“Now?” said Gregory. “It’s late, Father. I’m starving. Can’t it wait?”
Casper clamped a hand on Gregory’s shoulder. “I’ll have the cooks send something to your room. You boys fetch Vigor and Senné. I’ll send Oliver along in a few minutes.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Dorian. He hustled Gregory out the door.
Dorian and Gregory collected their unicorns from the barn. Dorian hated disturbing Senné. The hike down the cliffside had tired the stallion, but he didn’t complain. Dorian took a soft rag and rubbed his legs. By the time Oliver appeared in the courtyard it was dark. Three martial magicians, somber, bearded men in simple black tunics and leggings, accompanied him.
No one spoke on the way up the Ramlock Face, the highest point above Solsea village. The path was a daunting mix of sliding rocks and a dizzying drop edged by scrubby bushes. Senné shuffled along, adjusting his pace to the magicians’ horses. Each magician conjured a ball of light to guide his mount, and the spells cast a gray, red, and blue glow over the horses’ feet. It was hard going, and Dorian appreciated Senné’s easy confidence.
When they crested the top of the path the wind whipped over a day’s worth of dry sweat and raised gooseflesh on Dorian’s forearms. The full moon cast light on great houses of Solsea dotting the cliffs below them. He could see the cottages of Trill Castle, and the steeple of the Rockwall Chapel.
“A fine view, is it not, gentlemen?” asked Oliver. Gregory grunted in agreement, and Dorian nodded. Fine view or not, he wanted to get back.
Everyone dismounted. Dorian and Gregory followed the magicians across a rough field to a stone sheep shack, long abandoned by some village farmer. Thick ivy vines covered the shack, as if it has sprouted arms and dug into the rocky ground to keep the wind from blowing it into the sea.
The three martials opened the warped wooden door. Dorian heard them cursing inside, and rays of enchanted light snuck through cracks in the shed walls. Someone cried out and was silenced with a meaty thump.
Dorian barely recognized the prisoner as a man when they dragged him from the shed. He wore nothing but a pair of ragged leggings, and his buckling knees lent a bowlegged roll to his stumbling stride. His arms hung uselessly at his sides. He looked like an oversized skinned monkey.
“What’s this?” Gregory asked.
“This, Your Highness, is the thief Thomas Harper Rowe,” said Oliver.
Rowe raised his battered face, and a hopeful flame of recognition lit in his eyes. Gregory took a few steps back. “Your Highness!” Rowe called. “Your Highness, I swear, I swear to you I am innocent!”
“Ignore him, sire,” said Oliver. “He knows the end is nigh. He’ll say anything.”
One of the martials punched Rowe in the stomach, and he doubled over. Oliver tugged a burlap bag over Rowe’s head and cinched it under his chin.
“What are you doing?” Gregory held his own hands in front of his mid-section, as if waiting for a blow himself.
“I’m doing as your father commanded.”
Oliver spoke in a low voice and raised his hands. Two sets of heavy shackles formed out of the mist swirling around his head. Rowe screamed as the chains attached themselves to his fractured wrists and tightened. The others wound around his legs and he fell to the ground.
“Thomas Harper Rowe, you are condemned here on this cliff for the crime of theft of crown possessions.”
Rowe’s weeping voice escaped his burlap mask. “Please, Your Highness. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I swear to HighGod.” Dorian wondered if Rowe even remembered whether he was guilty or innocent.
“It is His Majesty King Casper’s wish that you atone for your sins with the highest price.”
Rowe struggled. Sparks flew around his head and danced off the chains.
“Wasted effort, Rowe,” said Oliver. “My chains are much more powerful than anything you can conjure.”
“Even I can see that,” Gregory said to Dorian.
Senné’s breath grazed Dorian’s neck. He wound his fingers through the stallion’s black mane.
Oliver’s chant carried over the Face. Rowe’s bound body rose into the air in a cradle of gray mist. He thrashed and moaned.
“Can’t they shut him up?” Gregory muttered. He tugged at the back of his neck.
Rowe floated out over the edge of the cliff, hovered, and spun slowly. Oliver raised his arms and his chant came to an abrupt end. The gray mist winked out, and Rowe plunged out of sight. Gregory ran to the edge of the cliff. Dorian followed him, but Rowe had already disappeared into the dark water below. All Dorian could make out were the tossing whitecaps.
