Chapter 8: The Regent's Offer

"Let go of my wife," Torin said from the doorway.

Hadrian did not let go at once.

He held my wrist a moment longer, his eyes on the sleeping child, and I felt his fingers tremble.

Then he dropped my arm and stepped back.

"She is feverish and the healer is overreaching," he said to Torin, with an even voice and a pale face. "I was concerned."

"You were terrified," Torin said.

Hadrian walked out without answering.

I sat on the edge of Wynne's bed with my pulse hammering and my wrist still burning from his grip.

"Later," Torin said, reading my face. "You can tell me later, or never. But the Regent wants you now."

The Regent received us in his private chamber, where a fire roared and the windows were sealed against any draft.

He was propped in a high chair, gray as ash.

"You cooled the child," Aldous rasped. "The nurse says her fever broke in a quarter hour."

"It will come back," I said. "She needs three more days."

"Then she shall have them. And you will give them."

He lifted a hand heavy with rings.

"I am offering you a place, Lady Bracken. Court healer of Aurend."

He wheezed and went on.

"A chamber in the palace, a stipend, and the care of my ward and myself."

"No," Torin said.

The Regent's eyes slid to him.

"Warden, I was speaking to your wife."

"She's leaving with me at dawn."

"The Midwinter court runs eight more days. The charter obliges the Warden to attend all of them."

"The charter obliges me to be wed," Torin said. "I am wed."

"And I may find the marriage irregular."

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