Duchess

by Nicolette Andrews

  I inhaled to clear my thoughts. Don’t let him see your fear. “I shall not lose, so there is nothing to fear.”

  “I did not think I was so ugly that a kiss from me would be terrifying.” He chuckled.

  I smiled despite my hesitance to do so. “You are not ugly. I cannot lie and say you are. However, a man with honor would not ask that of a widow.”

  “I lost my honor some time ago. Besides, it is not often a beautiful woman offers such enticing stakes.”

  Did you lose your honor when you murdered my husband? He could very well banter, but I must remember that he was no friend of mine; he might very well be my husband’s murderer. I was flushed from embarrassment, but I refused to drop my gaze from his. “Shall we begin?”

  He nodded his head, signaling me to start. I moved a pawn forward, and the game began. The start was slow. He did not make any move without careful thought. He was a meticulous man, to say the least.

  “You labor over your moves, so I think you take me as more of a threat than you initially thought,” I teased. I hoped that my banter would distract him enough into making an error in my favor.

  He moved his knight and looked at me. “Call it an occupational hazard.”

  I studied the board. His knight was positioned to take my magiker, but if I moved it and took his chattel, then I would leave my king exposed. He had pinned me. Or so I thought; I spied my queen, diagonal to his chattel, which was guarding his king. I moved towards his chattel and then looked up at him with a smirk.

  “I may well have you in check soon. You are a deceptively poor player, if you are a professional chess player as you claim.”

  He was studying the board and did not seem to notice my gibe. I watched him as he gazed at the board intently; his entire focus seemed to be upon the pieces. He is very strange—focused and yet playful. He surprised me by moving a pawn and taking one of my own pawns. Is he toying with me? Why take out such a weak piece when I am in position to win?

  “I am not a professional chess player; I’m a strategist,” he replied at last.

  I jumped in surprise. I accidentally knocked over the pieces that I had lined up alongside the board. He leaned over to help me pick them up. His big hands swallowed up the pieces, but he handled them with reverence. We set the pieces upright, and once again he was watching me, his hands folded on the table in front of him.

  I am playing chess against a strategist! I am a fool! I assumed he was a soldier who turned cloak and helped murder Artor. I should have asked others about him, learned more before I jumped in without thinking. I looked back at the board, a long hard look. I will win. If he is a strategist, then my victory will be all the sweeter.

  “Should you not be in the field?” I asked, feigning casual interest, but my hands were shaking. He must have something to do with Artor’s death. It was my turn, but I found myself questioning every possible move.

  “The king asked me to return to Keisan. He wanted my counsel on some matters of war.”

  My stomach tightened in knots. It is him. Artor was working for the king when he died. What did he learn that this man killed him to silence him?

  “You’re an important man. I feel lucky to have a moment of your time.”

  He shrugged. “I’m just a man.”

  I fought the urge to roll my eyes. There is nothing worse than a falsely humble man.

  I moved my chattel in my continued attempt to pin his king. I decided my original tactic would work best. He may have been a strategist, but I had a natural knack for games. Six times out of ten I would beat Artor, and anyone else that I played against lost to my quick thinking. I took his chattel by knocking it from the board with a flourish. The piece flew off the table and clinked on the ground. He did not move to pick it up. I smirked at him, and he smiled back before reaching down and moving his pawn.

  “Checkmate,” he announced.

  I stared at the board in disbelief. “No, this can’t be, my chattel…” Then I saw my error. He had snuck his pawn around behind my king. My king had been corralled by other pieces meant to protect it. I made my own death trap. Just as I have backed myself into a corner.

  I dared not look at him. He had played me from the start. He must have suspected that I knew nothing of his identity, and arrogant as I was, I had fallen into his trap. “I suppose you would claim your prize?” My voice shook.

  He stood up, and his chair scraped along the stone floor and made a screeching noise. He stepped around the table towards me. I scrunched myself into a ball, tensely awaiting his touch. He leaned on the table over me. I could smell his musk—he had an earthy scent mixed with some kind of oil scent. I swallowed hard and looked up at him. It’s just a kiss—innocent enough. I am no longer a maiden, besides.

  He leaned in, and I closed my eyes. His whiskers brushed my face. I felt his hot breath against my cheek. My stomach fluttered. I’m sorry, Artor. I do this for you.

  But his lips did not touch mine. Instead he leaned close to my ear and said, “If you want to know more about the battle of Redfield, look to the Order of the Oak.”

  When I opened my eyes, he was walking away, leaning heavily on a cane.

  “Good day, your grace,” he said with a backward wave.

