Sleep evaded me that night and I was wary as a stray cat as I went through my assignments the following day. The other four chambermaids, all having seniority, elected me to clean Amlis' chamber. Therefore, I watched carefully for Mirisa, waiting until she and Beatris walked out with Rodrik for some air before ghosting into Amlis' chamber to clean it and make up his bed. I did not expect to find Amlis at his desk inside his study, and he startled me when I stepped inside it to dust.
"She's out." He dipped a quill into an inkbottle and scratched across parchment. As I already knew that, I didn't even bother to nod, setting about dusting his bookshelves as quickly as possible. I also banked the fire in his fireplace, set out fresh towels beside his pitcher and basin and made up his bed.
He had fresh sheets already and Omina only wanted those changed weekly, so I was spared from spending extra time in his suite. I think his chamber was cleaned in record time and I was out and down the hall in another room before Mirisa returned to the family wing.
Her chamber was between Omina's and Beatris', on the opposite end of a long hall from that of Amlis and Rodrik. At least Beatris cared not that I also cleaned Rodrik's chamber, and he did not appear while I worked, which was much appreciated.
My first week went exactly the same, as I put off Amlis' chamber until Mirisa was absent, then cleaned it as quickly as I could, making sure that all was done and to his and his mother's satisfaction before moving on to Rodrik's and healer Farin's. The trip to Sofi's tailor shop came on my off day and I nearly skipped out of the palace, I was so glad to get away from the worry and burden of it. Sofi had my three pairs of trousers waiting, but there was something else waiting as well.
"You did so well by Yissy," Sofi tossed out a hand as I stared at the three who waited inside her shop. A pregnant woman, a sailor and an elderly man sat on chairs Sofi had scrounged from somewhere. Casting an angry and hurt look at Sofi, who'd obviously broadcast what she thought she knew, I went to the pregnant woman first.
Yissy, looking much better than she had, shuffled in and watched in a curious way as I put my hands on the woman's belly and then on her chest. Her breathing was more shallow than normal and the babe was heavy in her belly. "She has headaches and vomits," Sofi offered helpfully.
"I have pain here, too." The woman, dark haired and brown-eyed, begged me to relieve her suffering as she pointed to her right side, below the ribs. Sighing softly, I set out to do what I could.
The sailor came next—his complaint was, in his words, a cracked ankle. He did not explain what it was exactly that he'd done to crack his ankle, but I repaired it as best I could before moving on to the elderly man. His troubles all dealt with old age, and he knew that. He merely wanted a bit of relief from joint pain, so I gave him that. All three left Sofi's shop easier than they'd arrived, the pregnant woman wiping away tears of relief as she walked away.
After they'd gone, I made a motion to Sofi, telling her no more before snatching up my new trousers and walking out of her shop. I took no walks for pleasure that day, going straight back to the palace carrying my new clothing with me. None of the three had thought to thank me, but they'd thanked Sofi profusely. Had I the propensity, I imagined I'd be muttering angrily as I walked toward the servants' entrance to the palace.
* * *
"Today, we dust under beds," the eldest chambermaid announced as I and the other three arrived for our morning chores the following day. My heart thumped heavily in my chest—dusting beneath the beds meant extra time spent within the chambers and increased the risk that Mirisa would catch me inside Amlis' bedroom.
The floor would have to be carefully cleaned afterward, as the dust permeated the stone floor and the rugs scattered throughout the chambers. Diligently I watched, waiting for Mirisa to vacate the family wing. Instead, she chatted with Beatris while they sewed in the receiving room halfway between the men's and women's quarters.
A kitchen servant brought a mid-morning tidbit for both ladies as they tittered and gossiped. I cleaned Rodrik's chamber. I cleaned Farin's after that, and still Mirisa sat and did little while she and Beatris had luncheon together. Two more cleaned chambers later, there was no help for it; Amlis' was the only one left that I hadn't cleaned. Keeping my head down, I walked inside, pulled my rags from the bucket I carried and dived beneath Amlis' bed.
* * *
"If she carried a knife or wielded a blade, I'd think her as bad as Yevil," Rodrik huffed as he and Amlis sparred outside the guards' barracks.
