Threads of Gold (Tales of the Latter Kingdoms Book 6)

by Christine Pope

  “He will lose a great deal of money, won’t he?” This question was asked matter-of-factly, as if my sister already judged it a foregone conclusion.

  For that matter, it was. Oh, to be sure, every once in a while, my father would have a rare night of good luck and would come home beaming over the change in his fortunes. But these evenings of fair fortune occurred with such rarity that those infrequent windfalls couldn’t do much to alter the woeful state of our finances, especially since he would only view his new riches as a sign that his luck had changed permanently for the better…until the next time he went to the gambling table and lost it all over again.

  “Most likely,” I told my sister. “But we will survive, as we always have.”

  She was fiddling with the laces on her sleeves, not looking at me. Because she was only thirteen, her hair was loose, falling in warm gold ringlets over her shoulders. Some of the court ladies, I had heard, would spend hours getting their hair to curl just so, but Iselda’s did that all on its own.

  Then she asked, in a very small voice, “What will we do when it is all gone?”

  My heart broke a little, hearing that question. She should not have to worry about such things. Her only cares should be how well she fared in her studies, or the color of her new gown, or whether to purchase her new boots in black or brown. Or possibly, just possibly, to wonder if the boy who lived down the street had given her an admiring glance as she came home from the marketplace.

  “That is a very long time off,” I said stoutly, even though I truly had no idea how long our money would last. My father did have some income still, even if it was greatly reduced, and so I couldn’t say that all our money flowed in only one direction. It might last for some time.

  “Even so. What will we do?”

  “Then I suppose we will go to live with our Aunt Lyselle.” She was our mother’s younger sister, a great beauty in her time, who had married a baron and who lived on a grand estate in the mountainous mining province of Daleskeld, many miles to the north. We had a letter and a basket of extravagant gifts from her every midwinter, but otherwise we did not hear much from her. I knew that she disapproved of my father and his behavior, but would not interfere unless it became painfully obvious that we had been left with no recourse.

  Or perhaps were about to be put out on the street.

  “I haven’t even met her,” Iselda said, her tone morose.

  “Yes, you have, but you were only four at the time, and so perhaps do not recall. And she was at Mother’s funeral, but….” I stopped there, realizing too late that I should not have brought up such a painful subject. For after our mother passed away, Iselda became so deathly ill that we feared we would lose her as well. Because she had been confined to her sickbed, she had not attended the funeral, and so had not seen Aunt Lyselle. “Anyway,” I went on, my voice brisk, “she is a very great lady, and lives in a castle of stone, where I am sure there would be plenty of room for us, should matters come to such a pass.”

  “I would wager that she would be able to find you a husband,” Iselda said, somewhat trenchantly.

  “I suppose she would,” I replied, my tone light. “But that is not currently her concern, as she has three daughters of her own to marry off.” Not that finding her girls husbands would be any great problem, since they were reputed to be as lovely as she, and had their father’s wealth and title to recommend them as well.

  My sister nodded again, and appeared willing to let the matter go after that. I could not quite sigh in relief, not in her presence, but after I had reminded her of the sums she still had to complete, and the calligraphy exercises that were yet undone, she gave a sigh of her own and went off to her room, leaving me to some much-needed solitude.

  I went to my window, which looked out on the street. By that hour, the sun had begun to dip to the west, and people were returning to their homes. Most everyone on our little lane, which dead-ended just past our house, was engaged in trade of some kind, whether they were merchants like my father, or owned a shop or factory, like Master Brelsland, whose business was the weaving of cloth. My father had taken me to his factory once when I was not much older than Iselda was now, and I had been fascinated by the complex machines, which could produce fine fabrics so much more quickly than the small looms some people still kept in back rooms or in storage, even if they were no longer used.

  My mother had taught me to weave and to spin, although I had not touched the spinning wheel in years. I much preferred embroidery, and not merely because it was a way to make the gowns Iselda and I wore, made of inexpensive cloth, look so much finer with no additional expense but for a few skeins of embroidery silk. Stitching those patterns onto our gowns, or on a pillow cover, brought a little extra beauty to our lives, something I thought my sister sorely needed.

  Movement on the street caught my eye, and I realized that not everyone was coming home for the day. No, there was my father, sallying forth on foot, head topped by a fine hat with crimson plumes, wide torso covered by his best black velvet doublet. If that velvet was beginning to be a little worn at the elbows and along the seams, well, I doubted many would notice in the dim lighting of most of the rooms used for gaming. Or at least I hoped they wouldn’t. Ours was not the most amicable of relationships, but that didn’t mean I wanted people to laugh at my father’s poverty behind his back.

  He would return very late, this time in the coach of whoever was feeling charitable enough to give him a ride home. As he disappeared around a corner, I felt a small spurt of fury deep within my breast. All along our street, other fathers were returning to their families to share their evening meals, but mine seemed to care nothing for his daughters. We would eat alone, as we almost always did, Iselda and I at the great expanse of the dining table, which had been built to seat so many more than two.

