Clare offered a vague response and took Venn’s offered arm, allowing him to lead her off the floor.
Once they were away from Amil, she murmured, “Thank you.”
He shrugged. “You looked uncomfortable. As your bodyguard, it’s my job to keep you from discomfort.”
Her mouth twitched. “Somehow I don’t think saving me from social distress really fits.”
“Oh, it does. There’s a whole training segment that covers tea parties.”
Clare grinned. “You’re even more qualified than I realized.”
Venn winked. When they reached one of the many refreshment tables lining the vast room, he lifted a glass for her. While she sipped the red wine, she glanced around. “Where’s Bennick?”
“The king wanted a word.”
Uneasiness skittered down her spine and she lowered her glass. “He’s not in trouble?”
Venn sighed, tugging her away from the table and walking slowly toward the shadowed side of the room where empty chairs waited for tired dancers. “The king is still upset about the Ogai spiders.”
“So am I,” Clare muttered.
Venn’s mouth twitched. “Yes, well, the king’s been angry with Bennick since the Night Sigh. Concerns about his competency have been raised.”
She sucked in a breath. “That’s unfair.”
Venn’s jaw tightened. “We’re all blaming ourselves, but . . . well, the king isn’t impressed with Bennick right now.” His eyes narrowed suddenly, fixed on a point behind her. “Fates,” he cursed.
Clare twisted to follow his gaze.
A thin woman sagged in a chair nearby, though out of earshot—especially with the music and laughter filling the room. The woman gripped a glass in skeletal hands, staring into the sea of dancers and swirling colors, but clearly not seeing anything. Her hair was dark blonde and worn in a loose braid that disappeared down her back. No one was seated beside her—not even near her.
“Who is that?” Clare asked.
A muscle ticked in Venn’s jaw. “Lady Markam. Bennick’s mother.”
Those words pressed against Clare’s chest, and other words echoed in her mind. Insane. Ill. Abused.
“The commander shouldn’t have made her come,” Venn muttered. “She’s been ill. Bennick’s going to be furious.”
Clare tightened her hold on the wineglass. “Would Serene sit with Lady Markam?”
Venn arched a brow. “Serene does whatever she wants.”
Clare almost smiled as she stepped forward. Venn hung back, offering privacy, though she could feel his eyes trailing her. She stopped in front of Lady Markam and the woman slowly lifted her head, blinking light green eyes that appeared glassy in the torchlight. She had silver hair at her temples and her cheeks were hollow. Her neck was so slender, Clare wasn’t sure how it held up her head. “Your Highness,” Lady Markam murmured, her voice as soft and thin as a thread of silk. “I’m sorry, I’m quite tired and don’t think I can rise.”
“Please don’t.” Clare settled in the wooden chair beside her. “It’s good to see you out of bed, Lady Markam. Are you sure you’re well enough, though?”
“I’ll manage.” She took a sip from her goblet.
Clare could smell the bitterness of medicine mixed in with the wine, and she inwardly cringed.
“I’m afraid I’m poor company,” Lady Markam said.
“I disagree.”
A fleeting smile lifted the older woman’s pale lips. “You’re the only one. Dennith left me as soon as we arrived.”
Dennith. Clare assumed that was the commander. “I’ll gladly sit with you.”
There was a slight pause, with Lady Markam viewing the dance floor and Clare fingering her temple. The ache there was building.
“You should enjoy the dancing,” Lady Markam said.
Clare’s lips curved up. “I’ve enjoyed it so much I fear my feet will fall off.”
Lady Markam chuckled, then fought against an ensuing cough. It was deep and guttural, shaking her frail body. She grabbed for a handkerchief and tried to smother the choking fit. Clare set a hand on the woman’s back, but was useless to help.
Finally, the coughing eased and Lady Markam gave her a watery smile. “It always passes.”
“Would you like to return to your room?”
“That would upset Dennith.” She rocked a little in her chair, her expression shifting into something softer, almost lost. “Is Ben here? I miss him.” Her eyes teared up and her fingers curled around her handkerchief. “He blames me, I think. For all that happened. Everything his father did.”
Catching a glimpse into Bennick’s past without him there brought Clare a stirring of discomfort, but she couldn’t leave the poor woman alone.
Lady Markam dabbed the corners of her eyes with her wrinkled handkerchief. “He doesn’t care for me like he used to. He doesn’t love me. A woman’s heart should only be able to break once. But we’re never beyond more breaking; each shattered piece can break again.”
“Bennick loves you,” Clare assured her softly. “I know it.”
Lady Markam blinked, confusion pulling at her gaunt features. “Yes. Of course. But Dennith doesn’t.” Her chin dropped, lower lip trembling. Sweat slicked her forehead. “Perhaps he never did.”
Clare touched her arm. “Lady Markam, I think you should be in bed. I can ask one of my guards to escort you.”
Lady Markam seemed oblivious to the offer. Tears slipped down her pale cheeks. “I’ll be dead before the year is done. I feel it.” Her heavy exhale rattled out. “It will be a blessed relief, though I hate to leave Ben.”
Clare glanced around her shoulder, finding Venn. He must have caught her worry, because in an instant he knelt before Bennick’s mother. “Lady Markam?”
Her watery gaze lifted and recognition swept her face. “Venn.”
Venn gripped her hand. “Let me help you to your room.”
Lady Markam stared at him, mouth quavering for a moment. When she nodded, Clare took her glass and set it aside along with her own. Venn pulled Lady Markam to her feet, and when she swayed, Clare set a steadying hand on the woman’s back.
“Gweneth.”
Lady Markam froze, every muscle tensing as her face went white.
Clare twisted to see the commander standing over them, anger flashing in his blue eyes.
Chapter 25
Clare
Commander Markam’s smile was tight,
