I shuddered to think of his hateful voice, urging me to lie to the king. The dinner sounded less agreeable than a tooth pulling.
“There’s no time for this,” I declared as she slid the new gown over my head careful like to avoid mussing my hair. “I only got till tomorrow morning to make sure I don’t have to face Jon in that cell and to keep them getting hung!”
My belly kicked up a loud fuss once more. “Perhaps something’ll come to you once you’re fed,” Lark suggested, clipping a gold chain to the sides of the hateful pin and clasping it round my neck. “In the meantime, I’ll think on it, too.”
She pulled a stray lock of my hair back into place and fastened it with one of the many gold hairpins from the dish on the vanity. Tucking more into place, she touched them all in turn, leaving behind soft points of honey-colored light behind. My hair shone, alive with orange and umber. I gasped with delight at my own reflection.
“Can’t let you go to dinner this way. Any little magics are taken serious round here, but . . . it looks well on you, don’t it?”
The beaming faces of Jon and Maura, glowing in the light of crowns of nightmoths, filled my head while the dancing flames of the Jack’s acorn filled my heart.
“Something will come to me. I know it.”
27
After all the fancy rooms I got trotted through that day, I didn’t think I had it in me to be dazzled by another, but I’d not reckoned on the banqueting hall.
The shapely stone tree trunks and branches that vaulted the walls elsewhere in the castle closed in overhead, all cozy like, to make diners feel they’d happened upon some fae entertainment in an enchanted clearing. In the center of the long, narrow room, a huge dome made of blue glass and set with silver stars bowed up above the table. From the middle, as if it’d grown straight out of the roof, descended an enormous, upside-down silver tree, with what must’ve been a thousand crystal leaves that caught the light of hundreds of candles, cleverly lit from behind. The table itself was set with glittering silver, glass, and fresh greenery that released the scent of warm pine. Tall white candles guttered in the boughs of miniature silver trees along the whole length of the board.
I wasn’t the first to arrive, so I was treated to the sudden stares and whispers of the crowd of chattering nobles when Adria thrust me through the doors into the hall. My stomach did an uncomfortable flip under the attention, but thankfully, Lady Mollier swept from the middle of the throng, regal as an empress in a purple gown, and took my hand in greeting.
“My dear child, you do my heart good! It was awful to see you so terribly affected this afternoon—I wasn’t sure if we’d have the pleasure of your company this evening!”
A tall woman with salt-and-pepper streaking her once-red hair emerged from the crowd. A gold circlet with an amethyst shone warmly on her forehead, complementing a handsome rust-colored gown. She slipped her arm through Constance’s and gave her hand a chiding tap.
“My sparrow, you always abandon me with the most frightful characters when I come to court. That Thorvald fellow could talk the hind legs off a donkey, provided the donkey could understand a word he was saying! You seem to have found more pleasant company.”
“That ‘Thorvald fellow’ is one of their premier vintners, my dove, but you’re right, as always, I have found better company. This is the Mayquin, Only Fallow. Only, this is my wife, Mariel Hawliss.”
Mariel kissed me on both cheeks. “I heard of your welcome, my sweet. How dreadful! If you ever need anything, you’ll let Constance know, won’t you? Can’t have you wanting for anything while you’ve got fellow cantonswomen around!”
Mollier’s Hold was about two days’ ride from Presston—both towns sitting snugly in the canton of Mothervale.
“That’s kind of you, Lady Hawliss.” I felt a warm glow of thankfulness to be in the company of the two women who worked the same earth as the orchard. “If there’s any way of getting word to my mama and papa that I arrived safe, I’d be much obliged to you.”
“I’ll have pen and paper sent to your chambers at once, my dear, so you can tell them yourself after the banquet,” Constance declared. “Mariel will deliver it personally when she journeys back south again, won’t you, dove?”
“I’d be more than glad to make a detour to your orchard, my dear,” Lady Hawliss assured. “Wrennet and Ellonie will be pleased as pie if I bring back some apples to dry for Yule.”
