2 Chapter 2: Cambord, Part 2

"You're a fool," his mother said when the doors were closed and the servants dismissed.

Normally, Raffé said whatever was necessary to calm his mother and move on. Anything was better than enduring the razor edge of her temper for the hours or days it lasted. But he only had eight hours left—what did her anger matter to him? He was losing his life because of his stupid brother, and as was typical, she blamed him instead. "Tallas is the fool," Raffé said. "I'll do my best to survive the ceremony, but if I hadn't volunteered, we would all be going to the noose right now."

"Whether you live or not, our lives are ruined. Your brother is gone, you will be gone—we're disgraced and now the alliance with Hilto will never happen," his father said, looking tired. "We will have to give back all that betrothal money, and you know how sorely we needed it."

Raffé shoved back the hurt. What had he expected, words of love? Words of gratitude? His parents had never had enough of either to spare for their tepid son. "Blame Tallas. He is the one who committed treason. At least now you'll live to complain about us both." He turned and walked away before they could reply, refusing to waste his last hours arguing with them.

He wandered the halls of the castle until he reached the maze he had adored from the moment he saw it. He'd heard it whispered that the Shadowmarch used it for training, but it was also open to all who cared to try it, so he did not know if the training rumor was true. The Shadowmarch maze was nothing like the childishly simple hedge maze in his mother's garden. No, the Shadowmarch maze was made of dark stone polished to mirror smoothness and towered nearly twice his height. Since he was largely unnecessary and left to his own devices, he had explored the maze for hours in the month they'd been at Castle Guldbrandsen. So far he had managed to find three different routes to the center. It was unfortunate he would not have the opportunity to find more, silly a thing as it was to be disappointed about hours from his death.

Night had fallen, snow drifting down lazily. It would get worse later, to judge by the feel and the smell, but for the moment it was a beautiful, quiet winter night. Raffé relished it, lingering at the entrance to the maze. He could not read the gold plaque set in the wall beside the entrance in the weak light of the torches, but he knew the words by heart: The only way to find yourself is to get lost.

"Raffé?"

He turned at the sound of his name spoken in that smooth, cultured voice, surprised and elated that Almor had sought him out. It sped the beating of his heart, reminded him of what he had hoped to ask Almor. He smiled in greeting and said brightly, "Almor, I was hoping to speak to you tonight. I am sorry for this turn in events. I hope you will forgive me, forgive my family." He stepped in close, reached up to kiss—and was stung when Almor turned so that the kiss glanced off his cheek.

"It is a shame that it has come to this," Almor said briskly.

"It's not over yet," Raffé said, suddenly annoyed. Why did everyone so quickly and easily assume he would die? There was a chance, however slight, that he would survive the Blooding. Did no one have faith in him, or even hope he would defy the odds? Were they all so eager to say goodbye? Maybe they were just putting on a brave front. He would prefer they be encouraging, counter his own terror, but he was fairly certain they really just wanted the whole matter over with.

"Speaking of the Blooding, I did want to speak to you about—about something." Raffé curled his hands around the edges of his cloak, shoulders hunching,

"What was that?" Almor asked warily.

Raffé ignored it because damn everyone, he had the right to a last request. "I'm but hours from dying, and I just wondered—I was hoping—"

"Say it. You know how it drives everyone mad when you fumble and stutter so."

He wouldn't struggle to speak if everyone did not treat him as if he was some form of torture, but Raffé kept the bitter thought to himself. "I wondered if my honored fiancé would spend my last night with me. I don't want to die without— without knowing—" He stopped, unable to say it and then comprehension filled Almor's face, and Raffé's heart sped up again. They'd never exchanged more than perfunctory kisses, and they were both quite busy. It did not help that Almor lived hours away in a larger city, where he managed his merchant company with his two wives. Raffé had only met them once, but they had seemed nice, and he had hoped he would fit well into the family. He'd heard that such marriages could be enjoyable when all parties got along. Obviously he would never know, but he hoped to have some taste of it before he died.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Almor said, his tone cool.

"What?" Raffé asked, face burning with humiliation. He wasn't his brother, but he wasn't hideous. "Why not? You're still my fiancé, and we were to be married in less than a month. Haven't you been looking forward to …" He trailed off at the look on Almor's face. His heart giving a painful twist, and it suddenly hurt to breathe.

Almor drew himself up stiffly, looking and sounding decidedly uncomfortable. "It was a business marriage, Raffé. I'm sorry, but … it's not a good idea. Good luck tomorrow with the ceremony." He gave Raffé's cheek a perfunctory kiss then turned and walked away.