by Erin Beaty
Sage winced and nodded.
“She’s getting far too much attention from that officer. I think it’s a good match personally, but she’s a Concordium bride. She needs to break it off.”
“We can’t match her,” Sage protested. “She’s only fifteen. Her father lied to get her in.”
“I know,” said Darnessa. “But I wanted to get her off his hands. It’s better to let her marry too young than wed her to such a man as he gave her sister to.”
“She told me about it the night of the banquet at Underwood. She cried herself sick.” Sage grimaced with guilt. “I let Gramwell walk her through the garden, which is when this all started, though honestly it wasn’t my intention. He was just strong and kind right when she needed it.”
Darnessa knew as well as she did that Gramwell had to wait three more years to marry. She made a thoughtful sound. “Maybe we can find something wrong with her that will make her less desirable, and she can ‘settle’ for Gramwell. Remind me: Where is his family from?”
“Up north.” Sage pulled her ledger closer and flipped to the page on Gramwell. “His father was ambassador to Reyan, but just retired to Key Loreda, where he’s from.”
The matchmaker brightened. “An ambassador’s son! That works in his favor, and Key Loreda has a tradition where a bride lives with her future in-laws for a year before marriage. The couple is bound as if they were wed, but it’s considered a mother-in-law’s duty to train her son’s wife.”
Sage made a face. “Sounds awful.”
“Not if your mother-in-law likes you, and Clare’s a sweet thing. I can’t imagine her not meeting any reasonable woman’s approval. We’ll see what we can do for her.” Darnessa scanned the other pages on the officers and paused. “You don’t think very highly of young Captain Quinn. Did he snub you somehow?”
“I’ve never spoken to him,” Sage admitted. “I’ve just seen what he demands of others.”
“A commander’s job is to be demanding.”
“Yet I never see him get his hands dirty,” Sage protested. “I have more respect for someone if they don’t make everyone else do everything for them.”
The matchmaker shrugged and tapped the opposite page for Ash Carter. “Ironic you have so little on a man you’ve spent so much time with.”
“I know him, so I’m less likely to forget.” Sage took the book back. “Meanwhile, there are others to detail.”
“I see you also discovered who he is.”
Sage glanced up with a scowl. “You could’ve saved me some embarrassment by telling me.”
Darnessa chuckled a little. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to taint your investigation.”
“Hmph.” Sage went back to her book. She wanted to finish her diagram.
“We could try matching him at the Concordium.”
“I’ll ask him,” Sage said, trying to sound indifferent. She had no such intention. “I don’t think he’s interested, though. Too busy soldiering.”
“If you say so.” Darnessa stood to leave.
“Oh, by the way,” called Sage. The matchmaker paused to look back. “Don’t ask me for details, but don’t drink any of the water after tonight. It may not be safe unless it’s boiled. Tell the maids and ladies as best you see fit.”
Darnessa only nodded, making Sage suspect Quinn was sharing things with the matchmaker that he refused to let Ash tell her.
Once satisfied with her summary of the cistern and other relevant information, Sage folded the two pages, tucked them under her bodice, and went to lunch. Servants were preparing the Great Hall for that evening’s banquet, so a casual noon meal was set up on long tables in the garden next to the hall, but no soldiers were present.
Her information was critical, and she expected someone to check on her soon. The garden seemed a logical spot to find her, so she filled a plate and picked a bench under a tree to eat and wait. But as time passed, she wondered if maybe the library would be better. Sage was just about to give up when she spotted Charlie collecting dishes from other ladies. She gave him a genuine smile as he approached. “Hello, Little Soldier.”
The page’s grin melted her. He was such a sweet, eager boy—nothing like his proud brother.
“My lady, I can take your dish for you.” Catching his meaning, she nodded and slipped her papers from their hiding place and tucked them under her plate before handing it to him.
She watched Charlie head back to the kitchen, wondering if the boy knew he likely held the fate of the nation between two dirty plates.
47
“THOUGHTS?” QUINN ASKED.
