Chapter 86

Odelliana welcomed the sudden intrusion with a warmth bordering on relief. The two young men seemed to sweep away the heavy air that had settled on the balcony, and she received them almost eagerly. She had wanted to speak with them for some time, and now here they came of their own accord. Whatever subtle current lingered between her and her pupil was reason enough to accept the distraction without hesitation.

“Mathias,” she said lightly, clicking her tongue at him, “you ought to have introduced your friends first. How could you make them trouble themselves to come all the way here?”

Mathias lowered his eyes to regard Martin and Liam with a detached, almost indifferent glance. His expression betrayed no feeling whatsoever. He did not bother to correct her use of the word “friends,” though. Whether he meant it as silent agreement or merely lacked the energy to contradict her, she could not tell. In either case, his omission saved the two young knights from the embarrassment of having their approach denied on the spot.

“I am Liam Jenut!” one of them declared with a bright, ringing voice.

“And I am Martin Kulag,” the other followed quickly. “It is an honor to meet the Lady of whom so much is spoken, the saint of Grüsewald.”

“I’m pleased to meet you both, Sir Liam Jenut, Sir Martin Kulag,” Odelliana replied warmly. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you. Mathias seems to be indebted to you time and again, isn’t he?”

“In truth, if we speak plainly, we’re the ones in his debt,” Liam admitted with a laugh, “but—yes, you could put it that way.”

His hearty response drew an answering smile from her lips.

“I had hoped to find a chance to greet you separately,” she confessed. “But I’ve been too out of sorts in this unfamiliar setting. Thank you for taking the trouble to come to me first.”

She extended her hand, and in turn, Martin and Liam bent gallantly, each brushing her gloved knuckles with their lips in the old style of courtly respect.

Mathias’s eyes followed the gesture. His gaze, cold and sharp, lingered on the place where their lips touched her skin.

Perhaps they sensed the sudden, cutting chill that emanated from him. Both young men pulled back quickly and covered the awkwardness with mild, pleasant smiles.

“Mathias is a boy who suffers from terrible shyness,” Odelliana said, as though in explanation. “I have often worried about him. It eases my mind to know he has comrades such as you to look after him. I must ask you to continue to do so.”

The request carried sincerity. She did not know Martin and Liam well, but the simple fact that they clung faithfully to Mathias’s side counted for much in her eyes. She, after all, knew his caustic and unsociable nature too well from her past life. That these two persisted at his side spoke volumes of their patience and character.

But Martin tilted his head, his tone cautious as he ventured, “If I may ask, my lady… what exactly is your relation to Mathias? Forgive me if I speak out of turn, but the Lady to whom he dedicated his letter of fealty—that was you, was it not?”

“Ah…”

Odelliana let out an awkward little laugh. To define her relationship with Mathias here, before others, was more vexing than she had anticipated. She was neither his lover, as rumor insisted, nor was she comfortable naming him her pupil aloud.

“Mathias is…” She felt his gaze on her and chose her words carefully. “He is like a younger brother to me. No blood between us, but close enough to be family.”

“…Ah.”

Martin exhaled softly, as though disappointed. Liam’s laugh was brief and uncomfortable. The answer landed between them like an ill-tuned note, something they had not wished to hear.

Their eyes drifted at once to Mathias. Outwardly, his face was as impassive as ever, cold and expressionless as carved stone. Yet the faint narrowing of his eyes betrayed the displeasure that flared beneath. Martin and Liam read it instantly and, wisely, chose not to linger.

“I see,” Martin said with a polite bow. “Rumors fly thick and fast, and we were curious. Forgive our boldness.”

“Haha, indeed,” Liam added quickly. “We fear we’ve intruded on a private family moment. Now that we have paid our respects, we shall take our leave.”

They turned as one, ignoring Odelliana’s gentle invitation to stay a while longer, and retreated from the balcony as though driven out by unseen force.

She blinked after them, puzzled. Why did the mood sour so suddenly? Tilting her head, she murmured, “Did I say something wrong?”

At her guileless question, Mathias gave a short laugh and shook his head.

“They’re simply timid,” he replied.

“Timid?” she echoed. “Strange. From the way they spend so much time with you, I thought they were of the bold, fearless sort. Perhaps they only wanted to come and enjoy themselves in your company.”

“Not at all,” he said curtly.

Odelliana, still curious, stepped to the window that overlooked the hall below. It was easy enough to find Martin and Liam among the revelers. They were already laughing with unknown young ladies, wineglasses in hand, speaking in lively tones.

