Season notes: violence, death, attempted murder, accusation of sexual assault

Mattin had never gone to the cabin after sunset before, had never been in the woods so late before. If he had been one whit calmer, he would have returned to the manor, or maybe the stables, as soon as the woods closed around him. But enough light reached through the green-covered branches and the trail was clear. It was not enough to stop him from jumping every time a twig snapped. Halfway to the cabin, an owl flew right in front of his face and scooped up… something. The sudden appearance of the huge bird startled Mattin so much that he fell backward and landed hard on the ground. Whatever unlucky creature the owl caught screamed. It was a horrid sound.

Mattin scrambled to his feet and dusted himself off. In the dark, it took him a minute to be sure which way was which. Once he was sure of which direction led to the cabin, he set off again. But not without calling himself several kinds of fool for not turning around and going back. It was getting dark under the trees, and if he didn’t get to the cabin soon, he wouldn’t be able to see the trail under his feet.

He moved faster, risking another fall in the evening gloam, but needing to get under shelter before he lost the light.

The cabin, when he reached it, was a darker blur against the dark forest. He hurried inside and grabbed the flint and tinder Brit always left just inside the door. Fumbling, he managed to get a taper lit and used that to light the oil lamp hanging in the middle of the room.

He had barely settled into the chair with a small cup of uisqe when the door creaked open behind him. Cursing, he turned to see Marta smiling at him as she closed the door behind herself.

Mattin suppressed a sigh. “Marta? What are you doing here? And why in the Mare’s name are you wandering around the woods in the dark?”

“I saw you leaving.” She moved to stand behind him and began rubbing the aches out of his shoulders. Almost against his will, he began to relax. “You looked upset. I wanted to help.”

Mattin twitched as she hit a sore muscle. “You followed me? Why didn’t you call out or say something?”

She pulled her hands away. “I was afraid you’d tell me to go back.”

“Well, it’s too late now.” He shook his head and closed his eyes. “I really don’t want to talk.”

Marta rested a hand on his shoulder. “I can at least keep you company. You don’t need to be alone.”

He nearly shrugged her hand away but stopped himself. “I wanted to be alone—” Something sharp and cool pressed against his throat. He froze.

“We don’t always get what we want, brother.”

“Marta, what in the Mare’s name…”

The edge dug into his skin, “We’ll talk later. For now, put your hands behind you.”

For a long moment, Mattin hesitated. A sharp pain, and a trickle of wetness down his neck, told him she was deadly serious. He clasped his hands behind the back of the chair.

A cord wrapped around his wrists, pulling them tight. After a minute, the pressure on his throat eased. He tried to pull his hands free but only managed to tighten the knots. His mind churned, trying to understand. “Oeloff…”

“No. Or, at least, not the way you think.” Marta grabbed his arm, and a line of fire ripped along his right wrist. He cried out. Wetness trickled over his hands, and the sharp scent of blood filled the air. “You didn’t believe me when I said I had been waiting for the fae to come for me. I do wish you had.”

A second cut—she was cutting his wrists open. “Marta…”

“I struck a bargain with Oeloff. He had no choice but to listen with starmetal at his throat. He would provide me with the life I desired, and I would do everything in my power to help him achieve his goals.” Two more cuts, and he bit back another cry as she twisted his wrists. “That should be enough. I don’t want to hurt you, you know.”

Pain and shock held him light-headed. No matter how he tried, her words didn’t make sense.

“What are you doing?”

She came out from behind the chair and sat on the edge of the table. His blood coated her hands. “Oeloff wants your pretty Mistress to suffer before he destroys her.” She sighed. “I wished you’d listened to me before now or let me bargain for your freedom. I didn’t want you caught in this.”

Marta fell silent, and the cabin was quiet except for the steady drip of his blood falling to the floor. The sound of it, so horribly normal, pulled everything into focus.

“You… you want her to think I killed myself.”

“Very good. I always knew you were smarter than you acted.” She picked up the uisqe he had poured before she ambushed him and tossed it back. Her face turned bright red as she hacked and sputtered, gasping for air.

