Woes and Hose

by Igor Ljubuncic

  Frankly, she didn’t really care.

  “Does milady miss home?”

  It had been a month since she had arrived in Neuchtaffel to fanfare, red-tail doves, fireworks in a dozen colors, and her betrothed on a horse as pure white as snow, waiting for her in the glow of a sunset. After several eightdays of cold, bumpy travel and frequent stops at manor houses Father deemed important enough to grace with his daughter’s presence, she found the opulence and attention of Quentin’s home almost overwhelming.

  Since the bustle and chaos had subsided, she had been left bored—but with plenty of time to keep writing letters home. Father wrote back, not as often as she liked, but he did share crucial information with her. The rest she learned from his Builders. There was a whole network of them in the Confederacy, but it was they who always came to her, and every time a different person.

  Didier might be one of them, too, but she couldn’t confirm it.

  “Luckily, a flizzard flew in from Eisenstar this morning. Milady will want to read the letter.”

  Mina squirmed. Didier’s manners unnerved her. The fact her maids-in-waiting absolutely loved him puzzled and annoyed her.

  At that moment, Elsa chose to giggle.

  Mina stabbed her with a cold look. Didier was holding a rolled sheaf of paper in his hand, patiently waiting. Mina did her best not to snatch it from his fingers.

  Failure under siege in Ostfort. Barvans and Nurflanders. F.

  Mina almost dropped the letter. What? She wasn’t quite sure what she was feeling. Joy? Panic? Even without her intervention, Dietrich seemed to have found himself real trouble, and this time, the kind he was not likely to survive!

  She had to admit, Dick had totally surprised her. Not only had he survived an assassination, he had also personally led an army into Korav, and defeated the baan in battle! If she had not received the same news from both Father and one of his informants, she wouldn’t have believed her brother capable of such deeds. She would have thought it to be a crude jest by a drunk bard. Or a lie perpetrated by Dick to bolster his reputation. But apparently, her fat brother was gaining in popularity, becoming loved and respected.

  Her worst nightmare.

  And she was stuck here, away from friends, family, and familiar ground.

  Mina felt isolated, always wary, always mistrusting. The Builders were supposed to be utterly trustworthy, but she couldn’t really tell them anything she didn’t want Father to know, and that limited her options. She didn’t have her well-established circle of connections, men and women whose greed matched their discretion. She could not venture into the city and search for killers and agents to help her promote her own cause. Someone could be watching.

  No, someone was watching.

  At the palace, it must be Didier.

  She had no idea how Sandro was faring. Had he been caught and silently disposed of? Had he been tortured and made to confess everything? Had Father discovered her actions, but pretended not to know until it suited him to punish her?

  She desperately wanted to know more about Dick, but she didn’t want to risk exposing her intentions.

  Her one solace was that Quentin was going to be a very tame husband.

  Always smiling, almost worryingly so, always keenly interested in what she had to say. He never argued or rebuked her, he never contradicted her, and he was open to her ideas and suggestions. She didn’t even have to lie or manipulate him. He just seemed to agree with everything she said. Mina wished he posed more of a challenge, so she could exercise her mind.

  Too gullible for a ruler of a powerful nation, she thought. It can’t be. Look at Father. He is brutal, merciless, always scheming, always thinking three steps ahead. Quentin only wears that stupid grin like he has not a worry in this world. What does he know that makes him so smug and happy?

  No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t find any ill intent on his behalf. Nothing at all. The man was a well of joy.

  “Milady is preoccupied,” Didier piped in.

  Elsa giggled again, burying her face in the embroidery.

  “Leave us,” Mina snapped. The maid scurried out of the drawing room, her face red. Anna was pretending to watch the birds on the branches of a tree outside the huge paneled window.

  Didier rubbed his chin. “Milady should not scorn her help.”

  Mina wanted to club him with a fire poker. “Why are you here, Didier?”

  He just looked confused. “Milady needs information.”

