As far as Midnight and Runner racing toward the stables—that's what I'd meant for them to do when I'd instructed them to run. They'd followed my command perfectly. Amlis and Rodrik were both experienced riders, and I'm sure they were shocked that their mounts had run away with them, as much as they'd tried to stop the reckless gallop through the streets of Lironis. Ten would-be assassins had been left empty-handed—there would be no terrible news to cry through the streets come daybreak.
As frozen as I was, I went to Runner and Midnight both, stroking foreheads gently before going with Rodrik to the palace. Both horses knew of my gratitude before I left them, and both were willing to do it again if I asked.
* * *
Amlis was just as bleary-eyed when he rose as if he'd done what his older brother believed—spent the night in a brothel. Timblor teased him over it, too, at breakfast. Brin poured tea for Timblor and cut his meat, tasting it before serving it to the Heir.
Amlis had to resort to asking a servant to do the same—I would not touch the ham that lay on his plate for anything. I, too, felt the effects of a long night and short sleep, but I forced myself to pay attention as Timblor made his brother the butt of his jokes.
"We were to hunt today, brother. You should be thankful the snow is preventing it. I fear you would have made a poor showing; Runner would have left you behind, I think."
Rodrik grimaced at Timblor's words as he cut into his own breakfast, but as Amlis' man-at-arms, Timblor paid him little mind. In truth, I worried that Timblor's remark was a dig at Amlis for Runner's apparent waywardness the night before, and Amlis' failure to keep the horse in hand.
Was Timblor having his brother watched? I suspected several of being behind the thwarted ambush, but Timblor didn't have the sense to be so devious. Amlis wisely kept his silence and continued to eat.
A knock came on Amlis' door later in the day, while Amlis was sleeping extra hours and Rodrik was at blade practice with some of the twelve men who'd traveled with the Prince from Vhrist. Schooling my face to hide my reluctance to allow Yevil into the Prince's suite, I motioned for him to make himself comfortable and offered wine from a carafe before knocking on the Prince's bedroom door. Yevil refused wine but studied me beneath hooded eyes as I went through the motions.
"What is it, Finder?" Amlis muttered as I peered timidly inside his bedroom door. The window drapes shut out most of the light, leaving the room in near darkness. I pointed behind me, hoping that Amlis would determine that he had a guest. There was no way I'd send Yevil Orklis away; the man held too much power, and I'd seen him kill in the past.
"Ah, Lord Orklis," Amlis didn't pretend that he'd not been sleeping, letting the King's right hand know immediately by politely covering a yawn. "What might I do for you?" Amlis added carelessly, as if Yevil held no importance at all.
"Your father requests your presence at the table tonight," Yevil replied stiffly, the same vein I'd witnessed before throbbing in his neck. He was angry—no doubt about that. I wondered briefly if Yevil thought to have the same importance he now held when Timblor took the throne, but squelched that thought quickly before my talent kicked in and let me know exactly how things could be. A two-edged sword, my talent sometimes was, often revealing things I'd rather not know.
"Of course I will come," Amlis nodded to Yevil, never once taking his eyes away from the King's assassin. I imagined that Yevil had been somewhere in the mix the night before, whether he'd planned the ambush or not.
"I will inform the King." Yevil couldn't get away from Amlis fast enough, leaving the door to the suite open behind him. I closed it quietly after listening for Yevil's fading footsteps down the lengthy hall.
"Have you wondered about the suite across the hall?" Amlis stifled another yawn as he lifted an egg-shaped sculpture from a delicate table just inside his door. The egg looked to be made of green marble, a precious commodity in Fyris. Little of it was found on the small continent—I'd read that in one of my books. I shrugged slightly at Amlis' question.
"You make me want to laugh, your reactions are so neutral," Amlis actually smiled and set the egg down again. "Come. We'll visit my mother's old suite. Nirok will return later today; he has two of your uniforms ready—one regular and one dress, with a few other necessities. In the meantime, we'll explore a little, eh?"
