Chapter Text
‘This would’ve been cute if she hadn’t cut off your hand,’ Iphianassa said, cocking her head as her baby brother straightened a pillow for the third time. He’d been pacing the room for the better part of an hour, pausing occasionally to stare out of the window, but the Attolian train travelled far slower than an individual rider would, and they still had not arrived.
‘Yes, you’ve made your opinion on that clear,’ he said. ‘Please don’t belabour it to her. You said you’d be nice.’
‘I said I wouldn’t wring her neck the moment she crossed my doorstep.’
‘Nicer than that.’
‘She’s never nicer than that,’ said Temenus, who threw himself onto the couch, with no appreciation whatsoever for the effort that had gone into the effortlessly comfortable setting of the pillows. He folded his hands behind his head and grinned at Eugenides. ‘So, let me just get this straight. The Attolian custom is for the bride to live with the husband’s family for a year before you’re actually married? And in that period you’re not supposed to get up to any fun?’
‘More or less,’ Eugenides said.
‘Weirdos.’
Eugenides silently agreed, but apparently the Attolian consensus was that him stealing Attolia a second time was utterly unacceptable, and this time Eddis had to bow to Attolian customs.
The big challenge hadn’t been to convince Attolia – the arrangements to rule from a distance were easily put into place, an effective system used by monarchs on the warpath – but to persuade one of Eugenides’ sisters to let her stay with them. In the end, Iphianassa had buckled under their father’s stern gaze and Eddis’s pleading, but she hadn’t stopped complaining about it since. Eugenides respected that. He just prayed she wouldn’t do it in front of Irene.
‘They’ve rounded the corner,’ Iphianassa said. ‘If you go down now, you’ll only stand outside waiting for a quarter of an hour.’
‘Wouldn’t want to look too eager,’ added Temenus.
The Minister of War appeared in the door opening, dressed in semi-formal robes. It had been agreed that, since Irene came as a future bride rather than a foreign monarch, they would do away with the pomp of formal state visits, but some standards had to be maintained.
‘Everyone, up,’ he said. ‘Time to greet your new sister-in-law.’
His tone left no doubt as to his enthusiasm about Eugenides’ bride, but like Iphianassa, he had promised to refrain from physical harm.
Despite the nominally private character of the arrival, half of Eddis had come to watch. Eugenides ignored their stares, which were filled with curiosity and amusement as much as resentment for the woman they had been at war with only several months ago. He put his hands in his pockets as the carriage approached, and wondered whether Attolian men were filled with the same nerves when they first greeted their wives.
Finally, the wheels came to a halt.
The door opened, Irene peeked out. The Minister of War offered her his arm.
‘Welcome to our home. May our fires keep you warm and our gods keep you safe,’ he said, the traditional Attolian phrase struggling to break through his gritted teeth, ‘daughter.’
‘May I look after your fires and worship your gods as is proper,’ she answered, as she slid to the floor. ‘Father.’
She let go of him, her eyes darting around the square until they rested upon Eugenides, who felt like all air had evaporated from his lungs. She was here. She had actually come.
‘Go on,’ Stenides said, giving him a little push in the back. ‘Go say hi.’
‘Damn,’ Eugenides heard Temenus mutter, ‘I’d let her chop off my hand.’
‘Not funny,’ Iphianna whispered.
‘Not joking. This makes a lot more sense now.’
Eugenides approached Irene, feeling like he was twelve and wanted to ask a girl to dance for the first time, and bowed. ‘Good journey?’
‘Perfectly comfortable, thank you.’
They looked at each other. Eugenides wished everybody else would go back to their own business, so he could greet her properly, but the crowd were watching them with baited breath, remembering all too well the last time an Attolian carriage had stopped in this square. Eventually, Iphianassa stepped forward, and Eugenides was reminded Irene had come to meet everybody else as much as him.
‘This is my sister, Iphianassa,’ he said.
‘The one kind enough to take me in,’ said Irene.
‘The one and only.’ Iphianassa took her in from head to toe, not as easily swayed as Temenus. She inclined her head towards the palace. ‘Come, let me show you your room.’
