The Secret's Keeper and the Heir

by Jackie McCarthy

  Lucy, who’d been demanding an explanation only moments before, appeared sick now that she had one. “An assassin? And he was after me?” she asked. “Because I—”

  “Because you’re nearly grown,” answered Fenric. “And because we’re nearing the time when you must come away with me and shed your disguise. It’s almost time for everything to change.”

  “I…” Lucy breathed, frightened, “I don’t want everything to change—”

  “Then remain a child,” Fenric said quickly, cutting through her protestations. “I beg of you to remain a child. You may be ready, but I’m not. There’s so much planning yet, so many allies to be put in place…”

  “I can’t help growing up…” mumbled Lucy, her head bent in helplessness.

  Reaching to lift her chin, Fenric explained. “We seek to postpone, not to stave off.”

  Lucy nodded, smoothing her hand over the pink ruffles of her dress. “I know…it’s just…Emibelle. She says things—”

  Fenric cocked his head. “What does she say?”

  “She teases me,” Lucy explained. “She makes me feel…small.”

  “Ah, a bully,” said Fenric. This, at least, was a topic that all ages could relate to. “You’ll find that’s what bullies do.”

  “But why?”

  “Well, I don’t want to paint too broad a picture, not knowing the young lady,” Fenric said, “but it usually has to do with fear.”

  “No,” Lucy said with an adamant shake of her head. “Emibelle isn’t afraid of anything.”

  “Oh, isn’t she?” Fenric demanded. “If she isn’t afraid then why does she have to try so hard? Come now, look at Emibelle’s sister…”—he tried to recall the name and couldn’t—“what is it again?”

  “Simone,” said Lucy, her face lighting up at the thought of the eldest Delahaye girl.

  “That’s it,” Fenric said, pleased to see Lucy’s reaction. “What do you think of her?”

  “I think she’s perfect,” Lucy said, a happy smile rising on her face.

  “And does she have to put you down in order to earn your high opinion?”

  “Never!” Lucy cried, offended that he would even suggest Simone capable of such things. “She thinks more of me than I think of myself.”

  “And she faces the world without fear—” Fenric began.

  “That’s not true!” Lucy interrupted. “She’s terrified of spiders. And frogs…though she’d never kill them, just put them back outside…”

  “Silly fears,” Fenric cut in. “Earthly fears. Fear in the sense we’re speaking is more a discussion of self-worth—of confidence. Confidence, you see, can most easily be measured not by who displays the most sureness of spirit, but by who expends the least effort to achieve it.”

  Lucy’s eyes had grown slightly glazed at this. “Is this one of your riddles?” she asked with a sigh.

  “It’s my experience,” Fenric began again, “that those of supreme confidence need only be the people they are, and the world will see them as they see themselves. If they’re confident in their beauty, they’ll be seen as beautiful, if they’re certain of their power, they’ll seem powerful, and if they’re comfortable in their maturity, they’ll seem adult. People are drawn to the truth, you see, just as you’re drawn to Simone.”

  “That’s too simple, uncle,” said Lucy in disagreement. “Emibelle—”

  “You must let me finish,” said Fenric, holding up a finger. “Those without confidence try to mimic this by forcing the world to see them as they ought to be. But people aren’t fooled for long. She isn’t beautiful, but vain, she isn’t powerful, but tyrannical, she isn’t mature, but a child herself. Simone doesn’t have to tell you she’s grown: she simply radiates maturity. So consider this: what cause would Emibelle, so near to you in age, have to push the issue of your relative youth and importance? I’ll tell you: it’s because she herself feels so insecure about her own maturity. So my advice to you is this: be without fear.”

  Lucy listened intently, soaking his words in. When his final piece of advice came, however, she felt dejected once more. “You make it sound so easy.”

  “That’s my mistake, then,” Fenric said sadly, “for it’s among the most difficult things to do. But I know you, just as I knew your parents. You were born to be graceful and magnanimous. It’s in your blood. I…” Fenric stopped after a glance at his ward. “Why are you crying?”

  “It’s just…you’ve never mentioned them before,” said Lucy, her eyes filling with tears. “I…can barely remember…” Unable to stop, she was wracked with sobs, “I miss them so much!”

