Loren glanced away from Sir Radulf, just as Usha saw the knowledge in his eyes that Aline was the woman the knight sought.
The knight shrugged, having seen nothing.
“No matter. There’s a tenacious shred of life left in my... resource. I’ll learn the name.”
Tamara made a sound like choking. She clutched Loren’s shoulder. It seemed to amuse her knight. “Such sensitivity, my dear. You surprise me. Does it trouble you to think I know how to get what I need?”
Usha’s heart ached for the girl, the child who had gotten what she wanted and now was being forced to admit how vile and ugly it was.
“I... I never thought you would do something like this.”
He laughed, the hard sound of winter ice cracking on the river. “You’re judging me, Tamara? By the same measure you judge your faithful father, perhaps? The man who decided he’d sell you—”
Usha gasped at the naked insult.
Loren leaped to his feet. “I have not sold her! I haven’t liked the idea of this marriage—”
“You promoted it!” Sir Radulf’s smile vanished. “For what, Halgard? Your comfortable place in Haven, consulted but not on the Council? Were you thinking you’d like to step in when the Council is finally disbanded, the lord mayor made irrelevant? You have found a way, haven’t you? You say you sold the girl for the sake of peace in Haven. But was that really it?”
He crossed the distance between them. As though he were picking up something he’d carelessly dropped, he took Tamara’s hand.
“And you, my dear. You’ve made your own bargains, haven’t you?” He nodded toward the table, the platters of food cooling, uneaten. He slipped a finger down the length of her lovely neck, tracing the delicate hem of her gown’s gold-edged bodice. “And I’m a fair man. I’ll marry you. I’ll send you home till that day, and we’ll do it right and well before all the city. And then your food will be the finest, your gowns of the best silk, and our bed, my Tamara, will be of deepest down.”
He turned her around and put his hand at the small of her back, caressing as he urged her toward the corridor. “Go pack your things. Your father is impatient to have you home.”
She went, stumbling once when she looked over her shoulder. In her eyes Usha saw terror and shame. Usha rose and opened her arms to the girl, but Tamara fled in tears.
Beyond the two doorways out of the solar Usha heard the sound of knights—walking, armor rattling, a word exchanged, a grunt, and silence. Sir Radulf had posted watch.
“I’ve sent for your carriage,” the knight said. “It is waiting in the courtyard.” He paused, a cool smile returning to his blade-thin lips. “I’ll look forward to seeing you again, father-in-law.”
He bowed to Usha, and there was something lurking in his eyes now she hadn’t seen, before—cold suspicion. “You, mistress, have become a very interesting person to me. People speak of you who—” He broke off deliberately. “I look forward to learning more about you.”
Shuddering, Usha watched him leave. Her knees weak as water, she stood braced against the back of the chair. Loren’s expression was that of a man sick with grief and impotent fury. He could only look into the shadows outside the solar where Tamara had gone. The daughter whose safety he had hoped to purchase with his cooperation had become a hostage.
Usha wrapped her arms around herself, remembering Sir Radulf’s words. People speak of you who—and she thought of the prisoner he’d tortured.
She must find Dezra. She must warn Aline!
Usha stared out the carriage window, surprised to find that night had not fallen. In the twilight, the dim shapes of buildings jerked past as Rowan guided the team down from Old Keep and into Haven. In the carriage, silence lay like a funeral pall. Loren sat like stone beside the other window, unmoving. Tamara was a half-seen form in the gloom of the seat opposite. She lifted her head.
“I will not marry him, father.”
Usha glanced at Loren. The announcement didn’t seem to move him.
“Tamara,” she said, then said no more, for Loren looked away from the window and the night rattling by. His face was like that of a bleached skull, his eyes hollow, the flesh vanished in shadows.
“I will not marry him.”
Choking on words Usha knew he hated, he said, “Child, you don’t have a choice.”
“I used to have one.”
“Tamara, we both used to have a choice.” The carriage slowed to approach an intersection. Loren glanced out the window. The watch was changing at the corners—tall knights on tall horses making ready to guard Sir Radulf Eigerson’s city. “We don’t anymore.”
Usha reached for the girl’s hand. It felt cold as ice and thin as frost. Her refusal was not the child’s stubborn willfulness Loren had allowed—or had not discouraged while it propelled his daughter through her own part of the course they’d taken. A child, Tamara had demanded the suitor she desired and didn’t look deeply to see how dangerous the choice. The woman sitting beside Usha now knew better.
Yet Tamara’s willfulness and Loren’s determination to have what he would had combined to make the woman’s resolve late-grown and useless. Usha pressed Tamara’s hands between her own, trying to warm them.
Loren had wanted to soften the blow of the occupation, he’d wanted to ensure his child’s well-being, and he’d wanted his piece of power.
He has none of that now, Usha thought, and in the gamble he’s lost his daughter.
“Tamara, it’s done,” Loren said. His bleak glance took in Usha as well as his daughter. “Sir Radulf won’t allow the betrothal to be broken. And if I fall out of favor with him, things will be harder for Haven, impossible for... you, Tamara.” He looked away, then back to Usha. “And for you, my love.”
He was rationalizing. Usha knew him well enough to know that. He didn’t know what else to do.
Silhouetted against the purple twilight, her face pale as though it were cast in alabaster, Tamara said, “If you go along with him, father, you might as well be him.”
No one spoke after that—no word of reproach or accusation or even comfort. They rode the rest of the way in silence, like people going to a funeral.
“Loren,” Usha said softly.
He didn’t move. He lay on the bed in silence while the stars wheeled above the river. Usha heard the voice of a servant whispering in the corridor. Tamara said something in return. The girl’s voice no longer sounded brittle or frightened. Neither did it sound weary when she said, “Thank you. If you leave it there ...” The rest of the words trailed away as she walked toward her bed chamber.
Usha sat propped with pillows, a small book on her knee. She glanced at the doorway, then at Loren. Wine goblets and a plate of untouched food sat on the small table in the center of the room. Usha had Loren eat, but the food remained, the wine barely tasted.
Usha put aside her book, the pages unread, the words hardly understood.
“Loren, I want to go back to the Ivy.”
He looked up. “Why?”
She wanted to find Dez, to get word to her that Sir Radulf knew about Qui’thonas. This she dared not say, and so she said, “I want to see how things are in my studio. There’s work yet to do, and I have been neglecting it.”
The explanation seemed to suit, for he settled again, returning to staring at the ceiling.
“I’ll have Rowan take you in the morning.”
Usha put her book aside. “We’ll see. I might like to walk.”
He raised none of his usual objection to that, and though she thought it was strange, the whole night had been strange. “Good night,” she said and kissed him.
He returned her kiss then leaned up on his elbow. “I love you.”