The Lascar’s Dagger

by Glenda Larke

  “But you won’t be caught, will you? You have glamour. Please, Sorrel, for my sake.”

  She wavered. Va had gifted her the witchery for some reason. Was this it? Oh, Va’s teeth, why is it so hard to know the mind of a deity? Va, can’t you ever make things simple?

  “I’m ordering you,” Mathilda said, at her most imperious.

  She sighed. “Very well. Let’s go.”

  Mathilda’s face lit up. “You’ll come?” She sounded surprised.

  “I just said so, didn’t I? Besides, you just ordered me to.”

  “And since when has that meant anything to you? Usually an order just means you get more stubborn in your refusal.”

  Sorrel gave a falsely sweet smile and took up the candlestick. “Best be quick before I change my mind.”

  They crept down the spiral staircase. At the bottom step, Mathilda peeked out through the crack of the open door. There was no doubt the Regal was still asleep; they could both hear his snores. The room was dimly lit by several candles and the glow of firelight.

  Mathilda led the way, her soft slippers making no sound on the wooden floor. She pointed to the chest under the window. Leaning close to Sorrel’s ear, she whispered, “I’ll go to the other side of the bed. If he wakes, I’ll distract him.”

  He’d better not wake, Sorrel thought, gritting her teeth.

  As she set the candlestick down on the floor beside the chest, she noticed the remains of the supper on a side table. Her eyes widened as she saw the leftover food: sweetmeats, honey and cream, pastries, buttered griddle cakes, pork sausage. None of them were dishes Mathilda preferred, and the Regal never partook of such rich dishes when in company.

  She raised an eyebrow at Mathilda, who glared back and jabbed her forefinger at the chest.

  The key was lying on top, just as she had said. Concentrating to adjust her glamour, Sorrel faded into her surroundings. Carefully, without a sound, she inserted the key into the lock and tried to turn it. It wouldn’t move. She tried twisting it the other way and, with a loud click, it locked the chest.

  Pox on it, it had been unlocked all along. She looked over her shoulder at Mathilda, who was biting her bottom lip in agitation. The Regal snuffled and moved restlessly in his sleep.

  Sorrel waited until the snoring resumed before she turned the key again. Once more there was a loud click, this time as it unlocked. With infinite care, she raised the lid. It creaked. Loudly. She glanced back at the sleeping Regal.

  Mathilda winced and clamped a hand over her mouth. Vilmar had stopped snoring. Sorrel froze, even stilled her breathing. When he didn’t appear to be waking, she drew in a silent breath and turned her attention back to the chest.

  Raising the candlestick to see inside, she only just stopped herself from gasping. The feathers filled the interior in glorious billows of liquid colour. For a moment she was spellbound, unable to move. Then, cautiously, she slipped her fingers in to pick up the fan.

  The handle was metallic to her touch; nothing other-worldly there. But the plumes! So vibrant they appeared to glow, so alive she could have sworn they breathed. She touched her fingertips to the feathery end of one, and her arm prickled to her shoulder, a thousand tingling, delicate waves. For a sliver of time she was someone else, somewhere else, filled with fear, surrounded by beauty, washed by emotions not her own and memories she had never made.

  Stung, confused, she dropped the fan back into the chest. The handle banged against the wood, and the Regal woke.

  Instantly Sorrel’s fingers closed over the candle wick, snuffing the flame and holding it tight to stop the smell of its smoking. She crouched where she was, terrified. The chest lid was still open and she couldn’t glamour that.

  “Husband,” Mathilda said, “is all well? You mutter in your sleep. Perchance you require me again? Your loving wife is always willing.”

  The Regal sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, with his back to Sorrel. Mathilda stood in front of him, her hands cupping his face.

  Sorrel, sweating in spite of the cold, set the candlestick on the floor. Slowly, very slowly, she started to close the lid of the chest. Please don’t let it squeak this time.

  Inch by inch she lowered it.

  The Regal said, “Twice tonight and you would make it thrice? Would you have me die in my bed from exhaustion, woman?”

  “My desire for such a skilled lover is endless. Forgive me, my liege. I am no more than a foolish girl and feel myself complete only in your arms.”