"She is our link to Firith's cohorts," Amlis snapped, thwacking his blade against Rodrik's. "I give her as much attention as I possibly can, and still she glares at the maids. They're afraid to come into the same room as it is, and I have certainly stopped looking in their direction, but that does not stay Mirisa's anger. Would that we could protect ourselves without her father's men."
"Parry with the flat of your blade, my Prince," Rodrik instructed as they backed away for a breather.
"I'm just so damned frustrated. What is my life to be like, Rodrik, when I'm married to the sow?"
* * *
"Brin, this hinges upon you," Timblor handed the dagger to his personal servant. Brin, his square face expressionless, nodded his understanding and hid the dagger inside his new, red tunic. The tailor had designed the padded jacket with pockets inside at Timblor's request, after Timblor explained that he could not carry everything he required at all times.
Servants were not allowed to carry weapons, and certainly not within the royal palace. Only the guard could carry swords or knives, and never in the presence of the King or his sons. Yevil was the only exception, as he often guarded the King.
Nirok the tailor, thinking Brin might carry flasks of wine or eating utensils for the Prince, sewed the required pockets without question. He never imagined his clothing might be used to conceal a dagger.
That morning, sunlight shone through the clear panes of glass lining a wall of Timblor's study. Like Tamblin's, there were no books, but several ancient swords, shields and daggers graced the walls, amid a tapestry or two depicting centuries-old battles.
Timblor had laid his plan as carefully as he could, but it needed an accomplice—a trusted guard or personal servant. Timblor suspected all the guards of being under Yevil's thumb, so Brin was the final and logical choice.
"I will do as you ask, my Prince," Brin dipped his head as was required.
"Good. Ready?"
Brin nodded silently.
"Good."
* * *
The old physician was dead. Wolter had gone to his quarters in the minor nobles' wing and watched as servants carried the body out. For ninety turns, the physician had tended to the illnesses and broken bones of the palace, and now there was no apprentice to take his place.
The last one died after doing an apprenticeship in the countryside surrounding Lironis. He'd returned to the palace with a wheezing cough that had turned into something more dire, and the physician could not cure it. The man had died before the age of thirty, and the physician at that point had been too old and too blind to take on another trainee.
"What will we do now?" Chen appeared at Wolter's elbow, whispering the question that servant and noble alike, all of them lined up outside the physician's chambers, were asking.
"Without," Wolter snapped and stalked away, striding toward the kitchens and the midday meal his assistants were preparing.
* * *
"Put these away," one of many laundresses for the palace demanded as I, covered in dust, crawled from beneath Amlis' bed. A pile of freshly washed and ironed shirts, trousers and underclothing was thumped onto Amlis' bed by her and a younger girl working as an apprentice in the palace laundry.
The woman, haughty enough for one of her station, huffed away, as anxious to leave the Prince's chamber as I was. Nervously glancing about, her apprentice almost stepped on her mistress' heels in her haste to follow. Now there was another task to accomplish; one that had to be done before I made up the Prince's b
ed.
Wiping the dust away from my blouse as carefully as I could first, I lifted the pile of shirts and carried it to the Prince's armoire, meticulously stacking the clothing inside on the proper shelves. Amlis' page in Vhrist was quite particular in how everything was done and I knew, although many did not, that he did not prefer women.
Truly, Mirisa should expend some of her jealous rages upon Heeth instead of frightened maids. After all, Heeth was with the Prince more often than most others. It was while I was placing the Prince's underclothes in a designated drawer that Mirisa came, and the beating she delivered I will never forget.
* * *
"Amlis, say nothing. We need Firith; that is the only reason I agreed to the match." Omina insisted, glaring at her second-born as they stood inside Omina's private study. The rectangular room was lined with shelves of books, and hidden here and there between other, more innocuous titles, lay complete tomes of history, geography and royal lineages.
Rodrik leaned against an edge of the fireplace, built of massive stones quarried from the hills to the east of Vhrist, watching as Amlis complained to his mother for the first time of his father's selection for his wife.