Casseck studied the diagram of the cistern. “Her drawings are better than Ash’s.”
“I won’t tell him you said that.”
“Who’s going to the banquet, you or me?” asked Robert.
“Me,” said Quinn. “I’ll make a brief appearance so D’Amiran sees me.”
Rob brightened. “Does that mean I get to take Charlie to the cistern?”
Quinn shook his head. “No. He’s my brother and my responsibility. You’re lying low from here on out. And you’re back to being Lieutenant Ryan Bathgate if anyone asks, but I’d rather no one ask. If we smuggle you out or hide you later, it’ll be easier if you were a ghost in the first place.”
Robert sighed dramatically. “It was nice while it lasted. Maybe I’ll buck for promotion after all.”
Quinn rolled his eyes. “You have a long way to go. Questions?” He glanced around again. “Very well. Go shine up for dinner.”
* * *
Charlie crept through the dark hallway with his brother beside him. At the first sign of anyone, he was prepared to act like a page leading his drunken master to bed, but the passage was deserted. All the servants must be at the feast.
They found a rectangular wooden hatch right where Lady Sagerra’s notes had described. The captain lifted the lid and pulled the rope up, counting the distance. Five feet to the basket. He pulled it out, set it aside, and glanced down at him. “We’ll try feetfirst. I think there should be enough room for you to move around.”
Charlie peered into the blackness. He wasn’t afraid of the dark, but this wasn’t just night—there would be no moon and stars to see by. His brother had said boys climbed down to clean it, so it must be safe. And Alex—his captain—needed him. This was something only he could do.
Before his courage could fail him, Charlie settled himself on the edge of the hole and looked back up, patting the bottles tucked in his vest. He raised his hands and whispered, “Ready.”
Alex gripped his arms and lowered him down. Then the cover was replaced, and the smell of damp and stone wrapped around Charlie like a blanket.
He shimmied down to where the shaft met the horizontal drain. Which direction led to the cistern? He groped around until his fingers brushed across a wire mesh, and he followed it to its framed edge. It must be on the cistern side. He felt along the frame, trying to determine what held the screen in place. Charlie almost laughed with relief when he realized it was held simply by hooks on the sides. He eased the screen up, leaving just enough room to squeeze through.
Bending and twisting, he maneuvered his legs and body into the other horizontal shaft until he was far enough in to slide down the right side headfirst. From the feel of them, the walls were normally slimy, but with no rain they’d dried up. He controlled his descent easily, occasionally scraping his knuckles on the stones. The total darkness was unnerving. He couldn’t even see his hands right in front of him.
Charlie went slowly, worried the noises might echo up and attract attention, until he came to an edge. There was an overflow drain along here somewhere, so he waved his arms around, trying to tell whether it was that or the cistern. A bit of heavy grit fell over the edge and splashed below. This was the right place.
He pulled his elbows in and slipped the first bottle from his vest. From his sleeve he produced a thin metal rod and pierced the wax seal. His hands shook as he poured the water out, spil
ling a bit on his fingers. When it was finally drained, he repeated the process with the second bottle. By the time he was done, he was dripping with sweat. He wiped his face with his damp sleeve before tucking the bottles away again.
His mission complete, Charlie inched backward until he was over the trench. He rotated his body in the small space and replaced the mesh screen. After he gave a soft whistle, his brother’s anxious face appeared above. Alex’s hands grasped him and pulled him up.
His brother set Charlie on his feet. After the darkness of the cistern, the hallway seemed bright. “Done?” the captain asked quietly.
Charlie was heady with a sense of accomplishment. “Done, sir.” He licked the sweat around his mouth and saluted before wiping his forehead on his sleeve.
Alex exhaled heavily and pulled him into an embrace. The gesture surprised Charlie, but he hugged his brother back, grinning. He couldn’t wait to tell the other boys back at camp he was a real spy.
48
SAGE HAD CURLED and colored her hair a bit red with one of the tonics in her trunk, feeling overdone but thinking it would help her blend in better with the ladies. She’d even stuffed the top of her dress and made an effort to cover her freckles with powder. While she and Clare gathered with the others outside the Great Hall, Lieutenant Casseck walked around the ladies, scanning faces.