  The lid shut without a sound. Sorrel took another breath. She closed her free hand over the key still in the lock and waited for the Regal to speak again.

  “You are wanton,” said Vilmar. He sounded more amused than angry.

  “Only with you, my sweet lord. I can spare you much of the effort if you will but allow it. If I were to kneel humbly here, at your feet, could I not do all the work and my loving husband but appreciate the result?”

  Sorrel winced. Oh, dear Va, she’s not going to…? But she was. Mathilda had knelt and was already fumbling to lift the Regal’s nightgown.

  Wrapping herself tightly in her glamour and averting her face from the royal couple, she pulled the key out without locking the chest and laid it back on top where she’d found it. She couldn’t prevent herself from hearing the Regal’s rising excitement and Mathilda’s intermittent giggles. Her cheeks radiating heat in her embarrassment, she headed for the door to the spiral staircase, only to realise she’d forgotten the candlestick on the floor. She forced herself to sneak back to retrieve it and place it on the table for Mathilda.

  I am as imperceptible as a pane of delicate glass. I am as unnoticeable as a camouflaged moth lying flat to a wall. I am as invisible as a puff of wind passing through. I’m not here. You can’t see me…

  Her need for silence meant every step had to be slow and measured. Sweat ran from her forehead to the corners of her eyes. Each time she placed a foot to the floor she waited for a creak of the floorboards that would betray her, or a rustle from her gown.

  At long last she reached the stairwell, and stepped inside. She eased the door partially closed and allowed her glamour to fade. For a moment she stood still, propped up against the wall, and bade her thudding heart calm.

  The stairs were pitch dark. Slowly she felt her way up, one step at a time, until she reached the door to the Regala’s bedchamber.

  When Mathilda returned, Sorrel was pacing the floor, unable in her agitation to sit. She whirled on the Princess in a fury. “Don’t you ever do anything like that to me again!”

  Mathilda’s eyes widened. “What do you mean? I have just saved your life!”

  “I have never been so terrified! Or mortified. If the Regal ever realises, he’ll – he’ll have us both minced up to be fed to his dogs.”

  “Well, he’s not going to find out, is he? What are you worrying about? Nothing happened.”

  “Nothing? Dear Va! I don’t even know where to begin. You’re trying to murder him, aren’t you?”

  “Oak-and-acorn, whatever do you mean?”

  Mathilda’s wide-eyed innocence was too much to stomach. Sorrel snorted. “We’ve come too far together for you to fool me. You think I didn’t see all those pastries down there? You’re encouraging him to eat food too rich for a man with a weak heart! The Regal is not well enough to walk up a set of stairs without pain and panting, and yet you’re using him like he was—”

  “Young and virile like Saker?” She gave a harsh laugh. “I didn’t ask to be married to an old man. If he can’t match me step for step, then he can always say no, can’t he? If he dies from too much rich food and too much of a young wife, it’s his fault, not mine. Anyway, you’re the one who suggested I charm him to get what I want. I will lead my life as I will, and I will find power by whatever means is open to me. The men in my life so far have tried to strip me of control, and I won’t tolerate it any longer.”

  “Saker wasn’t like that! And what of me?” Sorrel asked. “Am I to
be discarded too, when you’re done with me, because I know too much? Because I see through you?”

  Mathilda shrugged. “I like having you around. I like the fact that you know everything there is to know, just as I know what there is to know about you. We are two sides of a coin, you and I. Who is it who has the darker side? You killed the man who was your husband.”

  “And how is it you never asked me why?”

  “I didn’t need to. Va gave you witchery, so I know your reason was good and your husband deserved to die. Va has a plan for you and me; that’s why we were brought together.”

  Is that true? I’m bound to her for the rest of my life? She only ever thinks of herself!

  “So tell me,” Mathilda asked, “what did you think of Vilmar’s fan?”

  She took a deep breath, calmer now. “There is witchery there. In the plumes, not the handle. And it’s not a witchery that belongs here. It must come from the Va-forsaken Hemisphere. It made me see things I’ve never seen before.”

  “And should I fear it? Is it destined to harm me? Is it evil?”

  “I don’t think it’s evil or good,” she replied slowly. “It’s just power, very strong power. In the hands of the wrong person, perhaps it could be used for evil.”

