by SL Figuhr
“If the palace is not agreeable, I believe the Silver Thorn still has some rooms, or you could beg for lodging at the duchess's. She is a good friend of my father and me, and is equally concerned with the well-being of those living here. If you tell her I sent you, she will provide housing for you and your brother until events calm down.”
Not bloody likely a powerful female such as she would want another single, free born young woman around all the time. I'd be looked at as competition, she thought with a quick scowl, having known a few two-faced, catty bitches before. The inn he mentioned was still out of her price range.
“It can’t hurt to ask; she is not as mean as some make her out to be. If it weren't for family problems, I would invite you to stay here. Unfortunately, they prevent me from extending the hospitality of my family’s home.” He bowed to her, then opened the door and stood aside as the two homeless made to leave.
The young woman paused in front of him, “Thank you, my lord. I will keep your counsel in mind.”
He smiled at her. She felt a different kind of flutter now, but squashed it and quickly exited the building. Once outside, the sharp, icy wind buffeted brother and sister, instantly sapping the warmth from their bodies. Hilel sniffled, whimpering in discomfort, and pressed tight against her side as they descended the mansion’s front stairs to the street. She turned right, down the steep incline, and tried not to slip on the treacherous, ice-covered stones. By the time they crept within sight of the Silver Thorn and the bridge, snow fell relentlessly and the wind howled past. An early dusk settled over the land from black storm clouds. The cold made any idea of trying to find another decent, affordable inn seem an insurmountable task.
“Raina! Carry me! I can’t walk! My feet burn. I’m so sleepy.”
She just wanted to cry; she also shivered violently. Raina almost walked into the cold stone wall, blinded by the sudden blizzard. With a groan, she hefted up her brother, who didn't seem to have the strength to wrap his arms around her. They and his legs dangled. He felt like dead weight, and only moaned when she tried to speak to him.
“Hilel!” she screamed in his ear. “Wake up! Don’t sleep! Please!”
Tears froze on her cheeks as she tried jouncing him and nearly lost her grip. Raina tried to redistribute his weight, causing him to slip from her arms and drop onto the new layer of snowfall.
Fruitlessly she tried to rouse him, and when that seemed impossible, to pick him back up, the ice underneath causing her to slip and slid and crash down beside him.
“Help! Someone! Please help!” She tried to shout, words whipping away in a shrieking wind.
Tears and snot covered her face in a thin crust. She managed to turn Hilel onto his back and get herself onto hands and knees, then stood.
Reaching down, Raina snagged her brother under his armpits, and attempted to drag him along the wall; there had to be a gate somewhere. She almost passed it, except one of the iron hinges snagged her cloak and ripped it, letting her know it was there. She pounded, kicked, and shouted as hard and loud as she could. She was ready to give up when one side creaked open and two massive men looked out at her.
The sight of them would usually have sent frissons of fear and panic throughout her, but she forced them down. Now was not the time to give in to her emotions, not with her brother's life in danger. They shouted at her, but the wind made it impossible to understand. One came over and picked up her limp, snow-crusted brother while the other beckoned to her. Once inside, old crumbling buildings cut out some of the wind as a third slave shut the gate. She followed the man carrying her brother as he brought her down the frozen mud drive and around a small house. Immediately the wind slammed into them, causing the party to stagger against the buffets toward a door. Raina had a brief glimpse between swirling, driving snow, of the town sitting far below.
The slave led his charges inside a cramped kitchen, where a woman even younger than Raina with frightened, wide eyes and the demeanor of a rabbit shut the door, the sound of the storm instantly muffled.
A fat cook barely looked up from his chopping. “Don’t just stand there, girl! Go and get Susafan and inform your mistress.”
The girl scurried off, flinching at each word.
“Best lay the boy in our sitting room by the fire. Thaw him out. Looks half dead to me,” the cook replied unhurriedly, dumping his work in a pot. “I’ll send in something hot.” He set the pot on a hook over the fireplace and moved toward a pump and basin.
“Follow me,” the guard slave replied in a deep bass voice.
She had no choice; now that it seemed she and her brother were safe for the moment, she felt all her senses dulling. The slaves’ sitting room turned out to be surprisingly comfortable and cozy. A cheerful fire crackled in the iron screened hearth, radiating warmth. A wealth of oil lamps lent a rich glow, dispelling any gloom. Hilel was laid down on a couch near the fire, the sudden warmth a shock.
“He can’t stay in his wet clothes,” Raina stated with determination, expecting an argument of some sort.
“Then you’d better get ’im out of ’em, shouldn’t you?” the man replied as he walked toward and out the door.
“What . . . I need something to wrap him in!” she called after, without receiving a reply. “Asshole,” she muttered and wiped at the thawing snot and tears on her face.
She took off her cloak, snow falling in piles on a braided reed rug, and worked on her brother's clothes. A knock on the open door announced a middle-aged slave woman.
“Hello. I am Susafan, Her Grace’s body slave. Mary Elana told me about the two of you.”
She clucked her tongue, shaking her head, her gray-shot brown hair in a coiled braid at the back of her head. She shut the door with one hand and advanced, kneeling beside the boy.
