Today, I bring you another excerpt, this one from Chapter 3 of Unclean. If you want to go in blind, avert your gaze! It describes the predicaments facing Shiloh and Silas at the beginning of the book. Don't forget to pre-order your copy. :-)
Silas opened his eyes. They fell upon the bricked-up window in his new quarters in the Dark Tower. Morning sun snuck through the gaps in the mortar. If he’d been a praying man, he would have prayed that the dawn’s light fell upon a free Shiloh, but he dared not hope it. Esta would not have made her move against him without first being sure Shiloh was firmly in the Patriarch’s grasp.
Rather than locking him up in the official jail cells of the High Tower, Queen Esta had chosen to hold Silas in the very rooms her mother had occupied for five years after her father had discarded Mirin and chosen his second wife. Esta had shared her mother’s quarters for the final year of Mirin’s self-imposed exile of protest. Silas supposed the new queen’s revenge had a certain logic to it.
The furniture was different. Mirin had taken everything of value with her when she had departed for the Southlands. The mirror Silas had used to spy on her was gone, as was her makeshift throne. The room was furnished with a mish-mash of odds and ends. There was a bed, a small table, and two chairs, along with a washbasin with a towel and a large jug of water. The adjoining room, he remembered, held the privy. There was no fire in the grate, which given the winter weather, was rather unpleasant. But there were plenty of blankets, and Silas was grateful for them.
Carefully, he sat up and stretched his limbs. The guards hadn’t beaten him as badly as he’d feared they might when they had dragged him from his study the day before. After all, Silas had always treated them with consideration and respect when they had answered to him, and tipped them generously besides, so their queen’s ordered mistreatment of the former Chief Minister had been executed rather half-heartedly. Still, the bruises ached. At least I didn’t lose any teeth.
He ran his hands over his clothes, feeling to see if his hidden treasures remained on his person. The guards had taken his wand, of course, and the knife he kept in his boot. One of the them had stolen Silas’s wedding ring. He made a mental note to exact vengeance for that at his earliest opportunity.
He found, to his pleasure, that the search had not been sufficiently careful to remove what he needed most. I’d better wait to rip out the seams, he cautioned himself. I think I hear footsteps on the stairs.
A guard named Cane opened the door. “Breakfast,” the man gruffly announced, then dropped the tray onto the table.
“My heartfelt thanks,” Silas replied. “I don’t suppose I could have some books.”
Cane shrugged. “Dunno.”
“Would you mind inquiring on my behalf?” Silas asked, taking his seat at the table.
“I guess.” And with that, Cane lumbered out and clomped down the stairs.
The prisoner heaved a sigh and looked down at his plate. They hadn’t been stingy, but the fare was dull and bland: a large hunk of brown bread, a wedge of cheese, an apple, and some rapidly congealing porridge. The tea looked like dishwater, but at least it was warm. He could imagine Queen Esta dining on pastries and chocolate, with berries from the greenhouse.
He forced himself to eat every bite, knowing that she might well try to starve him at some point, remembering how thin poor Daved had gotten when his appetite had failed him in prison.
I wonder what Shiloh is eating this morning. Is she locked in the Citadel? Still on the road? Did she escape?
His hope for the latter dimmed when an agitated Daved, Lord Redwood, appeared at Silas’s door. One look at the poor boy’s face was all Silas needed to know what rumors were swirling in the palace.
“Is it true?” Daved demanded, his pubescent voice cracking. “They’ve taken her to the Citadel?”
“You would know better than I,” Silas replied heavily, “but very likely.”
“But how could anyone think Shiloh is a heretic? She loves the Gods. I’ve never met anyone who loves them more.”
“Her innocence isn’t relevant,” Silas replied. “And you must take care not to express your sympathy in public, lest you suffer a similar fate.”
Daved collapsed into the second chair, face bleak. “I know. But I can’t do nothing. She’s my dearest friend,” he protested. “She stood by me when no one else did.”
“I know that,” Silas replied. “And I am glad for it. The best thing you can do for her is to rise in the queen’s estimation and trust. Then you will be positioned to act for Shiloh when it will count for something. Come see me regularly, and I can advise you how best to do so. Let people think you’re coming here to gloat over my fall. The other noblemen will applaud such an impulse, I am sure.”
Daved swallowed heavily and nodded. “Very well.” He laughed a bitter laugh. “I suppose I could bring you some books.”
Silas smiled weakly, remembering how faithfully Shiloh had brought books to Daved when the boy had been imprisoned under Silas’s own orders. “I would very much appreciate that.”
Daved glanced down at the remnants of Silas’s meal. “You fed me better than that.”
“I fed Mirin better than this, too. I suppose no teenaged girl is immune from a touch of pettiness, our queen included,” Silas replied with a sigh.
“If Shiloh had married me instead of you, this wouldn’t be happening to her. Her Grace hates you,” Daved accused, flushing red with sudden temper.
Silas felt his chest constrict, but then shook his head. “If she’d married you, the queen would have to kill her,” he said softly, “instead of merely locking her up out of sight.”
“What? Why?” Daved demanded.
Is it time to let Daved in on the secret? Or do I only make things worse? Perhaps Silas was swayed by his sense of isolation when he admitted, “The Usurper was Shiloh’s mother. A marriage with you would have strengthened her claim to the throne.”
Daved leaned back in his chair and let out a forceful breath. “Holy Mother above . . . That explains a lot.”
“I imagine so.”
“You killed the Usurper,” Daved pointed out.
“Aye.”
“You made her marry her own mother’s killer,” Daved accused, eyes again ablaze.
“Aye. I am, indeed, rather a monster,” Silas confessed. “In my defense, that particular murder saved Shiloh’s life. Not that I, at the time, expected it to last very long.”