“My nieces and heirs,” Constance explained. “We are a hold made up entirely of women, making us the most sensible holding in all of Orstral!”
A loud clang reported sharply through the hall, silencing conversations and gossip alike. Lady Mollier put a hand on my shoulder. “The king arrives, child. Come this way.”
The crowd parted, its members arranging themselves in neat lines against the walls as the doors of the room swung wide to admit the royal procession. The king came first, dressed in formal robes of state, glittering with silver trim. Behind him came Saphritte, trying hard to seem as relaxed in a gown and on the arm of Prince Hauk as she did in the saddle. Her father might not have tormented her in the same way he did me, but him making her marry some walrus she didn’t care for made me hate the old man all the more.
As the noble threesome took their places at table, Saphritte to the king’s right and Hauk to his left, the rest of the throng glided quickly to their seats.
“You’re over there, dear, beside the princess,” Lady Mollier whispered as she and Mariel moved toward their own chairs.
At least I’d have the sturdy wall of Saphritte in between my body and the king’s.
* * *
IT’S EASY TO forget you’re sitting next to a king when there’s a fancy dinner to be had. Especially after you’ve had nothing but road grub in your belly for over a week. It seemed only fitting that my first proper meal at the palace should serve as inspiration fuel for mischief. It tasted even nicer as it was served by Gareth, who winked me a big wink as he laid the first dish.
I had to keep reminding myself of table manners as plate after plate of the most delicious food I’d ever had appeared in front of me. Creamy soup served in bowls made of sour, crusted bread. Dainty dishes of fruit ice. Rare and dripping roasted rabbit. It wasn’t till I tried to sip from a saucer with flower petals floating in that the princess gave me a crafty poke in the arm.
“That’s a finger bowl. For cleaning your hands.”
I brought it from my lips to see the rest of the table dipping their bejeweled fingers in theirs, then dabbing at their napkins. Shamed, I put it down on the table, hoping no one had seen.
Saphritte laughed. “You were enjoying yourself so much, I didn’t want to interrupt you, but rose water doesn’t taste all that good.”
The princess stole a glance at her father before leaning closer to my ear. “How are you feeling?”
“As well as I can be, ma’am,” I murmured, not wanting to be struck again by my cunning. It would’ve been a shame to empty my belly of all the lovely things I’d just put in.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
The table stewards were streaming in again, whisking away the finger bowls and replacing them with platters of cheese and grapes. I speared a bit of cheese with a long, thin fork and popped it in my mouth, stealing a glance down each end of the long table at the nobles picking at their own platters. I’d been so knuckled into my food, I’d not noticed the silent row of well-dressed men and women standing outside the golden glow of the feast.
“Beg your pardon, Highness, but who’re the folk behind the chairs?” I asked, reaching for another slice, dotted with red currants.
“Proctors. They manage estates when their masters are at court,” Saphritte explained through a mouthful of blue cheese. “They also take care of personal business between families at gatherings like this.”
My eyes drifted across the table to the man standing dutifully be
hind Lady Folque, waiting to be bid. He was wiry, with a neatly trimmed beard and lively, darting eyes, all dressed in the crimson of Folquemotte. Lady Folque herself was having an earnest talk with the young woman to her right, who so resembled her, they could have been cut from the same cloth. To her left sat a serious young man of the same complexion, who didn’t seem to have much appetite. He raked his fork through the cheeses on the platter without fixing on one.
“So, that fellow behind Lady Folque is her proctor?” I asked, popping a grape in my mouth.
“Yes,” the princess answered, her ill feelings writ clear on her face. “Maddock Beir. He’s almost as well respected as Lady Folque herself.”
“And the two she’s speaking with—are they her children?”
Saphritte shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Adalise and Borin.”