*
Irene sat on the bed and looked around the rather sparse room. These were not the royal apartments of Attolia. But then, Eddisians didn’t have a need to host their in-laws before marriage, so they’d improvised a space. And it wasn’t as if many of the other rooms in the palace were much more luxuriously furnished than this one. Minimalist, the Eddisians.
The knock of wood against wood caught her attention. She smiled.
‘All settled in?’ Eugenides asked, leaning against the door frame. He looked more relaxed than she’d ever seen him, stripped of the Thief’s need for secrecy or the Attolian demand for splendour.
She gestured at the chest on the opposite side of the room, which contained a couple of dresses and cloaks, but nothing more. Traditionally, that was so the bride could let go of her former life and belongings, but for Irene it was motivated by practicality; she’d be moving back in a year anyway. ‘I didn’t bring much.’
She craned her neck to see into the room behind Eugenides, and he picked up the hint and closed the door.
‘It’s very nice of Iphianassa to let me stay,’ Irene said, ‘considering she doesn’t seem delighted by my presence.’
‘She just needs time to get used to the idea.’
‘Hmm.’
‘On the positive side, you’ve already won over Temenus.’
‘Was he the tall one?’
‘With the scar down his chin, yes,’ Eugenides said. ‘He sang your praises on our walk back.’
She reflected on the faces of his father and other two siblings. Something told her they leaned more towards Iphianassa’s estimation than Temenus’. ‘So I’ve got one out of five.’
‘Better or worse than expected?’
‘Better,’ she admitted, and he gave her a wry smile. She wondered how many threats had been crafted before her arrival to ensure the Eddisian civility. Certainly the Minister or War had seemed like his courtesy had to be drawn from him with white-hot pokers.
‘They’ll adore you before the leaves turn red,’ Eugenides said. ‘And otherwise you can just ignore them. That’s what I do.’
She smiled and rose from the bed, stretching her arms over her head, her muscles stiff and complaining after the day in the carriage. Eugenides had opened the door before she had finished rolling her shoulders.
‘Before we inflict my cousins on you, would you like a tour of the palace?’
‘Please.’
He didn’t bother with the north wing; she’d made enough state visits to Eddis to be familiar with the dark corridors and guest rooms there. As he led her through the less public hallways of the palace, he kept up a steady flow of conversation, giving names and backgrounds for the people they passed, childhood anecdotes from rooms in which he’d been locked, architectural changes made over the centuries. Unlike his father and sister, he spoke in an Attolian accent, which flowed as naturally as anything she’d ever heard and was, if she was honest, easier to understand than the rolling R’s and long vowels of Eddisian.
‘… and this is the library,’ he said at last.
‘The infamous library.’
He arched an eyebrow. ‘Not sure that’s the word I’d use.’
That was because he didn’t know how many reports she’d got about the state of this library and its occupant, its closed doors and midnight visitors and plates of food left outside. Irene decided not to bring that period up. Without asking, she let herself in.
This late in the afternoon, the room was dark, its view towards the east in order to get the morning sunlight. Even so, the collection of scrolls managed to impress. With a little paper note over each shelf stating what it contained, the cases reached all the way to the ceiling and covered every wall, save for a gap for the door.
‘So this is your domain,’ she said, running her fingers over one of the categories. Heroes – history. The next one, Heroes – history. And the one after that, Heroes – songs. ‘A lot of heroes.’
‘“Hero” is a traditional Eddisian word for “idiot who died in battle”. We’ve had a lot of those.’
‘Ah.’
He hadn’t moved from the doorway. She turned to find him watching her, a soft smile on his face, and felt herself blush. ‘What?’
‘It’s just surreal, seeing you here,’ he said, still smiling.
‘It’s surreal being here,’ she admitted. ‘It’s been a very long time since I… did this.’ And last time, nobody had smiled at her. Certainly not the way Eugenides did. Her blush crept up further, and she nodded at the door about which she had heard so much. ‘Your bedroom?’
‘Hmmhmm.’
Their eyes met, and she remembered a particularly interesting moment in the negotiations when the Eddisians had assumed that her moving into her husband’s family’s house meant her moving in with her husband, and half her negotiating barons had cried with outrage at the insult. The twitch in Eugenides’ smile made her suspect the memory was just as clear in his mind.
