The Laurentine Spy by Emily Gee Page B

is with child, and her husband died honorably. However...” The Consort turned to face her. “It may surprise you that Marta has expressed a desire to marry Lord Ivo.”
    Saliel stared at her. “Lord Ivo?”
    “Yes.” The Consort resumed walking. “I was somewhat surprised by her request. I’d thought you would have told her of your betrothal. Your discretion is commendable.”
    “Thank you, your Eminence.” Saliel tried to sound overwhelmed by the faint praise.
    “I have no doubt that you would be willing to end your betrothal.” The Consort’s voice was suddenly as icy as the wind. “You have made your feelings on the matter quite clear.”
    Saliel bit her lip. She looked down at the flagstones, watching where she placed her feet.
    The Consort walked briskly until she came to the end of the colonnade. She halted and turned to face Saliel again. In the thin, gray autumn light her eyes were black. “However, I have another husband for Marta. Your betrothal to Lord Ivo will stand.”
    Saliel sank into a long curtsey of obeisance. “Yes, your Eminence.”
    The Consort stared down at her. “The betrothal ceremony will be held next week,” she said coldly. “And your marriage one month after.”
    “So soon?” The timing would be close: her departure, her marriage. “Can’t it—”
    “No.” The word was flat, final.
    Saliel bowed her head.
    “I trust you have a suitable wardrobe?”
    “Yes, your Eminence.”
    The Consort resumed walking. “Marta has requested that your suite be near hers. There’s a vacant one in the same corridor. It is yours.”
    Saliel rose to her feet. The wind buffeted her as she followed the Consort along the colonnade. “Thank you.”
    The Consort made no reply. Her shoes made thin slaps of sound on the flagstones.
    I am meant to be chastened. “Thank you for discussing this matter with me,” Saliel said, her voice humble. “I’m aware there are weightier matters on your mind these days.”
    The Consort halted. The wind lifted her cape, swelling it around her, as if she had grown wings and could fly.
    “It’s...it’s a difficult time,” Saliel ventured hesitantly.
    The Consort turned to face her. Her skin was as white as marble. Her eyes glittered blackly. “At least one good thing has come of this disaster.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “No one can deny there’s a spy in the Citadel. How else could Laurent have known?”
    Saliel stared at the Consort. Her throat was suddenly too tight for speech. She shook her head.
    “Even my husband can’t ignore the obvious any longer.” The Consort’s mouth tightened. “He has sent for a Spycatcher.”
    “Spycatcher?” Saliel stood frozen, while the wind tugged her cape.
    “The man who exposed the Laurentine spy in Wrest.”
    Saliel moistened her lips. “I have heard of him,” she said. “His reputation is considerable.”
    “Yes.” The Consort’s smile was cruel.
    Saliel forced air into her lungs. “When does he come?”
    “Very soon.”
     
     
    S ALIEL SAT WITH her hands folded in her lap. She surveyed the ballroom. Calm. Composed. But terror sat beneath her breastbone, making breathing difficult. “I beg your pardon?”
    “The Consort says she will make her decision soon.” Marta’s voice was low.
    Saliel looked at her. “Decision?”
    “About whom I shall marry.” Marta plucked at her skirt, twisting the stiff gray silk between her fingers. “I do hope...” Her words trailed off.
    Saliel followed Marta’s gaze. Lord Ivo was entering the ballroom. His breeches and doublet were a dark purplish-brown, the lace at wrist and throat as white as sea-foam. As always, his expression was vacuous. For a moment disbelief almost smothered her terror. “You like him?”
    Marta blushed. “He’s a handsome man.”
    Not handsome. Bovine.
    “And his figure is very fine.”
    Fine? Saliel watched as Lord Ivo gestured for a servant. She saw height and wide shoulders and well-shaped legs. Odd, I’ve always thought