The Gypsy King (41 page)

“Yes,” said Persephone, smiling at his reflection in the looking glass. “The life of a king would be a terrible thing, indeed. Beautiful clothes and fine food, courtiers hanging on your every word, attendants leaping to attend your every need—who would want to suffer such a fate?”

“Not me,” said Azriel, refusing to rise to the bait, “for I should not like to walk through life pampered and blind, not knowing who loved me and who merely loved my crown.” Stepping forward, he leaned down and brought his head so close to hers that their cheeks were nearly touching. Gazing at her reflection in the looking glass, he murmured, “No, the life I'd choose would be a
simpler one by far—a plot of land to call my own, a pretty little thatch-roofed cottage, a yard full of scratching chickens. A well-tended garden. A fat pig to slaughter each autumn that I might be kept in bacon and sausages all winter; enough grain to make my bread and beer. Sturdy homespun shirts and a soft, clean bed of feathers. Good candles and plenty of them. An apple orchard, perhaps, and a pond stocked with fish—and an oak tree with a swing hung from a low branch so that on warm summer days I could push my clever wife and later, our babies. Music and laughter each day—and the knowledge that it would all be there tomorrow, and for a thousand tomorrows thereafter.”

The picture he painted was so utterly seductive that for a moment, Persephone could do nothing but stare at his reflection. “But … but you're not even a farmer!” she finally spluttered, feeling exasperated for reasons she couldn't quite put her finger on.

“I know,” murmured Azriel, his eyes never leaving hers. “That is why I would need a
very
clever wife—one who is good with animals and knows something of the business of farming. And that is why I would like to ask you.…”

Heart thudding hard, Persephone swivelled to face him.

“To let me know if you ever meet a woman who fits the bill,” he concluded with a satisfied smile.

Persephone blinked in surprise, then scowled. “You are a beast,” she muttered, giving him a smack in the belly.

Azriel grunted, then laughed. “Enjoy your day with the king,
my lady
.”

After her unsettling conversation with Azriel, Persephone did not think she'd be able to enjoy her day with King Finnius, but she could not have been more wrong, for he was the most perfect companion. He seemed to enjoy the garden almost as much as she did, and they spent several wonderful hours winding their way along the many paths—admiring the colourful blooms, breathing in the heady fragrances and poking little frogs with blades of grass for the fun of seeing them leap from their lily pads and disappear beneath the ponds' sparkling surfaces. With their chaperone, Moira, trailing at a distance that allowed them the illusion of privacy, they tossed crumbs to the fish and birds, and the king entertained Persephone with vivid descriptions of the many wondrous festivities that were being planned in honour of his birthday. When his cough troubled him, the two of them briefly lay down on the thick carpet of grass and watched Ivan perform loop-the-loops overhead. And when they visited the stables, the king did not seem to find it at all strange when “Lady Bothwell” formally forgave Lucifer (the moody mare ignored her), chatted with the chickens and laughed at the goats who tried to chew the bows off the hem of her gown.

“And when Cur tried to bite him he didn't have a single unkind word to say to him,” said Persephone breathlessly when she returned to her chambers in the early afternoon to change into a fresh gown.

“Cur tried to bite him?” said Azriel, gazing fondly at the dog for the first time.

“Yes,” said Persephone as Cur snarled and snapped his teeth at Azriel. “That is why I'm going to leave him locked in here for the afternoon.”

“Perhaps you should stay locked in here, as well,” suggested Azriel, “for with one notable exception, I have always found Cur to be an excellent judge of character. If he thinks the king is a dastardly rogue—”

“I'm sorry, Azriel, but could you please call Martha and the sisters to help me dress?” interrupted Persephone, who did not appear to be paying very close attention to him. “I know they are busy sewing costumes for the birthday pageant, but the king says he has a surprise for me that I shan't receive unless I return to him promptly.”

“A surprise?” sniffed Azriel. “Probably some hideously ugly piece of overpriced jewellery plucked from the royal coffers by one of his lackeys.”

“I doubt it,” laughed Persephone, “for already this day he has surprised me with a yellow rose to tuck behind my ear, a newborn kitten to hold against my cheek, a waxy comb of fresh honey and a piece of fruit I'd never seen before. Hideously ugly overpriced jewellery does not seem to be his style.”

“If you say so,” muttered Azriel darkly.

“Martha and the sisters?” reminded Persephone, with a tiny flick of her fingers.

“Oh, very
well
,” he huffed.

The afternoon with the king was at least as enjoyable as the morning had been. With exaggerated care, King Finnius led Persephone down the precariously steep path to the royal docks. There, he gave her a tour of his glittering golden barge and pointed out the treacherous sea caves that dotted the cliff behind them. Together, they explored the rocky beach, marvelling at the strange creatures in the salty tidal pools and returning to the sea the occasional gasping, flopping fish that had been stranded by the low tide. Late in the afternoon, hunger finally drove them back to the palace. They sat in the garden and filled their bellies with honeyed pastries and cream, and afterward, Persephone delighted the king by joining in a game of cards and winning a small fortune in white beans from Moira.

It was nearly time for supper when Persephone finally made it back to her chamber. To her surprise, it appeared empty.

“Azriel?” she called cautiously. “Cur?”

A harsh whisper from behind the screen near the cold fireplace was followed by a vicious snarl.

