern a great deal through other sources.”
“You’re a scary lady,” I commented, leaving it at that. “But you didn’t ‘discern’ where Tertulyn went—through these ‘other sources’?”