I shall retire to my estate, leaving my council seat to my daughter, Adalise. They already looked so alike, scarcely anyone would be able to tell the difference. My jaw with Lady Folque bit at my conscience like a flea. By all rights, I should have turned to the princess and spilled the whole tale. A plot to unseat the king was too big a burden for someone like me to bear. But then again, a small voice whispered in my head, Lady Folque wasn’t the one who took you from the orchard, was she? It shouldn’t have been a hard choice to make, but somehow, it was.
My belly now full, other worries besides treason began to creep back. As I passed the time in the beautiful banqueting hall, my brother was passing his in a miserable dungeon, not at all far away. And tomorrow morning, if I didn’t think of something, I’d be forced to betray Jon and my family. I didn’t have a lot of hope that being the brother of the Mayquin would keep him from the gibbet neither. I was so caught up in my own thinking, I didn’t notice the king rise from his chair until he called for quiet in the hall.
“My lords, my ladies, tonight we celebrate a great boon for the kingdom of Orstral. My daughter, though danger waylaid her not once, but twice, has delivered to us a most valuable gift.”
A polite round of applause swept through the room.
“Though none of her like have been seen for many generations, we rejoice in the return of a Mayquin—a heartseeker—to the service of the throne of Orstral. She has been tested to our satisfaction, and as we enter into this new era of cooperation with our Thorvald neighbors, I trust in her to keep both our person and our kingdom prosperous and safe from all who seek to do us harm.”
The stewards moved through with jugs to fill empty goblets. A familiar smell rose over the table, sweet and sour, plucking at my memories like a fiddle. I ducked my head so all those looking my way wouldn’t notice. The king intended to salute my health with Scrump.
One of the heralds, clad in a blue surcoat and standing stiffly behind the royal seat, called out loudly over the hall, “My lords and ladies, I pray you to be upstanding for the king’s salute!”
The moan of chair legs scraping the floor and the swish of velvet and satin filled the room. The bases of cups rang as they were lifted from the table. I wasn’t sure if I was meant to stand as well, so my backside stayed glued to the chair while the members of the court towered above me.
All but one, that is.
Across from the king, Theodorus Heyman sat glowering, his arms crossed over his chest.
“My lord curate”—Saphritte’s voice was velvet with an iron rod through it—“perhaps you didn’t notice, but His Majesty is about to salute the Mayquin. Has your glass been charged?”
The curate harrumphed and narrowed his eyes in a challenge. “I will not drink, Highness, I pray you pardon me.”
The king cleared his throat. “Theodorus, the demonstration this morning has closed the book on this matter.”
“As I said this morning, one cannot close the book upon a threat like this at the heart of our nation!” roared the rector, pounding the table with his fist. Glass and silverware rang like chimes, startling the standing nobles. How was the puffed-up partridge allowed to speak to the king in such a way? And in front of the whole court?
Saphritte obviously felt the same way. “This is neither the time nor the place, Lord Curate!” she insisted, using the same tone she did with the cavalry. It would have sent most folk scurrying, but the rector was not moved.
“I have been silenced in every other time and place. I’ve expressed my fears to the council and have been shouted down. I have been bid to hold my tongue behind the lectern. But, by the Mother, I will be silent no more!” He heaved himself out of his chair, his face near as red as Master Anslo’s, and pointed a thick finger at me. “That has no place in Bellskeep!”
I’d been called all manner of things by Jon and Ether, some not repeatable in polite company, but never that. I shrank back in my chair.
“She is a child, my lord!” Lady Mollier’s voice rang out across the table. “It’s a small man indeed who sees disaster in the face of innocence.”
There was some tittering round the room. The curate’s face grew redder still. “There is no innocence in this, lady! Augury has been embraced to the bosom of the kingdom! I have seen it with my own eyes!”
“My lord curate—” the king began, less patient than before, but the rector had well and true gone over the garden fence.
“In these times, when the savages of the rivers lead attacks upon us, we bring one with the same deviances to our city to be our savior? No, Majesty, I will not drink to the health of such a creature! I would sooner see its wickedness drowned at the bottom of a well!”