Watching them, Odelliana felt a pang of pity for the boy who remained here beside her, silent and withdrawn. She let out a sigh heavy with regret.

“Most young men your age,” she said, half to herself, “this is the very peak of their vigor. Their hearts race with thoughts of women, their eyes rove endlessly. Yet here you are, Mathias, not sparing even a glance for the most beautiful of them.”

He turned his dark eyes toward her. “How could I look elsewhere when you are before me, master?”

She stilled, then slowly faced him, finding only unshaken seriousness in his expression. Pressing her fingers to her brow, she groaned softly.

“Do you truly mean to marry me?” she asked wearily.

“Would that be so wrong?” Mathias answered, his tone deceptively mild.

“You once told me yourself,” he reminded her, “that if I wished for the core of you, I should make you love me. Didn’t you?”

So he remembered that, after all. She had spoken it to soothe him, tossing the words carelessly, never dreaming he would seize upon them with such stubborn faith.

“You ought to look around you,” she tried, almost pleading. “Perhaps what you feel for me is only blind infatuation. A spell cast by proximity. How can you be so sure?”

“It is not,” he said flatly.

“You can’t know that. I once lost myself in just such blindness. There was a man I saw as the only one in the world. I gave him everything. And when I think of it now, I can’t stop regretting it. To think that I wasted myself on such a worthless wretch—”

“Worthless?” Mathias pressed, his eyes glinting.

The memories crowded in, humiliations she wished she could forget. To call them back now was like scratching open an old wound. She groaned faintly, wishing she had held her tongue.

“Enough,” she muttered. “The thought of him alone makes me ill.”

Mathias laughed then, an unguarded, rich sound—happier than she had heard from him in a long while.

“You must have been deeply wronged,” he said with unmistakable relish, “to hate him so much.”

“I would kill him if I could,” she hissed through her teeth.

“If you tell me who he is,” Mathias said smoothly, “I will bring you his head myself. Wouldn’t that please you?”

Her thoughts flinched immediately to Jocelyn, and with them came the same choking revulsion. Shaking her head violently, she snapped, “Don’t even speak of that filthy dog. The very memory makes me sick.”

“As you wish,” Mathias said.

She swallowed and steadied her voice, steering herself back to the matter at hand. “Listen, Mathias. I have told you before: if, once you are grown, you still desire me… then yes, I will give myself to you. If what you want from me is truly that, then how could I deny it to the boy who has done so much for me?”

The words came heavy. She had always intended to repay him in whatever coin he demanded, and if that meant her own body, so be it. Yet the thought that he would waste his future tethered to her—a crippled woman with little left to offer—filled her with dismay.

“I only fear you’ll regret it,” she whispered. “I am not what you think I am. I am not good, nor am I worthy of you. You could meet a woman far more beautiful, far more accomplished…”

She broke off when his hand rose suddenly, fingers long and firm beneath her chin. He tilted her face up to his, and she found herself staring into his eyes at breath’s length. His gaze was intent, unyielding, devouring.

His thumb traced her cheek, slid down over her lips, smearing the rouge there. He studied the faint red stain upon his skin and smiled faintly, as though satisfied.

“The only thing I regret,” he murmured, “is that you are not already mine.”

His lips hovered close enough to brush hers.

“I have no need of other women,” he said.

Her breath caught.

“You alone are enough.”

The gleam in his eyes was dangerous, fierce—obsessive. She felt the hunter’s stare upon her, and she the prey, frozen, unable to move.

She winced, and at last he released her, his expression softening.

“That is why,” he said quietly, “I cannot wait to be grown.”

“You…” Her voice faltered.

“Look,” he said with a faint, ironic smile, “your disciple keeps to the boundary you yourself set. I am patient, aren’t I? Remarkably patient.”

Yes, she had drawn that line herself—until he was of age. Less than three years remained. If he survived the great campaign that was soon to come, he would return not a boy but a man. And then her promise would bind her.

“You told me,” he went on, “that though the heart might be mine to win, the body I could claim when I wished. Very well. Then I shall have that, at the least.”

His fingers closed around hers, entwining them tightly until no space remained between.

“You must keep me near, Master,” he said softly. “You will need me.”

Her smile faltered. A chill crept through her, a suffocating weight pressing against her ribs. He would not restrain himself once he was grown; he would have no reason to. She looked at the beautiful predator he had become and wondered—how could she possibly withstand him?

It was like staring into the jaws of a trap she herself had baited, feeling the teeth close inexorably around her.

Like a lamb awaiting the altar, she could only wait for the inevitable.