The Rain Wild Chronicles: The Complete 4-Book Collection. Robin Hobb
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to you, you might make more frequent efforts in that area. And perhaps forego some of your own journeys and late-night engagements.’
He clenched his hands and turned away from her to stare out of the window. ‘I am only trying to spare your feelings. I am aware that well-bred women do not suffer a man’s needs willingly.’
‘Dear husband, do you infer that I am not “well-bred”? For I would agree with you. Some women of my acquaintance would think me absolutely “un-bred”, were I to share the details of our private life with them.’ Her heart thundered in her chest. Never before had she dared to speak so pointedly to him. Never before had she voiced anything that might be construed as a criticism of his efforts.
The jab made him turn back to her. The daylight behind him put his features into darkness. She tried to read his voice as he said, ‘You would not do that.’ Plea? Threat?
Time to gamble. She suddenly had the feeling that she must risk it all now or concede defeat forever. She smiled at him and kept her voice calmly conversational. ‘It would be easiest not to do that if I were away from my usual companions. If, for instance, I went off on a journey to the Rain Wilds, to observe the dragons.’
There had been a few times in their marriage when they had duelled like this, but not many. Even fewer were the times when she had won. Once, it had been over a particularly expensive scroll she had purchased. She had offered to return it and let the seller know that her husband could not afford it. Then, as now, she had seen him pause, calculate, and then revise his opinion of her and his options. He canted his head as he considered her, and she wished suddenly that she could see his face more clearly. Did he know how uncertain she felt just now? Could he see the timid woman cowering behind her bold bluff?
‘Our marriage contract clearly states that you will cooperate in my efforts to create an heir.’
Did he think he had her at a disadvantage? Did he think her memory was not as good as his? Foolish man! Anger made her bolder. ‘Was it worded that way? I don’t recall you speaking it aloud in quite those words, but I am sure I can consult the official document if you wish me to. While I am consulting with the Document Keeper, I can also look up the proviso in which you promised I should be allowed to go on a journey to the Rain Wilds to study the dragons. That clause I do recall, quite clearly.’
He stiffened. She had gone too far. Her heart began to hammer. Hest had a temper. She’d seen it taken out on inanimate objects and animals. But she did not think that precedent made her safe from it. Doubtless he classified her with both those things. His face reddened and he bared his teeth. She stood stock still, as if he were a rabid dog. Perhaps that stillness helped him to gather some control of himself. When he spoke, his voice was low and tight. ‘Then I think you should go to the Rain Wilds.’
And then he simply left the room, slamming the door so hard that the water leapt in the vase of flowers on her desk. Alise stood trembling and catching her breath. For an instant, she wondered if she had won. Then she decided she didn’t care. As she tugged the bell pull that would summon her maid, her mind was already busy with what she needed to pack.
‘You’ve ruined this shirt.’
Hest looked up from the desk in the corner of his bedchamber. His pen was still in his hand, his brow furrowed in annoyance at the interruption. ‘If it’s ruined, then it’s ruined. I don’t want to hear about it. Just throw it away.’ He dipped his pen again and scratched away furiously at whatever he was writing. He was in a bad temper. Best to keep quiet and finish his unpacking for him.
Sedric sighed to himself. There were days, he thought, when he could not imagine any better future than continuing to serve Hest. But there were also days, like today, when he wondered if he could tolerate the man for even another minute. He looked a moment longer at the scatter of careless burns across the blue silk of the sleeve. He knew just how the shirt had been ruined. A pipe, carelessly knocked out against the door of a carriage, and the flying sparks had flown back to burn the sleeve before Hest had drawn his arm back in. With his fingernail, he scratched at the fabric, and the small scorches became tiny holes. No. There was no way to salvage it. A shame.
He well remembered the sunny day and the Chalcedean market where they had purchased the bolt of silk. It had been on the very first trading trip he’d made to Chalced with Hest. Going abroad to trade had been a heady experience for him. It had enhanced Hest’s status in his eyes to see how his friend and now employer moved so confidently and competently through the clatter and clutter of the foreign market. It had still been a dangerous venture then, two Bingtown merchants venturing into a market in the Chalcedean capital. The war was still fresh in everyone’s mind, the peace too new to trust. For every merchant anxious to capture a new market, there were two Chalcedean soldiers still smarting at how Bingtown had repelled their invasion and willing to settle the score with an unwary foreigner. Widows clustered to beg at the market outskirts routinely spat and cursed at them. Orphans alternated between begging for coins and throwing small rocks at them.
For a moment he recalled it all, the hot sun, the narrow winding streets, the hurrying slave boys in their short tunics with dusty bare legs, the thick smell of harsh smoking herbs wafting through the open market, and the women, draped in lace and silk and ribbons so that they moved like small ships transporting mounds of fabric rather than people. Best of all, he recalled Hest at his side, striding along, his mouth set in a grin, his eyes avid for every exotic sight. He’d darted from one market stall to the next as if there were a race to find the most desirable goods. He did not let the awkwardness of his Chalcedean slow the trading process. If a vendor shook his head or shrugged his shoulders, Hest spoke louder and gestured more widely until he made himself understood. He’d bought the bolt of blue silk for a careless scattering of coins, and then hastened off, leaving Sedric to finish the transaction and hurry after him, the roll of azure fabric bouncing on his shoulder. Later that day, they’d visited a tailor’s shop near their inn, and Hest had ordered the silk converted to three shirts for each of them. The shirts had been ready and waiting for them on the following morning. ‘You have to love Chalced!’ he’d exclaimed to Sedric when they picked them up. ‘In Bingtown, I’d have paid three times as much, and had to wait a week for them to be finished.’ And the fit of each shirt had been perfect.
And now, two years later, the last of Hest’s blue silk shirts had been spoiled by careless ash. The last shared memento of that first journey together, gone. It was so typical of Hest. He was all passion and no sentiment. All three of Sedric’s blue silk shirts were still intact, but he doubted he would wear them again. Sedric gave a small sigh as he folded the shirt a last time and reluctantly consigned it to the discard pile.
‘If you’ve something to say to me, say it. Don’t moon about in here, sighing like a love-sick maiden in a bad Jamaillian play.’ Whatever calculations he had been making had gone badly; Hest thrust the pages away from him, sending several wafting to the floor. ‘You remind me too much of Alise, with her reproachful glances and secret sighs. The woman is intolerable. I’ve given her everything, everything! But all she does is mope or suddenly announce she is taking more.’
‘She mopes only when you mistreat her.’ The words were out of Sedric’s mouth almost before he knew he was going to say them. He met Hest’s flinty gaze. There was a quarrel foretold in the lines at the corners of his eyes and the flat disapproval of his thinned lips. Too late for apologies or explanations. Once Hest wore that look the quarrel was inevitable. Might as well have his full say while he had a chance, before Hest riposted with his icy sharp logic and cut his opinion to shreds. ‘You did promise Alise that she might go to see the dragons. It was in your marriage vows. You spoke it aloud and then you signed your name to it. I was there, Hest. You do remember it, and you do know what it means to her. It’s not some girlish whim; it’s her life’s interest. Her study of the creatures and her scholarly pursuit of knowledge about them are really all she has to take pleasure in, Hest. It’s wrong of you to deny that to her. It’s not fair to her. And it’s dishonourable of you to pretend that you don’t recall your promise to her. Dishonourable and unworthy of you.’
He paused to take a breath. That was his mistake.
‘Dishonourable?’ Hest’s voice