Eleanor often delivered extra food to the chapel for the Godsmen to distribute among the poor. Gregory’s request to tag along on her next trip into the village surprised her.
“I’ve been so busy with Father and Oliver I’ve been no help,” he said.
“I would welcome your assistance, and your company.” She stood behind him at the breakfast table, rubbing his shoulders. “If you feel up to it. You seem tired.”
He looked up at her with the brown eyes of a tired puppy. “Maybe I am, but I’m afraid if I stay around here Father will call me into another assembly. Besides, there’s something else I want to see to in Solsea.”
In the courtyard Eleanor directed the stable boys and kitchen maids in sorting bushels of food that would spoil if not eaten soon.
“Why do the provisioners bring us so much?” she asked. “We can never eat it all.”
Gregory shrugged. “I assume they want us prepared if we are struck with the urge to hold a ball.”
“Ha,” she said. “It’s a help to the Godsmen at any rate.” She bustled about, enjoying the task. She hoped the afternoon would lift Gregory’s spirits. He’d been unusually distracted the past few days.
Eleanor and Gregory mounted their unicorns and followed the horse carts into the village. The Godsmen welcomed them, and they passed the time while the goods were unloaded with a glass of pear juice. Once the carts were empty, Gregory sent the drivers back up the road to Trill, took the Godsmen’s blessings, and swung onto Vigor’s back.
“Where are we going?” Eleanor asked.
“Just follow me.”
Teardrop fell in line behind Vigor and they trotted down Solsea’s quaint high street. On the west end the shops gave way to small, well-kept fishermen’s cottages. Gregory reined in at the last one on the block. It had its own wooden staircase down to the beach. Eleanor and Gregory dismounted and climbed the whitewashed steps. He knocked on the door and a voice called from within.
“Hold on, I hear ya.” The door opened a crack, revealing a young woman with black hair and buckteeth. Her eyes widened. “Oh, Your Highness, please forgive me.” She opened the door wider and dropped to a curtsy.
“Don’t worry, Millie,” said Gregory. “I know you weren’t expecting me.” He brushed past her and called for Eleanor to follow. Millie stayed at the door with her eyes on the ground.
“Princess Eleanor, it is just an honor, an honor to have you in our house.”
“Thank you,” said Eleanor. She still no idea what they were doing here.
Gregory had disappeared. Eleanor peered around the corner into a tiny, but meticulously neat, sitting room. A large window let in the sun and a beautiful view of the Shallow Sea.
“There she is,” Gregory said. “My girl.” He knelt by a battered couch. A tiny old woman was propped up on it, wrapped in a patchwork quilt. Her white hair, still streaked with black, was piled on top of her head in several squashy layers. One side of her face stayed frozen when she smiled at them.
“Eleanor, let me present my dear friend, Nanny Flossa,” Gregory said.
“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,” said Eleanor.
The old woman covered her mouth with two wrinkled fingers. She spoke around them in a slurred voice. “Oh, Gregory, she’s just lovely, she is. To think I would meet her.”
Eleanor silently asked Gregory f
or an explanation.
“Nanny Flossa took care of my mother as a child, and then she looked after my sister Matilda and me.”
“I did, Your Highness. Two generations. And the late queen and princess just as angelic as your husband was a rascal.”
Gregory and the old lady laughed, and she beckoned Eleanor into a chair next to her. She rambled on, stories of Gregory and Matilda and the troubles and joys of their childhood. Eleanor listened with interest, and glanced now and then at her husband. He opened a box of chocolate truffles from one of Maliana’s finest confectioners.
“Oh! Look how he spoils me,” said Nanny Flossa. “You know, love, Gregory bought me this house when I retired. He knew I had grown up here in Solsea, and he sent me home for some rest in my old age.”
“Did he?” Eleanor asked.
Nanny Flossa wagged a finger at Gregory. “Now then, don’t you be keeping your generosity from your own wife. Ain’t like kindness will stop the hair growing on your chest.” She turned to Eleanor. “Millie looks after me and Gregory pays both our keep. We are right comfortable.”
