“Her Highness intends to win the love of the common folk with apple cakes; you would offer me similar items of little worth to yourself in order to win my loyalty, wouldn’t you?” He regards me silently and I flush, realizing that I wear the cloak he gave me.
“It is your friendship I seek,” he says.
“You do not seek it as a friend; you seek it as a prince seeks the loyalty of a subject. The trouble is this: I will not sell my loyalty or my friendship.”
“I see.” He steps back, his eyes holding mine. “Then how is your friendship to be won?”
“I can hardly explain it to you, Your Highness. Suffice it to say that, while I might find experiences like tonight’s highly educational, I neither respect nor admire anyone the more for it.” I unclasp the cloak’s brooch, swinging it off my shoulders.
“You have now seen two very different dinners. Surely, in comparing them, you see how—company matters.”
“I never doubted it. I appreciate the illustration, but it was hardly necessary.”
“Then what is necessary, lady? What do you suggest I do?”
I wince. “I don’t know, Your Highness.”
“I offer you my protection,” he begins.
“Your protection has failed me once already.”
His eyes flash, and for a moment I fear that his anger will ride him as it did when I challenged his motives one time before. Instead, the flash sparks into humor and he laughs. “I believe I have failed you more than once, lady. I am grateful for your kind accounting.”
I walk back to the armchair, aware of his gaze following me. I fold my cloak over its back, then lean against it, staring at my hands.
“Suppose I returned, Your Highness. What would that accomplish?”
“There would be the small matter of justice to be carried out,” he says softly, as if afraid his voice might banish my words. Justice. Against Valka, of course. But that isn’t really what I want.
“I have seen enough here already to think little of my case for justice. There are other greater injustices that deserve your attention first. Is there no other reason?”
“You cannot be serious. We discuss treason—”
“Is that all?” I repeat sharply. He crosses the distance to the armchairs, leaning against the other one so that he can watch my face. I meet his gaze.
“A traitor once is a traitor always, lady.”
“And a man warned is a man prepared, Your Highness.”
“You have not considered the implications.”
“I have. I believe you have greater concerns than the woman you are to marry. Tell me what would be accomplished by my return, beyond a traitor’s punishment. ”
“You would be well placed to see to more than apple cakes if that is your interest. You may address whatever injustices concern you.” I think that Kestrin’s smile is that of a predator, of a hound scenting blood. How quickly he has understood me.
“An interesting proposition, Your Highness, but I doubt such a future.”
“Why?”
“Because I doubt the surety of your future, and that of your family’s.” He lowers his face, turning away slightly, his features icing over. “Also, you are offering me apple cakes once more. You would tempt me with an offer of justice for your people rather than striving to such ends yourself.”
“You speak well, lady. I perceive quite clearly why you prefer your work to the court.”
“Then help me to understand why I should return. I see only lies, artifice and ultimate failure here.”
“There is very little else to speak of.” Kestrin leans against the back of the armchair, resting his elbows on its back. A few strands of hair have slipped free of their tie, falling like a tracery of shadows over his brow. He looks weary, tired past bearing. The firelight casts a waning warmth on his features that makes me think of the last flush of life on the face of a dying man.
“Isn’t there?” I ask, almost pleading.
“If you are not tempted by power, wealth, rank or an offer of flawed protection, or by a personal concern for justice to be carried out for yourself,” he looks up and catches my gaze, “then what else is there?
I open my mouth and close it again. I can hear Falada’s voice, see his dark eyes somber and penetrating, At some point you must take responsibility for your life. I know the answer, looking at Kestrin, but I cannot speak the words. As Falada once demanded of me, I know I cannot leave Valka as my successor; that, having been born to power, it is my responsibility to see it handled well by myself, by those who come after me.
“What is it?” Kestrin murmurs, his gaze razor sharp.
I shake my head. “You are right; such things do not tempt me.”
He smiles wryly. “I will never look at apple cakes the same again, my lady.”
I push my face into a semblance of a smile. “See that you don’t. And if you can think of winning loyalty without the use of apple cakes …”
“I do not think I know how. I have been too long at court.”
“Perhaps you should come to work with the geese,” I suggest flippantly. “They may be temporarily won by treats, but their regard is as easily lost. It is a good lesson for us all.”
“Perhaps I will visit you.”
“I will look forward to watching their reception of you,” I reply. “It is late now, Your Highness, and I must get to work at dawn. If I have your leave?” I walk to do the door.
“Your cloak, Lady.” Kestrin gestures to where it hangs over the chair back.
I shake my head. “It is not mine; I should not have accepted it in the first place.”
He grimaces. “It is not an apple cake, if that is what you mean.”
“Isn’t it?”
“You were cold; I saw you twice while out riding, and I could see the way the wind cut you.” He lifts the cloak from the chair and brings it to me. “Take this, lady. If you do not want it for yourself, then do what you will with it. Only do not return it to me.”
I accept the cloak hesitantly, holding it awkwardly, unsure whether I should put it on again or not. “As you wish,” I say.
