Saphritte looked up at her father, who nodded. “Thank you. Mistress Coppervale?”
I tugged on the princess’s sleeve as the armorer stepped forward. “Highness, I don’t understand. What am I meant to be doing?” I whispered.
“Just listen and watch,” she assured me.
“My good nobles.” Mistress Coppervale planted her strong, leather-clad legs upon the carpet. “The forge is nearly halfway through the new blades for the reinforcements arriving from Folquemotte and Thorvald for the wedding, though the steel they’ve brought with them is certainly good enough for the moment. The kingsguard’s leathers have come to be oiled this week, so I expect to find myself knee-deep in goose fat. And lastly, the squires have begun with quarterstaff this week. They’ve taken to it well, and I’ve only had to send one to the healers so far.”
And there it was. A blue wreath flared to life round the mistress of the armory. I must have flinched, because Saphritte’s hand closed on my wrist, willing me to be still. “Thank you. Master Piers?”
The stableman nodded timidly. “Well met, my betters. We’ve had two foals this week—one from Druskine, one from Lillithe. Rayolian took a hit to his flank during the battle, so he’ll be box-bound till it can heal. Otherwise, it’s just the winter shoeing and exercising till Yule.”
Saphritte nodded, dismissing the man, who scuttled back to his place between the armorer and the kitchen mistress. “Thank you, master.” She squeezed my hand and returned to stand by the throne.
“Mayquin, upon my order, one of my servants is lying to me,” he rumbled. “Which one is it?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Mistress Coppervale, Majesty. When she said she’d only sent one squire to the healers this week.”
One of the king’s frosted brows raised as he turned to Mistress Coppervale, who nodded in approval. “As much discipline as you give, boys will be boys when you hand them a big stick. So far,” she confirmed, “we’ve had four broken fingers, three broken ribs, and more bloody noses than I can count.”
“I thank you all for your diligence,” Saphritte proclaimed. As the heads of house filed out to return to their duties, the princess turned to her father. “Does that test satisfy you, Majesty?”
“It does not satisfy me.”
All eyes turned to the glowering curate, who had, until then, been silent. The princess’s hands unconsciously tightened to fists.
“I beg your pardon, Lord Curate, but I feel that it’s the king’s place to—”
“It is my place to look to the spiritual well-being of this kingdom,” Heyman interrupted. “This . . . thing . . . you’ve brought”—he shuffled forward to look down at me with undisguised loathing—“its unholy abilities may have some use, but surely such a creature cannot be trusted.”
“Her own trustworthiness is not an issue,” the princess said through clenched teeth. “She’s unable to lie—it’s painful for her.”
The king leaned forward on his throne. “Have you witnessed this personally, daughter?”
“No, sire, but Master Iordan assures me—”
“Master Iordan is not here,” barked the king.
“We would see for ourselves, Highness,” added the curate.
My heart skipped a beat, remembering the pain that exploded inside my head when I tried to lie to the inquisitor by my garden gate. What did the old men mean to do? Still glaring hellfire at me, the curate leaned down to whisper in the king’s ear, the rest of the council exchanging worried looks around us.
Finally the king spoke. “How many siblings have you, child?”
“Two brothers, Majesty,” I answered warily.
“I think you’re mistaken,” the curate interjected. “I believe you have four.”
I looked at Saphritte and found nothing but sorrow in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Majesty, but I only have two—Jonquin and Ether.”
Struggling to stay calm, the princess answered. “What my father is saying, Only, is that he would like you to tell him that you have four brothers.”
“But, Highness . . .”
“I know and I’m sorry,” she said, regret in her tone. “Please do as you’re bid.”
I’d promised myself I’d not cry in front of any of them. Not ever again. But in an instant, it all came down on me—I was an untested horse. A plate of food cooked by a stranger. No matter how fancy my clothes, no matter how big the jewels I wore, I wouldn’t ever be more than a thing he owned to do with as he pleased. And right then, it was his and the curate’s pleasure to see me hurt. Tears pooled in my eyes.
“Majesty,” I said, “I have four brothers.”
I yelped as a wave of misery swept through my head, making my ears pound and squeezing unshed salt water from my eyes.
The king didn’t wait to pile the next question upon me. “What is your father’s name, child?”
I stared up at the throne, squinting through the pain. “Ellis, Majesty.”
“Surely his name is Otto,” the curate prompted.
Saphritte leaned closer to the throne. “Father—”
“Be silent, daughter! Child, what is your father’s name?”
“Otto, Majesty,” I said, gritting it out, as another fit of agony erupted inside me. I fell to my knees with a wail, clasping my hands to my ears and trying to ignore the roiling of my stomach. Through the noise in my skull, I heard the king’s voice once again.
“Tell me one last thing, child. Are you happy to be here in Bellskeep?”
Above the high whistle splitting me in two, I heard voices—Saphritte’s pleading with the king to stop, the concerned whispering of the council, and even the silken tones of Lady Folque asking me if I was well. I could faintly make out Gareth’s horrified face across the chamber.
I heard the curate above it all, bound and determined for an answer, his voice cruel and haughty: “Did you hear the question? Is it not an honor to serve at the pleasure of your king?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” I gasped out before the glittering light in the chamber faded into blackness.
