Chapter 13- Testing the Silence

Yesterday I threw myself into my duties as it is the best way to keep myself busy and to help ease the restlessness that seems to be a constant presence.

I meet with the housekeeper and we go over the linens, check the candle stores, and settle a dispute between two cooks. Once my duties are completed I read late into the night. Devouring southern texts on the keeping of great houses as I try to distract my thinking with learning. If I am busy learning and managing the house, then I am not forced to remember the weight of a cold hand at my throat and Theron's voice asking me what else I hear.

It works, mostly. Avoidance is a skill, and I have had a lifetime to practice it.

The morning after that, Iona comes in with a face I cannot read, which is unusual, because I can always read Iona.

“You are not to receive the housekeeper today,” she says, setting down the wash water as I begin to wash my face. “It is handled. The emperor received her himself as well as the steward, and approved the day's arrangements before the bells.” She hesitates. “He mandated that you join him for breakfast. After his morning council. He also commanded that you appear at court later in the afternoon, in the great hall, when the petitions are heard.”

I sit down on the edge of the bed. The constant uneasiness that has settled into my chest grows with the news.

“He took my duties,” I say.

“He did.”

“Why would he do that?”

“I do not know, my lady.” But Iona's mouth does a small complicated thing, and I know her well enough to know she has a guess. I am just surprised that she does not tell me right away.

I sigh, not wanting to press her.

“Very well, help me get ready.”

“Of course, my lady.”

As Iona helps me with the dress styles of the south I think about the last time we dined together. It was yesterday, and it was a quiet and awkward affair. The entire dinner was eaten in silence following the day where he had put his hand on my throat and questioned me. I am not looking forward to eating breakfast with him as it will likely be another tense meeting. I’m surprised he summoned me to breakfast to begin with.

I frown. I feel like I am walking on eggshells, and I hate the dread bubbling beneath my ribs.

“You have gone pale,” Iona says gently. Her voice startles me from my thoughts. I look up and see she begins to style my hair. “Whatever happened at that dinner two nights ago, you have not said, and I have not asked. But you do not have to go down there frightened. You are the empress. He cannot eat you.”

“You did not see his face…. Or what happened.”

“No,” she admits. “But I have known you for many years, and you haven't looked this worried unless…”

“I know,” I respond. The last time I looked this worried back at home was when my father had summoned me to inform me of this marriage. My father only really summoned me to punish me or deliver bad news and this feels much the same.

“I do not like that he makes you afraid, emperor or not.” She works a knot loose, careful. “Go. Eat. Be your blunt strange self at him. It is the only weapon you have ever needed.”

It is good advice, but it does not stop my hands from shaking. “Thank you, Iona.” I say with a small smile. I let her finish my hair and I step outside my room. I do not even make it to the stairs before I hear a voice.

“Empress.”

Cassius is in the corridor, leaning against the cold stone with his arms folded, in the black leather armor he always wears, and one look at his face tells me he has not come to wish me a good morning.

“Captain,” I say.

“A word.” He pushes off the wall. “I hear you had an interesting dinner with my emperor.”

My stomach drops. Of course he knows. Cassius knows everything; it is the whole of what he is for.

“I hear,” he goes on, low, closing the distance until he is near enough that Iona, a step behind me, goes very still, “that my hollow empress is not so hollow after all. That she hears things. Songs, before the beasts come. Now is that not a marvel?” he says in a tone I do not quite understand.

I do not wish to confirm to him what I told Theron, and I avert my gaze.

“Oh? No response? Surely the Empress recognizes a gift that no southern lord in five hundred years of records has ever possessed. Yet here you are, claiming to be hollow and walking in my emperor's house, at the exact moment the enemy grows bold at our border.” His earth brown eyes do not blink as he tilts my chin up and forces me to gaze up at him.

“I have been patient with you, Empress. I am running short of patience. Whatever you are, whatever you are doing, I will have it out of you, and on the day I do, being his wife will not save you from me. Do you understand what I am—”

“That is enough.”

The voice is small, shaking, and it belongs to Iona. I turn to stare at her, because in all our years I have never once heard her raise it to anyone, noble or not, let alone to the emperor's spymaster.

Cassius turns too, slowly, as though a chair has spoken. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.” Iona is white to the lips and her hands are fisted in her apron and she does not stop as she moves beside me. Her voice is more firm now as she speaks. “You will not speak to my lady that way. She is worth ten of the lords who smile at her and mean her ill, and she has done nothing, nothing, but try in a place that has been cruel to her since the moment she arrived, and I will not stand here and let you frighten her in a hallway like a common cutthroat. Captain.”

