And not bad ones.
But in all, the only thing that was known was the Sisterhood had no clear leader for the future.
So, no.
As the talk wore on well into the night their princess returned, the Nadirii did not know what to make of any of this.
They didn’t know at all.
66
The Trick
Melisse of the Nadirii Sisterhood
Some Ways South of Notting Thicket
WODELL
She was getting nowhere and seeing nothing.
This was not right.
She had naught of his, of course.
The path would be far easier to see if she did.
Thus, now she had only her magic and the knowledge he’d been to Notting Thicket a number of times, therefore he spent much time in or around the Go’Doan temple there, as well as being invited to Birchlire Castle.
So she had taken up a variety of pebbles she found in both places, cast over them, and followed where they led.
But she was far out of the city.
Quite far.
Every time she stopped to toss a pebble, she followed the direction it pointed to her, but she felt nothing more, saw nothing more, not a hint he’d been there recently.
The sun was getting low. Shadows were claiming the forest. Night would fall fully soon.
Melisse needed to make camp.
Even so, she stopped her horse, swung off and pulled a pebble out of the pouch at her belt, just to make sure she was on the right track.
She threw it and watched it skitter down the narrow, not-oft traveled road through a thick forest. The road where she’d been traveling for some hours now.
But her eyes narrowed beyond it.
Was that…?
She stared.
It couldn’t be.
She clicked her tongue to tell her horse, Fortune, to follow her. She put one hand to the hilt of the dagger on her belt and opened her senses before she moved forward slowly.
Very slowly.
The glow in front of her did not get stronger, but it also did not waver.
A healthy, fit being would glow much brighter should she send a seeking pebble in its direction anywhere near it.
She could not be twenty meters away, but that glow was barely lit.
And it couldn’t be anyone else.
No one.
But G’Seph.
That kind of glow could only mean…
She began to move more swiftly, staying alert and aware of her surroundings, both through her actual senses, as well as her magical ones.
She felt nothing.
Except the life force coming from the direction of that glow.
He was hurt.
Badly.
Perhaps even dying.
And he’d been left in this wood.
Who would do such a thing?
Melisse got closer.
And closer.
He was lying in the leaves, a thin blanket pulled over him, held tight to his chest by his arms.
“G’Seph?” she called softly, feeling Fortune shift uncomfortably at her back. “G’Seph?” she asked more firmly when he did not answer.
She cast a spell to light the area about him and gasped.
Her horse whinnied and shifted again.
“Good goddess, what happened to your hands?” she whispered, reaching out to him, staring at the bloody stumps expertly bound where his hands should have been.
When he didn’t answer, just seemed to be attempting to slide away from her, she lifted her gaze to his face.
He smiled, and it was grotesque.
Fortune neighed, and Melisse sensed her steed starting to rear.
It was then the warning her Dellish sister Rebecca gave her—a warning in all that was happening she had not remembered—came to the forefront of her mind.
Unfortunately, it did this right before the pain exploded at the back of her head.
67
The Confrontation
Queen Mercy
Grand Corridor, Second Floor, Birchlire Castle, Notting Thicket
WODELL
“Queen Mercy!”
Mercy pretended not to hear him and kept moving.
“Your Grace, Queen Mercy! One moment!” Carrington called.
She carried on walking, not rapidly, but decisively away from him.
“My queen!” he snapped loudly, much closer, as if he were running, and she sadly could no longer pretend her thoughts were elsewhere and she hadn’t heard him.
Therefore, with resignation, she turned, pretended to look surprised and remarked, “Why, Carrington.”
“I’ve been chasing after you since Stand Hall,” he noted irritably.
“Have you?” she asked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t notice. I’ve much on my mind.”
“We must speak,” he declared.
“Of course,” she agreed.
He opened his mouth to do that.
However, she continued.
“Talk to my secretary. Find a time. Much is going on, but I’ll have a word with her and make certain she fits you in.”
His face grew hard. “I meant now.”
Mercy put her hand to her chest in apparent astonishment. “Now?”
“Yes, now. I have urgent matters to discuss with you.”
“Well, then, first thing in the morning,” she stated. “I have things on my schedule at that time, but I’ll see if I can shift them around.”
His expression changed again, this time to one she did not like.
It was smug.
“My queen, the things I wish to discuss are messages from your king. And as you know, there is nothing more urgent than that.”
Of course, he would be smug about this, for he knew Mercy was no longer sleeping in the same bed with Wilmer. Not only that, they weren’t even speaking.
So now, Carrington thought he had the upper hand, for if there was something Wilmer wished to share with her, Carrington would be sent to share it, thus whatever it was, he would know it before her.
And whatever it was, he likely had a say in the message itself.
“Your king,” she returned blithely and watched shock hit his eyes at the inference he thought she was making. “My husband,” she finished.