Silently sidling a few more steps into the room, Persephone picked up a wrought-iron candlestick holder that she judged heavy enough to bash out the brains of any intruder. As she did so, Azriel and Cur suddenly stepped out from behind the screen.

At the sight of them, Persephone's thickly lashed violet eyes grew as wide as trenchers. For Azriel was covered in a host of fresh scratches and bite marks, while Cur.…

Cur was positively
gleaming
!

There was not a single burr in his ears, not a single
tangle in his tail, no evidence whatsoever of ticks and fleas. His long, matted fur had been washed, trimmed and brushed to a luxuriant shine, and it appeared as though even his toenails had been cut.

Most remarkable of all, he was wearing a large pink bow around his neck.

Dropping the candlestick holder, Persephone clapped both hands over her mouth and laughed aloud. “Azriel, what on
earth
possessed you to give Cur a
bath
?”

“I don't know,” he muttered with a self-conscious shrug. “I thought he did not look the part of a noble hound and … and I suppose I wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, you certainly did
that
!” said Persephone, laughing even harder as Cur twisted his head in a futile attempt to tear off the emasculating bow.

“I used your claw-footed tub,” continued Azriel in an embarrassed voice. “I also used your brush, your scissors and the last of your rose-scented bath oil. Oh, and I cut the bow off of one of your gowns.” Shifting from foot to foot, he said, “Well? What do you think?”

Looking at Azriel, so tall and broad and handsome (and wet and scratched and bitten), Persephone thought that a man like this was almost enough to make an ignorant slave girl forget that she had dreams of freedom and a destiny that was not tied to the hopes of a hunted people.

Almost enough—but not quite.

The Fates never give but that they take away.

Feeling a sudden, dull ache in her chest, Persephone walked over to where Azriel stood awaiting her judgment. Laying a hand against his cheek, she said, “What you have
done here this day is the sweetest, kindest thing anyone has ever done for me, Azriel, and I swear to you that whatever happens, I shall not forget it.”

Smiling like a pirate, Azriel slid his hands around her waist, dipped his head and whispered, “Does this mean that if I find myself tempted to crawl into your bed at some point during this night that I need not imagine myself a blind, fingerless eunuch?”

“No,” said Persephone, staring at his beautiful lips, so close to hers.

“How about just blind and fingerless?” suggested Azriel.

Almost without meaning to, Persephone leaned forward and brushed her lips against his. Her body's reaction was instantaneous and explosive. “Blind, fingerless
and
a eunuch,” she promised breathlessly, stepping away from him.

“Are you sure?” he asked in a low voice.

“Absolutely,” she lied as she forced herself to take another step back. “Now, go away. I need to get ready for supper.”

For the second night in a row, Persephone supped in the Great Hall with King Finnius on her left-hand side and the Regent Mordecai on her right. This time, however, though she was once again careful to show the Regent due deference and to pass him some of the choicer morsels from her plate, Persephone could feel the blistering heat of his anger. She could not say if it was directed toward her
or toward the laughing young king who ever commanded her attention, but she feared it nonetheless.

After supper, there were pre-birthday entertainments—performances by jugglers, tumblers and fools, recitations by poets and songs sung by rosy-cheeked choirboys. It was very late by the time Persephone finally returned to her chambers. Soundlessly, so as not to disturb the slumbering Azriel, Martha and the sisters helped her out of her silvery gown and into her filmy nightgown, brushed out her stiff curls and tucked her into bed. After they'd tiptoed out of the room, Persephone yawned hugely, snuggled down beneath the covers and closed her eyes.

Exactly one minute later, a loud, petulant voice from the floor by the fire announced, “I don't like him. And what's more, I don't trust him!”

“Who?” mumbled Persephone, who was almost asleep.

“The king,” said Azriel darkly. “He knows you have a husband—what game is he playing, wooing you?”

“He's not wooing me,” murmured Persephone.

“Of course he is. He's just being especially crafty about it—spending time with you, joining you in simple pleasures, laughing at your jests, treating you with kindness and respect.”

“You're right. He's a monster.”

“He should not be courting you as if you were a marriageable maid,” insisted Azriel.

“He's not courting me,” she yawned. “He barely knows me!”

Azriel rolled his eyes. “Don't be naive, Persephone. I see the way he looks at you.”

More or less awake by this point, Persephone propped herself up on her elbow so that her wild, dark hair tumbled onto the pillow and her nightdress slipped down to reveal one bare shoulder. “How does he look at me?” she asked, unable to resist the hint of provocation in her voice.

Azriel, who had rolled onto his side to face her, and who was likewise propped up on one elbow, stared at her for so long and with such heat that Persephone's heart began to pound, and she began to fear what she had started.

“It is very hard to describe the way he looks at you,” Azriel finally said in a low, husky voice, “but I know what I see. And what I see is a great royal fool wooing a beautiful noblewoman who is already spoken for.”

“King Finnius is not a fool,” said Persephone shakily. “He is sweet, and I think he will be a good ruler.”

“Really?” said Azriel, rolling onto his stomach and hunching his broad shoulders in a manner that was all the more provocative for its carelessness. “What makes you think so—the fact that he is handsome and gallant and pays you the kind of attention that is sure to drive the other women at court mad with jealousy? The fact that his kitchens throw away more food in one day than most lowborn families see in a year? The fact that he wears cloth of gold, fills his idle hours with tender amusements and knows nothing of the hardships his subjects suffer? Tell me, Persephone—what has your precious king
ever
said or done to make you think that he will be a good ruler?”