The silence rings.

Cassius looks at this small trembling maid the way a man looks at a housecat that has suddenly bared its teeth.

“You are bold,” he says slowly, “for a servant. Do you know what I could do to a servant who speaks so ill to me? I could easily punish you for your insolence.”

“I know exactly what you can do.” Iona's voice cracks but she holds. “I came south knowing it. Everyone told me not to. They said the southern emperor's court would eat a northern maid alive. I came anyway.”

“Because you were ordered.”

“Because I chose to.” And this stops him. “No one made me. My place was in the north, safe, and I left it, because Lady Bree is mine to look after and I would follow her into a worse place than this. I am not here because I was told. I am here because I want to be. Do you,” and her voice wobbles on the boldness of it, “do you even know what that is like? To stay somewhere dangerous, for no reason other than to ensure that your friend is safe?”

And something happens to Cassius's face that I do not expect and cannot quite name.

It is only there for a moment. But the hard flat suspicion goes out of it, and something else comes into it, startled, and oddly young.

“That is,” Cassius starts, and stops. “That is not the point.”

“But it is.” Iona huffs. “Yes, Lady Bree is my mistress, but she has always treated me fairly and justly and I will not tolerate you disrespecting her.” Iona huffs again. "For a man so loyal to his own master, you should understand. And I hope you do not punish me for it."

“He will not punish you,” I finally chime in. Stepping beside Iona. “Say what you like about me. But I am still the Empress and I will not let you hurt Iona.”

“I never said that—”

“But you did,” I say bluntly.

“My lady is right.” Iona interjects.

A flush creeps across Cassius' tanned face, which I would not have believed if I were not watching it happen.

“That is not, I did not come here to discuss—” He scowls, and he grumbles something under his breath that I do not catch. I realize then that he is flustered, and is trying very hard not to be. “Watch your tongue, girl.” He points at Iona before looking at both of us. “Both of you, watch yourselves.”

And he turns on his heel and stalks off down the corridor, faster than I have ever seen him, still grumbling under his breath. I turn towards Iona then.

“Thank you for that.” I say softly.

“There is no need, my lady.” Iona smiles at me and I feel the tension ease out of me slightly. As we walk down the corridor in silence her cheeks are still a furious pink. I decide to try and joke with her in what Xanthe has taught me to be sarcasm.

“You two get along rather well,” I say with a grin.

“We do not,” Iona says, far too fast. “That is, my lady, that is not, we do not get along at all, I was defending you, that is the whole of it—” She stops, and presses her cool hands to her hot face.

I laugh.

“I was just trying to be funny. I believe Lady Xanthe calls it, ‘the sarcasm,’” I say with a grin and Iona seems more flustered.

“Well it doesn’t matter. And besides, sarcasm doesn’t suit you, my lady.”

I hum and seem to think. “Perhaps that is true. But you and him are both loyal.”

Iona groans. “Please, can we stop talking about him?”

I nod. “Alright,” I say as we walk in silence. It is a comfortable silence for the most part. And I can’t help but feel comfort knowing that my maid has called me friend, and that she just faced down the most frightening man in this palace for me. It reminds me that I am not alone and gives me the courage I need to enter the dining hall.

When I enter another servant is there, and Iona is forced to leave me. I am led instead into a more intimate warm stone chamber. It is smaller and there is a round table set for two. I see Theron sitting there as the servant leads me inside, closing the door behind him.

I avert my gaze, noticing that there is a window behind him. Rays of gold enter through the colored glass which makes it harder to see the shadows that cling to him. I notice then that he moves to stand, which he did not do at dinner yesterday evening.

“Empress.”

“Your Majesty.”

“Sit.” And then, motions to one of the two chairs, “please.”

I curtsy, as it is the polite and formal thing to do, before I sit down. Aodh is suddenly there. I am unsure if he followed me this whole time, but I feel him sit at my feet as he arranges himself under my chair with a small sigh.

Food is then brought out, more than what two people could eat. I wait for him to begin eating first, and go for the safe option of drinking the coffee. My hand reaches for the cup and I find that it is already poured.

I blink, surprised.

The color is pale and lightened in the way that I take it. Three-quarters milk and a great deal of sugar, the way I have taken it since I was a girl warming my hands on it in a cold northern kitchen, the way I have never once mentioned to a living soul in the south.

I stare at the cup.

