The cushion caught Gavril in the side of the head, sending him stumbling backward with an oath.
“I suppose I should be thankful there’s nothing harder for you to throw. Or sharper.”
She yanked a long, jeweled pin from her hair and whipped it. She’d been aiming for his eye, but sadly, he turned at the last moment and caught it in the cheek instead. It still scratched, and he let out a hiss, not loud enough to bring the guards, who’d retreated with Rametta.
“Moria . . . I know you’re angry—”
“Do you? Truly? Give me your dagger, and I’ll show you how angry I am.”
“Do you think I asked for this? Do you think I’ve not argued since the moment he mentioned it? It isn’t a real betrothal. You don’t have to marry me.”
“I don’t? Ancestors, have mercy. Because otherwise, I’d have gone through with it.” She strode over and glowered up at him. “Going through with it is not in question, Kitsune. If your father dragged me to the marriage shrine, I’d commit ritual suicide before I got there. With a hairpin if needed. After I killed you with it.”
Her gaze moved to the floor. He stepped back, his foot coming down to cover the hairpin.
“My father has assured me there is no question of an actual marriage. It’s a betrothal for political posturing. A sign that even the goddess favors his ascension to the imperial throne, having given her child to his in marriage.”
“Is he mad? A Keeper cannot marry. It’s an insult to the goddess—”
“There’s a precedent.”
She stared at him.
“There’s a precedent, and my father is using it to bolster his claim on the imperial throne by saying it’s a portent.”
“No, it’s insanity.”
“I am not disagreeing. But as I said, there will be no marriage. Simply a betrothal. The wedding will be postponed until he takes the throne, when it can be properly celebrated.”
“Then you are correct. I have nothing to worry about, because he’s never going to take that throne.”
“The point, Moria, is that we are stuck with this performance. We need to play our parts, and if we do not, we will be punished.”
He resumed pacing the floor. She’d noticed he hadn’t even argued when she said his father wouldn’t become emperor.
“My father wishes . . .” More pacing. “He requires . . .” Gavril cleared his throat. “He insists that it must appear as more than a political alliance.”
“More . . . ? What—”
“It must appear to be a love match,” he said, spitting the words. “You must act as if you are . . .”
“In love with you?” She stared at him. “Then you might as well escort me to the dungeon now, Kitsune, because there is not enough performing skill in the world for that.”
“It is not the dungeon he threatens you with.”
His words were almost too quiet to hear, but there was no way she could miss them. She stared at him.
“He . . . He threatens me with . . . ? He threatens a Keeper with death?”
“You know that I never would have brought you here. Yes, I tricked you. I betrayed you. I regret none of it. But I do not wish to see you dead, Moria.”
“Then help me escape.”
With a short laugh, he shook his head, pacing away again.
“What?” she said. “That is the solution, is it not? To both our problems? You aren’t telling me anything I haven’t already realized. I know you don’t care for me but—”
“And you are correct. I do not. I never did. When I say I don’t wish you dead, I accord you the courtesy of your position and the basic humanity I would feel for any other innocent party.”
“The basic humanity you would feel for any other innocent party . . .”
He fixed her with a cold look, his gaze shuttered. “Yes, Moria. I know you don’t like to hear that—”
“Why? Because I still hold out hope that you’re not a treacherous son of a whore? Do I flinch when you insult me? When you tell me I mean nothing to you? I do not. What I marvel at is any notion that you possess basic humanity. Was my father not an innocent party?”
He’d been pacing again as she spoke. He had his back to her now, and it stiffened as he stopped. Then he stood there, facing the wall.
“Do you want my help in pulling off this performance?” she said. “This is my price. Admit what you did. The role you played in the massacre of Edgewood. In my father’s death.”
“I have already—”
“You have not. I want to hear it from your lips. Exactly the role you played.”
He stayed there, his back to her. “As I said, I have done whatever you believe.”
“That’s not what I’m asking for.”
She strode in front of him and stood there, looking up. His gaze was fixed straight ahead, his jaw tight.
“Tell me exactly what you did,” she said.
“I have done whatever you believe.”
She grabbed for his dagger, but he caught her by the wrist, squeezing as he bent over her. Now his gaze did meet hers as he said exactly what he had on the night she confronted him.
“I have done whatever you believe. I have deceived you. I have betrayed you.”
Remember that, he’d added that night. Whatever happens, remember that.
She tried to shake off his hand, but he kept his grip tight as he leaned over her, so close his braids brushed her face.
“This is not a matter for negotiation, Keeper. I do not expect you to walk into that reception and pretend you are in love with me. But you will not act as if you wish to put a dagger between my ribs. You will behave as though you are pleased with the engagement. If you can manage that, we will both escape this trap unscathed.” He straightened. “Now, I will ask Rametta to return and help you freshen up. Your face powder is smeared. You must be quick, though. My father will not be kept waiting.”
If Gavril was in such a hurry, he ought to have told Rametta. By the time the old woman returned, Moria had stopped pacing and was sitting cross-legged on her sleeping pallet. Rametta shuffled into the room bearing touch-up powder and a folded towel with warm water. She fixed Moria’s makeup and brushed her hair again. Then she motioned to the towel and water.
“I’m to bathe now, after I’m dressed and groomed?” Moria said.
Rametta made a show of washing under her arms, then sniffed, making a face.
“If you’re saying I stink of sweat, then I’d suggest you bring sweet pine perfume to cover it, because in this gown, I’ll be sweating all evening.”
Rametta laid the towel in Moria’s hands, then walked out. Moria tossed the towel to the floor. It hit with an odd clunk. She bent and unwrapped the towel to find . . .
Her dagger.
She lifted it carefully, as if it were a mirage that might evaporate the moment she touched it. It didn’t. She lifted it and turned it over in her hands. Her blade. It was truly her blade.
Was it a trap? Perhaps Gavril had told the old woman to give it to Moria. He wanted her to try escaping so he could capture her. Prove to his father that this betrothal business was dangerous, that Moria was dangerous. Get her thrown back into the dungeon until he could negotiate terms for her release and be rid of her.
I don’t care. If that’s his plan, I’ll upend it on him. I’ll escape, and he can deal with the consequences of that.
She secured the blade deep within the sleeves of her voluminous gown. There, now she was properly dressed.