  “I don’t think Vilmar knows how to use it. I think he’s succumbed to it.”

  “Who gave it to him?”

  “Uthen Kesleer, the spice merchant. His ships brought the plumes back from the Summer Seas and he had the fan made as a gift.”

  “He’s the fellow with the growth on his face like a red onion, isn’t he? I’ve seen him several times. He comes to see the Lord Treasurer.”

  Mathilda nodded. “He often dines in the Great Hall, at the Regal’s table. He’s the only merchant in all Lowmeer who has that privilege.”

  “Well, rest assured, Kesleer doesn’t possess a witchery. If there’s magic in the fan, I doubt he knows.”

  They exchanged a worried glance.

  “Be careful, Mathilda. You play with the honed edge of an axe when you play with kings.”

  Mathilda shrugged. “Perhaps. But I just told Regal Vilmar I was having his child, so I suspect I’m safe for a little while longer.”

  She climbed into her bed and Sorrel, reverting to her role of handmaiden, removed the warming pan and tucked her in.

  “Why did you kill your husband?” Mathilda asked sleepily.

  “Because he murdered our child.”

  There was a long silence before Mathilda replied. Then she said, “I think that’s a good reason to kill someone. And I think I’d kill for my child too.”

  “Let’s hope you never have to.”

  31

  Twins and Trepidation

  “That’ll be all,” Mathilda said as Aureen finished braiding her hair. “You go off to bed now, Aureen. I need to talk to Sorrel.”

  Sorrel, who’d been putting away Mathilda’s discarded clothing, looked over at her in surprise. Aureen bobbed a curtsy and disappeared into the servants’ cuddy, where she shared a bed with Sorrel.

  “I thought you were tired, milady,” Sorrel said. Mathilda had pleaded the weariness of her pregnancy and retired early from the Great Hall that evening.

  “Uncomfortable, not tired. Va, I loathe being with child. And I have another two moons of this to endure!” She clambered clumsily into the bed, tucking her feet under the covers to keep them warm, and sat there, contemplating the bulge of her abdomen with distaste. “Did you see who was sitting at the Regal’s right hand tonight?”

  Sorrel looked critically at the chemise in her hand and decided it was time it went to the washerwomen. “I saw. Mynster Uthen Kesleer.”

  “I don’t understand why he’s invited to court so often unless he has indeed ensorcelled the Regal. A man of trade and he sits next to the Regal at least once a sennight?”

  “A very rich man of trade, milady. His Lowmian Spicerie Company has a monopoly of trade to the Summer Seas, which makes him one of the most powerful men in the Va-cherished Hemisphere.”

  “Perhaps, but the deference Regal Vilmar pays to him is odd. There’s something uncanny about their relationship. I believe it makes others feel uncomfortable too. Prime Mulhafen was sitting wriggling like a schoolboy while he was listening to Regal Vilmar and Kesleer.” She shook her head in puzzlement. “With everyone else Regal Vilmar is imperious and arrogant; with Kesleer he – he grovels. He’s the Regal and he behaves like that to a merchant? It’s – it’s undignified.”

  “You think it has something to do with the fan?”

  “Vilmar defers to no one else,” Mathilda said, registering her contempt by dropping his title. “He takes no notice of the Prime. He listens to his advisers, but he doesn’t necessarily do what they say. But when that repulsive Uthen Kesleer speaks, he’s nodding his agreement before the sentences are even finished! The Chancellor was almost hysterical over something Vilmar agreed to yesterday. He was so worried, he came to me, and asked me to persuade Vilmar to turn down what Kesleer wanted. As if I have any influence over Vilmar! He treats me like a child of ten!”

  Sorrel was silent, thinking.

  Mathilda furrowed her brow. “The gift of a fan can’t give Kesleer power over the Regal, surely?”

  “It sounds unlikely. Witchery doesn’t work that way. Didn’t Saker once say that if someone misuses witchery to gain power or wealth, their gift disappears? There’s no such thing as a rich shrine-keeper.” But what about a witchery from the Va-forsaken Hemisphere? Like … ensorcelled feathers. “What did Kesleer want tonight?”

