It was late in the afternoon on the third day when she heard someone call out to her.
“Selena? Is that you?”
She turned to see a refined-looking man peering at her from under his bushy white eyebrows. “Uncle Thomas!” she exclaimed, rushing to her feet.
“We’ve both been too old for you to call me uncle for years, my dear,” the old man said, with a laugh. “Besides, I was never really your uncle anyway.”
“Uncle sounds better than cousin,” Selena said, with a toss of the head.
“And both sound better than Earl Salisbourne,” he said, with a grimace. “What are you doing here? I heard you were married off to some eastern fellow. Slayton or something?”
“Freyton,” Selena corrected him, ignoring the way he’d curled his lip when he said 'eastern fellow'. “I was. He died recently, I’m afraid.”
His face fell and the twinkle in his eyes was replaced with guilt and sympathy. “Oh, my dear, I am sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she replied. “It was not a happy marriage. We all know it was one of convenience and necessity, anyway. I’m only sorry his son won’t get to meet him.” She put a hand on her midriff, looking down so he couldn’t fail to catch her meaning.
“A child?” The smile flew back to his lips immediately. “Why, that’s wonderful news!” He pulled her into a hug and, just as quickly, pushed her back, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Look at us! A pair of gossips chatting away for the entertainment of the staff. What are you doing here?”
“I was rather hoping for an audience with the king,” Selena said, rolling her eyes.
“Few and far between, these days, I’m afraid,” he replied, with a sidelong look at the doors. “Would it be terribly rude of me to ask why?”
“The Bjornmen,” Selena grated. “They’re taking whole counties at a time and he doesn’t seem to be inclined to do anything about it. I’ve sent missive after missive and, frankly, my own forces are not up to the task. If we’re to have any chance of repelling them, I need the king’s armies.”
Thomas nodded soberly. “Listen, I’m having a little meal tomorrow evening with a few people you might like to meet. Rentrew is going to be there. I suspect you have a lot to talk about.”
“Baron Rentrew?” she said, in shock. “What on earth is he doing here?”
“Much the same as you, by the sound of things,” Thomas replied. “Must dash, my dear. I’ll send a coach for you tomorrow evening.” He gave her another twinkling smile as he left.
***
Pieter was a pale man with dark, lank hair that was no friend to a bath. They were only nodding acquaintances at best. It hung down past his cheekbones, framing his sallow face, as he looked down at her with bored indifference in his dark shadowed eyes.
His was not the face of a king. Not a king that would ever inspire his subjects, anyway. It was a cruel face, the face of a child grown to adulthood who had never quite stopped pulling the wings off flies. He lounged in the throne, his head propped up on one hand as he leaned his elbow on the armrest.
“Freyton,” the king said slowly, as if testing the word to see whether or not it was to his liking. “Freyton is one of my newer dukes. He holds my lands in the Eastern Reaches, I believe. I wasn’t aware he’d taken a wife.” He looked over to the large table set against one wall and received a nod from one of the red-robed men there. They were huddled together, speaking quietly as another man scribbled into a thick ledger.
The scribbler was wearing a black robe with red trim. He stood and moved to his usual place, beside and slightly behind the throne, as Selena spoke.
“Yes, My Liege.” She was not quite sure what to make of the man. It had been a shock to be admitted after all this time spent waiting. Hanris had been forced to wake her, as she'd dozed and she hadn’t quite found her feet yet.
“So why has this man sent his wife in his place? I have little respect for a man who hides behind his woman when making requests.”
“Nor should you, my lord,” the dark-robed man murmured, just loud enough for the words to carry.
“Requests, Your Majesty?” Selena found herself parroting the man and turning the words into a question. It was a habit she’d always found intensely annoying when used by her own staff and she inwardly chided herself for it.
“Nobody sits outside waiting for an audience for three days without wanting something, girl,” Pieter said. His voice was little warmer than his eyes, and they were as cold as winter’s kiss. “Where is he?”
