Revolution (Chronicles of Charanthe #2)

by Rachel Cotterill

  *

  It took two days to ride to Pettiford, and when Eleanor arrived she was windswept and chilled by the frosty air. There was only one tavern in town. She arranged a room for herself and settled into a chair by the fire with her cold hands wrapped around a tankard of warm ale. As her fingers began to thaw, she considered how she could ask for news of a woman who could be travelling under any assumed name. At least, she hoped the princess hadn’t been so stupid as to give her real name. She watched the flames rising and falling in the grate, looking round every now and then to study the faces of the tavern’s other patrons. There were two other women who sat alone in the bar, one tall and severe, the other with a more forgiving expression. Eleanor looked between them while trying not to stare, wondering if either of them could be the princess she was looking for, assessing their waists for any hint of a growing child.

  But the woman who swept up to her table and sat beside her without introduction was a homely woman of surprisingly plain appearance. If she was indeed carrying a child, there was no sign that she was anything but naturally full-figured.

  “I suppose you must be the girl,” she said. “You match Leon’s description pretty well.”

  “Shhhh.” Eleanor looked around, but thankfully no-one seemed to have heard. “His is not a common name. You’ll be safer if you don’t use it.”

  “I don’t understand the need for all this secrecy,” the princess said. She followed Eleanor’s gaze around the room but she saw only irrelevant commoners, and she dismissed them with a shake of her head. “Nor do I understand why I’m living in a country tavern when I have a perfectly nice home in Almont. But I’m sure you think this is all necessary somehow.”

  “Your husband believes that you’re in danger,” Eleanor said. “And I offered to help you and your child.”

  “He’s ridiculous,” she said. “He’s always bickering with his mother, but then he goes and thinks it’s serious. As if she’d really do anything to hurt her own grandchildren.”

  “Shhhhh. Please.” Eleanor leaned forwards and whispered, “Only one family in all the Empire can use words like that and mean something by it. You’ll give yourself away if you haven’t already.”

  “If we’re not safe all the way out here, then I don’t know where you think you’re going to find that’s safer,” Donna said. “We’re a long way from home.”

  “We’re only two days’ hard ride from Almont,” Eleanor countered. “And there’s a difference between where it’s safe enough to sleep, and where – if anywhere – it’s safe enough that we can talk openly. Most people won’t recognise your face, but when you talk like that you betray yourself.”

  “But what does it matter? Why would anyone care who I am?”

  “Just the fact that you’re here is unusual. People will talk, innocently at first, but gossip spreads and word could easily get back to those who want to hurt you. If you want my help then I won’t let you take that risk.” Eleanor swallowed the last mouthful of her drink and set the tankard down. “Come on, we can talk more freely outside.”

  They walked into the trees at the back of the town. Eleanor took a certain pleasure in leading the princess along muddy paths into the forest, enjoying the growing distaste on her face.

  “That’s better,” Eleanor said once they were out of sight of the buildings. “You can use whatever words you like out here.”

  “It’s your turn to talk,” Donna said. “What precisely are you expecting me to do?”

  Eleanor explained her plan as briefly as she could manage, though Donna interrupted at every opportunity to express her displeasure for various elements. Eleanor simply repeated, until she was sick of repeating it, that she was acting at Leon’s request and would be perfectly happy to go home tomorrow if she hadn’t promised her assistance.

  After the tenth such interruption, however, she’d had enough. “You weren’t born into the Imperial family, were you?” she asked.

  “No,” Donna replied, too surprised by the sudden change of subject to consider not answering.

  “And how long have you and Leon been married?”

  “Eight years.”

  “Well, it seems to me that somewhere in the course of the past eight years you’ve forgotten how to shut up and do as you’re told,” Eleanor said. “Which might be fine when you’ve got an indulgent husband and half an army of servants, but when you’re in fear of your life and someone’s trying to help you, the rules are a bit different.”