  And tonight there would be no Cordell to bring us our meal. My heart ached at that realization, although I doubted it was because I had suddenly realized my true feelings for him. No, it was more that he had been a part of our lives, someone to provide the illusion that we weren’t constantly being left on our own. Now he was gone, and I was sure he would mend his heart with a girl close to his new home, someone who wouldn’t care that he had once been a servant in a merchant’s house.

  Angrily, I pulled the draperies shut and went out of my room, down the stairs, and into the kitchen. Grimsby started in fright at my sudden appearance.

  “My lady Annora, what are you doing in here?”

  His round red face had always reminded me rather of a tomato, and never more so than in that moment, his cheeks even ruddier from the heat of the cook fire.

  “I have come in here to see if the food is ready to bring out. Since Cordell is now gone, we no longer have anyone to serve.”

  “I’ll do it, my lady,” said Darinne, emerging from the pantry with the butter dish. “It isn’t fitting that you should be in here, nor thinking of bringing the food to the table. I can do it, and don’t mind. It’s not as if I’m having to serve at a grand dinner party.”

  “No,” I replied. “We have not had one of those for some time.”

  One of her sparse eyebrows lifted, as if she were attempting to decide whether I was teasing her or not. The sad truth was that we had never had any kind of a dinner party in my home, at least not since I was old enough to remember. Perhaps my parents had entertained when they were newly married, but I somehow doubted it. I was born only eleven months after they were wed, and that probably would have curtailed any efforts at hospitality for a while.

  “Well, then,” Darinne said, after an awkward pause, and went out to the dining room with the butter.

  I followed, mostly because I could see that Grimsby was not pleased with my presence in the sacred confines of his kitchen. Poor man — I knew he wanted to make dishes that were elegant and delicious at the same time, but since he was given only inexpensive cuts of meat and simple vegetables and roots to work with, there was not a great deal he could do to prov
ide much variety. But everything was savory enough in its own way, and I had learned to be content with that, even though I knew my father dined on spiced meats and fine ragouts and all manner of delicacies when he went out in the evening.

  Darinne was silent for a moment as she set down the butter and then adjusted the layout of the dinnerware on the table, shifting a plate here, a fork there. Her eyes would not meet mine.

  “Did you know something of it?” I asked her then. “Of what Cordell intended?”

  At first she said nothing, but only moved a water glass a fraction of an inch to the right. Since she had never before shown any sign of being interested in such niceties, I had to assume she did so now in an attempt to stall me. After a moment, she let out a small sigh. “Not precisely, my lady. But it was easy enough for me to tell that he thought very highly of you. And a few days ago he received a letter, and seemed a little off after that.”

  “‘Off’?” I repeated.

  “Not himself. Absent-minded. It seemed clear enough to me that his thoughts were somewhere else.” She backed away from the table and smoothed her hands over the front of her apron. “Now I know where his mind was. ’Tis a shame, my lady.”

  “So you think I should have accepted his offer?”

  “It’s not my place to remark on that.” This time she did look at me, hazel eyes dark with concern. “But it’s unfortunate he didn’t ask a day sooner. That’s all I have to say on it.”

  I reflected that she might have a point there. For the afternoon before, my father had gone down to the warehouse where he rented space, taking with him his sole assistant to perform inventory. They had not returned until almost dinnertime, at which point my father had changed his garments and gone back out to the party at Lord Selwyn’s town house. So if Cordell had come and spoken to me then, with no danger of interruption, his proposal might have had a very different outcome.

  However, the past could not be altered, not once it had been set. I lifted my shoulders and told Darinne, “And that is all we should say. For he is gone now, and that is all that has changed.” Glancing away from her, I took in the dining room, with the plaster on the walls that should have been refreshed years ago, and the chairs and table that showed scratches and scars from long use. It was all so familiar to me that I barely gave its shabbiness a second thought, but in that moment I realized how neglected it all appeared. There was little I could do about it, though, save to mend a cushion or a curtain here and there as necessary.

  Cordell is gone, I thought then. But I am still here…and likely to remain here.

  * * *

  Dinner was a quiet meal, both Iselda and I subdued. Afterward, she excused herself to go to her room and read. I could not fault her for that, even though I knew she was not reading any improving works, but rather some hastily printed bundles of rather lurid stories passed on to her by Lysia Devenning, who was a year older than my sister and who liked to indulge an overactive imagination. The stories were not, perhaps, the best reading material for my sister, but I did not try to take them away from her. She had a good enough head on her shoulders that I felt she could distinguish the realities of life from the outlandish exploits described in those packets of stories, and why should I deny her the chance at a little escape?

  As for me, I only dragged myself up to my room and took up my embroidery. Lighting two candles to work by was perhaps an extravagance, but I had no other entertainment, and besides, the piece I stitched was a new covering for one of Iselda’s worn pillows. The bright colors might cheer her up, or at least make her quite utilitarian room a little prettier.

  Although that was my intention as I sat down, my attention seemed inclined to wander. More than once I had to stop and go back to pick out something I had just stitched, and the Selddish knot I was attempting kept falling apart under my impatient fingers. At last I paused and set the embroidery hoop down. I sat at the table by the window, and my gaze strayed there instead, although night had fallen and I could see little but the orderly lines of lamps along the street, each casting a circle of warm yellow light, but not doing much to dispel the dark of a moonless night.