‘Do you think they’ll mind very much, your barons, if I were to kiss you before the year is over?’
‘They’ll be your barons, too.’
He acknowledged that with a nod. ‘Do you think our barons will mind if I kiss you?’
She looked around the room and shrugged. Her heart was raging like a teenager’s, swept up by the knowledge that she was alone with Eugenides, away from everyone’s prying eyes, free for one year from their judgement and scheming. ‘I can’t see any barons, can you? I won’t tell if you don’t.’
He grinned, and within a second he’d wrapped his arms around her with such enthusiasm she’d have stumbled back if he hadn’t held her. She laughed, and was still laughing when he silenced her with a kiss, one that held more tenderness in it than any she’d ever received from her previous husband.
All in all, she suspected she could grow to enjoy her time in Eddis.
*
Eugenides hadn’t been joking when he’d said Eddisians bred like rabbits. As he pointed out all the members of his family among the diners, Irene marvelled at the sheer number of them. And that was after a war that had claimed more cousins than Eugenides was willing to tell her.
Even though she was here in a private capacity, for tonight, Eddis had decided Irene should take pride of place. Unlike the Minister of War, Helen did manage to hide any personal distaste for her dinner companion, her tone and expression perfectly pleasant as she enquired about the journey.
‘What do future wives in Attolia usually do once they’ve arrived?’ Eddis asked.
‘Last time, I did a lot of needlework,’ said Irene thoughtfully. ‘In between eavesdropping on my husband’s mediocre scheming and some gardening.’
‘Might I suggest you leave off the gardening this time?’
‘I have lost my taste for it.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ Eugenides said.
Eddis rolled her eyes at him, although her relief at his lack of concern was evident. She tried to steer the conversation back to normal topics that in no way hinted at spousal murder. ‘What will you do instead?’
‘I might take up the lyre this time,’ said Irene with a shrug. ‘I’m not sure. It’s been a while since I had time for myself.’
Eddis smiled, as if she understood that only too well. ‘That will be a joy once the nights draw in. We love a good musician here. Has Eugenides shown you the library?’
Irene managed not to give any reaction, beyond her renewed blush. ‘He has.’
‘It’s not anywhere near as extensive as the one in Attolia,’ said Eddis, ‘but he might be able to recommend you some works.’
Eugenides nodded, his expression one of perfect innocence, even as under the table he trailed a finger over Irene’s skirt. ‘Yes, that sounds like a great idea. It’s about time we got more use from that library.’
They both smiled at Helen, who bit her lip in an attempt to hide her amusement and turned to her other dinner companion. Irene maintained her smile for just a moment longer before she raised her eyebrows at Eugenides.
‘You are incorrigible,’ she said.
‘You wouldn’t correct me if you could.’
She pressed her lips together, but even so she couldn’t help but smile. She swatted his hand away, in a nod to propriety, but he linked his fingers with hers instead, leaned forward, whispered something in her ear.
‘I think,’ Stenides said, inclining towards Iphianassa, ‘that we can lay to rest any concerns that he was forced into this marriage.’
‘I get that he’s into her,’ said Temenus. ‘But what does she see in him? He is literally the world’s most annoying pickpocket.’
Iphianassa stared at them in exasperation. ‘Am I the only one who remembers that she cut off his hand?’
‘Did you know Helen has had the grounds cleared of coleus?’ Arete lifted her goblet. ‘To protect her or him, you think?’
‘Her,’ said Iphianassa. ‘Bold of her to come here for a year.’
‘If she lasts that long,’ Arete said. ‘A year with Gen should be enough to make anyone see sense.’
Iphianassa speared a piece of lamb with her fork. ‘Well, I’m watching her.’
*
‘Rise and shine, dear sister.’
Irene blinked, eyelids heavy with sleep. For a moment, she couldn’t remember where she was, why her bed was so hard, who the two women by the door were. Then her blanket was pulled away, the Eddisian accent made sense, and all came flooding back. Flinging her legs out of bed, she rubbed her eyes and glanced at the window. It was still dark.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked.
‘Gen said your time here was to learn the habits of your husband’s household,’ said the taller one, Arete. She was dressed already, in a plain brown tunic that only came down to her knees, leaving her strong legs bare. ‘In this family, the women know the mountain and don’t grow soft.’
