“Well?” she challenged me, daring me to speak these thoughts aloud.
“I just thought—“
“Well, don’t. Don’t pity me.” Her face was screwed up. “And don’t you let anyone kill me.” She had fairly thrown herself over on her side, facing away from me, the covers pulled up over her shoulders.
We had gone to sleep in an angry silence that barely concealed our fear, and now that fear rose higher as we rode into town, until I thought I might gag on it. The people threw rose petals, as they had been bid, and the nobles threw back gold from their purses, as was customary. The air was fragrant with blossom and loud with cheers and laughter, and yet behind it all was a dreadful curiosity, a hunger to know what might happen at such an unprecedented event.
With trepidation, I noticed the jaded expressions of the servants in the crowd. They did not expect a lasting peace from this. They were waiting for it all to go horribly wrong, and I felt so similarly that I nearly jumped in front of Miriel every time I saw a look, or a whisper, or a pointed finger. Her face was known, and not only by the servants of Heddrian courtiers. She was the niece of the man who had captured Voltur, she had been raised in what had once been Ismir’s royal seat. They would have no love for her in Ismir.
We were too far back to hear the grand welcome from Garad to Dusan. Miriel sat at my side in the stopped procession, hardly minding that she did not have to smile prettily through the ridiculous speeches the two men were making, but grinding her teeth that it was Marie de la Marque who sat in the King’s train, royal in her own right, daughter to the King’s guardian, and once more a favored candidate for the King’s bride.
We were told of the formal greeting later, while Roine braided my newly washed hair. She was traveling with us at the Duke’s insistence, and I was hardly comforted at the thought that even he wondered if we would need the attentions of a healer. In true motherly fashion, she had insisted that I take a bath, even though I was glad enough to do so. On the road, there had been no such extravagances for a servant, but in this village we all had hot water, scented soaps, fine bath sheets. Newly clean, I felt like a noble myself, dressed in one of my new tunics, a black tabard with hidden pockets, and new britches and boots.
Temar was not inclined to let me relax. He prowled around as I bathed, hidden by a carved screen, and as soon as I was decent, he came and sat between me and my view of Miriel, who was the hub of frantic activity; she was being dressed by five maidservants, stitched into a gown ordered by the Master of the Revels. She was to represent the bountiful harvests of peacetime, and was accordingly dressed in gold and orange silks, hung with ribbons of reds and browns, and with long, draping sleeves cleverly-cut to resemble falling leaves. Another maidservant was winding ribbons and jewels into her hair.
Temar snapped his fingers in front of my face to get my attention. He was impatient, even more worried than I was for the safety of those he guarded. The Duke was one of the most widely-hated men in Ismir, and there had already been an altercation: after the formal meeting, in the bustle, some guardsmen of Kasimir’s household shouted at Temar and the Duke’s servants that their master would see ours dead, and soon, and stick his head on a spike over the gate at Voltur castle. It had been hushed up, but we were all on our guard now.
“How did the greeting go?” I asked. The Duke’s household had been far back, but the Duke himself had ridden with the Council, directly behind the royal family. Temar had been able to witness the event first-hand, and I was envious. “How were the Ismiri? What was Dusan like? And Kasimir.” Temar held up a hand to stem the flow of questions, but he was smiling. He had chosen me for my inquisitive nature, and he was closest to forgiving me when he saw it demonstrated.
“Nothing of importance happened,” he assured me. “Really. All like a play, very flowery speeches. No surprises. Kasimir wore mourning black for his father, but no one expected subtlety from him.” He snorted. It was against his own rules to be so blatant, and it offended him to see others break that rule—even if it made his own job easier.
“And the Queen?”
“Jovana? Yes, she was there. In state. All in cloth of gold.” I was impressed. Dusan must be taking this seriously, to bring his wife. I knew that Jovana was rarely seen in public now, she was a queen beloved of her husband, but tormented by grief and guilt. Vaclav had been her only son, born the last of eight children, and he had been her favorite, the golden child. Now he was dead, and Jovana’s failure to produce more sons for Dusan meant that the throne would pass out of his direct line.