  Perhaps I watched for my father’s return. However, it was far too early for that; he did not often return home before midnight, and more often than not, I was unable to stay awake until the inevitable coach came along to drop him off.

  Right then, in the candlelit warmth of my chamber, I could not help wondering what Cordell might be doing in that very moment. He had not told me how far away his new inheritance lay, and so I did not know if it was a day’s ride off, or someplace much farther than that. Perhaps he was on the road, stopping at an inn for the night, or perhaps already home, back in the place where he had grown up. Was he thinking of me, or had he already pushed me out of his thoughts, just another part of an unpleasant chapter in his life, one that he now wished to leave behind?

  I wanted to tell myself that it was foolish to let such matters crowd my mind. It was not as if I had a particular attachment to Cordell. But still…what would I have done if he had bent down to me, placed his lips on mine?

  No man had ever kissed me, so I could not say. Most likely I would have been so shocked that I wouldn’t have reacted at all. And yet, such things were supposed to be pleasant, were they not?

  If I had had a friend to discuss such things with, it might have been better. But the only girl close to my age who lived on my street had married three years ago and now lived in the country near Hardismere. At any rate, Janille and I had never been that close, despite our growing up so near one another. Her family was prosperous, and I feared she thought we Kelsdens were quite beneath her, if not a disgrace to the entire street and its otherwise upstanding inhabitants.

  And my mother had died before she could tell me anything except the vaguest of hints as to what it might mean to be married, to be intimate with one’s husband.

  I allowed myself a weary little sigh, then rebuked myself for being maudlin. It was late enough that I should just go sensibly to bed. Perhaps once I put this strange, long day behind me and got a good night’s sleep, I would be better prepared to face whatever might come the next day.

  First, though, I went to check on Iselda. As I had thought, she’d fallen asleep with one of the crudely printed little pamphlets still in her hands. I took it gently from her fingers and placed it on her bedside table, then pulled the covers up a little farther over her chest.

  She murmured something unintelligible and rolled over on her side.

  “Good night, dearest,” I whispered.

  The snuffer lay next to the candlestick on the table. I picked it up and put out the candle before tiptoeing from the room. Because my sister had learned to take care of herself years before, she had already washed her face and cleaned her teeth before climbing into bed to read her stories, and so I knew I could leave her as she was without having to rouse her.

  I had just gone back to my own room to begin my own preparations for sleep when I heard quite a rattle of wheels and hooves on the cobbled street outside. Puzzled, I glanced at the hour candle on the mantel. Only a little past ten in the evening, far too early for my father to be returning home.

  But if he had already run out of funds, or met with some other misfortune….

  Heart beginning to pound with worry, I went to the window and pushed the curtains aside. Down on the street, I saw a great black carriage with a crest in gold on its side, although in the uncertain light I could not make out precisely what it was. Besides that, there were a dozen men mounted on horseback surrounding that carriage, all wearing livery of blue and gold.

  Blue and gold? But those were the colors of the royal house.

  My befuddled mind had only grasped that astounding detail when there came a great pounding on the door. At once I hurried out into the corridor and scrambled down the stairs, even as Darinne and Grimsby met me in the entry, their eyes wide with shock.

  If Cordell had been there, he would have been the one to open the doo
r. As it was, the three of us stared at one another, not sure who should take up that duty. Yes, I was the eldest daughter of the house, but it was not expected that a young unmarried woman should be the one to put herself out in such a way.

  The pounding came again, and I set my jaw and stepped forward, since both my remaining servants seemed too overcome to do anything helpful. Grasping the latch, I lifted it, then swung the door open. On the step outside stood a very grand man indeed, perhaps of an age with my father, but still trim and athletic enough. He wore an embroidered velvet doublet topped by a heavy neck chain ornamented with dark glinting rubies. To either side of him were ranged the soldiers I had spied earlier, now afoot. The helmets they wore cast their faces in shadow, so I could see nothing of their expressions.

  As I stood there, mouth agape, the grand man swept off his feathered cap and bowed as low as if we had just been presented at court. Straightening, he flashed me a dazzling smile and said, “Annora Kelsden?”

  I could only nod.

  Apparently not put off by my lackluster response, he went on, “I am Lord Edmar, Duke of Lerneshall, and advisor to the king.”

  Dumbfounded, I flashed a quick sideways glance at Darinne and Grimsby, but they still seemed to be rooted in place, incapable of offering any assistance. At any rate, what help could they give me, when we had suddenly been confronted by one of the greatest peers in the land?

  From behind me in the foyer, I caught the briefest flash of white. My sister Iselda, come to see what all the commotion was, although she had the good sense to remain on the stairs and not approach the door.

  The duke raised an eyebrow then, but his smile did not falter. Still showing those excellent teeth, he went on, “Annora Kelsden, you will come with us. Now.”

  Chapter 3

  How could I refuse a command like that? Again I glanced over at Darinne and the cook, but they appeared far too cowed by the duke’s splendor to even speak, let alone offer any sort of protest.