The body slave placed a pile of what looked like towels and blankets next to her.
“Let me. You should get out of your things, too—don’t want to end up sick from cold,” she commanded in a warm, yet firm tone.
Deftly, quickly, her work-roughened hands peeled Hilel out of his soaked, snow-crusted clothes and shoes, wrapping him snugly in blankets after drying him off. She turned her attentions toward Raina.
“Well, come on. Hurry up.” Her tone brooked no nonsense.
Raina complied, thinking the woman had a gleam in her eyes which might soon precede her doing the job. Susafan handed towels over, and worked on drying the woman’s hair herself as Raina dried herself off. The slave used the last of the blankets to wrap around her, and sat her down on a couch opposite her brother’s. A knock came on the door, the slave calling out to enter.
Rabbit, who must be the one Susafan called Mary Elana, carried wooden buckets over and set them down where indicated. The slave tested the temperature, nodding in satisfaction.
“Put your feet in; thaw them out before you lose your toes. Wouldn’t hurt to stick your hands in, either,” she replied critically, eyeing Raina’s blanched extremities.
Blushing furiously at being treated as if she were a child again, the young woman did as bid. The hot water made her moan as pain tingled almost unbearably throughout her feet and hands. Susafan had gone around back of the couch and was now brushing out Raina’s long, chestnut hair.
“What exactly was a young lady such as yourself doing out in such nasty weather? Don’t you know how foolish it was? You nearly died, and your brother as well.”
A sudden surge of rage had her snapping, “There would have been no need for us to be searching for new lodgings if it weren't for this cursed town and the wretches inhabiting it.”
There was no reply, only the occasional tug as snarls were brushed out. She felt the woman's hands beginning to braid her hair.
“You speak well. Not a slave,” the older lady mused. “A coddled daughter of a rich merchant?”
“No,” Raina gritted out. “Who I was is of no importance. Not anymore, and especially not here.”
Another cluck of disapproval came from Susafan. She walke
d around to face the woman, finished with braiding. “A word of caution, young mistress. Those who reside in this house will neither cause nor bring harm to you or your brother. Her Grace will not allow it. She will, however, expect answers to her questions in exchange for her hospitality. I suggest you speak truthfully with her, ere you come to regret any duplicity later.”
The slave gathered up their wet clothes and shoes and crossed the room, opening the door and saying before she left, “Cook will have a hot meal brought in for you both. When you have warmed up, eaten, and your things are dry, I will take you to Her Grace.”
Raina sat, scowling at the closed door, lips compressed.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Raina hurried across a palace courtyard, the clack and clatter of wood all around. She paused briefly, seeing orphaned young boys and a few girls playing with wooden swords and shields. Others scrambled over and around the piles of snow. She knew her brother was one of the groups pretending to be soldiers, and just hoped he behaved himself. After watching a few minutes, she turned, shifting the bulky stack of accounts in her arms before continuing on. Raina passed through halls and rooms, each guarded, even if not in active use. She came at last to the great doors leading into the council chamber. The guards opened them for her, allowing passage. The young woman noticed His Majesty in attendance. She made a deep curtsey to him, noting he ignored her obeisance. As Raina retreated the correct distance—for it would not do to immediately present her back to the king—she noted his rumpled robes of state and general unkempt air. She also caught a whiff of alcohol.
The young woman approached the council table, a noble in each seat, with Her Grace, newly appointed royal advisor to the king, seated at the head of the table which was stacked high with scrolls, wax and clay tablets. Standing behind her was a man with dark hair and eyes. His gaze swiftly but effectively sized her up before returning to watching the rest of the gathering. Merchants and craftspeople crowded the large space, making it seem smaller than it really was. Men and a few women argued with her, while several copyists sitting to the sides scribbled furiously to record every word, listening in fascination.
“You cannot do such a thing! It’s bad enough those women are aping the men, but to demand that! No, I will not stand for it,” one of the wine merchants bellowed.
“Even Lord Nicky, bastard he was, knew what a woman’s place is.”
“Gentlemen, are you perhaps forgetting recent events? We have lost many people, including men, to the weather and the bandits. We must have replacements if the town means to survive. We cannot wait until spring and hope for travelers. My proposal is very simple: those who want to learn will be given the chance. If you don't want your own kin involved, by all means, forbid them from partaking.”
“No, it’s a dangerous precedent you are setting. What will male newcomers with the required skills do when it is found a woman does male work?” another outraged male demanded.
“I am sure some of the women will be glad to give up their new, temporary roles when the day comes. Remember, all that I do and implement is not permanent, but merely a way to get us through hard times.”
“I still don’t like it.” Almost every person present supported the complaint, adding to it.
The noise swelled, and for a moment it seemed a riot would break out, but a furious pounding of a staff, and Aranthus’s continuous calls for silence kept actual violence at bay. Those present didn’t stop their arguing until they noticed the palace guard tossing people away from the crowd and clubbing them, at which point, all present realized the king was screaming at them.
“Traitors! How dare you?! How dare you disagree with my chosen advisor? I will have you hanged. I will strip you of titles and wealth. Treasonous fiends.” His Majesty frothed about the mouth, spittle flying, face mottled purple and red from the force of his shouting.
