She looked at Grigory, and he nodded fervently.
“I’m sure Queen Merewyn would be happy to help us,” said the queen.
Daryna sighed quietly and bit her lip.
Anik gave a polite little cough. “We do not know that we will be permitted to see the queen, your majesty.”
“She tried to kill her husband and put her lover on the throne,” said Vadik, without looking up from his book. “I imagine it’s hard for King Ethelred to get over that.”
“I can’t see why not,” Nina said, her voice rising with excitement. “It’s the very first issue I intend to raise with Ethelred.”
“After the mines, I hope,” said Anik.
“Oh, yes, of course. But it’s all tied together, don’t you see? We can help Merewyn, and then she will tell her people to help us. And even if they can’t, then surely, Daryushka, your brother and sister angels will come to our aid.”
Her “brother and sister angels.” Other hillichmagnars. Daryna’s stomach lurched like she was back on the rickety lift in the mineshaft. But that was foolish. She liked the Myrcian hillichmagnars. She trusted them. They weren’t at all like...like him. And what were the odds that he would be in Myrcia now? Vanishingly small, that’s what the odds were.
Yet, one never knew with him, with that blasted Faustinus.
Silently, she prayed. And for the first time that day, it was a real, earnest, heartfelt prayer. “Dear Earstien, please tell me that going to Myrcia is the right thing to do. Help me know this isn’t a massive mistake.”
Chapter 5
“I SHOULD BE MARRIED to the king, you know.”
“You are married to the king.”
“You should be the king. And I should be married to you.”
He hesitated, but then looked away from her. Blindly, he found her hand and rubbed the back with his thumb. “That was your choice. I always wanted to marry you.”
“But if I’d married you, you wouldn’t be the most beloved man in Myrcia.”
He grunted softly in agreement, though he didn’t sound happy about it. “No, I would have been forced to content myself with being the happiest husband in the realm. And you would have only ever reached the lowly rank of duchess. Grace, it seems, wasn’t enough for you—you needed majesty.” He tried to roll away, but she clutched his shoulder so he remained on his side, and with jaw clenched, he looked up at her. “We need to get back to the feast,” he whispered. “You said so.”
She kissed him, insistently this time, unwilling to let him leave in this dark mood. He attempted to pull away, but she dug in her nails, held them together, her thigh brushing against him until he was ready to roll on top of her yet again. “I want everything,” she said. “And I want to have it with you.”
There was no hesitation. He entered her and grabbed the back of her thigh, pulling her leg up with each thrust. His moans in her ear inflamed her, and she clawed at him. She pulled back slightly, wanting to see his expression when he climaxed.
But no. No, no, no! Where was his soft skin, his firm jaw, his slightly-bowed upper lip? The man in her arms had a squat nose and a vacant stare, and he grunted like a hog as he plowed into her. Ethelred! Oh, Earstien, it wasn’t Fransis at all. It was Ethelred!
Merewyn felt a burning, choking pressure through her chest. She clawed at her nightdress, at the covers, forcing herself up. She wanted to rage and scream, but she could not get enough air to even mewl like a kitten, and after several abortive attempts to take a deep breath, she knew she was about to suffocate. Air! Earstien help her, she needed air. Wobbling up out of bed, she reached for the one window in the room that opened and yanked the latch. A warm breeze forced its way into her lungs, but as soon as she saw the castle wall and the gutter of Addle Street below, her sweaty fingers lost their grip on the window, breaking a nail. Closing her eyes against the first hints of the sunrise, she choked and strained, trying to will the breath into her lungs.
The sound of scurrying feet coming up her stairs reached Merewyn’s ears. “My lady, what’s wrong?”
Merewyn recognized Haley’s voice. The dream was fading away now, both the passion and the terror. But how did a woman explain that she thought she was dying for want of air because she had dreamed of sex with her husband?
“My lady, take this.”
