“Evidence of a crime that’s punishable by death?”
“Yes. To spare a sixteen-year-old girl having to testify against her father?”
Giddon scooched down, brushed the stray hairs away from her forehead, and studied her expression. She knew he was going to advise her against it.
“Maybe my method for deciding if something is terrible is different from other people’s,” he said. “But as a rule, if you’re doing something, it can’t be terrible.”
“Giddon,” she said, almost frightened. “That’s a dangerous attitude, when I’m a queen. I need to be able to depend on you to tell me if you think I’m doing wrong.”
“I always will. I promise. We’re a team, Bitterblue. But you’re not making a careless, unconsidered decision here, and I see what you’re trying to spare her.”
There was another silence.
“Why don’t you talk to Lovisa about it?” he said.
She rested her face against his chest. “Yes,” she said. “All right. Maybe I will.” His heart was thumping against her ear. “Your heart is beating fast.”
“I wonder why,” he said, in a teasing tone that made her bring her face to his, take his mouth with hers. It scared her sometimes, the easy way he could bring her tired, aching body back to happiness. She’d decided she wasn’t going to spend every moment being afraid of losing him. Bitterblue was going to learn to look into his face and see not just the fragile bones under his skin, but him, Giddon, her husband, her support.
“Giddon?” she said, pulling back. “There are some really difficult decisions ahead, with my zilfium stores, and this new weapon.”
“Yes,” he said, kissing her, sliding his hand under her pajama top.
“I don’t think it’s going to be easy to be my spouse,” she said. “Do you know how hard I’m going to lean on you?”
“I’m big and strong,” he said. “Remember?”
Bitterblue did not get the sense that he was appreciating the gravity of her point. She sat up, a little annoyed. “Seriously, Giddon. There’s so much to worry about. What if our children are horrid? They’ll have to rule Monsea one day, you know, which means they’ll have to be responsible, intelligent. Kind, yet forceful. Tireless. Wise. What if they’re not?
“Giddon?” New waves of emotion were racing across his face. Hope, wonder. Joy. She realized that this was the first time either of them had broached the topic of children. “Giddon? You look like you’re having an aneurysm.”
“Our children will be perfect,” he said, a tear running down his cheek. “I’m going to read them bedtime stories.”
“Giddon,” she said crisply. “We will love our children, no matter what they’re like. They will be whoever they are. But it won’t serve anyone, including our children, for us to be disattached from whatever the reality is. The world is changing! There’s a great deal to think about!”
“Of course there is.”
“Are you sure you’re up for it!”
“Bitterblue,” said Giddon, taking her chin in his hand. Looking into her eyes. “There’s nothing I want more in the world than to be your person while you’re being the Queen of Monsea. Everyone expects you to be their support. Well, I want to be yours.”
Tears began to run down Bitterblue’s face.
“With all our horrid children gathered around our knees,” he added.
Now Bitterblue was laughing outright.
“How many should we have?” he went on hopefully.
“How about we take it one at a time?”
“We should probably get a dog,” he said.
“Anything else?” said Bitterblue. “A bear? An otter?”
“I’ll make a list.”
“Do you know you’re wearing too many clothes?”
“Am I?”
“Would you like my help?”
“Please.”
Bitterblue loved the moment when Giddon’s shirt fell away from his shoulders, his chest, his torso. She loved pulling his pants down over his hips.
“Oh. But wait,” she said, sitting up again.
“Yes?” said Giddon, with infinite patience.
“I’m going to be your person too, you know.”
“I accept.”
“Tell me something you need emotional support for right now.”
“I’m fine right now, sweetheart.”
“Please? I’m trying to make a symbolic point here, Giddon.”
It was very dear, the shyness that crept into Giddon’s face as he considered her request. “Okay,” he said. “May I have some extra points? For rescuing your ex-lover?”
Bitterblue hugged him, so hard. “Of course you may,” she said. “Extra points, and rewards.”
“Rewards?” he said, grinning.
“Are you ready for your rewards?”
“I’ve been ready for half an hour,” he said. “You keep talking.”
“Punishments for disrespect,” said Bitterblue severely, then subsided into a happy silence under his mouth, his weight. Her worries fell away.
Chapter Forty-three
The next day, Bitterblue visited Quona Varana.
Though Giddon and Hava had warned her, the cats were still alarming. Some eight or nine tagged along as she followed Quona up the stairs to the sitting room, zipping forward, dashing back, turning the steps into an obstacle course.
Quona sat Bitterblue near a massive window, in a chair with a view to the sea. It was lovely, especially when a man brought chocolate cake.
“I must thank you,” said Bitterblue, cradling a plate in her lap, “for the letters that prove the guilt of some of the zilfium importers. I’m sorry my friends broke into your locked room.”
“It was quite natural, in the circumstances,” Quona said, in a brisk, no-nonsense manner. “I’m sorry I underestimated them.”
“Yes, well. I know you’re bonded to seven foxes secretly,” said Bitterblue, “but I’ve no intention of telling anyone. Nor will my friends.”
“In return for what, Lady Queen?” said Quona, with a smile that was grim and efficient, but not unfriendly. Bitterblue supposed she could picture this woman influencing the zilfium vote with bribery and blackmail. She was eating her cake like it was an enemy to be vanquished.