Shadowheart Read Online Free Page B

about her shoulders. When the maid had left the room, she sat down, brushing a glowing coal back into the hearth with the fire rod.
    “When you have composed yourself, tell me why you are unwell,” she said, dropping a linen towel into Elayne’s lap.
    Now that the tears had begun, Elayne could not seem to find a stop to them. She took up the linen and covered her face with her hands. The wind moaned outside, sending a cascade of snow crystals against the stained glass behind her.
    “Your hands are thin,” Lady Melanthe said.
    “It is Lent. Nothing tastes, my lady.”
    “Are you ill?”
    “No. At least—” She lifted her face and put her hand to her throat. “No.” She turned her face to the fire, hiding a new rush of tears.
    She felt Lady Melanthe watching her. Elayne had not intended to speak of it, or admit her despair. But she could think of no excuse for this absurd behavior before her elegant godmother. She bit her quivering lip and held it down.
    “Are you perchance in love?” Lady Melanthe asked gently.
    “No!” Elayne gripped her hands together. Then the tears overcame her again, and she buried her face in the linen. “Not anymore. Not anymore.”
    She leaned down over her lap, rocking. Lady Melanthe said nothing. Elayne felt the sobs that had been locked in her chest for weeks overcome her; she pressed her face into the linen and cried until she had no breath left.
    “My maid returns,” Lady Melanthe said, in soft warning.
    Elayne drew a deep gasp of air and sat up. She turned toward the fire, keeping her face down as the maid set two ornate silver goblets on the stool between Elayne and Lady Melanthe. She placed the furred slippers beside their feet and then withdrew.
    “Here.” Lady Melanthe held out wine to Elayne. “Drink this up directly, to fortify yourself.”
    Elayne tilted the goblet and took a deep gulp of the sweet heated wine. She held it between her hands, warming her frigid fingers against the embossing of dragons and knights. “It is all my fault!” she blurted. “I ruined everything. He called me a sparkling diamond, and a extraordinary woman. And then he said I was arrogant and offensive to him. And I am. I
am!”
    “Are you, indeed!” Lady Melanthe sipped at her malmsey, watching Elayne over the rim. “And pray, who is this paragon of courtesy?”
    Elayne took a breath, and another gulp of wine as she looked up. “I beg your pardon, my lady Godmama. I thought he would—he did not seek an interview of you?”
    The countess lifted her eyebrows. “Nay—none but your sister Cara and Sir Guy have entreated me regarding you of late.”
    Elayne blushed. She could imagine what Cara had said of her that had resulted in a summons to Lady Melanthe’s own bury hall of Merlesden at Windsor. “I am sorry, my lady! I am so sorry to be a mortification to you!”
    “I am not so easily mortified, I assure you. I quite enjoyed Cara’s history of the blighted poultry. And the Bishop of Salisbury is a reasonable man. With a small token, it was no great matter to persuade him of the absurdity of a charge of heresy over a parcel of chickens.”
    Elayne took a sobbing breath, trying to keep her voice steady. “Grant mercy, madam, for your trouble to intervene on my behalf.”
    “But to this paragon again,” Lady Melanthe said. “He was to seek me out in audience? I may guess his purpose, as he had pronounced you a sparkling diamond and extraordinary woman.”
    “His heart changed from that,” Elayne said bitterly. “He said I am sinful, and a liar, and to make no presumptions nor claims upon him now.” She took a deep swallow of the malmsey. Then her throat tightened with a rush of remorse. “But it
was
my fault! I made a love charm to bind him.”
    Lady Melanthe shook her head. “How depraved of you,” she said lightly. “I suppose that was the source of this awkward matter of the chickens.”
    Elayne felt her eyes fill up with tears again. “I tried to say that I was sorry! I sent him a letter of repentance. I sent three! I could not