Soul of the Fire

The hallway was deserted outside her quarters and offices. Bertrand was in the opposite wing, with Teresa, having the stresses of his high office relieved. Dalton had made sure it was a time when Teresa was with Bertrand. The thought of it would help him to focus on the work at hand.

Bertrand and his wife made sure they rarely encountered one another. Having their quarters in opposite wings helped.

She did sometimes visit him, though. Their screaming battles were legendary among the staff. Bertrand one day sported a cut over his eye. He was usually able to duck the objects she hurled at him, but on that occasion she had caught him off guard.

Partly because of Hildemara's popularity, but mostly because of her dangerous connections, Bertrand dared not confront, cross, or do away with his wife. She had warned him he had better hope she didn't die a sudden death of natural causes-or any other causes-lest his own health suddenly fail, too.

It was a threat Bertrand did not take lightly. For the most part, he simply avoided her. There were times, though, when his penchant for risk caused him to make foolish comments or in some other way embarrass her, and then she went looking for him. It mattered not where he was, either in his bed, his privy, or a meeting with wealthy backers. Bertrand generally avoided troubles with her by trying to take care, but there were times when he provoked her ire.

It was a relationship that had worked on this estranged level for years, and had borne them a daughter neither cared for. Dalton had only seen her recently when they brought her back from boarding school in order to stand with them at public addresses decrying the horrors of an uncaring Lord Rahl and the Mother Confessor.

Now the Lord Rahl had been rejected by the people. Now the Mother Confessor was… well, he wasn't sure what had become of her, but he was reasonably sure she was dead. It had cost Dalton some good men, but in war there were always losses. He would replace them if need be.

Serin Rajak had died, too-a terrible infection that turned his blind face to a festering mass-but Dalton couldn't say he was at all unhappy about that. His grieving followers reported it a lingering and painful death. No, Dalton was not at all unhappy about that.

Hildemara opened the door herself. A good sign, he thought. She was wearing a dress more revealing than usual. Another good sign, he hoped, since she had known he was coming.

"Dalton, how kind of you to ask to pay me a visit. I've wondered how you've been getting along and thought a talk long overdue. So, how have you been, since your wife has been serving the needs of our Sovereign?"

He shrugged. "I've come to my way of dealing with it."

Hildemara smiled, a cat seeing a mouse. "Ah… and so the lovely gifts?"

"To thank you. For-Might I come in?"

She opened the door wider. He stepped inside, looking around at the unrestrained opulence. He had never been in the private quarters of the Sovereign and his wife.

Of course, his own wife was quite familiar with them, and had described them-Bertrand's, anyway-in great detail.

"You were saying? About thanking me?"

Dalton clasped his hands behind his back. "For opening my eyes." He gestured behind himself and smiled. "And your door, I might add."

She chuckled politely. "I sometimes open my door to handsome men. I find it a… sometimes rewarding experience."

He closed the distance and took up her hand, kissing the back of it while looking her in the eye. He thought it a pathetically contrived act, but she responded as if she believed it sincere, and as if she were well pleased by the token of respect.

Dalton had researched her private activities. It had taken every favor owed him, as well as some direct threats, and even an appointment of standing. He now knew what she liked, and what she didn't. He knew she didn't like aggressive lovers. She liked them on the young side, and attentive. She liked to be treated with the utmost reverence.

She liked to be fawned over.

He approached this visit like an elaborate feast, with each course in order, and building to the main attractions. In this way, with a plan, he found it easier to proceed.

"My lady, I fear to be so forward with a woman of your station, but I must be honest."

She went to a table of inlaid silver and gold. From a silver tray, she picked a cut-glass bottle and poured herself a glass of rum. She also poured one for him, without asking, and handed it to him with a smile.

"Please, Dalton. We have a long history. I would like nothing better than your honesty. After all, I was honest with you about your wife."

"Yes," he said, "you were, weren't you."

She took a sip and then laid a wrist over his shoulder, "And are you still languishing about that? Or have you come to face the realities of life?"

"I must admit, Hildemara, that I have been… lonely, what with my wife so often… occupied. I never expected to find myself with a wife so often unavailable."