He frowned and took the decision to ignore that.
“It’s come to our attention that you’ve ordered a new wedding gown.”
“I have,” she confirmed.
“You must demand the seamstresses cease production on it immediately.”
She showed no reaction to this declaration except curiosity. “And why would I do that?”
“You’ve been given a strict budget for this wedding, my queen. No more, no less. The figure was astronomical to start with—”
“Hardly astronomical,” she interrupted him to say. “The crown prince of Wodell is getting married. The king’s own nuptials had the same budget and that was thirty-three years ago.”
“Regardless, it was what you have to work with and what we could afford, and you do not have permission to go above it.”
Permission?
She did not have permission?
Mercy stood completely still and stared at him.
The superciliousness returned to his expression, for with this message, and the fact he’d been sent to deliver it, it was clear he thought he finally had a firm grasp on the upper hand.
“And we’ve learned you’ve hired twelve new seamstresses,” he remarked.
She responded to that.
“I have. The two royal seamstresses we have on staff could hardly finish a new wedding gown on time, not to mention what I am to wear, which they hadn’t even started, and build a trousseau fitting Lady Farah when she is princess.”
“Lady Farah?” he asked in shock.
“That is what I said,” she replied.
“When did that whore become a lady?”
Even if the feel was wafting from her, Mercy herself slightly shivered at
the coldness she was exuding toward him.
She did not think about the fact she’d had these same thoughts about her soon-to-be daughter-in-law.
She did not, for not only had she decided to change her way of thinking, it was not to be borne he would make such a remark, to her or anyone (but it must be said, mostly to her).
“You are speaking of my son’s betrothed, the woman who, in a very short period of time, will be crowned princess of this very realm and your future queen,” she reminded him coldly.
“Of course,” he murmured, and even this foolish toad knew he’d stepped over the line with that, therefore he swiftly changed the subject. “You’ve also ordered a trousseau?”
She stared at him like he was daft. “Farah will be traveling almost immediately with True to Airen for Prince Cassius and Princess Elena’s nuptials. She can hardly go across an autumn Wodell into the brisk sea winds of Sky Bay wearing Firenz sheers. And she shouldn’t for she’ll be the Princess of Wodell.”
He shook his head.
“We simply don’t have the money for that,” he retorted.
“I’m sorry, did you not just send the heralds with the collectors to spread the word another coin was expected from our citizenry, due immediately, for their levies to the crown?” she queried.
“That is to strengthen your husband’s coffers, which you know are running frightfully low, not for overages in costs of the wedding.”
It was not for that and it was an insult he was pretending she didn’t know it.
“That’s interesting,” she noted. “For I’ve read the proclamation with my own eyes and the king seemed to make a point of mentioning his son’s upcoming ceremony in the announcement of the latest tax increase.”
At that, Carrington was silent.
Mercy was not.
“It would seem to me the peoples of this realm will have a very clear impression the gold coin they must offer the collector was for that precise thing. At least, it seemed clear to me when I read the proclamation.”
Carrington’s mouth grew tight and he continued not to speak.
“So,” Mercy sniffed, “obviously, after meeting my son’s intended, I realized the dress I ordered to be made would not suit her. Considering her station and the historical event that’s about to occur, she obviously must have a dress that suits her, and she will. She’ll also have a wardrobe that suits a Dellish princess for a royal journey. And gold coins will be falling into our chests very shortly. In fact, I saw the guards bringing those already collected in the Thicket just this afternoon. So many of them, it would cover ten new wedding gowns and a wardrobe that would last years. Thus, I’m afraid there really isn’t much to discuss. Therefore, if you don’t mind, I’ll continue to be on my way.”
She began to make a turn when Carrington bit, “Mercy.”
Very slowly, she again gave her gaze to the horrible man.
“Mercy?” she asked quietly.
“We’ve known each other for over two decades,” he spat.
“And in that time, I have not given you leave to address me as such.”
“You should,” he returned.
“I believe it’s my decision whether I should or should not.”
He gave up on that and went on to something less enjoyable to discuss.
“You seem to view me as the enemy when I further detain you to share helpful advice. That being you are choosing the wrong side.”
“Side in what?” she asked, feigning ignorance.
“You know in what,” he returned.
“Carrington, if you wish to natter in riddles, really, can we do it sometime after all this wedding brouhaha is over and I can put my feet up by a fire and perhaps enjoy unraveling them?”
“This…” he hesitated as if searching for a word, “estrangement between you and the king will not go well for you. You may be queen, and my last wish would be to cause the least offense, but I feel it is in your best interests to share you are no longer young and not the renowned beauty you once were.”
She thought it impossible for him to get more obnoxious.
She had been wrong.
“As you say, I am queen, but I am also mother to the heir to the throne.”
