Read Online Spiritwalker 3: Cold Steel by Kate Elliott - Free Book Online
Authors: Kate Elliott
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Camjiata had stolen the other. Bee had started drawing
the year my parents died and had never stopped. She often slept with a pencil in her
hand. Even now her fingers were smudged with lead. She had been drawing and had come
in such haste she hadn’t had time to wash.
“So, Beatrice”—he pronounced the name charmingly, like
Bey-a-tree-say
—“we all three know she had a hand in the death of my mother.” I would never have
dared to thumb through Bee’s sketchbook without permission unless I was far enough
away from her to avoid objects flung at me. He flipped casually through its mostly
blank pages. “Regardless, I have done as you asked.”
“What did you ask, Bee?” I demanded.
“I asked nothing.” Bee’s gaze was fixed on the sketchbook as if she expected spiders
to crawl out of it.
“It is true. She asked nothing. A woman like Beatrice does not crudely threaten. She
would never remind me in plain words that my claim to the cacique’s throne is tenuous
and that I need her presence as my bride to give my claim weight. She would never
hold over my head how precious a treasure she is. One need only look at her to know
that.”
She flashed a gaze at him, her chin trembling, then demurely cast her gaze to the
floor. “Does the marriage bed not please you, Husband?”
He tensed. “You know it does. But that cannot sway me.”
“Sway you from what?” I asked.
“Beatrice went to visit you at your domicile yesterday,” said theprince. “She returned to the palace before evening. It was at that time I believe
she heard my councillors speak of arresting you for the murder of the cacica. Here
is the sketch she drew this morning.”
He showed me a sketch. Bee had drawn five people on a wide path. The path was spanned
by a huge monumental archway hung with painted gourds in the Taino style. Seen past
the arch, lying below the height, spread a splendid city and harbor, almost certainly
Taino if one judged by the ballcourt and sprawling palace seen in the distance. Rory
loitered at the back of the group with a jaunty grin on his face, as if he’d just
gotten away with something he knew he ought not to have done, and certainly ought
not to have enjoyed quite so much. A second man was sketched entirely from the back,
but I could tell he was Vai. He wore a splendidly fashionable dash jacket printed
in an outrageous pattern of flowers like bursting fireworks, and he was holding my
hand. In the sketch, I looked as cranky and out of sorts as if I’d been having a discussion
I didn’t want to have. Fortunately I was wearing a fashionable military-cut riding
jacket with a split skirt and a jaunty hat.
In the sketch, Prince Caonabo leaned against the right-hand span of the archway as
if he had been waiting a long time for us to reach him. Bee strode out in front looking
quite spectacularly…
“Pregnant!” I cried.
“Pregnant,” agreed Caonabo. He snapped the sketchbook shut, and Bee flinched. “There
you are, Maestra, you and your brother and your husband, alive and well in Sharagua.
What man would not be moved by such a pleasing vision of his harmonious future?”
I hadn’t had time to examine the sketch closely, for there was one obvious thing that
might have caused this puzzling tension between them. “That is you, Your Highness,
is it not?”
Bee blushed mightily.
Caonabo did not look at her, only at me. “You wonder if I believe it to be my brother.
Haübey and I are twins, shaped to the same mold. Few people can tell us apart. But
Beatrice can tell us apart. It is evident to me by certain small signs”—none of which
he was going to share with me!—“that the man in the sketch is meant to represent me
rather than Haübey. The sketch might be described as a bribe, if you will.”
I grasped Bee’s hand. Her skin felt like ice. “What do you mean, Your Highness?”
“What man would not wish to make sure such a future
the year my parents died and had never stopped. She often slept with a pencil in her
hand. Even now her fingers were smudged with lead. She had been drawing and had come
in such haste she hadn’t had time to wash.
“So, Beatrice”—he pronounced the name charmingly, like
Bey-a-tree-say
—“we all three know she had a hand in the death of my mother.” I would never have
dared to thumb through Bee’s sketchbook without permission unless I was far enough
away from her to avoid objects flung at me. He flipped casually through its mostly
blank pages. “Regardless, I have done as you asked.”
“What did you ask, Bee?” I demanded.
“I asked nothing.” Bee’s gaze was fixed on the sketchbook as if she expected spiders
to crawl out of it.
“It is true. She asked nothing. A woman like Beatrice does not crudely threaten. She
would never remind me in plain words that my claim to the cacique’s throne is tenuous
and that I need her presence as my bride to give my claim weight. She would never
hold over my head how precious a treasure she is. One need only look at her to know
that.”
She flashed a gaze at him, her chin trembling, then demurely cast her gaze to the
floor. “Does the marriage bed not please you, Husband?”
He tensed. “You know it does. But that cannot sway me.”
“Sway you from what?” I asked.
“Beatrice went to visit you at your domicile yesterday,” said theprince. “She returned to the palace before evening. It was at that time I believe
she heard my councillors speak of arresting you for the murder of the cacica. Here
is the sketch she drew this morning.”
He showed me a sketch. Bee had drawn five people on a wide path. The path was spanned
by a huge monumental archway hung with painted gourds in the Taino style. Seen past
the arch, lying below the height, spread a splendid city and harbor, almost certainly
Taino if one judged by the ballcourt and sprawling palace seen in the distance. Rory
loitered at the back of the group with a jaunty grin on his face, as if he’d just
gotten away with something he knew he ought not to have done, and certainly ought
not to have enjoyed quite so much. A second man was sketched entirely from the back,
but I could tell he was Vai. He wore a splendidly fashionable dash jacket printed
in an outrageous pattern of flowers like bursting fireworks, and he was holding my
hand. In the sketch, I looked as cranky and out of sorts as if I’d been having a discussion
I didn’t want to have. Fortunately I was wearing a fashionable military-cut riding
jacket with a split skirt and a jaunty hat.
In the sketch, Prince Caonabo leaned against the right-hand span of the archway as
if he had been waiting a long time for us to reach him. Bee strode out in front looking
quite spectacularly…
“Pregnant!” I cried.
“Pregnant,” agreed Caonabo. He snapped the sketchbook shut, and Bee flinched. “There
you are, Maestra, you and your brother and your husband, alive and well in Sharagua.
What man would not be moved by such a pleasing vision of his harmonious future?”
I hadn’t had time to examine the sketch closely, for there was one obvious thing that
might have caused this puzzling tension between them. “That is you, Your Highness,
is it not?”
Bee blushed mightily.
Caonabo did not look at her, only at me. “You wonder if I believe it to be my brother.
Haübey and I are twins, shaped to the same mold. Few people can tell us apart. But
Beatrice can tell us apart. It is evident to me by certain small signs”—none of which
he was going to share with me!—“that the man in the sketch is meant to represent me
rather than Haübey. The sketch might be described as a bribe, if you will.”
I grasped Bee’s hand. Her skin felt like ice. “What do you mean, Your Highness?”
“What man would not wish to make sure such a future
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