“My husband died recently, Your Majesty,” Selena said simply.
He sat in silence for a moment, digesting the news. “And why was word not sent? One of my own dukes dies and you see no reason to inform me?”
“Word was sent, Your Majesty, both by bird and messenger.” She met his eyes. Not defiantly, that would be stupid against such a man, but yet refusing to be cowed.
He ignored her, changing tack as if she hadn’t spoken. “Why are you here? Not to tell me Freyton is dead. You Browntrees are all the same, money-grabbing schemers. What do you want now?”
Selena ground her teeth. She was being toyed with, baited. There could be no way the man was this ill-informed. “My duchy, your lands, have been invaded by a large force of Bjornmen, Your Majesty. Their numbers are such that we cannot repel them. They are taking lands. Driving off your subjects and settling the lands for themselves.”
“Your duchy?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow at her as the robed toady tutted beside him, shaking his head in disapproval. “What makes it your duchy? By your own admission, Freyton is dead.”
“He left the title to me, to act in his stead until his unborn child is ready to take the helm.” She swallowed, fighting to keep the act as unobtrusive as she could. A sign of weakness before the man would be tantamount to suicide.
“He left you the title?” Pieter's voice rose with his anger and he stood up in his seat. “Am I not king? I decide who my lords and dukes are, not some semi-literate scratchings.”
The grey-haired man bent to whisper into Pieter’s ear, his words too low and swift for Selena to hear, although she did catch the word 'regency'.
She drew breath to speak, but the king waved a hand at her in disgust as he retook his seat. “Enough, woman. I’m done with your prattlings. Go to your villa and remain there until I send for you. We will consider your request to allow your regency.”
“But, Your Majesty…” she began, in desperation.
“You’re dismissed.” He cut her off, his eyes narrow in thought, as he watched her make a hasty curtsy and step backwards before turning and making her way out.
She ignored the guards at the door as they turned their eyes away from her, embarrassed on her behalf. She clenched her fists at her sides to stop them from shaking and made her way out into the small antechamber.
Hanris stood as she entered, a question on his lips, but she stopped him with a curt shake of the head and marched out into the hallway.
“Your meeting was not a success then, your grace?” Hanris asked, once they were in the privacy of the carriage.
“You could say that,” she replied, in sick voice. “There is a game at play here, Hanris, we are late arrivals it would seem. Our task is to find what moves have already been played.”
“Indeed, your grace, and if I might interject, it would be beneficial to know who the other players are as well.”
She raised her eyebrows at that. “Indeed. Our esteemed monarch has commanded us to remain at the villa until summoned. It would seem he isn’t quite finished with us yet.”
“That’s something at least, your grace,” Hanris said.
“It’s his seeming lack of knowledge about the Bjornmen that concerns me most, Hanris,” she admitted, shaking her head. “I cannot truly believe that he has not received word. What motive could he possibly have for feigning ignorance?”
“What indeed?” Hanris muttered. “I take it the fae were not mentioned?”
“Hardly!
” she scoffed. “The man seems not to believe the Bjornmen have invaded, I was not about to bring up monsters escaped from fable and legend.”
“A wise move, your grace,” Hanris replied but she didn’t hear. She was already staring out of the window, her mind churning.
***
“Are you certain this is appropriate, your grace?” Hanris asked, as the coach passed through the gates into the Salisbourne estate.
“Appropriate, Hanris?” she replied, with an amused smile.
“My accompanying you, your grace,” Hanris explained, as they approached the mansion.
“I’ve already explained, it will be fine.” She took a closer look at the man and realised he was genuinely worried. “It’s really quite common, Hanris. You’re a professional and, as such, it’s expected that you will attend and meet with your counterparts in Salisbourne’s household. If Freyton hadn’t been such a frightful bore, you’d have done this half a dozen times each year.” She paused and looked at him. “Surely you’ve done this before? Not in Freyton’s employ, obviously, but prior to working for him?”