Eleanor took Gregory’s hand. “I’m glad.”
Gregory colored, but Eleanor could tell her words pleased him. “I do as my mother and sister would have wanted. Besides, I gave Nanny most of those gray hairs. It was the least I could do. I’m sorry I haven’t visited sooner.”
Nanny Flossa shrugged. “You’re here now, son, and I know the life of a prince is a busy one. I thank you for bringing your rose here to me. Everyone in the village speaks so highly of you, Princess Eleanor. I’m blessed to meet you. Hmmm…blessed.”
Millie tucked the blankets around her chin. “I think it’s time for a nap, Nanny.”
Nanny Flossa nodded. She squinted at Gregory, and Eleanor saw confusion in her eyes for the first time. “Where’s Matilda?” she asked. “She should come in for dinner.”
“We’ll find her. You rest. I’ll stay until you fall asleep,” said Gregory.
The old woman put a papery hand on his cheek and closed her eyes. Within moments she drifted off.
Eleanor and Gregory rode up the Cliffside Road to Trill Castle. As they entered the courtyard Eleanor tried to praise his kindness to his old servant. “Nanny Flossa was right,” she said. “Why hide your compassion? It’s a fine quality.”
She meant it as a compliment, so his irritation surprised her. “I’m tired of this topic,” he said as he dismounted. “She wanted to meet you, so we went. Let’s be finished with it.”
“As you wish,” she said. She joined him on the ground.
Dorian walked purposefully out of the barn as she handed her gloves to a groom. “You’re back,” he said. “Good.”
“What is it?” asked Gregory.
“Is something wrong?” Eleanor added.
Dorian hesitated. His eyes flicked between them. Eleanor felt a twinge of annoyance when she understood Dorian did not want to speak in front of her.
“You know I’ll hear of it anyway,” she said.
Gregory shrugged, and Dorian waved both of them out of earshot of the grooms. “Some fishermen found the body of Thomas Harper Rowe.”
Eleanor had heard of Rowe, and how he had been accused of thievery and then disappeared. “Did he drown?” she asked.
“In a way, yes,” said Dorian. “He was tortured, bound, and thrown off a cliff.”
She gasped. Gregory, however, did not appear surprised in the least. “What are people saying?” he asked.
“People say it is frightening, but not unexpected if he was guilty of these crimes.”
“What of the Harpers?”
“They haven’t addressed it.”
Eleanor turned on Gregory. “Someone needs to address it. It sounds like he was murdered without a trial.”
“Eleanor—” Dorian began.
“He confessed,” said Gregory.
“So you knew about this? Dorian said he was tortured. You or I might confess to giving birth to a dragon under such duress.”
Gregory’s hands roamed from his eyes to his hair. “I’m tired. It’s been a long week.”
“I’m not finished!”
“Well I am,” Gregory said. His volume rose with each word. “An example needed to be made and it was made. Honor needed to be retained and it was retained. Why am I justifying myself to you? It’s not your place, and it’s beyond you anyway.”
Eleanor’s mouth fell open. “Beyond me?”
“I said I don’t want to bloody talk about it anymore!”
He stormed toward the groom leading Vigor into the barn. The boy saw him coming and tripped. He did not drop the reins, and the nose strap scraped across Vigor’s muzzle. It pulled Vigor’s head down and he stumbled along with his guide.
Gregory talked softly to Vigor until he calmed. The groom knelt on the ground, his head lowered. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, I’m sorry—”
Gregory jerked him to his feet before he could finish.
“Stupid ass!” he screamed into his face, and threw him to the ground again. He kicked the boy in the stomach. Vigor tossed his head and backed away.
“Gregory!” Eleanor cried.
“Stop,” said Dorian. “Don’t judge him this time, Eleanor.”
“He should judge himself!”
Dorian shook his head. “I would not be him in these matters. You don’t know what choices he has to make. Let me take care of it.”
Dorian trotted across the yard. Gregory was yanking the scrambling groom back to his feet and cocking his arm when Dorian took his shoulder. Gregory turned, his fist still raised.
“That’s enough, Greg, don’t you think?” said Dorian. He put his other hand on Gregory’s upraised arm, and eased it down.