  “I know, child,” he said solemnly, moving close and placing a protective arm about her shoulders. She threw herself into an embrace. He patted her back and said honestly, “So do I.”

  “Will you tell me about them?” she asked.

  Fenric examined the girl’s face and found in it the ghost of his former friends, now long dead. “We’ll have a long talk next time,” he told her.

  Lucy pulled away, wiping her eyes and sniffling. “Next time?” she asked indignantly. “What, another six years from now?”

  “Not nearly so long,” Fenric said quickly. “I’ve an eerie feeling that times of change are upon us. That is what I came tonight to tell you. I feel, after your ordeal this evening, you might finally be prepared to hear it.”

  “Is it that you must disappear again?” she asked.

  “For a time,” he answered her question. “There’s much work to do. But I’ll not leave you alone. You’ll have a tutor.”

  “A tutor?” Lucy asked, surprised. “Why?”

  “There are two things that are true,” Fenric said, skirting the question. “One is that you must stay a child for as long as possible. The other is that, when the day comes for you to grow up, you must be prepared. I regret it, but I believe the point at which you’ll be expected to transition into adulthood will arrive as suddenly as in a day.”

  Lucy shivered. “I fear that day.”

  For the first time, young and old found themselves in agreement.

  * * * * *

  “Then it’s agreed. I’ll have my shipment at the docks within the next few days,” said the Lord Delahaye at the conclusion of his meeting with Kaille and Jas. He held out his hand to the Captain and shook it confidently. “By what date do you think you’ll be docking in Quillain?”

  “We sail at the whims of Fenric, or so it seems,” said Kaille, uncomfortable to find himself unable to give an answer. “But we should try to head there first.”

  “It’s of no matter, truly,” said the Lord Delahaye, sitting back in his chair. “So is the nature of international trade in a time of pirates. Just get there, I say. Actually, now that I think of it, there’s a ship at the docks that has found itself unable to set sail in the next few weeks, it’d be a great help if you’d take on their cargo. It’s exactly the sort of thing that I’d send you out with anyway.”

  “It’d certainly be easy enough to shift everything over to the Turnagain,” said Kaille, liking the idea of leaving this unfamiliar port as soon as possible.

  “Then it’s settled,” said Delahaye, pulling out a slip of paper and jotting down a hurried note. “Her name is the Jubilee,” he said, dripping wax upon the folded letter and bring his seal down over top. He handed the note to Kaille. “And her Captain is a man named Pibal. He’s a drunk of the usual kind, but he gets the shipments there in good time.”

  The three men shared knowing looks. As they did, there was a low mew. An orange cat jumped into the open window.

  The Lord Delahaye stood up with a start. “Oh my,” he cried, “I didn’t even realize this was open.” Coaxing the cat inside, he lifted it carefully, “Here now, little fellow. Who are you?”

  “He’s a gift to your youngest daughter,” Jas said automatically. Kaille gave him a dubious look.

  The Lord Delahaye shook his head. “Oh no, that’ll never do. Our Adeline breaks out in hives at the mere sight of a cat.�
�� Jumping from the man’s grip, the feline scampered to the floor and jumped up into Kaille’s lap. “He seems to like you, though,” he said with a smirk.

  Kaille greeted the cat with a scratch behind the ears. “I’m glad you survived the battle,” he said to it. “Let no one ever say you’re not a weapon.”

  “So that’s settled, then,” the Lord Delahaye said happily.

  “What’s settled?” Kaille asked, looking up to see both men smiling at him.

  “The cat’s yours, of course,” said Delahaye.

  “It’s been awhile since we’ve had a shipcat,” agreed Jas.

  “And it’ll be awhile longer,” Kaille said firmly. “Cat’s are silly, soulless things with no—ow!” The cat, settling into the Captain’s lap, kneaded his claws deeper than he needed to while glaring at the speaker.

  Jas laughed, “I think he heard you.”

  Kaille lifted the cat with difficulty from his leg and placed it on the floor. He stood, looking at his host. “I suppose we’re selfish,” he said, “keeping you up here during your own party. Please allow us to show ourselves out.”