  I stared down at the pieces upon the board. I must be as easy to read as an open book. I cradled my head in my hands. He had handed me the next piece of the puzzle, but it would be some time before I knew where everything fit together.

  Chapter Six

  I sent a message to Idella. She would be expecting a report on what I had learned. My message was returned unopened. The man who delivered it to me took the brunt of my temper.

  “Her Majesty humbly requests that you do not send her missives at this time.” He bowed and left the note I had sent to her.

  I crumpled it up and tossed it against a far wall. My maid was so frightened of me that night as I dressed for bed she was walking around me on tiptoes. I was seething. She brought me here, but she cannot take a message from me? Why did she bring me here, just to further my misery? I was homesick and heartsick. I missed my son, and I missed my home, and most of all, I missed Artor. I lay in bed holding a pillow to me. It was no replacement for the comfort of my husband’s arms. I did not weep. I would not allow myself that even in the dark. I am strong, I told myself, but the words rang hollow.

  I did not go out the next day. I had no leads, and I was dwelling on my failings. I gave my maid the day off so I could be alone. I spent most of the afternoon reading or sleeping. That night when I was preparing for bed, my maid returned to dress me. She was quiet and would not meet my eyes.

  “What has gotten into you?” I demanded at last when she dropped the brush for the third time.

  “Nothing, your grace,” she mumbled. She fidgeted with the handle of the brush and looked at her feet.

  “Is it a boy? I will not be cross with you if it is. I am sorry I snapped. I’ve been under quite a bit of pressure lately.”

  “No, it’s not a boy, your grace,” she said to her shoes.

  “Then what?” I asked gently.

  She burst into tears. I stood up and wrapped my arm around her shoulder. “Tell me what’s wrong.” My tone was softer, but I made sure it was a command not a request.

  She sniveled. “I heard the most awful things from Lady Welton’s maid about your grace. She said the queen had shunned you because you had made Artor a cuckold.”

  My skin flushed, and it took all my self-control not to lash out at my maid. It was not her fault. She was just the messenger. I refuse to play Idella’s games. I will march up to her chambers and tell her I am going home. Artor may have asked me to do this thing, but he was wrong to choose me. I want no more part of this intrigue.

  “I told her it was not true, that you loved his grace, but she laughed at me and said, ‘Tell that to half the court.’”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Thank you for telling me this. I want to be alone now.”

  She skit
tered away and closed the door after her. I went and threw myself down on the bed, but still I did not cry. I will not shed tears. I am stronger than she thinks. I will overcome this. I do not care if half the court thinks I am an adulterer; I know the truth.

  Late that evening I received a message. I was sleeping in my chamber when my maid in her nightclothes woke me.

  “There is a man here with a message for you, your grace,” she told me.

  “Take the message. I’ll read it in the morning.” I tried to roll over, but she shook me again.

  “He says he will only give it to you.” She was wringing her hands again.

  I sighed and climbed out of bed. I donned a housecoat and went with her. The man was waiting in the receiving room. He stood in the center of the room and faced the door, with the missive gripped tight in his hand. He was of middle age, with plain features and a forgettable face. He wore a brown tunic and leggings. His shoes were caked with dirt, I saw, and upon closer inspection, his clothes looked worn and frayed at the edges. When I was close, I could smell a faint scent of manure that clung to him.

  “Milady,” he said, “I was told to deliver this to you and no one else.” He offered me a piece of parchment sealed with red wax.

  “And who gave you this mysterious letter, may I ask?”

  The stable hand shrugged. “Some man, didn’t give me his name. Just said I should see this to your hand.”

  Did Tomas send this? His smiling face flashed through my mind. No, he is much too theatric to use a stable hand to deliver a message. Perhaps it was Hilliard? I had not seen him since our meeting in the game room, and I wondered if he was avoiding me.

  “Thank you.” I gave him a copper coin and had my maid show him out.

  I dismissed my maid and read the missive alone by candlelight.

  Come and meet me tonight in the garden beside the central fountain.

  I turned the document over, looking for a signature; there was none. Dare I venture out to find out who sent this message? I had to admit a certain curiosity. I decided to take the chance. I burned it in the fireplace just in case and told my maid I was going to bed. I lay awake, dressed, and waited for her to fall back asleep. I occupied my time by watching the shadows dance across my ceiling. The moon was full, and pale pearlescent light fell onto the coverlet. A secret rendezvous by moonlight, this sounds like something Tomas would concoct. I knew little of the man, but since I had met him, I had gotten the impression that he enjoyed a show.