"She was putting away laundry, for Liron's sake, and Mirisa beats her for touching my underclothes?" Amlis shouted. "Heeth was with me in the courtyard, Mother, and the laundry was left on the bed. What else was she supposed to do?"
"She's a servant. You forget your place," Omina hissed. "What does it matter if a girl gets beaten, Amlis? Answer me that, when Firith's swords hang in the balance."
"Then I suggest you find a boy from somewhere, to clean Amlis' chamber from now on." Farin hadn't joined the conversation until then, settling for watching and listening as Rodrik had.
"But we only have the boys that clean fireplaces," Omina tossed up her hands. "Are you suggesting I put one of them to cleaning Amlis' chambers?"
"That's exactly what I'm suggesting." Farin was angry for the first time in a very long time. "Omina, I tire of treating wounds created by Mortin's bitch whelp. It is difficult enough to treat those that arise from accidents."
"How bad is she?" Rodrik thought to ask.
"A break in the forearm. A knee twisted as she attempted to get away from Mirisa and Mirisa grabbed an ankle to pull the girl back. Many bruises, some broken open and bleeding. I believe we should not leave pokers within easy reach of Mirisa of Firith. I wonder that Mortin has any servants left at all," Farin replied.
"Did you say anything to her?" Omina turned back to Amlis. "To Mirisa, I mean."
"Mother, I came straight to you, as you are still Queen of Fyris, whether you use the title or not. I am a Prince and your son. You rule here at the moment."
"What do you mean by that?" Omina snapped.
"He means exactly what you know already, Omina. Once he takes Mirisa to wife, you will be shunted aside and Amlis and Mirisa will rule here. Your rule lies in Lironis, not Vhrist." Farin walked to a nearby table and poured a glass of wine.
He it was who'd sent for Amlis while treating Finder's wounds. Rodrik and Amlis had come at a near-run, and they'd watched as Farin cleaned blood around a head wound, delivered as a glancing blow by Mirisa who'd been aiming for a shoulder. The entire time Farin worked, Finder had shivered beneath his touch and not a whisper, sigh or whimper had passed her lips.
"How long before the girl is able to resume her duties?" Omina handed Farin a hard look.
"With a broken arm, eight weeks, at least. Likely ten. And that leaves you shorthanded again, Omina. Gossip is spreading and none are willing to work in the palace, no matter the wage offered. You should have left the girl in the kitchen. Mirisa has had nothing but contempt for Finder since she learned the girl acted as Amlis' page. She was merely waiting for the opportunity to strike. Imagine how Vhrist will be, when Mirisa becomes its Lady."
"Amlis will control her then," Omina sniffed.
"Mother, I couldn't control her today. She waited until I was out to do her worst, and there was only Beatris and the other servants, all of whom are less than she. None could stop her. Beatris could only send another girl running for Farin, who came and witnessed the end of the tirade, when Mirisa wore herself out and dumped the poker on Finder's unconscious body."
"Servants die all the time, Amlis." Omina refused to listen to Farin or her son. "And nothing is done about it."
"Is that what we have become, Mother?" Amlis stared at Omina. "You have read the old laws—they're in a book on your shelves. It was wrong, then, to murder anyone, no matter how highly placed the murderer might be. Yet we have come to this. Allowing the innocent to be beaten or killed, all for the sake of our expediency. No," he held up a hand when Omina thought to speak again, "I am just as guilty, and I wish it were not so."
"Beatris and I will be leaving in the morning. What she witnessed sickened her and she wishes to return home," Rodrik announced quietly. "I will not allow my lady wife to travel to Vhoorth unless I am by her side. Amlis has his guards, here. There is no need for my services." Rodrik nodded to Omina and Amlis before walking swiftly for the door.
* * *
"Rod, I knew she was thoughtless and cruel, and I thought to distract her. That was a foolish notion," Beatris watched as the chambermaid packed her clothing.
"My love, it was a noble attempt. I am sorry you were forced to witness such brutality."
"I cannot wait to get home and away from that bully. She looks and acts fine among her betters, but those lesser than she will always suffer around her."