Or at the bottom of the River? I thought, a cold hand gripping my heart.
A protest rose up around the table. “How dare you call yourself a servant of the Mother,” bellowed Saphritte. “Though I’m not a rector, I’m fairly certain of my understanding of the testaments when they say, ‘Do no harm to each other, for harm to one is harm to all.’”
“As you say, Highness, you are not a rector. If you were, you would see that bringing this vessel of augury into the palace does harm us all!” The curate pushed back his chair. “I beg the pardon of Your Majesty, but I will tarry here no longer. I fear it is the company and not the food that shall give me gutsache!” In a great swirl of vestments, Theodorus Heyman marched defiantly from his place at the table. The acolyte who’d been standing in place of a proctor was forced to scramble on his robe hems to keep up.
A swell of chatter rose up in the wake of the curate’s exit. Saphritte still stood, trembling with anger.
The king’s voice soared above the din. “My friends, please, let us not dwell on unpleasant divisions! I pray you, raise your glasses.” He lofted his great goblet, glittering with sapphires. “To Orstral. To the Mayquin!”
“To Orstral. To the Mayquin,” echoed the hall. I couldn’t help but notice some of the cups never touched the lips of them that raised them.
“Now, if you please, my lords, my ladies, seat yourselves. Eat, drink, and enjoy. I leave you in the capable hands of my daughter and near son-in-law. My good councilors, I would have your ears awhile.”
The court sank to bows and curtsies as the king scooted his own gilded chair back. Saphritte tried to stay him, keen to have a word, but he shook her off. The four council members mumbled apologies to their guests and hastily followed. Across the table from me, Adalise Folque watched her mother go, as her brother stared pointedly at Saphritte and at Hauk, who’d come to take her arm. I might’ve been imagining it, but I thought I noticed the princess meet Borin’s gaze for just a moment before turning a strained but charming smile on a small, elderly lord.
In the autumn, when spiders began spinning in the trees of the orchard, I loved to watch them work—from the messy anchors they put in place, to the neat spirals in the middle. I was entirely surprised to find that my brain was weaving a web of its own out of bits of the evening. Out of Gareth and Lark. Out of dinner, and most important, out of the curate’s “gutsache.”
I felt I owed the old loudmouth the teensiest bit of thanks.
He’d given me an idea.
28
The herbery was dark after the glittering light of the banqueting hall. A few night lanterns burned on the walls, casting twisty shadows on the carved ceiling vines, but the room itself was empty. The cheerful space of the afternoon had become a forbidding cave of gloom and strange smells.
“You sure on this?” Lark whispered, her toes just barely poking over the threshold of the door.
“Sure as I can be,” I answered, trying to remember the lay of the place in the light. “Can you think of any other way to get a whole watch of soldiers out of the way long enough?”
She shook her head. “Just wish we had a little more time, that’s all.”
The feast had gone on ages longer than I’d hoped after the curate threw his toys out of the crib. In the confusion, I’d pulled out a messy strand of hair and snagged a busy Gareth to send for Lark to fix it. In the few moments she and I had together, I’d painted a quick picture of my notion and then left to rejoin the gathering and make my apologies. But no sooner was I in the door than I got waylaid by Saphritte, who wanted me to do my curtsies to some two dozen or so lords, ladies, and Thorvald nobility. As she steered me round, I got the notion she was looking for an excuse to give Prince Hauk—her husband-to-be—the slip. The party from Thorvald had taken over a corner of the hall and were singing loud drinking songs. By the time I managed to leave, it was already first bell. I just had time to hike up my gown and hightail it back to my chambers. Lark had managed to lay her hands on the stable breeches I’d traveled in and the frayed cloak from Master Wickham’s farm, but I felt colder in them than I ever had on the road. It wasn’t the weather I was trying to keep out this time; it was the fear that any moment, the whole desperate plan I’d stitched together would come unraveled. It came down to one stitch in particular.
Heartseeker Page 23