Defender of Hearts by Tanya Bird

Chapter 20

The next day, Lyndal accepted the king’s offer to have dinner together in the privacy of his quarters. She listened to him talk about himself and his accomplishments for two hours while pushing the same piece of duck around her plate. It was never a good thing when your food reminded you of your family pet. She kept picturing Garlic roaming free around Wright House, despite objections from Harlan—which she suspected were for show.

‘My mother told me that what a woman puts in her mouth greatly impacts reproduction,’ the king said, pushing his empty plate away. ‘Good nutrition should be the priority of every woman of child-bearing age.’

Lyndal’s fork stilled. ‘Sorry. It’s an awful lot of food for two people.’

‘A merchant’s perspective.’ He picked up his cup and drank, red wine staining above his lip, where stubble should have been.

Lyndal glanced at the door, wishing Astin were inside the room instead of out in the corridor. They could have exchanged knowing looks.

‘You know, the birth rate in the merchant borough has dropped significantly,’ the king went on.

Lyndal closed her eyes and laid down her fork. ‘It’s not by choice, I assure you. Though after seeing all the new lambs and calves in the farming borough today, I feel quite hopeful. How long until they’ll make their way to the butchers?’

Borin swirled the liquid in his cup. ‘It is too early to talk numbers, and it is certainly not for you to worry about.’

There was little that came out of that man’s mouth that did not grate on her. That was about as far as her tolerance could stretch for one evening.

Looking down at her plate, she said, ‘I’m afraid I’m rather exhausted. Do you mind if I retire for the evening?’ She rose from her chair.

‘I thought you might visit me in my bedchamber this evening.’

‘What for?’ As soon as she asked the question, she realised she knew the answer. ‘Oh.’ Surely he was not expecting her to visit his bed before they were wed. ‘I might be half merchant, Your Grace, but I’m also half lady.’

His scratched his nose and straightened the cutlery on his plate. ‘I assumed you would be equally as curious about the extent of our compatibility.’

She did not know where to look. ‘Of course. It’s just that… our engagement is not even official yet. If we were to change our minds—’

‘Very well.’ He waved a hand in her direction. ‘Off you go.’

She could see she had wounded his pride. ‘It was an enjoyable dinner,’ she lied. ‘I hope we can do it again.’

He lifted his gaze to her. ‘Perhaps next time you will eat.’

Nausea rolled through her stomach in place of food. Curtsying, she headed for the door.

Astin turned to her when she stepped out into the corridor, eyes moving over her.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked as the door clicked shut behind her.

She closed the distance between them, then whispered, ‘Am I expected to lie with him before we’re wed?’

Astin pulled her away from the door, nodding at the defender on duty as they fled. He waited until they were out of earshot before saying, ‘You don’t have to do anything—yet.’

‘Yet?’ she asked.

His eyes went to her. ‘If you marry the king, you can be sure the entire kingdom will be waiting for an heir.’

She was silent a moment. ‘The offer threw me. I think I hurt his feelings.’

‘He’ll live.’

‘Perhaps I should have said yes, find out what I’m getting myself into.’

Astin tripped on his own foot, then looked accusingly at the floor behind him. His expression was eerily stern beneath the yellow glow of torches. ‘If you want to share his bed, that’s another matter.’

‘I don’t want to. It’s just that I can’t think of any examples in history where women have captured a king’s heart with clever ideas on how to help the poor.’

‘Lifting one’s skirts is a classic technique.’

They arrived outside her bedchamber, and she turned to face him. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘For what?’

‘For using you in place of sisters. I’ve no one else to talk to except Queen Fayre, but this particular topic might be somewhat awkward.’

He looked off down the corridor. ‘As opposed to this very comfortable conversation?’

She suppressed a smile. ‘If I do wed the king, then I’ll have my ladies-in-waiting to bother instead.’

‘Just be careful who you trust.’

Her eyebrows rose. ‘I wouldn’t select women I didn’t trust.’

‘You likely won’t select them at all. The women usually come from noble families in favour with the king. I wouldn’t count them as friends just yet.’

She had assumed she would have some say. ‘I had thought Eda would join me here, but that might be a stretch.’

‘Because she’s mute?’

‘Because she despises the king and walks around heavily armed at all times.’

Astin crossed his arms, studying her. ‘And with Blake desperate for a child, you’ll have no luck luring her away from Harlan.’

Lyndal blinked. ‘What did you say?’’

‘I’m certain your sister has mentioned the fact that she wants children.’