I followed Amlis as he left his suite, crossing to the door directly opposite. "I've not been here since I was five turns old," Amlis mused as he walked toward the back of a massive, darkened suite. Dust was raised as he jerked window coverings back, revealing a huge window. "I'll instruct the maids to clean," he said after his sneezing fit was over.
Light now filled the suite and we found ourselves inside what was once a well-appointed receiving room, with settees and chairs scattered about, along with tables and other necessities required for entertaining. Most of it was sheet-draped, and I might have given anything in my earlier life to have those sheets to lie on at night, instead of patched and worn castoffs. As aged as they were, none bore a hole or stain anywhere.
"My mother used to sit here, and I would crawl onto her lap while she was drinking tea and entertaining her friends," Amlis rambled, his eyes unfocused with memory as he touched the top of a sheet-draped chair. "They're all dead, now, those friends." He sounded troubled over that. "Timblor and I would tussle on her bed, too, but we'll explore that on another day." Amlis was done with his memory trip and heading for the door while I fell in behind him. "I'll have the maids come," he repeated and shut the door once we were both out.
* * *
"Serve the wine on the left, and if Amlis desires anything, you will get it promptly, do you hear?" I was getting a lesson from the King's personal servant. I nodded vigorously; Etlund, a tall and exceedingly thin man, seemed to demand that reaction to his instruction. "Otherwise, you will stand at his left elbow and keep your eyes straight ahead, do you hear?" Of course I heard. He spoke loudly, too, as if my mute condition indicated poor hearing as well. Vigorous nodding followed his question.
"Very well. Perform poorly and you will be beaten, do you hear?"
* * *
"That mouth has never been kissed, brother," Timblor drew back his bow and let loose the arrow. It thwacked into the target forcefully, very near the center. Timblor, restless after the cancelled hunt, had dragged Amlis to the practice range inside the single-story guards' quarters below the gate.
"Why are you speaking of my page in this manner?" Amlis drew back his own bow, prudently aiming just to the left of Timblor's arrow before releasing the bowstring.
"Is that all she is? A page?" Timblor's voice held disbelief.
"You know Father and Mother have someone selected for me already. I am not the heir and an alliance with Firith will ensure that Lironis never wants for wine or fine cheeses. Father is most enthusiastic over the match, as you recall."
"So, you'd rather ride to a brothel in the freezing cold when you have something readily at hand?"
"Yes. Why is this so hard for you, brother?" Amlis glanced at Timblor. "She is inexperienced—you said so yourself. Why waste time in the teaching, when the well-taught is not far away?"
"I see your point," Timblor said, taking aim again. "Fifty gold pieces says I hit the center this time."
"Done," Amlis nodded. Timblor released the arrow.
* * *
Dinner that evening was a sore trial, and placed me in much trouble. Amlis sat at Tamblin's left while Timblor took the Heir's position at the King's right. Yevil sat past that, scowling while his own servant offered wine. Hirill and seven others, all members of Tamblin's inner circle, were scattered down the long table. A few had wives or lovers at their elbow and personal servants cared for both.
Amlis' plate was poisoned, but he was served the same as the King. No suspicion would be cast, once the King's personal servant tasted the veal in an elaborate sauce. Even if there were a cry raised, Wolter and the kitchen staff would bear the blame.
Even though Wolter had beaten
me often enough when I was small, I preferred that his head remain on his shoulders. Bumping Amlis' shoulder as I reached in to pour wine (he was about to cut into the meat) I deliberately dropped the wine flagon on the edge of his plate, upending most of its contents in the Prince's lap.
Yes, the blows he delivered to my head and shoulders amid laughs and encouragement from others at the table were expected, but these wounded more than any blows had ever done.
Steeling my heart after cleaning up the plate (which lay face down on the floor) and clearing away the poisoned meat lying on the table, I took it away.
Wolter stared at me in surprise when I carried the Prince's plate into the kitchen, after which he eyed the wrecked meat with a lift to his eyebrow.
"Not fit?" he asked. I shook my head.
"Then it won't go to the dogs," he sighed. I nodded vigorously. I watched as he prepared a second plate and I carried it back to the Prince, who was now dressed in fresh clothing—I'd ruined the formal jacket he'd worn before.