“If you do not have the favor of the king—”
Mercy interrupted him.
“It is known wide Wilmer is prone to vacillating, it will shock no one I fall out of his favor for a time. Indeed, they’re probably surprised that hasn’t already happened a dozen times over throughout our marriage. Though I cannot imagine, for the Dellish who prize the faithfulness of a devoted spouse, should his eye wander, that will be well taken by the people. If, perchance, something like that were to happen, and then it was to get out.”
Carrington actually appeared stymied by that, proving he could get even more obnoxious.
But he was always obvious.
She wondered if he was already trying to tempt her husband with courtesans.
She could not think long on that.
She was angry with her husband. She was often frustrated by her husband.
But she loved her husband.
If he strayed, in her heart, she would no longer have a husband.
Just a king.
“However, I will always be mother to the heir to the throne,” she finished.
“I’m uncertain how important that is when we have a robust sitting king,” he retorted.
“Really?” she inquired. “This surprises me as you’re always so keen to share with my husband how well you read the pulse of the people.”
None of his points had been veiled for he lacked the skill to do such a thing.
None of hers had either, for he lacked the intelligence to gather her meaning if she did.
They stared into each other’s eyes.
She couldn’t do that all night, not only because it was ridiculous, but because she actually did have a number of things to do.
Thus, she queried, “Are you quite done?”
“I have a feeling you are,” he replied, the double meaning behind this also not veiled.
“We shall see,” she murmured, dipped her chin and turned away.
Fortunately, he didn’t call out to her.
Unfortunately, their chat meant she had to seek her chamber, and not go to check the progress of the seamstresses before she returned to her study to read through the updated response list and continue to devise and revise the seating in the temple and at the reception for the wedding.
Opportunely, Helga was in Mercy’s boudoir, seeing to some mending of lace on one of Mercy’s gowns.
Her maid’s attention came to her the moment Mercy entered the room, but Mercy did not speak until she had the door closed behind her and she and her maid were close.
“The ravens were sent to Prince True yesterday, yes?” she asked.
“Of course, milady, as you requested.”
“And Sir Bram?” she went on.
Helga nodded. “The messages direct from your hand, written twice each. Two birds for each message sent to two men. Four birds. I watched them fly away myself.”
Mercy nodded.
“I need you to bring paper and pen, Helga. I’ll need another message sent tonight. Not a bird, a messenger on a steed,” she instructed.
“Oh no,” Helga whispered.
“Yes, my friend,” Mercy muttered. “As my son is far away, we need reinforcements. I need to send for Silence,” she paused. “And Mars.”
Helga held her mistress’s gaze for but a moment before she nodded, dipped a curtsy and then strode off quickly to do as she was asked.
Mercy stared at the gown Helga had left behind on a fainting couch upholstered in forest-green velvet.
The nap of the couch was worn and at the bottom lip, there was a fray.
Her gaze wandered around the cozy, warm room with its merry fire.
She saw the intricate carvings in the dark wood panels on the walls and in the cornices. The once-thick, vibrantly-hued, now thinni
ng and fading wool rugs on the floor. The beautifully crafted furniture that appeared feminine and delicate but was indeed stout and comfortable. Furniture that was tended well but needed reupholstered.
They could not afford reupholstery.
They could barely afford the staff it took to keep the wood gleaming.
In the king’s castle.
Another five years of Carrington, they were headed for ruin.
She closed her eyes tight.
You are no longer young and not the renowned beauty you once were.
As if the only measure of a woman was her youth and beauty.
She did not go to the looking glass to see the veracity of Carrington’s words.
She knew she was still attractive. She took pains with Nadirii and Firenz elixirs on her skin and hair, and not simply to make certain her husband didn’t grow a wandering eye. This, she did mostly for herself.
It was, in her life, her only treat.
She also knew after she caught the eye, and won the heart, of the prince who would be her husband and then her king, that her youth and beauty began to fade from importance because she took pains to make that so.
However, that did not mean Carrington’s words did not wound.
Mercy drew in breath.
The tax proclamation that implied the people were paying for True’s wedding with their hard-earned gold (which they were, but they didn’t need to be told that directly) could easily put a pall on the celebratory air of the capital and even turn public sentiment away from her son.
And she could not let that happen.
She stared at the fray in her fainting couch and another thought came to her.
Where was all the tax money going?
The seemingly incessant campaigns to re-secure the southern border of Firenz land weren’t actually incessant.
Wodell was not a wealthy nation, they weren’t a poor one either.
Why was there such a huge concern about her spending on the wedding?
She could not say she oversaw the budget for the realm (just the castle), but it was her understanding their coffers were low, not empty.
Even before the tax increases, she should be able to hire seamstresses.
Definitely after them.
Further, she should be able to reupholster a couch.
The Plan Commences Page 48
