Waterborne Exile Read Free Page A

entirely obvious until she shifted in her seat that her belly was swelling with their eagerly-anticipated first child. Drelena sipped her wine, watching Edric lean close and murmur something in his wife’s ear. She blushed, visibly, quite a feat in the already overheated room. Yes, the good ones had been taken for quite some time.
    Drelena ran her eyes over the gathering. Her parents had been dropping heavy hints of late. There was another cousin, Lassig, from The Sisters, one of their most recent suggestions. He’d had a deal too much to drink and subsided groggily onto one of the benches lining the edge of the great hall, resting his elbows on his thighs, his head lowered. Quite the catch for some lucky girl. Her father’s family was as extensive as her mother’s was not. Between them they must have achieved some kind of balance. It was not that she had any deeply ingrained dislike for matrimony – her parents’ marriage was a happy one, after all – it was rather that she had met no one with whom she could imagine emulating their success. Lassig gave up the unequal battle to contain his drink and vomited copiously on the floor. No, Lassig was not a promising candidate.
    It was time. Her veins buzzed with the certainty of what she was about to do. The matriarchs were busy fussing over – or castigating, it was hard to tell at this distance – Lassig. Drelena reached out to set her goblet down among several other discards, but fumbled as she did so, slopping red wine over her sleeve and the bodice of her gown. “Oh, no. How vexing.” She made an ineffectual attempt to wipe the wine off, succeeding in spreading it even further. She suppressed a giggle. One or two of the elders sitting nearby had noticed. She made a play of indecision, then mouthed to the nearest matriarch. “I had better go and change.” The woman nodded, returning her attention to the activity centred on the hapless Lassig.
    Cursing herself aloud for her clumsiness in case anyone happened to be within earshot, Drelena slipped from the room. Butterflies danced in the pit of her stomach as she made her way out past the garderobes.
    She was halfway across the old, smaller hall when the door opened at the far end and a man stepped through. The laughter died in her throat before she recognised Bleaklow, her father’s steward. How like him to avoid the feast. Probably working late again over her father’s ledgers. He had no use for lively occasions like tonight’s gathering.
    “Good evening, my lady.” He spoke with precision and bowed, correct as ever.
    “Good evening. Do you not care to join the others at the wedding feast?”
    He straightened up and studied her. The light from the torchères along the walls flickered, making shadows leap across his face, accentuating the height of his cheekbones. “My lady, if you are not there to adorn the gathering, what could induce me to join them now?” He spoke carefully again, almost too carefully.
    Goddess, was he drunk? Gallantry from Bleaklow. This was unexpected. For a moment the urgency of her mission was forgotten. This was intriguing.
    Bleaklow studied her. “You appear to have spilled wine down your gown.”
    He looked so sombre. She would love to shake him out of it, if only for a moment. “Why yes, I have. So clumsy of me.”
    “A great deal of wine.”
    She smiled. “Yes, it was a great deal of wine. Expensive wine, at that.”
    “You should change before you catch a chill.” He studied her a moment more then took a step away, as if to continue his interrupted journey. On an impulse she reached out to take hold of his arm.
    “Wait. If you’re going to the feast now… will you wait while I change? I’ll be quick.”
    His eye twitched visibly and did she imagine his mouth pressed tighter into a disapproving line?
    “My lady… I would not presume.”
    “It’s a wedding feast. We’re supposed to be happy, Bleaky. Do cheer up.”
    He stared at her, eyes widening in… what? Panic?