Laughing, he caught her in his arms, lifted her, and twirled her around. “Are you sure you’re Miranda? You’re terribly big!”
“I’m almost four!” She shrieked delightedly.
He hugged her, then saw Becca standing beside Agnes. He gave Miranda a kiss on the cheek, then pulled Becca under his arm. “It is wonderful to see you, too, Becca. The things which killed your family are gone. You’re safe.”
The girl slipped her arms around his waist as he looked at the servant. “Where is Mrs. Strake?”
“She went to town, Captain. A day ago.”
Gisella twisted in her husband’s arms. “When the Fifth came through we learned of your schedule. Catherine went to get wine and supplies to celebrate. She should be back soon, if storms do not keep her in Temperance.”
Prince Vlad nodded. “Come with us to Prince Haven. We’ll wait things out there.”
Owen nodded. “Agnes, if you will take the girls. Highness, I will just head home and change into more suitable clothes. As glad as my wife will be to see me, she will happier if I do not stink of the long walk home.”
“An excellent idea.” The Prince laughed. “My clothes will have to be boiled or burned, and if I can get a good warm soaking, I don’t think I’ll care which it is.”
Owen found the letter on his dresser, his name neatly inscribed in Catherine’s strong hand. He crossed to a desk, sat, lit a lamp, then broke the seal, smoothing the paper against his thigh. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the sound of the paper and the way it felt against his fingertips. He almost raised it to his nose, but he knew it might smell of her, and he did not want that. He resisted the temptation to hold it over the lamp’s flame, destroying it unread because he knew what it said.
And he knew the words would be worse than anything he could imagine.
Owen,
I have been reliably informed of your infidelity while in the west. You arranged for your mistress to join the Prince’s staff, and you took no care to keep your affair hidden.
I can understand sinful urges, but I cannot understand how you could embarrass me so. How could you make your family a laughing stock? You must never have loved me, or our daughter, only yourself.
I cannot tolerate this dishonor. Do not try to find me. I shall not return to Mystria if you do. Tell them whatever you must, whatever lie you and your whore concoct. Tell them I was too fragile for this land, or that I found it quite lacking in elegance. Tell them I returned to Norisle in shame. They’ll believe it.
But know you this, Owen Strake, I shall never grant you a divorce. If you pursue me, I shall reveal the true, sordid tale of your affair. Not that it would matter to you, save that your whore would become soiled because of the tawdry nature of your association.
I would have taken Miranda with me, but every time I would have looked at her, I would have seen your face. I would have remembered your beastly conduct. I would have remembered you are a man without honor and I would have hated myself for sharing your life and giving you a child.
You chose Mystria over me, Owen Strake. I see now that you truly were Mystrian. You always have been, and have always been unworthy of a noble Norillian woman like me. I had once harbored hopes that perhaps your mother’s blood would be strong in your veins, but now I know your father’s mongrel taint has stained you to the core.
You will never see me again, Owen Strake, but I will, forever, remain, your wife.
Catherine
Owen went to sit, but avoided the bed and sank down against the wall. He folded the letter again and clutched it in both hands. Catherine’s venom-laden words echoed through his mind. He could almost imagine hearing the scratch of her quill on paper as she wrote, and see her face contorted in fury.
So much anger, more than I ever suspected. Catherine meant the letter to poison his soul. He did not doubt she’d taken a lover, since the letter made it clear that he’d failed her as a husband. He’d failed her in every way. As she saw it, their marriage was long since dead, and only useful as a tool with which she could torture him.
And he realized that no matter how far away she went, she would torture him until the day he died.
Chapter Sixty-four
20 June 1768 Prince Haven Temperance Bay, Mystria
Prince Vlad, his daughter in his arms, walked happily beside his wife down the drive to their home. He matched his pace to hers and laughed as Richard ran ahead. Miranda Strake caught up with him, scolded him on running too fast, and somewhat chastened, he waited for them to catch up. Even Becca Green appeared happy as she skipped forward, took Richard and Miranda in hand, and led the way.
Vlad shot his wife a smile. She returned it, then stroked a hand over her swollen belly. That gesture, so loving and gentle, shot a thrill through him. The promise of new life nibbled away at the horrors he’d seen. He wished, just for an instant, to work a spell so he could see inside her womb and learn of the child she carried. Was it a boy or a girl?
And yet, even as he asked that question, he immediately wanted to know if it was whole and well, or if a limb might have been twisted. With the right magick, he might be able to fix a club foot or cleft palate. It would be incredibly easy to do and would save him and his wife and his child a lifetime of pain.
To do that, however, would require information no man was meant to know. Vlad caught himself. It wasn’t the information that was bad, nor knowledge of the magick to solve such a problem, but the temptation to use it in ways that were not altruistic. Rathfield had said that he’d not had the impression that Vlad had used magick in a way that was not in line with the Good Lord’s commandments about compassion, but Vlad could not be certain it would always be that way. And he found it frighteningly easy to imagine a world in which compassion was forgotten, where magick would be seen as the exclusive birthright of the nobility and clergy. They could use it to make sure their children were whole and that their loved ones escaped death. Everyone else would be left to fend for themselves, creating a sharp divide between those who were “cursed” with magick, and those who were damned to live without it.
Even as he found himself pleased that he’d had Kamiskwa sever his access to the concentrated source of Norghaest magick, he also realized that threats to Mystria might require him to reopen that connection. Can I do that without being consumed by the magick? If I cannot, what could possibly stop me?
He stopped dead and turned, staring straight at Mugwump. “Now I understand: the pasmortes, the trolls, the demons, the Norghaest. Now I understand that you will keep an eye on me.”
It had all been there in his studies of nature. Everything has a predator. When rabbits reproduce in abundance, foxes, coyotes, bobcats, and dire wolves multiply and consume them. Dragons consumed magick, magick with the taint of evil. To them, the Norghaest were a feast because of their selfish use of magick.
“That’s it, isn’t it?”
Mugwump did not reply, but simply walked along behind Baker.
Prince Vlad turned and continued, catching up with his family. He passed Rowena on to Madeline, then watched as Baker took Mugwump to the wurmrest.
Gisella came to him, kissed his cheek, and clung to his right arm. “You cannot believe how happy I am to have you home. I appreciated the message you sent letting me know you were well. I’ve since learned you lied, since you did not mention breaking your arm or rib.”
“An oversight.”
She slapped him lightly on the chest. “No more oversights. I was so certain… there was a point when I had a very strong impression of your suffering.”
Vlad turned and kissed her, caressing her hair. “Shhhhh, don’t think any more on that. It’s over.”
“There’s so much I have to tell you. I wanted to send so many messages, but as you requested, I put the thaumagraph in a small casket and sank it in the river.” She looked up at him. “Can you tell me what the matter was with it?”