Hanris cleared his throat and looked away. “Not as such, your grace. I’ve...well, I’ve never been what you might call a people person.”
Selena nodded. “Well, I think it’s time that changed. Can’t have you spending your whole life tallying figures now, can we?”
“Apparently not, your grace.” His response was almost lost in the crunching of gravel as the carriage slowed to a halt and Salisbourne’s men opened the door for them. Selena took the hand of a young footman and stepped out carefully, so as not to stand on the hem of her elegant evening gown.
The dressmaker’s fee had made Hanris blanch, but she had to admit it was worth it. The deep forest green colour set off her flaming red hair and the cut almost, but not quite, concealed the fact she was pregnant. It had taken her some time to explain what she wanted to achieve there. Designing a dress to look as if it had just failed to conceal a pregnant waistline, whilst still ensuring that she looked fabulous, was no easy task. It was also cut almost scandalously low, obviously so. This again, was by design. An overly blatant attempt to draw the eyes away from the waist.
Selena felt the blood rise in her cheeks as she stepped out of the carriage and felt the eyes of the footman upon her. She murmured her thanks, something Freyton would never have done. The man had possessed the social graces of a sewer rat, often present, but seldom welcome.
Salisbourne himself came out to greet them on the front steps, beaming as he took in her dress. “You look positively ravishing, my dear,” he said, as he bent to kiss her cheek.
“Why, thank you, Thomas,” she purred. “Impending motherhood allegedly gives a woman a certain glow. I’ve yet to notice it myself. It’s possibly because most mornings lately I spend more time clapping a hand over my mouth and searching for a chamber pot than looking into mirrors!”
The earl gave her a startled look and then burst into laughter. It was a deep, genuine laugh that came from the belly. “Selena, you always were the most fun to sit near at dinner. It doesn’t look like anything has changed.” He looked past her to Hanris. “And is this your man here?”
“My chamberlain,” she explained. “Hanris, this is my cousin, Thomas.”
“You honour me, my lord,” Hanris said, with a short bow.
The earl smiled a polite acknowledgement. “I believe my staff have their own modest dinner planned which, of course, you are welcome to attend. My man, Adams, is always looking for someone to sample the wine cellars with. Be careful though, I have it on good authority he can talk your ear off.”
He took Selena’s arm and escorted her through to the dining room. Salisbourne’s home was warm, both from the décor and from the large fireplace that almost filled one entire end of the dining hall.
The rich carpets and dark oak panelling provided a sense of homely comforts. Neither were especially in fashion these days, but they drew Selena's mind back to happier times, to a childhood she barely remembered, a time before things had gone so terribly awry for the Browntrees.
“It’s a quiet affair this time, my dear,” Thomas explained, as he waved her into the room. “Agnes is away at the country house and so I could dispense with half of the insipid toadies she seems to delight in surrounding herself with. I think you’ll probably recognise a few faces, though.”
The room was awash with conversation and at least forty people sat at the long table. He waved away the steward and pulled the chair out for her himself, before moving to his own place opposite her.
She smiled at the older lady on her left and glanced at the empty seat on her right, before beckoning the wine steward over. She gave him discreet instructions for her wine to be extremely well watered, then turned as a portly man in his middle years took the seat on her right.
“You must be little Selena, then,” he said, with a broad smile on his red face. “Tommy told us all about you last night.” The room was warm, but not so warm as to justify the faint sheen of sweat on his brow. “Jantson,” he said, by way of introduction. “Earl of someplace you've most likely never heard of, but we don’t bother with those things at Tommy’s dos. Stuff and nonsense, anyway.” His laugh was infectious and was already relaxing her.
“Oh,” he said, peering past her at her other neighbour. “A word from the wise. Don’t bother trying to talk to her. She’s as deaf as a post. Isn’t that right, Agatha?” He raised his voice to almost a shout, leaning into the table and waving at the elderly lady.
“What’s that?” she replied, with a bemused look.
“Deaf!” Jantson yelled again, as Selena looked on with an uncomfortable smile.