“Hardly.” He steps past me and opens the door, “Go in peace, my lady.”
“And you, Your Highness.”
Chapter 26
The next morning dawns with a soft exhalation of warmth. The air outside brings heady whiffs of green with it, and around the corners of the goose barn tiny purple flowers poke their heads above the earth. The geese honk excitedly, scrambling over each other in the rush to leave their winter prison, the ganders barely bothering to peck at me in their excitement.
I am amazed at how quickly my morning’s work goes: even without Corbé’s help, I am done within the hour. Without the geese underfoot, scronking and obstinately standing their ground, I suppose it should not have surprised me at all. Finished, I start for the goose pasture, pausing under Falada’s head at the gates. I call up to him softly. As faintly as a leaf dropping from a tree I hear the word Princess. But that is all.
Once settled in the pasture, I think of opening up my hair to air it out, but a glance towards Corbé stills the impulse. I can just make out his form, his legs stretched out before him, staff leaning against the tree. His face is turned towards me, but I cannot distinguish his expression. I keep my staff with me through the day.
Upon our return, I find a page waiting for me. He shifts from foot to foot, arms crossed and nose raised away from the stench of livestock. “Her Highness wishes to see you this evening,” he tells me as I shut the gate behind Corbé. “I’m to escort you up.”
The streets are still busy with end-of-day traffic, and it takes us some time to thread our way up the road. I am grateful for the solid thunk of my staff against the cobblestones. I doubt I will be able to command an escort home tonight. I sigh, glancing at the page. He walks with a little bounce, his hair brushing his shoulders with every step. He isn’t quite as uppity as he first tried to appear at the stables, I suspect.
�
��Have you been working at the palace very long?” I ask.
He looks at me in surprise, then smiles smugly. “Three months.”
“You must know your way around very well by now.”
“The palace’s very big, you know. It takes a while to get to know it as well as I. But there are still a few places even I don’t know. Haku says he’s been working there a year and just last week went down a hall he’d never seen before.”
I wonder just how much I might learn from my escort. “It must be interesting. Do you know all the nobles by sight?”
“Oh well, I know a few of them,” he says with false casualness, and with only a little prodding launches into a description of the lords and ladies he has run errands for, the intrigues he has heard about, and any other rumor that has been breathed in the palace. I am amazed at the breadth of his knowledge, and at Valka’s foolishness in sending such a talker to fetch me. No doubt the whole palace will know of my visit before I finish greeting her.
By the time we reach the palace, I’ve also received a full description of the ball planned for the evening, the intrigues expected to occur, and just how many lambs have been roasted in preparation. He breaks off only when we reach the royal wing, walking the last few paces in silence and rapping on Valka’s door. A voice calls sharply for us to enter. He opens the door with a flourish, gestures for me to enter, bows and departs, leaving me alone in the room with Valka. At least he gives the appearance of discretion.
Valka sits in a chair in the outer room. She is dressed and groomed beautifully, her hair braided and coiled in a crown, her jade tunic and gold skirts stiff with embroidery.
“A ball tonight?”
Her nostrils flare, but then she smiles. “Jealous?”
“Hardly. What do you want?”
“One final letter from you.”
“You know my answer.”
“Every person has a price.”
“Do you think you know mine?” I think for only a moment of Kestrin and of apple cakes.
“For all your apparent zeal for servitude, you must prefer a better position. I will grant you a place on one of my mountain estates. You will have a yearly stipend and may live the life of a lady. But you must write the letter tonight.”
“My mother has written again, hasn’t she? You’re hoping to send a letter to catch her on the road here, to allay her concerns.”
“She has written,” Valka agrees. Her face is cold now, and I do not trust the very stillness of it. “The response must be written tonight.”
“I do not believe your offer.”
“You will have to trust me.”
I laugh softly. “Have you forgotten why you were exiled? Because you cared nothing for the life of a servant. I do not think that has changed.”
Her mouth twists, her eyes glittering with hatred. “Me? You blame me for what you did? What is a servant? That little rat is probably dead by now anyhow: they die like flies. And you—you betrayed me, made me the laughing stock of the Hall so that I had to leave.” She snaps her jaw shut, glaring at me.
“It’s still all about that, isn’t it? You wanted your revenge. Is that what you like about sending me to live on a mountain estate you stole from me? That I will have gone into exile as you did? But that won’t be enough for you. You want more, you’ve always wanted more. You wanted my brother, didn’t you?”
“I would have been Queen,” she hisses. “And now I will be. It’s your own fault you’ve been turned into a servant.”
“And servants die like flies, don’t they? You won’t be happy until I’m dead.”
She takes a deep breath. “I would not mourn your death, traitor. But I will grant you this one chance to have a better life than you deserve.”
“You are the one with a better life than you deserve.”
“I would have married your brother but for you and your traitorous tongue! If you cared so much for that servant, you could have gotten her free later—but you had to betray me before everyone. In front of the servants!”
“I’ve regretted that, Valka, much as I have regretted that you blamed that servant that day. If you hadn’t made a public show of her supposed guilt, I wouldn’t have had to make a show of yours.”