It was a shame; Amlis looked quite good in the blue with red piping. His blows and shouts I felt, still, and refused to look at him, pulling on my right earlobe instead. He failed to notice, Etlund tasted Amlis' second plate, pronounced it fit and the dinner resumed.
Had I thought the evening over? I was very wrong. Meekly following Amlis as he strode angrily toward his suite, I took his jacket and removed his boots when the knock came. Setting the boots aside for the moment, I went to answer the door. Timblor had come, bearing a bottle of wine.
"I just wanted to sit and enjoy the beating," Timblor grinned and held up two delicate wineglasses in one hand, the wine bottle in the other.
I stared at the fragile, blue-tinted wineglasses Timblor carried—glass that thin was nearly unheard of and according to kitchen gossip, there were no artisans remaining in Fyris who could create it. What Timblor held carelessly in his fingers was worth a fortune.
"Rodrik hasn't returned yet," Amlis' expression was sour.
"Ah. Well, we'll drink and wait together." I blinked at Amlis, working to school my face. Had Amlis intended to have me beaten a second time, or was Timblor forcing his hand? Regardless, Rodrik would now deliver blows, and I would learn unwillingly enough how heavy his hand might be.
Quite heavy, as it turned out. Rodrik hadn't been privy to any of the evening's events, so Timblor informed him, ridiculing me and exaggerating my actions, making it sound as if a carnival of performers had left Amlis' jacket ruined and his dinner strewn across the King's dining hall. Rodrik had taken his riding crop to me after that, and several blows had landed on my face and at the back of my neck, leaving red welts and purple bruises behind, which ached. A few of them bled as well.
When he was finished with me, I pulled myself from the floor where I'd fallen and went to put the Prince's boots away while Timblor drank and laughed at my retreating back. Tears would be useless, as they generally evoked more laughter and ridicule, but I wanted to cry them anyway as I finished my duties for the evening.
* * *
"I wanted to tell you myself, as the physician has declared it was her heart giving out on her at last," Chen offered the plate of cakes to Amlis the following afternoon. "Wolter set aside the plate of veal you'd been served after Finder brought it back to the kitchen. He was going to dispose of it, since Finder let him know in the way she has that he shouldn't feed it to the dogs. While Wolter's back was turned, Irdith ate a portion of the meat—you know kitchen help seldom gets to taste veal. Two candles later, Irdith was dead in her chair beside the fire. Wolter left her there and went about his business."
"The plate was poisoned," Amlis rubbed his forehead in frustration. "And then Timblor came last night, forcing me to have Rodrik beat the girl nearly senseless. And this after I'd already hit her in the dining hall. She's in my mother's suite this morning, helping the maids dust and clean as part of her punishment."
"I don't know what else you could do, my Prince. Had you held back, they might suspect that she is a bargaining chip and bring their own harm against her to get to you."
"You think I don't realize that?" Amlis rose from the seat behind his desk and walked to the window. At least the weather was relenting and snow was melting on the ground two floors below, making a muddy mess of the courtyard.
"It's this way, always," Chen sighed. "She won't meet your eyes from here on out, so don't expect it unless it's ordered. Wolter didn't notice it for the longest time, and now he harbors regrets."
"Did he know how beautiful she is?" Amlis turned away from the window to ask.
"No. And honestly, neither did I. She kept herself covered in ash and soot. We never looked past that."
"Rodrik hasn't spoken to me since," Amlis muttered, staring out the window again. "It's as if I've had both beaten."
"Life happens as it will, my Prince," Chen whispered. "I must go."
* * *
Muscles in my back and arms ached as I rolled up the heavy rug, preparing it for transport to the back garden where it would be hung by menservants and beaten to get the dust out. Maids laughed and gossiped around me, but I was mired in my own misery and ignored most of it.
I did not take comfort in Irdith's death, although it was deserved and long past due. How can I explain that? The answer is simply that I cannot. If I were offered a riding whip and the opportunity to hit both Amlis and Rodrik, I could not. The whip would be tossed away and I would take my leave.
Rumblings had begun in my head, however, over why I stayed and accepted abuse. Perhaps it was because there was no other place to take me, where I would not be in just as much danger.
