The Poison Throne by Celine Kiernan Page B

Christopher, best for me .
    She closed her eyes and begged herself to just let him go . But in the end that would have taken the kind of cruelty that Wynter just didn’t have in her. Sighing, she opened her eyes and took the sharp knife from the wooden platter in front of her. Casually she put her hand in the empty space on the bench between herself and Andrew Pritchard and leaned back so that Christopher could see her down the length of ramrod straight backs. She raised her chin to him in invitation.
    He saw her immediately, how could he not? Her shock of loose red hair suddenly popping into view like that. And she saw him hesitate, uncertainty in his eyes. He thinks I’m going to trick him , she realised with a jolt, that I’ll bring him all the way up here and then close the space on him like all the others . She let the hurt of that show in her face and saw him make up his mind.
    He made his slow way down the bench, his arms stiff at his sides, his face still creased up in furious embarrassment, and as he passed them by, the lords and ladies nudged and wriggled and shuffled to make certain that no space became available for him.
    When the time came for Andrew Pritchard to shift into the vacant place, he found his hip on very intimate terms with Wynter’s sharp meat knife. A shocked glance in her direction met with Wynter’s sparking green eyes. He jerked back in time to allow Christopher to vault over the bench and settle himself into one of the best seats in the hall.
    The minnelieder continued to play and it filled up the silences until the conversation began to swell and grow again. Eventually, the room returned to a semblance of its former volume, but there was a dark, shifting undercurrent to it now. People whispered, people were nudging each other, people were staring. Christopher and Wynter were as exposed and on show as insects pinned to a board.
    Christopher cleared his throat and gestured for cordial. None of the buttle-boys managed to see him. He sighed. “The air is fierce thin up here,” he muttered, “I feel the chill.”
    “You should have come prepared,” answered Wynter coldly, “it doesn’t do to swim in strange rivers.” She pushed her cordial towards him without looking at him and he took a sip without thanks.
    “A friend encouraged me. It would appear he lied when he told me to ‘come on in! The water’s fine’.” He shoved her beaker back with a jab of his finger and cast a longing look at the dark-haired woman with the red mouth. She was pointedly avoiding his gaze, her head turned so far in the other direction as to be ridiculous. Christopher sighed again. “What a shame,” he murmured.
    Wynter glanced at the woman. “You were doing rather well there, weren’t you? What exactly did you say to make her laugh like that?”
    Christopher looked at her for a moment, seeming to consider his reply, then he shrugged and looked away. “Nothing you would find amusing.”
    “You seem fond of amusing women.”
    The dimples showed, very briefly, as he scanned the room. People made a point of not meeting his eye. “Well, the women here seem a touch starved of affection.”
    Wynter snorted, and without meaning to, she muttered, “What are you doing here, Christopher?” She meant what is it you want? What do you hope to gain?
    “God, I wish I knew…”
    She turned to look him, thrown by his reply. The unexpected sadness in his voice made her stare into his face.
    “This is hell; I don’t understand why Razi would put himself through it.” He continued in a low, confidential tone, “I’m glad I came with him, though, and I’m glad you finally showed up.” He scanned the room. “Is there even a single person here who doesn’t want something from him? It’s like living in a vulture’s nest.”
    Wynter had no idea how to answer that because it was so far from what she had expected to hear, but Christopher was already distracted by some activity on the far side of the room.
    “I