A wineglass was pressed into her hand and pushed up to her lips. It did not taste of wine—at least she had never tasted wine so syrupy and sweet—but when she opened her eyes to question what she imbibed, Haley nodded and gently pushed harder. At last, Merewyn gripped the glass under her own power, took a more delicate sip, and removed the glass from her lips.
Haley looked truly worried. The poor thing was too pale even when she wasn’t frightened. Merewyn patted the girl’s cheek with a shaking hand and forced a kind smile to her lips. “Thank you. I am feeling better now. What is in here?”
“Valerian and passionflower mixed with thick mead. It is the finest treatment for...distress. My father taught it to me.”
She hurried this last phrase, but Merewyn had noticed the pause and didn’t like to think what the girl had wanted to say, what malady the potion was actually intended to cure. Even so, Merewyn knew that Haley was surely right about the treatment—her father taught botany at the university here in Leornian, giving her knowledge unique for a lady-in-waiting.
Haley frowned. “Your nightdress, my lady.”
Merewyn peered down, and only then realized that in her terror to breathe she had torn a jagged gash where the silk ties held the bodice closed. How foolish!
“Perhaps an entirely new bodice can be sewn on?” Merewyn proposed. She had never been a notably talented seamstress.
“I will certainly try, my lady. I bought some black silk last week that I think may do.”
“Be certain to ask the duke to reimburse you the cost.” Merewyn had never inquired into the girl’s financial situation, but the daughter of a minor baron and professor who found herself in the service of a disgraced queen probably did not have a wealth of resources. Had Haley been her lady-in-waiting back at court, Merewyn would personally have seen to her wardrobe and provided a respectable dowry so as to ensure an advantageous match. But here, Ethelred set the rules. No doubt he saved money to provide ladies-in-waiting for his harlot, Jane Tynsdale, or governesses for the little bastards they had together.
“My lady, come sit on the bed. Let me see you into something else.”
Merewyn felt calmer every second, as the valerian and passionflower worked its magy. Soon she found herself in a much-beloved nightgown of burgundy linen. She regretted tearing the other gown, and silently berated herself for her foolishness. But even that passed quickly when Haley brought over a silver and ivory-handled brush and began working on her hair. Merewyn sighed and closed her eyes.
“You do know me so well, Haley. I have few problems a hairbrush and your attentions cannot solve. I’m afraid you must think me a very foolish old woman.”
“I am always happy to serve you, my lady.”
Was that really true? Was Haley really happy? She had been in Merewyn’s service for seven years now, and as far as Merewyn could tell, she always spoke the truth. That made her a rare jewel, indeed. At Haley’s age, Merewyn rarely spoke a completely untainted sentence to anyone save Fransis. But even so, what girl could honestly be glad to serve her?
“Why do you stay, Haley? There’s no magysk spell that stops you from leaving. The guards let you come and go as you wish. If I were you, I would walk away and never come back.”
Haley paused and stepped around so that she could see Merewyn. “Why would I not stay and serve such a kind and noble mistress? I don’t understand why more noblewomen have not offered their services to you.”
“I am a woman of little importance, but much notoriety. You could surely do better. You are what, 25? You should go, Haley. Leave me while there is still hope for your future. His grace would help you, I’ve no doubt.”
“You are the queen and
mother of the crown prince. It is my honor to serve you.”
Merewyn gave Haley’s hand a quick pat and swallowed with difficulty. After clearing her throat, she said, “So, what news do you have this morning? How go the preparations for the Loshadnarodski visit?” She turned. “They are still coming, aren’t they?”
“Oh, of course, my lady. Everyone says that Queen Nina is anxious to get here as soon as possible and start pleading your case with the king.”
“Is that so?” Merewyn smiled in spite of herself. “Is that really something that ‘everyone says,’ Haley, or is that merely what you have been saying?”
The girl laughed softly. “It’s what everyone sensible believes, my lady.” She started braiding Merewyn’s hair. “As for the preparations, his grace and Mr. Kemp are working on the housing arrangements. And of course, Lady Hildred is working with them to plan the feast and all the entertainments.”