  “Oh, something about exclusive rights to the sale of all spices landed at Lowmian ports, whether imported on his company ships or not.”

  “That can’t be right, surely.”

  “Vilmar agreed to it.”

  “So did you speak to him about it?”

  “Are you beef-witted? Of course not! He not only wouldn’t listen, he’d be furious with me.”

  “I’m sure it’s wise not to involve yourself.” She held up the dress she’d been folding. “I don’t think you can wear this any more. It’s too tight.”

  Mathilda pouted. “That’s the one with the prettiest lace, too. Va above, I’ll be so glad when this wretched child is born!”

  When Sorrel entered their cuddy a few minutes later, she expected to find Aureen already asleep. Instead, she was wide awake, sewing.

  “You can’t see very well there, surely?” she asked. As servants, they were only allowed the cheapest of tallow candles, and Aureen was almost setting her headdress on fire by sitting so close to the flame. “Aren’t you going to bed?”

  “I was waiting for you.” She laid the sewing aside and wiped the back of her hand across her nose.

  “What’s wrong?” Something was, she could see that much.

  “It’s the baby.”

  “Everything seems normal to me.” In fact, she thought Mathilda was having a relatively easy pregnancy. Please don’t tell me otherwise.

  “She’s too big.”

  Her thoughts raced. Too big. The pregnancy was further along than … Dear sweet Va above, please don’t tell me this is Saker’s child.

  Then: If someone suspects it’s not the Regal’s, we’ll all be dead.

  She lost her breath, and it was a moment before she was sure her heart was still beating. She held up a hand to halt Aureen’s next words. “Wait. Let me think.”

  The day after Saker had bedded the Princess, Mathilda had sworn to her that she had taken every precaution. When Sorrel returned to the palace after rescuing him from the Chervil Moors shrine, Mathilda had casually said that her moon’s bleed had come. There was no way this babe could be Saker’s child.

  Unless Mathilda had lied.

  The room tilted, and she sat down hurriedly on the bed until her dizziness subsided. Desperately, she calculated. If it was Saker’s child, she’d be … more than three weeks further along than she ought to be.

  Long enough to make a noticeable difference in her
size? Yes, of course.

  Was it possible that Mathilda had lied to her? Of course it is. She lies all the time, without a second thought. Sorrel knew that Ardronese court women had knowledge of the best ways to prevent pregnancies, but there was no such thing as absolute assurance when it came to babies.

  Aureen was staring at her. She gathered her wits enough to ask, “You were going to add something?”

  “I wonder if them’s twins inside.”

  Twins? She didn’t know whether to be relieved or dismayed. “Well, if that’s so, there’s nothing we can do about it, and it’s not a terrible disaster anyway, is it? Although – perhaps we shouldn’t mention the possibility to Lady Mathilda yet. We don’t want to worry her.”

  Aureen stood up, wringing her hands. Her sewing dropped to the floor unheeded. “You don’t understand,” she wailed.

  “Hush, she’ll hear you.” She took hold of Aureen’s hand and pulled her down on to the bed beside her. “Calm down. What don’t I understand?”

  “In Lowmeer, they kill twins at birth.”

  Sorrel stared at her in astonishment. “Tush, of course they don’t! Whoever told you such a silly story?”

  “Me ma. Being a midwife, she hear things. Some Lowmian mothers, told they have twins, ’scape to Ardrone to give birth. Because here, they kill twin babes. Drown them when they born.”

  Sorrel was speechless, shocked into silence. Finally she whispered, “I think – I think you’d better tell me everything you know.”

  The Regala pulled the bedclothes up over her head as Aureen opened the drapes around the massive four-poster bed in the morning. Sorrel, shivering, wished her own bed was surrounded by curtains. The damp wind that swept up the Ust estuary of a morning was chill.

  She glanced over at Aureen. “Well, let’s do it,” she said.

  Mathilda groaned, annoyed at being awoken earlier than usual. “What are you two whispering about?”

  Bad temper, Sorrel reflected, was Mathilda’s usual state now that she was so heavily pregnant. She said pleasantly, “Your health, milady. Aureen hasn’t examined you since you were with child, yet she is an experienced midwife.”