‘Ah.’
Iphianassa, a pair of swords crossed behind her back, threw Irene a tunic and pointed at a pair of shoes in the corner. ‘We didn’t think you’d have brought suitable clothing.’
Indeed she hadn’t, nor was what they had lent her meant for someone Irene’s height. She looked down at her pale legs, which hadn’t seen any sunlight since before they’d started growing hair. ‘Soft’ felt like the right way to describe them, but she’d be damned if she were to chicken out just because she didn’t look strong. As she tied up her boots, she reflected that she’d always been jealous of Eddis and her outdoor adventures; now was her chance to see how much she really enjoyed Eddisian freedom.
They were quiet on the way out, so as not to wake any of Iphianassa’s children in the next room. They passed a few Eddisians on the way, until they reached the outside court. There, set up in pairs, were groups of Eddisian youths, most of them no older than eight, moving along to the commands of the soldier who surveyed the exercise. Over the mountain ridge, the faintest hint of light blue announced the dawn.
The fresh air brought goosebumps to Irene’s arms. She moved her hands to rub herself warm, but caught Arete’s attention just as her fingers closed around her arm, and stopped. If they weren’t cold, she wouldn’t be either.
‘Through here,’ Iphianassa said, guiding her through one of the side gates.
They followed a small trail up the mountain, through a forest of pine trees that buzzed with the end of night, their steps muffled by a fragrant carpet of needles. Soon, the walk was enough to keep Irene warm, even if her toes grew cold from the dew that soaked her shoes. She wasn’t surprised when Arete abandoned the trail, but couldn’t help wonder how long this excursion was going to take. Eventually, they reached a dead end, a steep rise of the mountain preventing their passage.
Or so she’d thought.
Without pausing, Arete and Iphianassa continued until they reached the bare rock, and then continued still, climbing up as effortlessly as goats. Slack-jawed, Irene watched, unable to spot what they were holding onto, where they rested their feet. Once they’d got halfway up, Iphianassa deigned to look back.
‘Aren’t you coming, Irene?’
She placed a hesitant hand against the rock, glanced up, saw how far she had to go.
She literally didn’t even know where to start. Pride was one thing, but falling to her death because she couldn’t figure out how to get up or down was a bit much. ‘Is there another way up?’
‘If you’re a wimp.’
‘Looks like I am,’ she said.
The two sisters exchanged an amused glance, and slid down so quickly, Irene barely had time to have a heart attack.
‘Sorry, we’d forgotten Attolians were like that,’ Arete said. ‘Come, the view from up there is quite spectacular.’
Even when not going straight up, the journey was steep, and more than once Irene had to pull herself up against a tree, or clamber ungracefully over trunks and rocks and thickets. As if they’d suddenly remembered that Irene wasn’t used to this, Iphianassa and Arete kept pausing to ask her if she was all right, if they weren’t going too fast, if she’d like to go back, and even when she was panting and sweating more than she ever had, she assured them she was fine.
By the time they reached the top, the sun had come out in full, its rays alien and pleasant against Irene’s legs. She leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees as she caught her breath, noting with surprise the pattern of scratches that had appeared on her calves. It must have been one of the bushes, but she couldn’t remember any of them having thorns.
Arete sat down on one of the rocks at the edge of the plateau, looking at home like a forest nymph. ‘You all good?’
‘Fantastic,’ Irene assured her.
‘Great,’ said Iphianssa. ‘Catch!’
Irene blinked, her brain not registering the weapon that came flying at her. Her body did what needed to be done without thinking, leaping aside before the blade hit her, and the sword landed harmlessly on the dusty ground. Irene noticed with relief that it was wooden – not, she reflected, that it wouldn’t have hurt like hell if it had hit head head as it had tried to. ‘What?’
‘We’ve done your legs,’ said Iphianassa, who unsheathed the other sword and held it ready. ‘Time to exercise those arms of yours.’
‘Oh, I…’
‘Don’t worry, Ana practises with her children all the time,’ said Arete, folding her legs underneath her. ‘She knows how to keep things to your level.’
Irene accepted the dig, remembering the boys sparring in the court. Any of them would be able to take her down, she suspected.