Silas opened his eyes. They fell upon the bricked-up window in his new quarters in the Dark Tower. Morning sun snuck through the gaps in the mortar. If he’d been a praying man, he would have prayed that the dawn’s light fell upon a free Shiloh, but he dared not hope it. Esta would not have made her move against him without first being sure Shiloh was firmly in the Patriarch’s grasp.
Rather than locking him up in the official jail cells of the High Tower, Queen Esta had chosen to hold Silas in the very rooms her mother had occupied for five years after her father had discarded Mirin and chosen his second wife. Esta had shared her mother’s quarters for the final year of Mirin’s self-imposed exile of protest. Silas supposed the new queen’s revenge had a certain logic to it.
The furniture was different. Mirin had taken everything of value with her when she had departed for the Southlands. The mirror Silas had used to spy on her was gone, as was her makeshift throne. The room was furnished with a mish-mash of odds and ends. There was a bed, a small table, and two chairs, along with a washbasin with a towel and a large jug of water. The adjoining room, he remembered, held the privy. There was no fire in the grate, which given the winter weather, was rather unpleasant. But there were plenty of blankets, and Silas was grateful for them.
Carefully, he sat up and stretched his limbs. The guards hadn’t beaten him as badly as he’d feared they might when they had dragged him from his study the day before. After all, Silas had always treated them with consideration and respect when they had answered to him, and tipped them generously besides, so their queen’s ordered mistreatment of the former Chief Minister had been executed rather half-heartedly. Still, the bruises ached. At least I didn’t lose any teeth.
He ran his hands over his clothes, feeling to see if his hidden treasures remained on his person. The guards had taken his wand, of course, and the knife he kept in his boot. One of the them had stolen Silas’s wedding ring. He made a mental note to exact vengeance for that at his earliest opportunity.
He found, to his pleasure, that the search had not been sufficiently careful to remove what he needed most. I’d better wait to rip out the seams, he cautioned himself. I think I hear footsteps on the stairs.
A guard named Cane opened the door. “Breakfast,” the man gruffly announced, then dropped the tray onto the table.
“My heartfelt thanks,” Silas replied. “I don’t suppose I could have some books.”
Cane shrugged. “Dunno.”
“Would you mind inquiring on my behalf?” Silas asked, taking his seat at the table.
“I guess.” And with that, Cane lumbered out and clomped down the stairs.
The prisoner heaved a sigh and looked down at his plate. They hadn’t been stingy, but the fare was dull and bland: a large hunk of brown bread, a wedge of cheese, an apple, and some rapidly congealing porridge. The tea looked like dishwater, but at least it was warm. He could imagine Queen Esta dining on pastries and chocolate, with berries from the greenhouse.
He forced himself to eat every bite, knowing that she might well try to starve him at some point, remembering how thin poor Daved had gotten when his appetite had failed him in prison.
I wonder what Shiloh is eating this morning. Is she locked in the Citadel? Still on the road? Did she escape?
His hope for the latter dimmed when an agitated Daved, Lord Redwood, appeared at Silas’s door. One look at the poor boy’s face was all Silas needed to know what rumors were swirling in the palace.
“Is it true?” Daved demanded, his pubescent voice cracking. “They’ve taken her to the Citadel?”
“You would know better than I,” Silas replied heavily, “but very likely.”
“But how could anyone think Shiloh is a heretic? She loves the Gods. I’ve never met anyone who loves them more.”
“Her innocence isn’t relevant,” Silas replied. “And you must take care not to express your sympathy in public, lest you suffer a similar fate.”
Daved collapsed into the second chair, face bleak. “I know. But I can’t do nothing. She’s my dearest friend,” he protested. “She stood by me when no one else did.”
“I know that,” Silas replied. “And I am glad for it. The best thing you can do for her is to rise in the queen’s estimation and trust. Then you will be positioned to act for Shiloh when it will count for something. Come see me regularly, and I can advise you how best to do so. Let people think you’re coming here to gloat over my fall. The other noblemen will applaud such an impulse, I am sure.”
Daved swallowed heavily and nodded. “Very well.” He laughed a bitter laugh. “I suppose I could bring you some books.”
Silas smiled weakly, remembering how faithfully Shiloh had brought books to Daved when the boy had been imprisoned under Silas’s own orders. “I would very much appreciate that.”
Daved glanced down at the remnants of Silas’s meal. “You fed me better than that.”
“I fed Mirin better than this, too. I suppose no teenaged girl is immune from a touch of pettiness, our queen included,” Silas replied with a sigh.
“If Shiloh had married me instead of you, this wouldn’t be happening to her. Her Grace hates you,” Daved accused, flushing red with sudden temper.
Silas felt his chest constrict, but then shook his head. “If she’d married you, the queen would have to kill her,” he said softly, “instead of merely locking her up out of sight.”
“What? Why?” Daved demanded.
Is it time to let Daved in on the secret? Or do I only make things worse? Perhaps Silas was swayed by his sense of isolation when he admitted, “The Usurper was Shiloh’s mother. A marriage with you would have strengthened her claim to the throne.”
Daved leaned back in his chair and let out a forceful breath. “Holy Mother above . . . That explains a lot.”
“I imagine so.”
“You killed the Usurper,” Daved pointed out.
“Aye.”
“You made her marry her own mother’s killer,” Daved accused, eyes again ablaze.
“Aye. I am, indeed, rather a monster,” Silas confessed. “In my defense, that particular murder saved Shiloh’s life. Not that I, at the time, expected it to last very long.”
***
What do you suppose Silas has hidden in his bclothes? And how do you think they will manage to get themselves out of this mess? Check out the blurb and order your copy here. Happy reading!
No comments:
Post a Comment