  Perhaps Quentin wasn’t as clueless as he made himself look. After all, he had appointed Didier as her court clerk, and anything she needed went through the slim, tall secretary with the immaculate eyebrows. But she did sometimes wonder about the Confederacy customs and culture and etiquette, because it seemed a little brazen to have a young and unmarried man in the same room as a princess and her ladies-in-waiting.

  “Where do you come from, Didier?”

  “Didier is Faranc.”

  How convenient, she thought. “Anything else?”

  “Does milady want to know more?”

  She hated him, hated his oblique, indirect ways. He always took time getting to the point. He enjoyed her torment. But if she pushed him, he only made her wait and suffer more. “Speak to me.”

  “Didier hears a troubling rumor that Vincenzo Brede’s daughter is in Ostfort.”

  The click-clack of knitting stopped. Both she and Anna put the needles down. The maid looked confused. Mina did her best to hide her emotions.

  How did that happen? How does Didier know? And if he knows, does Father know? And if Father knows, why hasn’t he told me that? Why hasn’t he written? Or maybe it is a topic too sensitive for a letter? But what if he does not know? What does that say about Didier? He must be a Builder. Mustn’t he?

  Mina considered shooing Anna out, too; Hanne was away, preparing the afternoon tea and biscuits. No, that would make the girl suspicious. No one should know that Mina cared about Eva. They all must think Mina was concerned because Father had lost a hostage, not what it meant for Dick.

  “How…did she end up there?”

  Didier shrugged. “It is a mystery for Didier, too.”

  Mina battled with the torrent of questions and ideas swirling in her head. What did this all mean? Why would Didier tell her this? Was this Father testing her, to see how she would react and what she would do? Was he trying to get her to expose herself?

  How did this affect Dick? Would Father now rush to his aid? Would the First Citizen also get involved? Would there be an open war between Enissia and Monrich? Again, how did that affect her besieged brother?

  And what if Dick somehow survived the siege? Or worse yet, broke it himself? How popular would he become then? Would Father come to respect him?

  Mina knew Father would probably send the Drechknights to rescue Dick, because he was the heir, and his marriage to Amadea meant Father was obliged to intervene. Duke Ettore would demand it. But it was imperative that Father rescued Dick for Eva’s sake, because that was a direct slight against his honor. Someone had spirited the girl away right under his nose, and he must have her safely back.

  If Dick died, or Amadea died, or there never was a grandson born from that wedlock, Father would still sleep soundly through the night. He wouldn’t be happy, but he would find ways to strengthen the Drechtoter line. Mina would most gladly help Father in his cause. She would be delighted.

  But if the world learned he got outwitted at his own court, by a nameless kidnapper, it would be the end of King Ulaf. And that meant Dick would not end up starving in a besieged Ostfort.

  And she would never become the Queen.

  Who could have organized that, she wondered. Was it her fat brother? Was he capable—or brave enough—to attempt something like that? No, impossible. Dick was too much of a coward to provoke Father’s wrath.

  Who, then?

  Did Didier know? Would he tell her? Of course not.

  “Make inquiries,” Mina said, perhaps too harshly.
/>   The clerk bowed deeply. “Didier will do his best.”

  When he left, Anna rushed close. “Milady, that is worrying news. There will be a war.”

  Mina smiled. “There’s always a war.”

  “Prince Dietrich’s life may be in danger.”

  We can only hope so. “My brother is smart, resourceful and surrounded by capable advisors. He will manage just fine, like he did last year in Sacony.” Bastard.

  “What will happen if Lady Eva dies?” Anna blurted the one question Mina didn’t want to hear.

  A disaster, that’s what. Dread was rising in her stomach. She realized she couldn’t contact Sandro from Neuchtaffel. It was all too risky. If Eva was in Ostfort, as Didier claimed, she must be with Dick. What if she got entangled in the assassination attempt, and Sandro botched his job and killed her instead?

  Father would really get mad.

  And then discover who had commissioned Sandro.

  Mina swallowed a lump. I shall be herding camels in the Black Dessert for the rest of my life.