"Finder, come." Rodrik was inside Amlis' suite when my day of cleaning the Queen's old quarters was over. I stared deliberately at his chin—he'd beaten me. I would never search his eyes again. I would know everything I needed to know without it. His riding crop was in his hand and truly, I expected a second beating wherever he was taking me. That, as it turns out, was the stables.
Garth waited there, with a tub filled with hot water inside the stablemaster's quarters, located at the rear of the lengthy building. A fresh uniform waited for me as well, draped over a wooden chair, scraped and scarred from many turns' use.
"Clean up," Rodrik commanded. "Garth will put salve on the wounds afterward." Rodrik stalked out, leaving me with a puzzled Garth.
"I'll step outside," Garth offered. Giving him a curt nod, I waited until he was gone before removing my clothing. My neck had ached all day, and when I'd rubbed it, my hand had come away bloodied. Rodrik had broken skin in several places, leaving crusted blood behind.
I'd washed as much of it away as I could that morning, but cleaning the Queen's suite had broken the wounds open again and in places, my clothing had to be painfully peeled away. My back and neck were the worst—I wanted to moan as I forced the fabric away from my body.
Lowering my frame into the tub came next, and it was nearly as painful as removing my uniform. A brush was provided to wash my back, and I was forced to wash the brush, afterward, as the bristles were bloody when I finished with it. The towel was wrapped about me when Garth knocked, and he came in with a pot of salve.
He had no words as he rubbed salve into the back of my neck first, and the medicine stung so badly it brought tears to my eyes. My talent informed me it was the same he used for the horses, but I was a worthless servant after all, and a horse would bring more at market.
Garth pulled the towel lower to get to my back and drew in a gasp. Fingering the bone spurs that reappeared every turn, he rose and walked away. Without a doubt, I knew he was going to Rodrik with the information. I had no choice but to bear the scrutiny of both men as they examined my back. Whimpering would not help me, but I wished to do it anyway.
"Wolter called them bone spurs," Rodrik muttered and I nearly collapsed with relief. "But after seeing them," Rodrik didn't finish and I stiffened again. "Never mind. It's normal for her, or so I understand. Finish up and I'll get her back to the palace
." Rodrik stalked out again.
* * *
Nirok and his granddaughter were waiting inside Amlis' suite when we returned. My head was down and I watched Rodrik's boots carefully as we'd made our way from the stable to the palace. Futilely, I wished I were back in the kitchen; with Irdith dead, perhaps my life there might ease a bit.
Instead, I was forced to try on two uniforms, both in Amlis' blue. The dress uniform had red piping, patterned after his formal and much more expensive clothing. Mine was fashioned of plain cloth, whereas his was fine velvets or linens.
"These are for you—to wear beneath the uniforms," Nirok's granddaughter had pulled me into my tiny bedroom and offered me underthings. I'd never had any before; they were for better and higher born. Maid's gossip had informed me of the existence of such, and often boasted that this benefactor or that had made a gift of it.
"It will keep your uniforms cleaner and fresher when you wear it," she coaxed, until I relented and pulled off my clothing to try on the delicate chemise and underwear. Six sets had been brought to me, and I was instructed to change every day and have the soiled ones laundered after a single use. Shrugging at the girl, who'd gasped at the wounds across my back when they were revealed, I kept the first set of underthings on and climbed back into my uniform.
* * *
"Finder," Amlis tapped a finger on his desk uncomfortably after Nirok and his granddaughter had taken their leave. "I understand now that you were only keeping me from harm." I stared at my feet. Rodrik, too, was inside the Prince's study, watching both of us carefully.
"I want to offer this to you." Amlis pulled a gray leather pouch from a desk drawer and set it before me. It chinked when he settled it on the edge of his desk, and I realized it held coins. Many, if my guess was correct.
Had I chosen to speak at that moment, I'd have told him that no coins could buy his life from those who wished to take it, and no amount of money would ever remove the memory of his or Rodrik's beatings. Risking another beating, I turned angrily and stalked out of his study, slamming the door behind me.
Finder: First Ordinance, Book One Page 4