“Tonight, there will be more to see,” Temar predicted. “Anyone can keep their face straight for a half an hour, but give them wine and dark corners, and—“ He snapped his fingers and I nodded. He held up a little map of the village that he had made for me. “Now. We will watch the masque here, on the plaza. After that, we will withdraw here to eat. You paced everything out like I told you?”
I nodded. As Miriel and the Duke would be sharing a suite of rooms here in the village, Temar had declared it safe enough for me to leave her with them and go inspect the public area. I had taken off my tabard before I went, and put on one of the homespun tunics I had brought with me, knowing that my fine black suit would attract attention. There were too many guards, and they watched too closely. Better if the Ismiri did not know that I guarded Miriel.
It was all very fine in the village, quite as beautiful as the King had written to Miriel that it would be. I had taken notice of the compass rose inlaid in the plaza, with the Warden crest at the east point, and Dusan’s crest at the west point. I strolled around and looked up at the buildings that bordered the plaza. A bowman could hide in any one of those windows while the dance went on, and yet—he would be trapped if the guards went in to find him. No, if death came for us, it would be subtler.
Still, I scoped out the hidden alcoves in the banquet hall, noted the way the shadows fell and the lights flickered. Even the chandeliers were shaped with the two crests; I could hardly look anywhere without seeing something gold-plated, jewel-encrusted. The servants must be making a fortune, knowing that no one would notice one less candlestick, one less bauble.
“Do you think we’re safe tonight?” I asked Temar.
“We’re never safe.”
“I know that,” I said, nettled. “But…from an assassin. Do you think one would come tonight?” After a pause, he shook his head.
“Not tonight. Not for her.” Worry made lines on his forehead, and I knew he was thinking of the Duke—of men so driven that they would not care that their death followed an assassination. “Just mark who watches her.”
And so I did. Miriel danced as if she were a tongue of flame, leaping and twirling so that her sleeves fluttered and her hair flew. She whirled down the aisle of the other dancers and then held her hands high above their heads as they danced beneath themselves. It was difficult not to watch her, and for all his pretended indifference, I saw that the King could not keep his eyes from her.
As she and her partner danced forward towards the two Kings, I saw the envoy lean slightly and murmur a few words in Dusan’s ear. The Ismiri King raised his eyebrows and leaned forward to watch, marking her as a beauty, as a player in the game for the throne. He murmured something back to his envoy, and I had the uncomfortable feeling that he was giving instructions. At the side of the dais, Kasimir watched, as well, his face impassive. What he thought of any of the dancers, I could not say; his face did not change for the whole of the performance. He looked as if he would see the whole village burned to the ground, and all of us with it—the Heddrians who had what he reckoned his, the Ismiri who did not share his intense hatred.
On the other side of the dais, I saw the High Priest, sitting in state beside his Ismiri counterpart. I laughed to see them together, for while both wore the jeweled robes and heavy gold rings that were the symbols of the Church, they looked out over the revelry as if the extravagance was distasteful to them. I found my eyes darting back to the High Priest a
s I watched the event; I wondered what it was that he was truly thinking.
With the thaw between us, Miriel had shown me the sheaf of letters passed between her and the High Priest, and I had been surprised, as she had been, at the man’s insistence on delaying the uprising itself. I could see from his response that Miriel urged action. She dreamed of a call to the people, a great show of support to show Garad that this was not a movement of violent rebels, but instead of reasoned, peaceful citizens. To her shock, the High Priest swore that it could not be done—not yet. The people had no power, he insisted. They could not organize such a movement. No, the King must be persuaded by his advisors that this was best for Heddred. When I watched him, looking out over the sea of gold and jewels, I wondered just which nobles he thought would be his allies.