“I noticed you like coffee and prefer it sweet,” Theron says, as I look up at him. He is looking down at his own cup now, which is black as the stone he sits on.

“A kitchen maid mentioned it. You have been restless of late. Your hands are never quite still when something troubles you." He turns his own cup a slow quarter-turn. "I did not think pouring would go well for you this morning."

My hands are shaking slightly. I had not noticed, but it seems he had.

“Thank you,” I say, and my voice is not quite steady.

We eat in silence for a while, but it is not the same silence as yesterday's dinner. That silence felt unnaturally heavy, but this one reminds me of the awkwardness when I am trying to figure out when to speak at court. It is still nerve-racking, but the intensity is different. Less.

It is Theron who speaks first after we eat for a bit.

“I put my hand on you,” he says.

I go still. I look up and see him set down his fork.

“At dinner. Two nights ago.” He looks at me and I cannot understand his facial expression.

“I frightened you. You were already nervous, and I made it worse, with my hand at your throat. Deliberately. I was angry, and anger is not an excuse I accept in other men. I will not accept it in myself.” A pause. “I do not make a habit of putting my hands on people who cannot fight back. I have spent a great deal of my life being the sort of man who does not do that. I did it to you, and it was unjust of me to do so.”

It is not an apology. At least not directly.

But it was something I did not expect. I still do not trust him. He could do it again. He could promise to not hurt me again, yet do it regardless. However, the frown on his face makes me question it. I watch as he averts his gaze. He fidgets with his coffee cup again and I decide to take a sip of mine. Unsure of what to say, I decide to speak about why I think he hurt me.

“You thought I was a spy,” I say, thoughtfully. “You probably still think so, and I can’t blame you for your anger. Even if it was…. scary.”

“Still, that shouldn’t be an excuse to frighten and harm you.”

“No,” I agree. “It shouldn't be.” And I let it sit, as I take a bite of my food. “I don’t hate you.”

“I’m surprised.”

“Why?”

“Because you have every reason to hate and be scared of me.”

“I never said I wasn’t scared,” I respond and take a sip of my coffee. The coffee he had arranged and made for me in the way that I like.

“Then why do you still sit here with me?” Theron asks.

“Because it is the right thing to do,” I say bluntly. I know that his hand on my throat did not leave a physical mark, but it was still wrong. I acknowledge this. Even so, I know the best thing I can do for my mother is to get closer to him, and he is the first man to own up to his mistake of hurting me. I can accept his apology without trusting him. And I think he needs to know the difference.

“You cleared my duties this morning,” I say, after a while. He gives me a small nod.

“I wanted to give you more free time this morning, and to give you a break before later when you have to interact with the nobles. I know you don’t like crowds.”

“I don’t.” I agree and turn the warm cup in my hands. “That was kind of you to think about. I did not expect that. Given everything.”

Something that is almost the ghost of a smile touches the corner of his mouth, but as soon as I blink it is gone. “The housekeeper tells me,” he says, “that you have been reading. In the evenings. Every evening, she says, the same, ledgers and the old texts on the keeping of houses. It seems you have been teaching yourself many things in your free time.” He looks at me over the black coffee. “She thought I would find it amusing. A northern bastard playing at steward. I did not find it amusing.”

“And what did you find?”

“Surprising,” he says. “I am not fond of surprises, as you know. This one I did not mind.”

And it is such a small thing. He has been watching me. Not the way Cassius watches me, for threats. He has noticed that I am trying, and it does not bother him in the way I expect it to. Instead, he seems rather pleased.

I do not point any of this out as I do not want him to find another reason to be upset with me. But for the first time since I came to the south I feel something toward my husband that is not fear, and it is small, strange and warm, and I hold it carefully, the way I hold everything I am afraid to lose.

“Since I have some free time I will likely read until I have to attend the court,” I say. I look down at my nearly finished cup of coffee. “Do you know why I like to read?”

“Why?”

I look up at him and recognize the curiosity in his gaze.

“I read because I do not want to be an embarrassment. I do not wish to cause you trouble and embarrass you, especially in front of your lords. Knowledge is power. While I am not the best at socializing, the least I can do is try to learn to be a proper Empress and run the household. That is why I read.”

“You will not embarrass me,” Theron says.

And he says it simply, like a fact he has already checked, and I do not have anywhere to put that either. I hum, and go back to finishing my breakfast. But the silence changes again. It is a careful sort of quiet now, not touching, not reaching, but nearer than we were, which is enough