  “The least I can do it escort you,” said the Lord Delahaye fondly. He rose and pointed a guiding hand. “Please, this way.”

  “Oh, and, um, one other thing…” said Kaille, bringing his finger pensively to his mouth. “In the service of Fenric and your Ward we’ve made something of a mess in one of your linen chests. We’d appreciate some time to, um, remove what we…” Kaille’s sentence petered off and he flapped his arms lamely.

  “Nonsense,” said Delahaye. “It’d be easier for you to take the chest. If you act in the service of Fenric, you’ll always have my aid…and my discretion.” With a bow of his head, he added, “I’ll send some men down to convey it to your carriage at once.”

  Captain Kaille nodded his thanks, leading the way out into the corridor.

  * * * * *

  Rose stepped out into the vast blue ballroom, making sure to hold her head high. She hadn’t known how to prepare herself for such a fine occasion, but she’d done her best by slicking back her shoulder-length hair, smoothing her new black garments, and donning Fenric’s gold neck piece. She kept his dagger at the ready by her hip, though the thought of using it made her feel ill.

  Because her nerves were on edge, Rose didn’t have the presence of mind to notice she was one of the few young men in the room. Thinking the stares were a result of her ineptitude at blending in, she overcompensated by lifting her chin even higher.

  Looking down from this vantage point, Rose spied a rare flash of pink, and pointed herself in the appropriate direction. As she stepped carefully towards the girl, the watching crowd parted, murmuring as it closed back again.

  Lucy, unaware, was still twirling with her foster sisters. After one spin too many she fell over, dizzy, into Rose’s arms.

  “Thank you,” said the girl, her face blooming in a blush. “I seem to have gone all tipsy from the spinning.”

  Rose looked up from Lucy to the other two girls, who’d both become still. “May I steal away your dance partner?” she inquired of them. They giggled and nodded happily. In the minutes before the dance was to begin, all three girls whispered excitedly in one another’s ears.

  When Rose led Lucy to dance, however, the girl in pink betrayed their whispers by sharing, “They think you’re a prince. That's why the entire room is watching us.”

  Rose glanced back at the two girls and then around the ballroom, bewildered to find that they were, indeed, the object of attention. “What makes them think that?”

  “The giant rocks round your neck, for starters!” Lucy said, flicking her fingers at the fist-sized opals that sat weightily upon her chest. “Well, I don’t care who you are,” said the girl in pink. “I think you’ll do just fine.”

  “How’s that?” Rose inquired.

  “I’ve a particular interest tonight,” said Lucy, “in taking a bit of revenge for myself. But it’s only for tonight, so you mustn’t think me petty,” she clarified, “and it’s only a little…just because it’s been such a trying day.”

  “I’m pleased to be of service,” Rose offered, intrigued. “What can I do?”

  Lucy didn’t answer. Instead, she winced when Rose trod upon her foot. “You’re not a very good dancer,” she observed. Placing a sturdy hand on the disguised sailor, she said, “Here, let me lead. One-two-three, one-two-three. That’s right. And raise your head high, like before. People will know you’re noble if you have the right posture, then you won’t need to wear such impressive decorations to prove your point.”

  “I don’t usually,” Rose said with a grin. “They’re just for you.”

  Lucy let out a soft laugh and looked around the ballroom. “My uncle sent you, then,” she concluded. “You could be anyone, if that’s the case. Well, just so you know, I’m not fantasizing about being taken off to your castle on a hill.”

  “That’s good,” Rose said, “because I haven’t got one.”

  “I knew it!” Lucy cried. “Where are you from?”

  “Illiamna,” Rose answered honestly. “A place that seems so far away just now.”

  “It’s right here,” Lucy said kindly, placing a hand upon her heart. “I’m from Illiamna as well. Which province?”

  “Kentshore,” said the fisherman’s daughter.

  “And Quillain for me,” returned Lucy, “in Illiam City. Have you been?”

  “No, not yet,” said Rose optimistically. “I hope to go soon.”

  “You must walk the grounds of the palace,” Lucy commanded. “We’ve the most beautiful gardens there.”

  “You think the Usurper would allow guests in his grounds?” asked Rose, finding these instructions confusing.