  In one fell swoop, her desire to see Dick dead became an obsession for keeping him safe and alive. She had to do her best to protect her brother. This was no longer a simple question of her becoming the only living child. This was about her survival.

  Suddenly, her little games with Quentin seemed trivial. She had to focus on Ostfort and making sure Dietrich and those who surrounded him lived unscathed through this siege.

  Brother, stay safe, she thought. It might be her imagination, but she thought she heard Didier laugh in the hallway outside the drawing room. Like his brows, his laughter was perfect.

  CHAPTER 21

  Dawn of the Dad

  “Opportunity is a whore. Toss her a coin and use her.”

  —LAZAR THE CONFESSOR, DEATHRUNG CYCLES, MONRICH FOLKLORE, TIME UNKNOWN

  20th Day of the Month of the Linden

  First Citizen Vincenzo put the letter down.

  He quickly picked it up and read it again. Put it down. Read it again. And again.

  Finally, he let it rest on the table top. His fingers itched to touch the paper, to pore over the words, in a vain hope the message would be different this time.

  Eva was in Ostfort.

  Ostfort was under siege by the Barvans and the Nurflanders.

  For the second time in a year I find my daughter in the hands of the Monrich prince, surrounded by dire peril.

  Sometimes he wished he didn’t have such good sources in other cities. It was a blessing and a curse. With his daughter abroad, held by the fickle and utterly dangerous Prince Dietrich, no news delivered by a flizzard could be entirely good news. But this informant was reliable. She rarely ever wrote, for the risk was enormous, but when she did, her message always carried somber, soul-questioning gravity.

  Vincenzo had ignored the previous rumor of his daughter’s disappearance from Eisenstar as King Ulaf’s propaganda, another attempt to rile and destabilize him, to make Vincenzo act rashly and exploit the situation against him in a moment of weakness. Now, though, he was certain. Eva was no longer in the clutches of the Monrich ruler.

  Nor was he.

  I am no longer obliged to play by Ulaf’s rules.

  The death of a royal hostage—Eva, gods save her— would be a great blow to Monrich. It would tarnish the honor and reputation of the king, for as long as he lived. He would no longer be able to coerce his enemies into cooperation by keeping their family members captive at his court, not when he had failed to secure Eva’s safety. He would be mocked.

  That almost brought a smile to Vincenzo’s lips.

  Dry lips. He remembered the pale rose wine on his desk, as yet untouched. He raised the glass and drank.

  He couldn’t smile. His daughter’s life relied on his calm and wit. He must not be impetuous. He must not act out of anger, pride or spite. His promise to destroy Prince Dietrich would take time dawning. At the moment, all that mattered was Eva. He would rescue her, deliver her to safety, and then unleash all his cunning and power against the Monrich.

  Saving Eva meant helping Prince Dietrich. Not getting him killed. Not just yet.

  Ostfort must not fall.

  And this was why he sat rigid in his chair, contemplating his next move, pain budding in his sides. How should he act now so that his motives were not misinterpreted by King Ulaf as weakness, or worse, a deliberate provocation?

  King Ulaf had to be gentled. But that would take careful planning and even more finely balanced execution. He needed to make sure the king remained oblivious to the threat Enissia posed until it was too late. Make him believe that the city was no threat all the while working on eroding the king’s image among his foes. A king incapable of keeping his royal honor was not fit to rule. That would be Vincenzo’s message to the enemies of Monrich, repeated and honed until it became a deadly weapon. For now, the rumors stirred, and the enemies listened, eager yet wary. They knew Monrich was vulnerable, but the risk was too great.

  But if Enissian troops were to reach Ostfort first and help save Eva and the incompetent Monrich prince from the northern tribesmen, King Ulaf would be seen as a weak, indecisive ruler past his prime. Another blow. Enough to foment fresh rebellion in the palatines and neighboring realms. Enough to keep Monrich busy fighting wars for decades to come, while Vincenzo nurtured fresh ties with his new allies.