She picked up the sword, which was surprisingly heavy, and renounced whatever pride she had left. She waited for Iphianassa to take her position and copied it, and then the true ordeal began.
Irene’s arms trembled when she finally handed the sword back. The sun had risen higher, the air growing warmer, or maybe it was the exercise. Either way, Irene couldn’t remember ever being this sweaty and uncomfortable. Everything hurt, even though Iphianassa had only ever given soft taps when she hit her; enough small taps added up to quite a lot of force, and she suspected she’d be black and blue tomorrow. If she hadn’t turned lobster-red from the sunshine. What a painting she’d be.
‘So you probably don’t need us to tell you this,’ said Iphianassa, as they commenced the descent, ‘but naturally, if you lay another finger on Gen, we will kill you.’
She looked at her feet, afraid she’d miss a rabbit hole or ridge and break her leg, glad to have an excuse not to see her sisters-in-law. ‘Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of marriage?’
Silence. She glanced up, and found Arete, at least, looking at her with a smirk that seemed aimed at her joke, not her current pitiful state.
‘I didn’t realise Attolian maidens were allowed to make such comments,’ said Arete, grabbing Irene’s arm before she could step into a puddle of mud. Iphianassa didn’t say anything, but if Irene wasn’t mistaken, she did slow her pace, meaning Irene was only slightly out of breath by the time they reached the river near the palace.
She kept walking, noting just too late that her companions had stopped and were taking off their shoes.
‘Aren’t we…?’
‘In this state? When there’s a perfectly good river to have a bath and render ourselves presentable?’ Iphianassa asked. Without a moment’s hesitation, she had pulled her tunic over her head. The body underneath could not have been more different from Irene’s; sun-kissed and muscular, the skin around her stomach covered with light stripes from her pregnancies, tattoos dancing with her every movement. She winked at Irene and then leapt into the river, followed by her sister.
‘Right,’ Irene muttered, more to herself than her companions. She sniffed under her armpit and had to admit that a wash wouldn’t be out of order. Briefly, she considered going in fully dressed, but dismissed the idea. ‘When in Eddis…’
She smiled as she considered what her attendants and barons would say if they heard their queen had stripped naked in the Eddisian woods in order to have a bath after being thoroughly beaten at sword practice. But in truth, she doubted they’d believe it ever happened. Fortified by the power of incredulity, Irene took off her tunic, then stepped out of her boots, onto the rocky riverbed, and into the river.
She screamed.
It was far, far, far colder than she’d expected, not comparable to the Attolian sea this time of year, and too late she remembered the water flowed down from the snowy mountain tops.
‘Come on, you get used to it,’ said Arete, swimming over to her. She splashed some water at the once and future queen of Attolia, whose teeth were chattering too strongly to reply. She rushed to wash the sweat and dust from her body as quickly as she could and then dashed from the water again, relieved to put her short, ridiculous tunic back on. Before long, the other two joined her, and Irene was pleased to see their skin carried just as many goose bumps as her own.
They returned to the palace, Irene’s stomach rumbling when she recognised the gate they’d come through. Just as they were about to enter, Eugenides appeared, arms crossed, face crosser.
‘You were told to play nice,’ he said, glaring at Iphianassa.
She pushed past him, and called over her shoulder, ‘I brought her back in one piece, didn’t I?’
They waited until Arete had left as well, and Irene became frightfully aware of the length of her tunic. Her braid dripped down her back, but it wasn’t the icy cold water that sent a shiver down her spine when Eugenides held out his hand.
‘You don’t have to indulge them.’
‘You misunderstand the purpose of this custom,’ she said, glad for his warmth. Already her skin was turning a rosy pink, and she wondered whether Eddisians bothered with salves against sunburn or whether they considered that weak and Attolian. She winced as she crossed into Eddis, her legs protesting the renewed labour after their short break. She could already tell she would wake up the next morning more sore than she’d ever been in her life. ‘By the end of this year, I’d better have won over every single member of your family. Or,’ she said, remembering the sheer number of cousins, ‘a reasonable part of your family.’
He snorted. ‘There is no reasonable part of my family.’
‘I will try to win them over anyway,’ she said with conviction. ‘Even if you won’t.’