  Lucy’s bright expression grew shaded for a moment. “No…no, I suppose not,” she said. Looking aside, she tried to hide the fact that her eyes had grown misty. “I’m sorry, I’m being so silly,” she said. “I don’t know why I thought the Usurper would’ve left the grounds unconquered, considering he stole everything else. That, even I can agree, is childish thinking.”

  Rose shook her head. “Don’t say that. He has no right to that place. And anyway, I like it,” she replied. “I also choose to think of my home is as it was before…” A mischievous thought occurred to her, and she gave the girl in pink a roguish grin. “Tell you what, just for you, I’ll sneak into the gardens when I’m there and steal you a flower. What’s your favorite?”

  “A rose,” said Lucy without hesitation.

  Rose flushed at the quick response. “Then a rose it shall be,” she said.

  “My foster sisters were right after all,” said Lucy, her adoring eyes twinkling in the candlelight, “you are a prince.”

  If Rose had been flushed from embarrassment before, it was nothing to the red that bloomed upon her face at the evident admiration of the girl in pink. She wondered if this had been Fenric’s intention all along—that she protect and encourage the girl. She’d much rather do that than cause the girl harm, as she’d worried was her role at first. As she had this thought, the stolen letter beat against her guilty chest. Her suspicions seemed silly in the soft light of the ballroom, but there was no denying the letter.

  Seeing a motion from across the space, Rose looked up to see Fenric waving at her. She feared for a moment that he was about to give her instructions to kill the girl after all, but he motioned instead that it was time to leave.

  Nodding to him, Rose bowed to Lucy, kissing the girl’s hand in a way that she’d learned of from stories.

  “My uncle beckons and you must go,” Lucy observed sadly. “It hardly seems fair to part so soon from my kinsman. And we’ve only just met. Will you write to me?”

  Rose didn’t know how to say that she couldn’t write. “I shall try,” she said instead, glancing nervously at the door through which Fenric disappeared.

  “Don’t worry,” Lucy said, retracing Rose’s focus. “It was as vague an answer as you could give. My u
ncle would be very proud.”

  Rose grinned, realizing that she’d indeed been distant to the girl these past moments. She said with honest enthusiasm, “I’m very pleased to have met you. Good-bye.”

  “No!” Lucy cried, holding Rose’s hand fast. “In Illiam City we never say good-bye. We say, until next time. That way, we’ll have to meet again. I would so much like to meet again.”

  “Until next time, then,” said Rose obligingly, bowing low.

  * * * * *

  When the Scribe requested the company of Benson Rose in his own carriage, Captain Kaille was only too happy to oblige. His own hired cart had the prestige of holding on its rack a trunk with a man inside. He thought it might be best to let as few people in on this odd secret as possible.

  Checking that the straps holding the trunk were secure and breathing an uncomfortable sigh, he climbed into the carriage. The orange cat was already sitting in his seat, purring loudly next to a large, flowered vase. Pursing his lips, Kaille stared at it, opened his mouth to argue, and then nodded his grudging acceptable. He closed the carriage door and the horses jumped into activity.

  “Well, that was interesting,” said Jas, his gaze out the window.

  “It most certainly was,” said Kaille, understanding his shipman’s reluctance to look him in the eye. It was too much fun for Kaille to ignore. “I don’t suppose you…have anything to say to me?”

  “About the trade deal?” Jas asked, his voice on edge. “I think it quite fine. There’s a good market for Dunsmere wool and a far better one for Scadian silk. We’ll all be rich before long.”

  “Not about the trade deal,” said Kaille relentlessly, “about your dear old chum Locked-in-a-Box-Whyl, for whom you gave up both honor and reason.”

  Jas cleared his throat, his eyes darting to and fro. “Why, um, why would I have anything to say about him?”

  “You did see him try to kill an innocent girl?” Kaille said, laughing.

  “Aye, and I stopped him…” Jas allowed himself to agree.

  Kaille leaned back, his grin tight. “You can’t say it, can you?”

  “Say what?” he asked.

  “That you were wrong?” Kaille instructed, laying it out.

  “Come on, old friend,” Jas cried, launching into an excuse, “you know I can’t resist a conspiracy!”