Seated between the High Priest and Garad, the Dowager Queen kept a sharp watch on her son as Miriel danced, and she marked who else caught his attention. Cintia was also portraying autumn, her red-gold hair and green eyes well offset by her costume; I saw her smile boldly at the King, and he smiled, easily, back at her. Marie de la Marque wore the colors of spring, so well suited to her porcelain coloring, and she twirled with all the confidence of a beautiful girl who knows that the prize is within her grasp. Another girl with long, fine brown hair, wearing summery green and pink, danced along the aisle and cast a shy smile in Garad’s direction. She had a round face and a tip-tilted nose, and her eyes were grey like mine.
“Who is she?” I asked an Ismiri servant nearby, pointing. I used the mountain dialect, and she raised her eyebrows to hear it from a Heddrian servant, but responded readily enough.
“That’s Dusan’s granddaughter by Iulia.” She nodded up to my King. “Now there’d be a match for your King, no?” I shrugged and turned back to the masque. It was ending, with much flourishing and bowing, and the two Kings rose to their feet, applauding and shouting congratulations to the dancers.
And then I saw it. Not what Temar had told me to watch for, no—but more dangerous by far. Miriel, true to her word, cast no looks towards the throne. She was neither petulant nor prideful. She curtsied without flicking her eyes up to the set of thrones at all, and then she turned and took an offered arm for the procession in to dinner. It was one of the boys, dressed in the colors of fall, and they made a beautiful pair. I saw him speak a short, smiling sentence to her, and she laughed. I looked back to the dais, to see if the King was watching her go. He was not, he was speaking earnestly with Dusan and his envoy, but others were watching. I saw Guy de la Marque’s smile flicker as if he had just gotten a good hand of cards, and I looked back to the pair.
Miriel’s companion, the boy who made her smile so brilliantly and laugh so merrily, was none other than Wilhelm Conradine.
Chapter 14
The days passed in constant frustration for Miriel. Each day had its entertainments: dances and masques and plays so that we rushed from one thing to the next in a roar of ceaseless excitement and laughter, every courtier half-drunk on excitement and half-dead with exhaustion, and me in a frenzy of worry over who might brush into contact with Miriel in the crowd.
I knew that my worry was as ridiculous as it was useless. Even if I could have protected her against some mad courtier with a grudge against the Duke, no one but Kasimir seemed minded to cause trouble here. The courtiers of Ismir were as mad for entertainments and laughter as were the courtiers I knew. They were happy enough to leave behind their grudges and their old rivalries as long as they had banquets and dancing, and the chance for illicit liaisons in the alleyways between the buildings.
Only men such as the Duke and Kasimir carried their grudges and their resentment here, to the village, and the Duke had the good sense to hide his bad feelings behind courtly bows and honeyed words. It was Kasimir, and Kasimir alone, who broke the peace openly. On the first day, he had held his tongue, but since then matters had deteriorated. At dinner on the second night, he had made loud proclamations that peace would be achieved only when ill-gotten gains had been returned to their rightful owners. On the fourth day, he had partnered the Duke in a card game, and had been overheard to say that the King of such a misbegotten country as Heddred should watch his back.
It was inflammatory, and as soon as the court was not hungover on strong Ismiri spirits, and drunk on excitement, they would all be whispering in corners about Kasimir’s words. I did not care. For once, I was minded to let Temar watch the nobles and inform me of their whispered conversations. Miriel and I had larger worries. In such a small village, there was no way for her to meet with Garad, and so, when she was not keeping up the pretense of being the most beautiful, the most charming courtier, she prowled around the apartment like a mountain cat, snapping at Anna and glaring at me.
“I know nothing!” she fairly screamed at me. “Nothing. Why does he not send for me? Why does he not want my advice?”
“He can hardly call for you when his every move is being watched by two courts and he is meeting with King Dusan himself,” I pointed out, but she would not be appeased.
“Fool. If he wanted to, he could. We’ve always found ways before!”
“He’s been sending letters.” I pointed to the two letters on the table, and she knocked them onto the floor with an angry swipe of her arm.
“Only two! And they’re stupid letters! Useless! Love letters!”