Mattin surprised himself with a laugh.

While she was distracted, catching her breath, Mattin tugged and pulled at his bonds. They were tight enough he had no chance of slipping out of them. The movement and pull of the cords increased the shrieking pain in his wrists. Doing his best to ignore the agony, he tried to twist his hands around, to get a finger on the knots. If he stretched to the utmost, the pain causing white bursts in his vision, he could touch them—but the blood made them slick. He couldn’t hold onto them… Couldn’t do anything to loosen them… He stopped trying and slumped against the chair.

Marta regained control of herself and watched him with a regretful smile.

“You won’t be getting free. I’m good with my knots, brother.”

“So I noticed,” he growled. Mattin took a deep breath. If he couldn’t get himself free, he’d have to find some way to reason with her. “Do you think she would care if I killed myself? Elose, Cook, even Brit will be upset. But she doesn’t want to ever see me again. You don’t need to do this.”

She laughed. “Poor, naive Mattin. Maybe if you had learned to understand me better, Jahlene wouldn’t baffle you so much. But then, if you understood me better, you would still be home with father.” She leaned forward and wiped his face. “I heard it all, you know. That storage closet next to her study has been very convenient.

“I predict that even now your dear mistress is berating herself for rejecting you. You offered her her dream on a platter, you know. And she panicked.”

He wanted to believe her. If Marta was right, maybe he hadn’t destroyed things again. Maybe Jahlene would still want him with her.

She would be devastated if she came for him, wanting to make things right, and found he had killed himself. The pain made it hard to think. His thoughts wandered, remembering her struggle to deal with each succeeding crisis. How much she relied on him, as well as Brit and Parlen, to help her. How increasingly… Something clicked in Mattin’s head.

“You’ve been sabotaging us.”

“Yes. It’s been fun, watching you run around, desperate to save yourselves.” Marta frowned. “For such a lovey-dovey household, it was surprisingly easy to get feuds going. Just /mentioning/ that Joth had been spending time with Elose was enough to set Sarai off. Oeloff hoped I’d get a chance to kill Jahlene, but I never expected to get the opportunity. And I’d have no way to escape. Dying is not in my plans—” She paused. “Well…” she shrugged. “No one dying was in my original plans. But you’ve become her biggest support. If I leave you here, you might manage to undo all the damage I’ve done. I can’t break my bargain, Mattin. Of all people, you should understand that. As it is… I rather think this will be worse than killing her would have been.”

Marta smiled. The sight made Mattin sick to his stomach. Once, he had seen Jahlene’s face when she tormented her toys and thought her smile twisted and monstrous. Looking at Marta now, he realized again how wrong he had been. Even the luohei at the Emperor’s court weren’t as horrible as this. No matter what she did, Jahlene cared. The luohei acted, at least partly, out of need. This sheer indifference was beyond monstrous. Marta, his sweet sister—the sister he nearly destroyed himself and their father to save—treated his death like a minor annoyance. He’d seen her get more upset about dirt on her clothes.

And he’d brought this monster into his mistress’ household. Through her, he made it possible for Oeloff to reach out and destroy Jahlene. He looked away.

Mattin couldn’t think. He struggled to swallow with a tongue gone dry. Blood flowed down his hands and dripped off his fingers like sand through a glass.

Panic hit.

Mattin didn’t want to die. He still didn’t like riding horses of flesh and blood, he sure as taxes wasn’t eager to take the last ride on the Bloody Mare! He looked frantically around the cabin, hoping there would be something—anything—that could help him.

Maybe someone else would follow them. Brit would check in with Jahlene before going to bed. Surely he would…

Mattin’s heart sank. Brit wouldn’t go stumbling around in the dark without reason. He’d come out in the morning. Too late. And if he did walk in the door now, what then? Marta might slit his throat as soon as the door opened.

If this was a minstrel’s ballad, he’d flex his arms and the chair would shatter around him. A chuckle bubbled in his throat and tried to turn into a sob. Chairs in minstrel’s ballads must be made of twigs and rags, not good hardwood.

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