“Me?” Agatha asked, loudly. “Oh, yes. Deaf as a post. I only come for the wine!” She burst into laughter and raised her glass again, motioning to the servant to refill it.
“She’ll be snoring into her plate before the third course,” Jantson snorted.
The first course was served at that moment, saving Selena from the effort of trying to respond to the odd man. A cold beetroot soup, exotically spiced.
“It’s cold!” protested Jantson, grabbing for a napkin.
“It’s supposed to be,” Selena laughed, unable to help herself. “It’s called ‘pasha’, I think. I believe it’s from Feldane.”
“I know it’s supposed to be warm down there, but surely they still need to cook?” Jantson muttered, pushing the bowl aside. “We’ll all be peeing pink in the morning, if we eat this.” He snorted at his own joke, missing Selena’s slightly repulsed expression.
“So tell me, Selena, what’s it actually like over in the Eastern Reaches. You hear such stories about endless winters and raiders coming from the sea all bundled up in bearskins.”
“I don’t know that it’s as barbaric as the tales say. It does take a little getting used to. Not quite the pinnacle of civilisation, you might say,” she replied, sipping at her wine. The servant had paid attention, she noticed. Though it was as dark a red as Jantson’s, she could barely taste the wine itself.
“That’s right, Tommy mentioned you’d spent some time here in your youth.”
“My youth?” A dangerous smile curved her lips.
“Not to say you aren’t young,” he sputtered, as his face turned red.
“Of course not,” she murmured. “That would be outrageously rude.” She glanced up at him and then burst into laughter at his stricken expression.
Dinner was pleasant, with Jantson proving to be an entertaining companion, and it was almost with regret that she pushed away the remains of the last course, a deliciously light lemon torte.
“Shall we adjourn, gentlemen?” Thomas called out across the table. Selena groaned to herself. She'd forgotten this ridiculous tradition. The men would now sequester themselves drinking brandy and smoking stourweed in their pipes. Meanwhile, she would be trapped with a collection of old dears and trophy wives with nothing to talk about save the latest fashions.
She rose with t
he others as Thomas left the table, and stepped backwards away from the crowd and into a corner as she pondered what to do. She lost sight of Jantson and sipped her wine as she tried to avoid being drawn into conversation. A few guests had remained at the table, nibbling on a selection of cheeses and nuts. She wondered if she should join them.
A tap on the shoulder and Thomas was there again. “I thought we’d get the gossips busy and then slope off for a private chat. There are a couple of people I want you to meet.”
Selena tried to conceal her relief, but his wry smile as he escorted her to the door told her plainly that she’d failed.
Jantson was in the hallway with two other men she didn’t recognise. One seemed vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place him.
“You’ve met Jantson, of course,” Thomas said, as the fat man smiled. “This is Raysh and I expect you’ve probably heard of Rentrew?”
She smiled politely in greeting before it clicked. “Baron Rentrew?”
“So very nice to meet you, your grace,” Rentrew said, with a small bow.
“The pleasure is mine, I assure you, my lord,” she replied, with genuine pleasure.
“Oh, don’t start all that nonsense, Rentrew,” Salisbourne sighed. “We’re all titled here. If we start Gracing and Lording, we’ll never get to the end of a sentence.” He turned to Selena. “I’ve a nice private study where we can all have a proper conversation. I have a feeling we have a few mutual interests that should be discussed.”
Salisbourne’s private study was filled with the smell of old books, whiskey and stourweed smoke. He arranged some chairs around a small table and poured drinks for them. Selena shook her head behind her raised hand as she refused the offer.
“Selena here, as I’m sure you know, Rentrew, has been trying to get in to see our beloved king for the past three days.”
He looked at Selena, nodding towards Rentrew as he spoke. “Rentrew has been trying to get in for over a month now. He began by sending missives, then emissaries and finally upped sticks and came himself.” He looked back to both Rentrew and Raysh. “She managed to get in to see him this morning.”
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