The Tyrant's Law (Dagger and the Coin)

smiling.
    “Jorey?” she said, fighting a bit for air. “What’s happened? Where’s Sabiha?”
    “Sabiha’s with her father by now,” her son said, stepping forward to take her hands. “And I’ve come to take you home.”
    The first taste of fear came to her. Vincen came in behind her, taking his place as a servant, and Abatha behind him, her mouth pinched and distrustful. Clara felt her face grow pale.
    “Home? I don’t understand. I am home. I live here.”
    “Not anymore. It would cause a scandal for the Lord Marshal’s mother to live in a rented room.”
    Clara sat down slowly, her head light. Jorey sat on the bench at her side, taking her hand in his own.
    “I don’t understand.”
    “You’ve heard what happened with Lord Ternigan,” Jorey said. “A messenger bird caught us at Sevenpol. After all that’s happened, Geder decided he wanted someone he trusts as Lord Marshal. And apparently he’s been waiting for the moment to help me redeem myself with the court.”
    “You? After all that Dawson did?”
    Jorey’s smile lost some of its brightness.
    “I repudiated my father in front of the court,” Jorey said. “And Geder … considers me his friend. Apparently that’s enough. He’s given me the army. I’m going to take control of the siege at Kiaria. And what’s more, I’m bringing Vicarian with me. Minster Basrahip has given permission for him to come and study under the priests in the field.”
    “My God,” Clara said, pressing her fingers to her lips. “This can’t … this can’t be right.”
    “It’s a gift, Mother,” Jorey said. “It’s everything we were hoping for.”
    She felt as though her heart were dying. A little hole had opened in her chest, and everything was flowing out through it like water draining from a basin. I don’t want to go. I’m happy here. I can’t be the woman I was before. Don’t go. Don’t do this.
    And then, Get a hold of yourself .
    She smiled and lifted her chin. Jorey wrapped his hand tightly around hers.
    “The last time you went to war with Geder Palliako, it ended badly,” she said. “Are you certain this is what you want?”
    Jorey kissed her hand. His smile was gone now, and the beautiful jacket and cloak seemed more like a costume than the clothes of the Lord Marshal of Antea.
    “It doesn’t matter what I want, Mother. It’s what I worked for, and it’s what I have to do,” he said. “Can you understand that?”
    In the doorway, Vincen Coe stood with his eyes downcast, his expression empty. The nights of sleeping in his arms were over. The mornings waking up beside him. In Lord Skestinin’s house, there would be no more walking arm in arm. He would call her my lady again, and not Clara. The injustice of it was exquisite.
    It’s what I worked for, and it’s what I have to do. She had raised him in her image after all.
    “I understand,” Clara said. “Let me gather my things.”
    L ord Skestinin’s manor had been closed for the winter, and setting a house in order wasn’t a simple task. When Clara stepped down from the carriage, she could already hear the voices leaking out to the street. Inside, the dining room was still draped in dustcloth, and the pale halls were damp from having only just been scrubbed. Three maids were turning down her new room for her. A widow’s room with beautiful view of the winter-dead gardens and a narrow bed. She sat on it as she might have on the creaking frame that she’d become used to. The mattress was so soft, she felt as though she were sinking into it. As if it were devouring her.
    “Will there be anything else, my lady?”
    Vincen stood in the doorway, and his face looked grey as stone. His hair was pulled back and he stood stiff and straight. He would have rooms in the servants’ quarters now. A bunk and maybe a small stove. A box for his things. I didn’t choose this , she thought. Forgive me.
    “Not at the moment, Vincen,” she said. “Thank you.”
    “Always, my lady,” he said, and the tone in his voice made one of the maids look up in surprise. So not even that much was permitted. Clara watched him walk away. She waited for the space of two breaths, then rose, pretended to brush dust from her skirts, and strode out to the corridor as if she owned the house and everything in it. Vincen was walking slowly, his hands clasped behind him.
    “Coe?” she said. “Might I have a word with you?”
    He turned as if stung and stood there silently. She raised her