“Damn her! She was a servant. A nothing.”
“Just as I am.”
Valka bites her lip, her chest heaving. “What is your answer?”
“I will not write the letter for the price you named.”
“Oh? And is there a price at which you will write it?”
“Certainly. Take up your own terms. I will be princess, and you will live out your life a nameless lady on a mountain estate.”
My words sink into the room. She sits silently, vibrating with fury, and then she nods her head. “So be it. You’ve made your choice. I hope you are willing to abide by it.”
“I am certainly willing to live by it.” I do not know where the smile comes from that lifts up my lips.
“You know you have chosen to betray me.”
“Hardly.”
“I am princess now and you—”
“You will never really be princess, Valka. You will always and only be an impostor. Whether I die a servant or queen, I will always be my mother’s daughter, and so princess.”
“I hope you will take comfort in your royalty when I am done with you.”
I shrug. “I cannot imagine we have anything left to say to each other. Good night.” I turn and let myself out, and it is only as I reach the stairs that I realize I have begun to tremble. I cling to my staff, swaying slightly, and close my eyes, breathing deeply. Then I straighten my back and take the stairs down.
***
The geese raise their heads, quieting even the friendly chuckling and mumbling that is their talk. I glance around, but see nothing amiss: Corbé sits further down the field, nothing else moves. The geese, while alert, do not seem frightened. I stand up, casting my gaze around the pasture, past the low stone walls.
And then I feel it: a faint brush against my face, a rippling of the grasses around me, circling out, the sudden lone whisper of the newly-leafed branches above me while the other trees remain silent.
“Wind?” I whisper, hardly daring to believe.
The Wind whips a circle around me, flapping my skirts against my legs and scaring off the sparrows in the tree above me.
“Wind! You’ve found me!”
The Wind slows, breathing gently. Alyrra.
I close my eyes, listen to the familiar touch of its voice.
“How did you recognize me?”
The Wind does not answer, instead settling down to ruffle the grasses. I sit down, my back against the tree.
“Old friend,” I say quietly. “I thought I lost you. I went to say farewell to you before I left, but you didn’t come to the dell that day. I never imagined you’d find your way here. It’s a long journey and I—am not the same.”
Different, the Wind agrees.
I feel tears spill down my cheeks and laugh, wiping them away. “I don’t know why I’m crying; I’m happy you’re here.”
Here, the Wind echoes, and I rest my head against the tree, smiling so hard my face hurts.
“Yes,” I say, as fiercely as if the Wind’s presence might transport me back to a time before I’d ever thought of Menaiya. “You’re here.”
***
I carry the coming of the Wind with me all day, for though it does not stay long the very fact of its presence, its recognition of me, has brought both a desperate homesickness and a feverish excitement to me. For the first time in months, I can remember clearly the dell where I used to meet the Wind, the forest paths. I think of Jilna’s laugh, the warmth of the kitchen, the cool sanctuary of the Hall’s little temple. Again and again I come back to this simple fact: the Wind saw through the enchantments and found me.
“You’re happy today,” Laurel says as she ladles out my portion of curried vegetables.
“I am,” I agree. I know I cannot tell them
of the Wind, so I say instead, “Joa has me working two of the younger mares before I go out to the pasture nowadays.”
“Does he?” Rowan looks up from his plate. “He must have plans for you.”
“He keeps saying he’ll make me into a hostler,” I say, amused.
“I wouldn’t go telling anyone else; there’re some boys as will be jealous,” Laurel warns me. “Corbé’s been hoping for that himself for a year or two now.”
I hesitate. “But I don’t know that much about working with horses. Wouldn’t it be better to take someone like Corbé?” After all, my friendship with Falada may have impressed Joa, but it has nothing to do with being able to handle horses.
“Corbé has a mean streak in him. I wouldn’t trust him with a horse,” Oak says.
Ash nods his agreement. “Geese will fight back and no one cares if their roasted goose had a mean temper. Horses will get cold-backed if their hostler’s rough. You can lose a good horse to a bad hostler, and that’s not something Joa would want to explain up at the palace.”
Rowan smiles encouragingly at me. “We’ll teach you whatever you need to know; you’ve already got the basics.”
I pause, thinking of how it would be to work with Laurel and Oak from now on, to never have to see Corbé again, or worry over what he might do. Imagine exchanging Corbé’s black looks for Violet’s laughter. I glance around the table. “Where’s Violet?”
“She’s running an errand in the city,” Rowan tells me.
“Aye, but she should be back by now,” Oak says, and in his deep voice I hear the beginnings of concern.
“Was she alone?”
“Yes,” Laurel says tightly. “One of us should have gone with her, or for her. It’s still getting dark early, and she’s a pretty girl.”
“She’ll be back soon,” Ash says, but his glance at Oak betrays his worry.
By the time we’ve finished dinner, Violet still hasn’t returned. Oak goes to the common room door to look out, then looks back in at us. “I’m going to look for her.”
Rowan and Ash are up and next to him in a flash. “We’re coming too.”
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