“How is that useless?” I cried back, and then lowered my voice, mindful of who might have heard us. “He loves you. He’s besotted with you.”
“Twice a fool!” Miriel had lowered her voice as well, but her anger had not abated. “I get nothing for his love! Love fades, love dies. Pretty words are nothing. I need to be the only one he trusts. I need him to believe he can’t rule without me at his side! And you told me he wouldn’t, but he is forgetting me. He is learning he doesn’t need me.” She whirled about to the window, paced, then stopped and clutched her head. “I could go mad. And pick those up.” I bit back a retort and gathered the letters carefully, folded each and placed them in a stack on the table.
I did not say so for fear of stoking her anger, but I knew that she was right to be worried. The King stayed closeted with Dusan, shut off from his Council and Dusan’s—and from the commanders of the last war—as the two of them spoke frankly about the troubled history of their nations. Only rumors escaped that room, every one easily discernible as a wild fancy to every listener except the one whose land was rumored to be ceded, or sold, or taken by the crown for roads and quarries. Each courtier laughed off the others’ concerns, and spoke fearfully of their own. The Bone Wastes were to be conquered, the DeVere land was to be handed back to Ismir—and, triumphantly spread by Conradine and de la Marque servants, the King was planning to cede Voltur back to the Ismiri; despite his good sense, the last had the Duke in a frenzy of irritation and worry.
“We’ll go see the King when the court is on the move again,” I soothed her. “And you really do have his heart now.”
She nodded. “If only someone were to speak against me,” she said fretfully. “Then he would want to defend me. It would awaken his love and he would want to say that he had spoken for me.”
“Too risky.” I did not want anyone reminding the King of Miriel’s low birth, and reviving the talk about marrying without love and having a mistress on the side. Not with Ismiri princesses dancing about.
“So what do you suggest?” she asked sharply, and I bit my lip. There was no good answer. If she defied Garad’s wishes and went to him, he might be angry—he would accuse her, and rightly, of endangering his plans. If she played along with his scheme, however, she became nothing. She faded into the background.
She did not wait for me to make a suggestion.
“I’ll send for Wilhelm,” she decided. “He’ll know what to do.” I looked at her bright, flushed face, and had a stab of misgiving.
“You be careful,” I warned her.
“Of what?” She frowned at me, then shook her head. “You don’t understand the
court, Catwin I can’t be cautious like you. If I want to win, I have to be the only one he sees; your place is in the shadows—mine is in the light. There isn’t any time to waste, and there’s only one person who knows the King better than I do.”
I raised my eyebrows and said nothing. I did understand the court, I thought, better than she knew. I knew that her friendship with Wilhelm, once a secret acquaintance, was blossoming, and that I was not the only one who had seen it. I knew that an innocent friendship was the stuff of which lurid rumors were made. And Miriel could not afford this rumor. But these were her uncle’s rooms. Wilhelm would arrive openly, during the day.
And Miriel needed a way to keep the King’s eye.
I pushed down my sense of forboding and nodded. As Miriel sat down to write a response to the King’s most recent letter, I sent one of the Duke’s pages for Wilhelm Conradine, instructing him sharply to summon the Lord if he was at liberty, and leave him be if he was not. We did not need to court trouble. Then I sent as many of the servants away as I could, sending them each on lengthy errands until only Anna was left.
It was not much later that Wilhelm arrived, tapping on the door and bowing deeply to Miriel. I reflected that this, at least, was a more equal pairing. Wilhelm was half king’s blood, half nothing, his ancient lineage undeniable, but more a liability than a help; there were even rumors that his mother had not wanted to marry a Conradine at all, though she took their side now. Unlike Garad, when Wilhelm came into the room, he had cause to bow low to Miriel; those who rode the currents of the King’s favor could lift up others. Miriel and Wilhelm were bound together as allies, or enemies, as they chose. They had always smiled at each other with understanding. Understanding, and somewhat more—but I pushed that thought away.
Shadowforged (Light & Shadow) Page 13