Clare fidgeted beside her. “Would it be rude to ask His Grace about Sophia? I haven’t heard from her in months.”
“Perfectly appropriate,” Sage assured her. “His brother is married to your sister. That makes you family.” Silently she wondered what kind of influence Ash could wield to keep Sophia safe. Being married to a traitor wasn’t her fault.
Casseck passed them for the third time and stopped in his tracks. “Lady Sagerra?” he asked.
Sage smiled and held out her hand. “Good evening, Lieutenant.”
Casseck kissed her hand and then Clare’s. Any of the other ladies would’ve thrown a fit at being acknowledged second to Sage, but Clare didn’t mind. At that moment Darnessa appeared and whisked Clare to the front of the line to be presented to the duke, who stood just inside the main doors receiving guests, and Sage was left alone with Casseck.
“Is it too presumptuous to hope for a dance tonight, my lady?” Casseck asked.
Sage hesitated. Ash wouldn’t be here tonight, but surely he would hear about it from the other soldiers. She had to dance with somebody, however, and she rather liked Casseck.
As if reading her mind, the lieutenant smiled. “I’m sure Sergeant Carter won’t mind.”
Heat rose in her cheeks. Was she a source of teasing among his friends? “I’d be pleased to accept, Lieutenant.”
“I look forward to it.” He bowed and left, and Sage returned to waiting in line. The two ladies ahead of her glanced back before putting their heads together and whispering, but Sage was engrossed in the idea that Casseck hadn’t recognized her. A whole world of possibilities opened up if she could look different enough to fool people. She eyed the maids scurrying about on errands as the line inched forward. With so many retinues coming and going, an unknown servant wouldn’t attract attention.
The Great Hall was decorated with garlands of spring flowers imported from somewhere much warmer than Tegann, and rushes on the floor released sweet scents as they were trod upon by the multitude of guests. Tables off to the sides overflowed with meats, fruit, and pastries, which was all the more impressive to Sage as she knew just how far those things had to travel to get there. The ladies in front of her seemed oblivious to the splendor around them. Perhaps they were just used to riches and never gave a thought to where they came from.
The hall itself awed her with its size—the family living quarters of Broadmoor Manor could’ve fit inside without being stacked. It was a fairly recent addition to the fortress, constructed when the D’Amiran family was granted Tasmet as a dukedom forty years ago. Apparently over a hundred and fifty years of living in near exile hadn’t dampened their taste for opulence. The high stained-glass windows depicted scenes from the family’s history of uniting Demora into a single nation, though they left out the fight they’d picked with Casmun three hundred years ago, ruining trade relations. Their loss of the throne a hundred years after that was also omitted.
Sage had plenty of time to observe the duke while she waited to be presented to him, last of the ladies as usual. Morrow D’Amiran was over forty and blackened his beard and hair to give the illusion of youth, but his hands and forehead had the wrinkles of advanced middle age. She couldn’t deny he was handsome in a conventional sense. His facial features were well cut, and his teeth were straight and white. He hadn’t allowed himself to grow portly like Uncle William, and his manners were pleasing, but his crystal-blue eyes were cold and calculating. Sage curtsied low and focused on the floor as Darnessa introduced her.
“I don’t know of the Broadmoor family,” said the duke, holding on to her hand. “Where are your estates?”
“About a day north and west of Garland Hill, Your Grace,” Sage replied, unsure whether she wanted to be interesting to him, but deciding to err on the side of blandness. It took a great deal of control not to pull away from his soft but firm grip on her fingers.
“Her uncle is a minor lord, Your Grace,” put in the matchmaker. “He holds in trust everything belonging to her mother as her dowry.” It was a statement carefully designed to imply Sage had a greater rank and wealth than her guardian.
“Yes, that would explain why I hadn’t heard of her.” He paused and looked her over as she tried not to squirm. “You look like someone who enjoys being out of doors.”