“I pity the duke and Mr. Kemp,” muttered Merewyn. She knew Brandon loved his sister, but Hildred had always been obnoxious, and getting to act like a queen had probably not improved her disposition. Merewyn resented the usurpation only a very little, because she had heard that no one at court particularly liked Hildred.
Haley went on. “It sounds like it will be the most splendid event I have ever seen. There is a grand feast scheduled for the Saturday after everyone arrives. The kitchen staff is arguing over whether or not they can get peacocks or will have to settle for goose or something else.”
“The kitchen staff are arguing, Haley. Still, I hope they cannot get them. No dish is quite so overrated as peacock.” She paused, remembering when she had planned feasts, and she grinned sadly. “Not that it matters whether there will be peacock or goose at the feast, since I will not be attending.”
“It is a shame you cannot, my lady. The captain general said he believes this visit would mark the perfect opportunity for you to return to court.”
“When did he say that?” Broderick had not been in Leornian for months, as far as Merewyn knew.
“In his latest letter, my lady.”
“When did the two of you start corresponding? I was unaware that you and he were so close.”
“Oh, he writes occasionally to ask about you, my lady. And he recommends wines that he thinks you will like.” Haley’s cheeks reddened just a hint, and Merewyn smiled as she guessed what they were hinting.
“Is that really all he writes to you?”
“Mostly, my lady.”
Haley’s color deepened, and Merewyn’s smile spread. The king’s bastard and a minor nobleman’s daughter? Haley probably was not as good a match as Broderick could make, but it would not be unsuitable for either of them, even if she could not imagine what Broderick saw in the slightly awkward girl. More than likely, it was a crush that only went one direction; still, it would do no harm for her to be magnanimous.
“I approve.”
Haley made no sign that she had heard. Instead, she went on speaking generally about the upcoming visit. As she talked, she continued with their little beauty rituals: brushing Merewyn’s hair, massaging her neck, applying to hands and feet a special cream that her father had taught her to make. All the while, the girl grew more and more excited, describing the food and the decorations and the flurry of activity at the city’s best tailors and dressmakers. Haley had been right—this would be the biggest event in Leornian in the girl’s lifetime, and more importantly, the largest gathering in the city since Merewyn had been imprisoned here. Merewyn had to find some way to take advantage of it. She might not have another such opportunity for another seventeen years.
Perhaps she needed to invite Broderick for lunch.
Chapter 6
“IF WE BUMP THE BARON to another room—”
“The only available room is fit for a king,” Presley interrupted. “And while I don’t think we will be getting another literal king....”
Presley trailed off, and Brandon saw his point. They were currently rethinking all the room assignments because they had received word yesterday that Sahasra Deva intended to send an ambassador of some variety. Over his long years of court politics, Brandon had dealt with the Saharans on any number of occasions, and inviting themselves to a function they wished to attend, while refusing to specify the rank or title of their emissary, was frustratingly typical.
The Sahasran kingdom lay to the east of Myrcia and the south of Loshadnarod, and they had always maintained close and amicable relations with the Loshadnarodskis. It was important, therefore, to show the Sahasran envoys the appropriate degree of respect, lest Queen Nina and her ministers feel slighted on their behalf. The trouble, of course, was knowing what degree of respect was appropriate. As of now, the king himself might be coming with a full retinue (unlikely, but possible), or he might be sending his wife’s alcoholic second cousin (more likely). All possibilities remained on the table, hence the potential shifting and multiple scenarios that Brandon and Presley must plan for.
He could have left the matter entirely in Presley’s hands, as he had told Hildred the previous week, but he didn’t wish to seem completely useless when it came to planning an event in his own home. Besides, he enjoyed Presley’s company.
The young man was as handsome as he was capable, with distinctive cheekbones as sharp as his mind. He had a taste for good wine and fashionable clothes in colors that were almost—but not quite—too bright and flashy for an accountant to wear. He was funny and smart and still so full of hope. Brandon could remember when he and Fransis were much the same at 25, and he wondered if that sort of enthusiasm could survive past 30.
