He found her sitting in a chair by the fire in their quarters, some half-finished weaving lying unattended in her lap and that impatient expression on her face. The giant elk’s skull looked down over her. She glanced up as he entered and he was shocked to see how tired she looked. Her face was lined, her eyes were terribly bloodshot and her lips even had a bluish hue to them. He stopped at the sight of her. “Are you all right, Wife?”
“Of course,” she said. She was evidently trying to keep her voice light; Roper knew that she would not admit her troubles to him. “How was the council?”
Roper pulled a chair up next to her and sat down. “Bad. Uvoren had hold of the plague like a rabid dog; he wouldn’t let go.”
She appraised him. “Not the most unjustified criticism you’ve received.”
“Certainly more justified than the claims that I beat the Sutherners by trading half the east in exchange for their withdrawal.”
Keturah laughed briefly. “Is that still being said? If that were the case, why do they now think the Sutherners have retreated behind the Abus?”
“They say they couldn’t weather the winter in a hostile land, so have gone south for now and have my word that they can return in the spring.” He thought that might amuse Keturah, but she had turned towards the fire and was staring into it vacantly. “That’s Randolph’s theory anyway.”
“I like Randolph,” she said, still staring at the fire.
“I like him too. It’s a shame he’s on the wrong side.”
“It is. But if you kill the others, perhaps you can let him live to show your mercy.”
“Maybe. I want to kill Baldwin first. Then Vinjar. Pompous prick.”
Keturah shuddered a little. “Baldwin sucks the energy from a room. He’s so dark.”
Roper thought for a moment. “What about Unndor and Urthr? They look so disillusioned with their father that perhaps they would join us?”
Keturah tried to smile but merely looked strained. “I don’t think so. They’re still family. They may hate their father but, if anyone else threatens him, you can be sure they’ll be at his side.” She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The gesture was so familiar to Roper but it seemed odd. It took him a moment to register why.
“Keturah,” he said.
She glanced at him and saw that he was looking down at her left hand. She followed his gaze and saw that the lock of hair had come away in her fingers: a thick, dark ribbon that rested on the back of her hand. She jerked it up to her eyes, staring at it with disbelief. Then she dropped it in her lap and both hands flew up to her head. Both came away with thick locks of hair between the fingers, leaving behind embarrassed, fallow skin.
Keturah stared at the hair in her hands for a moment. Then she let it fall to the floor. She looked up at Roper. His mouth was open and his face like chalk.
“What’s happening to me?” Her voice was like the whistle as air escapes a bellows and, for the first time ever, Roper heard a tremor of fear. They shared a look, and Roper could do no more than shake his head. Her gaze brightened as he watched. A single tear heaved over her eyelid and splashed onto her cheek and Roper stood abruptly, taking her still outstretched hands.
“Come, Wife. Lie down and I’ll fetch the physician.” She stood, allowing her weaving to fall to the floor, and let him guide her to the bed. He kissed her cheek before turning away. She would not want him to see her cry.
17Vengeance Is for Now
The physician, the same wire-haired man who had stripped Kynortas’s skull for Roper, examined Keturah where she lay on the bed. Roper left him to it, waiting outside to spare his wife her dignity. When the physician emerged, Roper, sitting with his back against the corridor wall outside, stood abruptly. “Is it the plague?”
“This isn’t plague, my lord,” said the physician. “Plague does not make you lose your hair.”
“What is it, then?”
“Your wife has been poisoned, lord.”
Roper stared, silent for a moment. “Poisoned?”
“I believe so. She says she has felt unwell for two days: we must begin purging her at once if we are to have any hope of avoiding permanent damage.”
“As fast as you can,” said Roper. The physician bowed and hurried away to fetch his tonics. Roper hesitated. Those men of Uvoren’s whom he had thought were following him: could they have been for Keturah instead? He opened the latch to his quarters and found Keturah inside, lying on the bed. She looked at him, eyes quite dry now, and offered him the shattered fragments of a smile.
“I think this may be my fault, Husband.”
Roper sat down on the bed. “Why would you think that?”
“This is Uvoren’s doing. He wants to kill me so that I have time to know I’m dying.”
“Why?”
“Just a conversation we had while you were on campaign. Then I goaded him at the feast when you were back because I thought we’d won.” She rolled her eyes wearily. “Stupid.”
“No,” said Roper. “Nobody can allow that man to act as powerful as he thinks he is. And you couldn’t have known this would happen. We had no idea he was so underhanded.”
She smiled, looking ironically amused again, and placed a hand on his knee. “What about when he tried to assassinate you?”
“Even that is in a different league to poisoning your enemy’s wife.”
“So what are you going to do about it?” asked Keturah, who seemed to be trying to enjoy herself.
“First, we’re going to get you well,” said Roper. “Then we’re going to see how much vengeance Uvoren has brought down upon himself.”
“Getting well is going