"She has not mistreated you, has she?" Rodrik's blue eyes examined his wife's face. Beatris turned away.
"Only a little barb, here and there," Beatris muttered. "Nothing that would not be magnified if I were at court in Lironis."
"Then we will be well away tomorrow, and the better for it," Rodrik observed. "Omina counts on Firith, should push come to shove, but I do not trust Mortin or his brat."
"How can we? Your father is the only one who will surely come to Vhrist's aid if the King's hand comes to bear."
"I don't believe Tamblin will make a move until his ships are built. And I worry for the harvests this turn. If the people starve, Tamblin will not have troops to fill the boats Amlis is building."
"You think it is too late already? That nothing might save us now?" Beatris lifted a hand to her throat.
"Beatris, love, do not fret. A letter has been sent and we still await a reply. Let us hope they will honor old oaths and lend assistance."
"Did you ever see them, Rod? Did you? I heard there were drawings and paintings, once, but they have all been destroyed. I have never seen them."
"I saw one, long ago. He came to my father when I was young and they shut themselves inside my father's study. He was gone shortly after, and I learned that Tamblin had assumed the throne when my father sought me out later."
"How old were you, then?"
"Fourteen, and just come back from sword practice. Someday, I will tell you how he arrived and what his appearance was, but that will wait for another day." Rodrik jerked his head toward the chambermaid, who was listening, open-mouthed, at his words.
"Ah. Yes. Girl, pack what lies in the armoire next," Beatris urged the girl to attend to her assigned duties.
* * *
Brin stood at Timblor's left, as always. The King had chosen to have lunch with the heir, Yevil Orklis and Hirill Mast, at a round table inside his private chambers. The table overlooked the courtyard and the gate below the palace. Red velvet curtains were swept aside to take advantage of weak spring sunlight filtering through exquisite, diamond-shaped panes of glass set cleverly and seamlessly together.
Timblor had taken the chair to Tamblin's left, garnering the best view from the King's window, as he preferred. Yevil took the next seat, placing him opposite the King, while Hirill settled into the remaining chair, his back to the glass and the view beyond it.
Etlund tasted the food to be served and sipped the wine before setting it before the King. Tambli
n gripped a fork in his right hand and lifted the cup of wine to his lips with his left when Brin struck.
* * *
I was unconscious when the healer first came, waking halfway through his treatment. Bruises covered my body and a terrible pain was in my arm. The bone was broken, there was no doubt, and I wanted to weep from the intense pain of it. Wordless and without shedding a tear, I watched and shivered as Farin Wold pulled on my hand to set the bone in its proper place, before splinting the injury and wrapping it.
"Let someone know by tapping this," Farin indicated the bandaging, "if it becomes too tight. We do not wish to restrict circulation." My teeth chattering with the onset of shock, I barely nodded at his instruction.
The rest of my treatment went by in a blur, and sometime during the ordeal I noticed that Amlis and Rodrik were watching. Rodrik had gone immediately to Beatris and consoled her, I learned later. Beatris had witnessed my beating, and she was fortunate to receive Rodrik's care as she did—I was not so lucky. None thought to console me. I was merely a servant, after all, and if they believed Mirisa, then I'd been taking liberties with the Prince's underclothes.
What pleasure did she imagine I might have from placing them in a drawer? The logic escaped me, as it so often did with nobles. Willow bark tea was given after my treatment and a litter came to carry me to my storage room.
At first, the same tiny room I'd been given when I first arrived was offered, but as it wasn't far from the family wing, I shook my head in tacit refusal. I wanted to be as far from Mirisa of Firith as I could possibly get.
It was as the two young men who'd carried my litter down two flights of stone steps were setting it down beside my straw-filled pallet that I knew—death had come to Lironis, and it would affect the course of events in Vhrist.
* * *
Brin lay on the stone floor of Tamblin's chamber, gasping his last breaths after Yevil had fired an ancient and forbidden weapon at Timblor's servant. Timblor had been carried to the King's bed after a vicious stabbing at the hands of Brin, his own page.
Finder: First Ordinance, Book One Page 8