  Before he could bolster his own position, he needed to bolster King Ulaf. A strange game, where he needed to help an enemy before he made him fall.

  Gods willing, I might even end up taking Prince Dietrich hostage. That would be a majestic reversal of fortune for King Ulaf.

  Having Prince Dietrich assassinated would be a terrible thing now, for many reasons.

  I must not let panic seize me. Panic won’t save Eva.

  There was a knock on the door. Donna Abriella stepped in. “Your Serenity.”

  Vincenzo pushed the empty glass of wine to the side. “Donna.”

  “Your guests have arrived, Your Serenity.”

  Vincenzo nodded and went to join them.

  Masters Nacar and Casteliani were admiring the art in the gallery, the hall ablaze with sunlight and reflections from the white marble and alabaster.

  Eva’s former husband-to-be looked even fatter than before, with a terrible choice of a finely tailored pearl-colored suit. In contrast, Lady Loretta’s father was almost sickly slim and too tanned for a wealthy man. His daughter definitely had his figure and mannerisms.

  They both expressed solemn greetings, their intents marred by squints from the sun’s glare.

  Vincenzo led them deeper into the gallery, and they sat down around an ivory table. The donna had arranged for drinks and sweets to be laid out. A servant hovered nearby, doing her best not to overhear.

  “My Lord the First,” Master Giancarlo Casteliani said. “How may I…we be of assistance?”

  A change of plan. Vincenzo took a deep breath, thinking fast. He had invited the two men to ask for loans for the commission of two dozen new carracks. With the Salabians and Koravs under the Monrich foot, their control of the Inner Sea had dwindled—and by proxy, his, too—allowing the pirates to roam free and strike at the coastal cities with impunity. Every week, a galleon or a clipper would slip through the Nessini Straits, heading north in search of plunder. The destruction of the Tufamid by King Ulaf wasn’t helping, either. Forced to keep their fleet at bay, they worried mostly about protecting their ports and shipping lanes between Selecca and their homeland, leaving the open sea to brigands. If anything, there was a brutal war between the Banatians and the Maniri over who would control the waters.

  Enissia still had the strongest fleet, but it was busy protecting his trade and it couldn’t chase every pirate ship that showed up in the offing. Hence the commission. Hence the plan.

  Now, he had—no, needed—a new plan.

  Vincenzo watched their faces. Battista Nacar was wheezing softly, his face flushed with heat.

  “We will not be discussing the comm
ission today. Instead, I must ask for your help,” Vincenzo started dramatically, leaning forward. The men waited. Neither one wanted to pledge themselves until they heard more. “I have just been informed that Ostfort is under siege by a combined army of Nurflanders and Barvans.”

  His guests looked surprised, although they did their best to hide their reaction. That probably meant their own sources were not as adept or fast as his own, and that gave him some peace.

  They couldn’t know—must not know—about Eva.

  Finally, Master Casteliani cracked. He was quite keen on marrying his daughter off to the First Citizen of Enissia, and Vincenzo still hadn’t found a reason not to entertain the young woman at his villa now and then. He didn’t think he would ever be in love again, not after Giolla, but Lady Loretta was quite mischievous, utterly discreet, and, having been briefly married once, harbored no fear of causing a great scandal.

  “This…upsets the balance of power, My Lord the First.”

  A cautious retort. Vincenzo wanted to snort. “I intend to send Enissian troops to Ostland and assist King Ulaf in defeating his enemies. I will need your assistance.”

  Giancarlo frowned, calculating, scheming. “My Lord the First, that might not be advantageous to your prestige.”

  It would be to my daughter’s safety. The soul-eroding guilt of not seeing her in his home was growing each morning, tainting his decisions, affecting his mood. He had gambled with her life when he had tried to marry her off to Master Battista, scared her away and lost her, gambled again, and failed to save her, and now, she was a secret hostage in the hands of an incompetent coward. The enemies besieging the walls of Ostfort had no knowledge of the prize inside the city. If the castle fell, no one would know her true identity, and she would be treated like any common woman. She might…