Raina saw how the people quickly quieted while debasing themselves toward the king. Eventually, he leaned back in his throne, motioning them to continue, his enraged stare and clenched fists keeping order as his people turned back to the discussion.
The duchess inclined her head regally toward Maceanas, a smile of thanks pulling her lips up, to which he gave a curt nod in return. Raina caught the swift smirk which crossed the face of the man behind her chair before his expression turned neutral again.
Her melodious voice brooked no disagreements. “Your objections are noted, but we will continue. We have no other choice. We must adapt and change where necessary; otherwise, we may as well abandon the town instead of clinging to the way things were done and slowly dying. Sir Dalton, have you any more word on the remnants of the royal army?”
“No, Duchess. After going through the records, and asking about, I have come to the conclusion there are none and have been for some time.”
A new round of voices rose at his revelation.
“Unacceptable! We cannot be unguarded! We barely have a sheriff’s office.”
“And the palace guards are tied up with His Majesty's delusions of assassins creeping about the palace.” A few people forgot themselves and called out, only realizing their mistake when said guards grabbed hold of them and hauled them, some desperately apologizing or protesting, to the dungeons.
“We could hire mercenaries . . .” her grace suggested blandly, no hint on her face the forcible removals caused her worry, “or convince the bandits . . .”
The protests became even more vigorous until she let the subject, and a few more townspeople carted off, go.
“Sir Dalton, it would be an immense kindness if you could discover where the army has gone off to. Surely some are still alive, hopefully not all in hiding. We do need protection, since the bandits are only going to increase their bold attacks as winter continues. We need to re-form the army. Sir Dalton, I expect you to take inventory of the armory, and come up with some suggestions for achieving the goal.”
He huffed and chewed one end of his luxurious white mustache. “I shall try.”
“There is no ‘try.’ You will do as bid or I shall find another who is willing,” Her Grace snapped out.
Raina continued sorting out her load on a small side table, keeping her head down as she eavesdropped and waited for her turn. Her eyes burned from hours staring at numbers, hands cramped from holding a quill, back aching with long hours sat hunched over a desk. After a few more minutes, the room emptied as the people, grumbling among themselves, left to start the tasks they’d been assigned. The young woman realized His Majesty and the guards had also taken their leave.
“Your Grace,” Raina curtsied.
“Yes, Raina. What has your investigation discovered?”
The young woman held out several thick scrolls. “Here is the census, along with those declared dead from the recent attacks. The second scroll is everyone asking for food and shelter. As for the rest: the royal storehouses have been severely depleted. What was supposed to be inside isn’t. The only explanation I can find is both of the main men in charge stole what they could and sold it for profit, which they must have pocketed. If no more people show up begging for shelter, we will have enough to last us through the winter.”
“Come spring?”
“No, Your Grace. Not unless ships come bearing supplies.”
“The royal treasury? Does it have the funds should such an event happen?”
The young woman hesitated a moment, fear fluttering in her stomach, but so far the duchess had shown herself to be understanding and didn’t blame those for things which were not their fault. “I am not sure; the way the numbers are adding up now, only if we put the building off. I have a lot of work left to do, and the records are confusing and misleading.”
She understood immediately what Raina referred to. “Keeping a second set of numbers has been a time-tested method of stealing funds. I shall speak with the head of the treasury and determine who is behind the problem.” She held her hand out for the scrolls. “Has Aranthus passed on the state of the kitchen stores?”
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“Yes, Your Grace.” She waited while the duchess read, before passing over the rest of the material.
The young woman did her best to conceal a yawn behind her hand and not fidget. It was hard, the only sounds in the room crackling from the fireplace and scrolls being opened and rerolled. Raina felt unease prickle along her skin, though she could not say why. Despite this, she felt herself nodding off, only to jerk awake and stumble awkwardly.
“Thank you, Raina. Get some sleep. You are of no use tired.”
The dismissal was plain. She curtsied again and left the room. Once outside, the anxiety she felt lessened with each step she took away from the council room, a feeling she would usually stop and examine, but exhaustion rolled over her mind, making thinking and staying awake an effort. Raina knew she needed a quick nap after checking on her brother.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The king paced inside his royal suite of rooms, his continuous state of inebriation momentarily swept away by events in the council chamber. While walking back to his suite, he heard the voices of mobs in the shrieking wind, the swish and clatter of ice, bandits trying to force their way inside the royal palace. Maceanas’s thoughts so unnerved him he broke into a run, and entered his chambers to the sound of his personal guards clinking and clanking behind him. In his paranoia, he forgot who they were and what they did. The men turned into an invading army chasing him down, intent on killing him. The guards before the royal suite’s doors saw the panic on their Sire’s face, which accompanied his mad screams to be saved as he hurtled inside the room.
Aranthus and the trailing guard stopped before the closed doors and confused men before them, winded from their run through the corridors.
“Halt! What business have you?” they demanded.
“Have you gone as mad as His Majesty?” The chamberlain berated them between heaving gulps for air.
The two guards’ faces showed uncertainty, but they did not uncross their pikes to allow access.