“So, we will leave that suite for now,” Presley said, pointing at a list of accommodations available at the Bocburg. “Let’s look again at who is coming, who expects to stay at the castle versus those we know will make other arrangements in town, and who we would like to favor with an invitation, even if they perhaps have other options.”
They began at the top with King Ethelred and Crown Prince Maxen. There was a royal apartment no one ever stayed in except the king, and the Bocburg had long been a second home for Maxen, so he had permanent rooms. After that, there would be Ethelred’s brother, Prince Edgar, and Ethelred’s natural son, Sir Broderick Gramiren. Edgar usually shared his brother’s suite, so that was simple enough, but Broderick was another matter. As the captain general of the Myrcian army, he must be offered a place to stay at the Bocburg, even though it was just as likely he would end up with his troops or with his mother who lived in the city.
Next came Caedmon Aldred, the only one of the Myrcian court’s hillichmagnars scheduled to make the journey, as the other three planned to remain in Formacaster. To Brandon’s mind, an angel of Earstien who had lived almost 600 years and once called the Bocburg home outranked even the king, but Caedmon was one of the least presumptuous individuals Brandon had ever met. The man sometimes wore his clothes until they had holes in them, and he tied back his hair with whatever bits of twine or ribbon happened to be lying around. He would likely be happy in some spare servant’s bed (if there were spares, as the serving staff was bursting at the seams), but Brandon would see him in a place of honor. Presley agreed.
Then came the Loshadnarodskis—Queen Nina, Prince Vadik, and Daryna Olekovna chief among them. They had written to say they would also be bringing two assistants that would need lodging, and a couple dozen riders who could pitch tents or sleep with the horses. Clearly Brandon couldn’t have his guests sleeping in tents or the stable, so Presley had already found accommodations in the city for both riders and horses, but separately, of course. As the Bocburg had once been a king’s palace, there was a second royal suite Brandon had always found far too grand for himself, so it was available for Queen Nina, her son, the great Loshadnarodski hillichmagnar, and their assistants.
These choices were easily made, but then they were left with various Myrcian nobles who might require or desire (for prestige) a place to stay. The Duke of Severn had been kind enough to write a letter say
ing that he was renting a house in Addle Street for himself and his family. Not everyone would or could be so blunt about their intentions, however, and that left Brandon puzzling over the guest list with Presley.
Just as they had decided where to put the Earl of Portcress, a knock came on the door. Before Brandon could say a word, the door opened, and Hildred barged into the study. “A messenger has arrived, and I fear his news will put all your plans to naught.”
Brandon wondered if the entire visit was about to be called off. But when he looked at Presley, the young man’s lips were bent into a skeptical scowl. Presley seemed to think this was yet another of Hildred’s attempts to wrest control of the planning from him. If this were the case, Brandon would be having a very long conversation with her and setting some new ground rules, which would include waiting to be invited into rooms.
“Before we pitch it all in the fire,” Brandon said, “why don’t you tell us what news the messenger brings?”
She looked down at Presley from the corner of her eye. “We will be having another Tier One guest.”
Presley snorted. “Tier One, is it? Perhaps, my lady, you might provide us with a name, and I can pencil it into our current room allocation.”
“‘Pencil it in’? Well, that certainly is a vulgar expression, which just proves that you have not traveled in the proper circles of society and the world at large to know that one does not ‘pencil in’ Servius Lepidus Faustinus.”
Brandon gasped at the name. Faustinus was a legendary Immani hillichmagnar. He had fought at the side of Caedmon Aldred and Edmund Dryhten in Myrcia’s War of Independence 332 years ago. He was, therefore, one of the founding fathers of the kingdom. Most people outside Myrcia, however, knew him for his service with the Imperial army, and the destruction of the last independent city-state of distant Thessalia almost a century ago. These days, he was said to be a leader of fashion at the Imperial court, and a favorite of the empress and her ladies-in-waiting.
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