The groom fell again, his forehead against the ground and his arms over his head, in a position of subjugation and defense. Eleanor saw the redness drain out of her husband’s face as he looked at Dorian.
“Let’s have a drink,” Dorian said.
Gregory nodded. He said something Eleanor couldn’t make out, and another groom took up Vigor’s line and lead him into the barn. Gregory started up the stone path to Willowswatch, but then turned back to her and bowed his goodbye. She returned it with a curtsy, and the two men disappeared, Dorian a step behind Gregory.
At a bit of a loss, Eleanor approached the offending groom, who still crouched in the dirt.
“Rise,” she said. He leapt up. “Are you badly injured?”
“No, Your Highness,” he said.
“You should take the rest of the day.”
He shook his head. “I was at fault. I’ll not ignore my duties.”
She exhaled. “You’re a brave boy.” She pointed at Teardrop, who still waited patiently by the fountain. “Will you look after my lady mare? I trust you will take care. She is a gentle creature and easily frightened.”
The eagerness on his face tugged at her heart. He couldn’t have been more than twelve. “Yes, I will take care, I promise. Thank you, Your Highness.”
She kissed Teardrop goodnight and went to prepare for dinner.
CHAPTER 18
The Broom Closet
The season wound down, and one by one the summer families prepared to return to their year-round homes. The carriages were packed, the furniture covered, and the windows nailed shut against the driving wind that battered the cliffs all winter. The king had returned to Eclatant, but Gregory and Eleanor and their friends lingered to enjoy a few more days. Eleanor had been content in Solsea these last weeks, and she although she wanted to see Rosemary and start her charity work in Maliana, she would miss the quaint beauty of Trill Castle.
Two days before they were to leave they met on the south lawn for a game of lawn bolls. The servants piled fruit, sweets, and bottles of wine and liquor on a long table.
“No need to drag it all back with us,” said Gregory. He poured a flask of whiskey into the bowl of tangerine punch.
“Hear, hear,” said Raoul.
Chou Cho
u flew around their heads as the game started, shouting advice on proper pitching form. Eleanor’s first two throws went wide, and her third came up short.
“Your Highness,” said Roffi, “with your husband’s permission I will show you the way we are playing in Svelya. We are internationally known for our skill at lawn bolls.”
Anne Iris and Margaret laughed.
“Don’t forget, Eleanor,” said Brian. “Svelyans are also internationally known for their skill at bullshitting.”
Gregory nodded at the ambassador. “By all means, Roffi, help the girl. She stands to lose all her money, and then where will the poor children of Solsea be?”
Eleanor stuck her tongue out at him. Roffi came up behind her. He reached around her waist and put his hands over hers on the ball. His mouth brushed her ear when he whispered directions.
Eleanor was concentrating on easing away from Roffi’s awkward embrace and barely registered what he said, but when he swung her arm for her the ball arced up. It plopped gently in the grass and rolled to a stop beside the target. She couldn’t help but beam at him. “You are indeed a master, sir,” she said. “I’ve always been rubbish at this game.”
“I am at your service, as always,” he said.
Gregory applauded, and then spoke to Brian. “Smithy, where’s Dorian?” Irritation crept into his voice.
Raoul answered for Brian. “He was writing to his sister. You know she’s expecting again.”
“Yes, I know,” said Gregory, “but it can wait. I told him I wanted him here.”
Brian snorted. “Your dog not jumping fast enough?”
Eleanor bristled. She knew Brian liked Dorian, but sometimes resented his elevated status. As Gregory’s cousin Brian should by any measure outrank a former soldier.
“I doubt you would say that to his face,” said Gregory. “Play on.”
The game became wilder as the players sipped Gregory’s spiked punch. A tipsy Anne Iris argued with Chou Chou, who kept landing on her shoulder and giving her pointers. Eleanor chuckled as Anne Iris turned this way and that, trying to swat him. Chou clung to the back of her dress between her shoulder blades, giving the impression she had sprouted wings. On her last attempt to dislodge him, the ball slipped from her grip. It flew through the air and landed with a splash in the glass punch bowl. The bowl shattered and sent shards and punch flying. As Eleanor stood beside the unlucky bowl her bodice was drenched.
The Cracked Slipper Page 19