‘Yes, but you said desperate for it?’

Astin’s arms fell to his sides. ‘She was upset when I called past the house the other day. It’s only been a year. Her body’s still getting used to the idea of regular food.’

‘You shouldn’t be discussing my sister’s body.’ She was not angry at him but the fact that he knew something about Blake she did not. The separation was cruel. ‘Sorry.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s the kind of thing she would normally talk to me about.’

He exhaled. ‘I’m sure she wishes she could.’

Lyndal scrunched her nose up when her eyes began to burn. ‘You must be exhausted from following me around all day.’

‘I can stay awhile if you want me to.’

‘I’m fine. Go get some sleep.’

‘I’ll collect you in the morning,’ Astin said, glancing off down the corridor. ‘Duck shooting with the king, I believe.’

She paused halfway inside the door. ‘Where do these mystical ducks live? Certainly nowhere near the merchant borough or port.’

‘They live in crates, greatly inhibiting their ability to fly. The king prefers them that way.’

‘Of course he does.’ She leaned against the door. ‘Well, goodnight, Your Superiorship.’

He bowed his head. ‘Goodnight, Lady Lyndal the third.’

Lyndal woke in the night with a sharp cough, eyes snapping open at the bitter taste in her mouth. Sitting upright, she looked around the bedchamber, blinking hard. She could not see more than a foot in front of her. Coughing ensued, the air utterly unbreathable.

Smoke.

The room was full of it.

Pushing back her blankets, Lyndal leapt from the bed and headed for the door, arms outstretched in front of her. She felt around for the doorknob, frame, anything familiar to get her bearings. The darkness was not helping matters. Finally, she felt the smooth wood of the door beneath her fingers and reached for the handle. She turned it, but the door did not budge. She grabbed hold of it with both hands and yanked as hard as she could. When it did not open, she pounded on it with a fist.

‘Open the door!’

The door was never locked. And where was the defender who patrolled the corridor overnight?

She coughed, gagged, her eyes burning and vision blurring. She made her way over to the solar door. Pulling it open, she immediately slammed it shut again when she saw the furniture engulfed by flames, reaching all the way to the ceiling.

Her mind raced.

The window.

She ran to it, tripping over a stool and landing on hands and knees. She crawled the rest of the way, feeling her way along the outer-wall. Coughing and crying, she rose and fumbled with the shutters before tearing them open. She pressed her face to the iron bars, but the air was no cleaner. Smoke poured out of the window, making it impossible to breathe.

‘Help me!’ She screamed the words as loudly as she could, but they dissipated in the smoke.

She moved to the bottom corner of the window, daring a look in the direction of the solar. The door glowed red now, but she knew the smoke would kill her before the flames did.

Back on hands and knees, she crawled to the bed and grabbed the woollen blanket from atop it. She dragged it to the door, jamming it in the gap at the bottom. The smoke still seeped through the top and sides though. By the time she got back to the window, she did not have the energy to stand. She lay flat on the floor, eyes pressed shut and hand over her mouth as if that might somehow filter the smoke.

So this was how she would die.

Not surrounded by people who loved her as she had imagined so many times during the lockdown, when death had hung over their house like a heavy cloud. Instead, she would be alone. The other people in the castle would not grieve but they would be inconvenienced by the disruption to their plans.

And what of her own plans? Her terrible drawings that Astin made fun of? They were now ashes.

A loud bang shook the room, and Lyndal opened her eyes, expecting to see flames.

‘Lyndal!’

Astin.

She would recognise his voice anywhere.

Here, she yelled, then realised it was only in her head.

Her eyes sank shut, and she heard the pounding of boots through the floor. Then he was beside her, lifting her, telling her to hold on. She wanted to hold on, but she was no more than a rag doll in his arms. He clutched her head to his thudding chest as they fled the bedchamber.

A flurry of servants and maids passed pails of water in the corridor, dousing the flames in the solar. Astin flew by them, down the stairs, and out into the clean air of the fountain court. The sudden change seemed to prompt her lungs to start working again. Coughing resumed in violent fits.

‘That’s it,’ Astin said, sitting her on the ground. He removed his cloak and wrapped it around her.

Her head pounded, and her nose and eyes ran. She struggled to move her arms.

He pressed two fingers to her neck. ‘Your heart is racing.’ When he sat her up, she slumped forwards again. His large palm spanned the width of her collarbone, holding her steady. He lowered his forehead to hers. ‘You’re all right. Cough. Throw up. Cry. Do whatever you need to—just breathe.’