25
For one blessed second, I believed I was at home. But like any dream, it faded before I could wrap my fingers round it.
Sharp, green smells pricked at my nose as I cracked my eyes open. The taste of asper root was on my tongue and the heavy wool of it in my head. A cool cloth that smelled of mint rested on my forehead. The bed beneath me was no more than a linen canvas, but it was more comfortable to me at that moment than any feather bed in the kingdom. Truth was, I didn’t want to be awake with the memory of the winter king sitting in his terrible silver chair. I whimpered, pressing my head into the pillow.
A soft hand fell on mine. “Are you back with us, child?” The hand moved to my brow as one of my eyes, then the next, was pried open, unwilling, to face the light. “That’s a bit better. Your pupils aren’t pinpricks anymore.”
“Where am I?” I croaked.
“You’re in the herbery, my dear. Can you sit up? I’ve prepared a goldleaf tea.”
The hands slid under my shoulder blades, supporting me as I slowly sat up. Unsteady, I crossed my legs beneath me and accepted the warm clay cup that was tucked between my fingers.
The herbery was snug and familiar, even though it was much bigger than Non’s. Cream plaster and deeply stained beams reflected the dancing flames under the cauldron in the fire. The ceiling boasted carved, curling wooden vines that snaked around every iron candle sconce and down behind the enormous herb dressers. But the smell was savory and sweet, brackish and clean, strong and mild—the smell of things from the earth. Women in heavy leather aprons chattered at the counters as they mixed, ground, and poured.
I took a sip and sighed. The Acherian woman sitting beside the cot smiled. “I’m Vasha Devi, head of the herbery.”
“Good met, mistress,” I said, taking another deep draft from the cup. “I�
��m sorry I can’t curtsy just yet.”
Vasha laughed, her dark face creasing in mirth. “Oh, you haven’t got to curtsy to me, I’m not that fine. But I can tell daggeroot from spidergrass.”
“How did I get here?”
“I brought you.” Saphritte appeared in the herbery’s arched doorway, grim and drawn. “Mistress Devi, I know your patient is still delicate, but I would have some private words with her.”
I didn’t trust myself to look the princess in the eye. The herbist inclined her head politely. “Of course, Highness. If she shows signs of tiring, I’d ask that she be allowed to rest.”
“Of course, mistress,” Saphritte answered.
Vasha disappeared around the corner, and the cot creaked as Saphritte sat down beside me. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, as if each time she’d expected something to come out, but nothing did. Finally, she spoke.
“In North Hallow, I told you my father wasn’t a cruel man,” she said quietly. “He’s made a liar of me.”
I didn’t know how to answer. I was an empty thing, all my words used up.
“Even the council was shocked. I don’t think they realized how far he’d go, especially with Heyman egging him on.” Her shoulders slumped. “It’s become worse just in the time I was away. You must believe me, Only, it won’t happen again.”
I shook my head. “It don’t matter, Highness.”
“It does,” the princess insisted, but I cut her off.
“It’s just like I said when we arrived—I’m a tool to fix something that’s broke, and before he used me, he wanted to see what I was made of.”
I knew my tone wasn’t fit for speaking to the next queen of Orstral, but I reckoned I was through with begging the pardons of folk who’d stolen and abused me, royal or not. Papa always said there was more worth in striving to be good than Great. The king might’ve been Great, but he certainly wasn’t good.
But Saphritte took my choler without flinching. Weary, she leaned against the wall behind the cot and absently ran her fingers over the thick sleeve that hid the bandages covering her wound. “Before, in the antechamber, you wanted to tell me something. You have my full attention.”
I’d near forgotten about Lamia Folque after the drama in the throne room. “Last night, ma’am, when we arrived before the council and met Lady Folque? The minute I saw her, I could tell she was cunning.”
“Cunning?”
“Like me, ma’am.”
Alarmed, Saphritte sat upright. “What do you mean, like you?”
“I mean, she’s got some kind of cunning.” The princess stared at me blankly and I tried to explain. “Like a talent, a gift. I can’t tell what it is, but it’s a strong one, like mine.”
“Are you telling me,” the princess hissed, “that Lamia Folque is an augurer as well?”
“I never met another one,” I confessed, “but I’m as sure as I can be.”
“And yet, you say she wasn’t lying last night about the attack. Or today?”
My head had finally begun to clear and all my late-night what-ifs came pouring back. “Not that I could tell, ma’am. But ain’t that a worry? What if her cunning can block mine? She could be lying and I’d never know it.”
“Have you seen nothing from her?” Saphritte asked.
“Not a thing.”
The both of us looked at each other, caught up in our own thoughts. “Highness,” I asked, almost fearful of her answer, “you don’t think the Ordish are really behind all this, do you? You don’t think they actually mean the king any harm?”
“It’s not that they don’t have reasons to be angry,” said Saphritte.
“Ma’am, they’ve been round the orchard most of my life and . . . they’re good folk. Why does everyone here hate them so?”