Her complexion. He was commenting on her freckles. Now Sage wished she’d worn that ridiculous hat. She ducked her head and tried to look embarrassed. “This past winter was so confining, I’m afraid I overindulged in sunshine once spring arrived, Your Grace.”
Her host gave her a genuine smile. “My dear, that is a sentiment I truly understand. Even years since arriving here, the mountain winters make me long for the mild climate of Mondelea I knew as a child.” What had started as a wistful statement ended with a note of bitterness. His hand tightened on hers.
He’d been very young when his family came to Tasmet, and they’d lived in near poverty before that, but he plainly remembered his childhood home with longing. Sage went with a combination of empathy and flattery. “Your Grace shows me there is no shame in missing what I left behind in my own home.”
His hand relaxed. “No, my lady, there is none at all.” He bent down to kiss her hand. “I hope you will enjoy your time here and find pleasure in your new home, wherever it shall be.”
“I thank Your Grace from the bottom of my heart,” Sage murmured, lowering her eyes again as she sank into a curtsy.
The matchmaker curtsied to the duke and led Sage away. “Nicely done,” Darnessa said in her ear. “Now go enjoy yourself, but don’t forget you have a job, too.”
Her employer didn’t realize how much more than matching information was at stake. Perhaps Quinn hadn’t told her everything after all. Sage hated keeping her in the dark, but as protective as Darnessa could be, it wasn’t a good idea to tell her anything yet. At any rate, this wasn’t the place to do so.
Clare was already dancing with Lieutenant Gramwell, so Sage mingled in the crowds, seeking to put names to faces. Amusingly, she found the caricatured impressions by the young men from their last stop were accurate enough for her to identify several nobles present. Not all the intended grooms had arrived yet; many higher, married Tasmet nobles were here, Sage suspected, to seal their allegiance to Duke D’Amiran before he took action. Once they departed, the others would have places to stay in the fortress. She hoped the comings and goings would delay D’Amiran’s plan to wed the women to his allies for a few critical days.
Judging from the steady stream of young men who approached her for dances, she was an unexpected bonus in terms of the brides and would probably be awarded to someone the duke found loyal.
That was, if her image as a highborn lady held. Sage took in the vast hall full of loyal supporters, knowing their combined assets, and compared it to the size of their own honor guard. She began to wonder if she should find a man who might like her enough to protect her—should the worst come to pass.
Yet she could never turn her back on Ash and the other soldiers. Win or lose, she would be firmly on their side, even if the latter meant losing everything.
As if bidden by her thoughts, Lieutenant Casseck appeared at her elbow. “I’m here to collect on my lady’s promise,” he said with a smile.
Sage took his hand, and he led her to the far end of the hall, where fewer people gathered. The duke was like the center of an archery target—like arrows, the density of people increased the closer one was to him. She was happy to avoid him, and as no one was close enough to overhear, she could also speak more freely.
“How did you find my notes from this morning?” she asked. “Were they helpful?”
“Most impressive,” Casseck said. “Captain Quinn was very pleased.”
“I didn’t do it for him,” Sage said a little bitterly.
“He’s grateful nonetheless.” Casseck twirled her around, keeping her back to the duke and those who orbited around him. She found herself facing an ornate window depicting General Falco D’Amiran driving the Kimisar out of Tasmet.
“When will he act on it?” No one paid them any attention, but she kept her phrases carefully neutral.
“It’s done.”
Sage missed a step in the dance. “Already?”
“Charlie wasn’t even late to bed.”
Of course Quinn had used his little brother. Sage gritted her teeth. “I’m glad he found the boy useful.”
Casseck raised an eyebrow. “I understand your concern, but I’m not sure who else you think could have done it.”
Sage turned her head, unwilling to admit he was right. Casseck swung her a little to the left, and she found herself looking at the stained-glass window again. “When did things go sour between the royals and the D’Amirans?” she asked to change the subject. “The Great War brought the family back into favor, but things went sour quickly.” She nodded at the window.