She wanted to lie down, but he kept her firmly upright.

‘I need to wash your eyes out,’ he said, carrying her to the fountain. ‘And get some water into you.’

She nodded, barely, as he placed her on the edge of the fountain. He scooped up water with his spare hand and angled her head, splashing it into her eyes, all while she continued to cough.

‘Blink for me,’ he said. ‘That’s it.’

After cleaning her eyes, he gathered more water and brought it to her mouth. She drank greedily, the cold soothing her aching throat.

‘You gave me a fright,’ he said.

She tipped her head up to look at him. ‘The door was locked.’ Her words were so hoarse she did not recognise her own voice.

He brushed tears from her cheek with his enormous thumb. ‘The defender on duty is going to have no skin left on that back of his by the time I’m through flogging him.’

She rested her head against him, eyes closing. ‘Thank you.’

He did not reply.

Boots sounded beneath the archway, and a few seconds later, the warden appeared in front of them, eyes moving over Lyndal.

‘Everybody all right?’

Astin stood, keeping one hand on her shoulder to ensure she did not fall. ‘She’ll need a physician, sir.’ He paused. ‘The door was locked when I arrived—from the outside.’

Shapur’s jaw ticked. ‘I will send for the physician. Take her to the queen mother’s quarters. Her Majesty is expecting you.’

Lyndal looked up, no longer afraid of him as she had once been. She had gotten to know him since the wedding—as well as one could know a closed-off man. She had managed to win him over one meal at a time.

She rose on unsteady legs, Astin keeping a firm hold of her.

‘Shall I send word to your family?’ the warden asked.

She shook her head. ‘Not unless you want a riot at the gate.’ A violent cough followed.

Astin held her steady.

‘I’m feeling much better,’ she assured him, willing her knees to hold. She took a dizzy step, her heart pounding in her ears.

‘Hold on to me if you want to be spared the embarrassment of being carried,’ Astin said.

She took hold of his arm, and they slowly made their way to the queen’s quarters.

Fayre was watching the fireplace when they arrived, playing with the ends of her long plait that fell down one shoulder. She turned as they entered, her eyes moving over Lyndal. ‘Dear God.’ She walked over and cupped a hand to Lyndal’s burning cheek, her lavish red heraldic gown slipping down her arm. ‘My maids are making up a room for you. They are filling a tub as we speak. No one is to enter your bedchamber without Fletcher’s approval. You will have my personal maids at your service. They will be the only people allowed near you until we figure out what happened.’ She hooked a finger beneath Lyndal’s chin, lifting it. ‘You keep that head high if you hope to balance a crown upon it.’

Lyndal swallowed.

‘Warden,’ Fayre said, turning to him, ‘I am trusting you to handle this.’

He bowed his head. ‘I recommend all food be tasted prior to consumption in the interim.’

A food taster seemed a tad dramatic. But then if someone was prepared to burn her to death, poison was not such a stretch.

‘Fletcher,’ the queen mother continued, ‘I will leave it to you to hand select a guard for night duty, given the current one was clearly not up to the job. Has he been found?’

‘My men are on it,’ Shapur said. ‘Shall I rouse the king?’

Fayre shook her head. ‘I shall update him in the morning. You know how he gets when his sleep is disturbed.’

Lyndal looked down at her bare, blackened feet. The castle was still on fire, and no one wanted to tell the king for fear of waking him. What sort of king could not cope with a crisis without a full night’s rest first?

‘I imagine Lady Lyndal would prefer to see him after she has cleaned up,’ the queen mother added.

Lyndal’s appearance was the last thing on her mind, but she nodded in agreement. The mere thought of dealing with him was too much.

Shapur bowed. ‘Your Majesty.’

He left, passing a maid in the doorway on his way out. The older woman stepped aside, then made her way over to Lyndal, offering a warm smile.

‘Goodness, my lady. You’re ashes and soot, head to toe. Let’s get you cleaned up so the physician can take a look at you.’

Lyndal had not realised how tightly she was holding Astin’s arm until the woman tried to pull her away. She did not want to let go.

‘I’ll be outside your bedchamber soon,’ Astin said, as though reading her mind. ‘Go. She’ll take care of you.’

She forced herself to let go.

‘I’ve got you,’ the maid said lightly. ‘Come along.’

Lyndal’s eyes remained on Astin as she was led away. Only when they stepped out into the smoke-hazed corridor did she look away.