“Because people are easily frightened of things they don’t understand. And it’s even easier to rule when they feel you can protect them from something frightening, whether it’s true or not. All this city has is the memory of a great tragedy caused by the people of the river. It was so long ago, we can’t even be sure it’s true. But doesn’t matter—people believe it. There haven’t been any Ordish barges north of Timberwick in nearly three hundred years. All that people know about them is what they hear from loud, ignorant fools like the First Curate, shouting about augury and sin.”
“You know better, though,” I complained. “Why don’t they listen to you?”
“People take cues from their leaders, and right now my father leads.” Saphritte stared hard at the winged-bull sconce above the door. “When I take the throne, I’ll do my best for all the citizens of Orstral.”
My heart swelled like a bellows. “I want to go home, ma’am, but if I have to serve as Mayquin, I’d just as soon serve someone like you.”
The princess gently tousled my hair. “While I appreciate your offer of service, what I came here to tell you is that I wish to make you a bargain.”
“A bargain, ma’am?”
The princess nodded. “My father is one kind of ruler, but I know in my heart that I am quite another. Therefore, here’s my offer: Serve my father well until the end of his life, and I swear by my crown, I’ll release you from your service when I come to the throne.”
The long, dark tunnel of my future suddenly sprung a light at the end of it. The king was an old man, but he’d still a good many years ahead of him. I might be a woman grown by the time he met the Mother, but it was a better thought than being a pampered captive in Bellskeep until the end of my own days. I searched her for any glimmer of untruth, but there was none. “You mean that,” I said in surprise.
“Kings and queens have ruled for many generations without the benefit of a Mayquin, and the kingdom hasn’t fallen apart yet.” She offered her right hand to me formally. “Do we have a bargain?”
I’d hardly dared hope such a thing’d come to pass, but I knew the princess was being true. “We do, Highness,” I answered, taking her hand. “So, you spoke it over with Prince Hauk?”
“Prince Hauk?”
“Well, when you take the throne, you’ll be queen and king, won’t you?”
“Royal marriages are a little different,” Saphritte interrupted. “While I’m sure we’ll grow . . . fond of each other over time, decisions of state belong to me.”
So, Saphritte was determined to change what she had charge over. I wondered if I could risk trying to do the same. “Can I ask you something, Highness? For . . . a favor?”
She spread her hands. “If it’s in my power to give to you, it’s yours.”
“I was fitted for my clothes this morning by an Ordish girl,” I began, picking my words carefully in order to avoid any more pain. “She made me feel . . . at home. I was wondering, if I’m to have a . . . waiting girl, could it be her?”
“The indentures aren’t usually placed in serving positions to the court . . .” The princess frowned. “Especially with the current unrest. And after what happened in the Wood, we still don’t know if this is part of a larger plot to—”
“I understand,” I said quickly, not wanting to lose any of the pity that might be tugging at Saphritte’s conscience, “but I know I could tell if she meant me any harm. She’s ever so kind. Please, Highness?”
For a second, I thought she’d dismiss the idea altogether, but she finally nodded.
“I’ll see to it. But you must see to it you guard your tongue in her presence, just in case.”
I wanted to say more, but Saphritte held up a hand. “I need to return. Remember my promise, but in the meantime, be watchful and wary. Serve my father with care and keep Lamia Folque at a distance. I’ll try to investigate if there’s any truth in her claims of an Ordish plot.” She cocked her head to the side. “Mistress Devi,” she called, “you can join us now.”
Vasha’s head popped guiltily round the corner. “You knew I
was here, Highness?”
“I could feel you hovering,” answered the princess, amused.
“Maybe you’ve got some cunning, too, ma’am.”
“Mother forbid!” Saphritte exclaimed. “If you’re right, this castle has all the cunning it can handle right now. Are you feeling well enough to return to your chambers?”
My head still felt stuffed with feathers, but my arms and legs weren’t so heavy as they’d been. “I think so, ma’am.”
“Mistress, I’m going to send for the Mayquin’s new girl to escort her back to her rooms.”
Lark! If there were anyone who might be able to shed some light on things, it’d be her.
Vasha inclined her head graciously. “Of course, Highness. I’ll send some more goldleaf tea in a bit.”
Saphritte bent down, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Remember what I said, Only. Watchful and wary.” And with that, she nodded to Mistress Devi and strode from the room.
* * *
“I AIN’T NEVER heard such a load of sheep spit in my life,” Lark announced as we made our way down the drafty halls of the castle. “Ordish plot. I ain’t heard so much as a whisper of such a thing, not ever, even at the Southmeet.”
“My family was pretty sore when I got took,” I pointed out. “Maybe your folk have got sore enough over all their stolen whelps to do something about it.”
“There’s gettin’ sore, and then there’s wishin’ to meet the White Lady before your time. You seen this place—swords outnumber folk. How’d you reckon anyone could get close enough to Bellskeep to do any harm without being cut to ribbons?”
“It doesn’t make much sense, does it? Why pick a fight you can’t win?”
Lark stopped dead as we reached my chamber door and snagged me by the elbow. “I swear to you, it’s not a fight that’s being picked!”
I frowned. “Non would say something about this smells worse than leftover cabbage.”
Two girls, far out of their depth, stood silent in the castle corridor.
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