  When the hour came, I pulled on my hooded cloak and slipped out of my chamber. The halls of my apartment were dark and eerie with shifting shadows created by moonlight. I stopped outside my maid’s chamber to ensure she was asleep. I listened to her snore for a moment or two before heading to the door.

  Outside my apartment, the palace halls were empty. Moonlight fell from an arched window at the end of the hall and left the walls and niches in shadow. I stuck to the shadows on the off chance someone woke and saw me skulking about.

  The garden was at the center of the palace. It was a half circle and edged by a sheer cliff that looked out onto the ocean. I did not go so far for my rendezvous, but I could hear the thunder of the ocean nonetheless as I stood beside an ornate fountain at the garden’s heart. The wind whipped through the ornamental bushes surrounding the fountain, and I pulled my cloak tighter. I scanned the entrances to the fountain, waiting for my secret correspondence. The minutes seemed to tick by, and I fidgeted, trying to keep warm. Did I wait too long and they left before I had a chance to slip out?

  A shadow moved just beyond the hedges, and my skin prickled. A female form stepped out from behind the bushes and walked towards me. She pulled back her hood, revealing her head of golden hair. It was braided. Her gown was plain with no adornment and made of dark cloth. She held her head upright and marched across the space of grass between us. Nothing could hide the regal air about her, even her plain clothing.

  “Idella, I thought I had displeased Her Royal Highness. How kind of you to come,” I sneered.

  She smiled thinly. “You should never have written to me so blatantly. There are eyes everywhere.”

  “So you say, but somehow you are blind.”

  She pursed her lips. “If anyone suspects we are working together, then doors will be slammed in your face and you won’t find out who killed Artor.”

  I laughed. “Is that why you recruited me, because no one would tell you the truth? Could you not stand not knowing? Just as you could not stand controlling who Artor married? Is that why you spread those hideous lies about me! I have a mind to leave Keisan and wash my hands of this business.”

  Her eyes were large in the moonlight. Good, I have frightened her. “You cannot do that. I will not allow it.”

  “You do not own me. I am free to go where I please. I have committed no crime.”

  I motioned to walk past her, but she threw up her arm to stop me. “One word and I can ruin you.”

  I spun to face her. “What else can you possibly take from me? I lost my entire world when Artor died, and I am beginning to realize that even if I find out why he was killed, it will not bring him back. Let me mourn and raise my son.”

  “If you will not do it for yourself, then do it for your son.”

  “Do not presume to threaten my son!” I took a step towards her, and Idella took a step back.

  She appeared unruffled. She straightened her shoulders and smiled a thin, wicked smile. “There have been whispers about Artor. He had been seen around men whose grumblings borderline treason. If these men implicated Artor and his wife… well, your son would lose his place among the twelve, and you, at best, would be exiled.”

  I balled my hands into fists at my sides. “You said that Artor was working for the king. Are you telling me that he was doing the opposite? Why did you lie to me?” Who did I marry, a spy or a traitor? Either one went down like a stone in my stomach.

  “I did not lie. He worked for the king, but he was trying to uncover the traitors. Dead men cannot defend themselves, however. If any of them were to implicate your husband, and you by association, it would not fare well for you and my dear nephew.”

  I don’t care about my reputation, and I never had let them stain my already stained character. I never measured up to Idella’s ideals, and this court is prickly and fickle. They all want to use me to their own ends, Idella included. I clenched and unclenched my fists. “Tell me the truth. What was Artor doing for the king? You said you didn’t know, but I suspect you do.”

  “I know that he was trying to uncover a group who were suspected of treason, but I do not know who they were or what their plans were. That’s what Artor wanted you to find out.”

  “Why me! I am no better suited than anyone else.” I threw up my hands in frustration and stomped away from Idella and towards the fountain. I stared down at my moonlit reflection. The pale light made me look sickly, along with the dark circles beneath my eyes. I look like a shadow.

  “Who would confide in the queen about treason?” she replied. “You are young and comely and a vulnerable widow. You have certain charms that a man might whisper his secrets over a pillow.”

  I reacted without thinking and smacked her across the face. She wheeled back from the blow. My hand stung where our flesh made contact.

  “I am not a whore that you can slide into a man’s bed at will. I came here to help you find my husband’s killer, no more.”

  She touched her cheek and glowered at me. Beneath the pale moonlight I could see the flesh around her eye turning pink and inflamed.

  “That was poorly done, sister.” She removed her hand and tilted her head.

  “You are not my sister. I am nothing but your pawn,” I spat. The blood was pounding in my ears, and I was flushed with anger. I thought about striking her again.

  “I will not ask you again. Do whatever it takes to get the information. If you don’t, your son’s life and yours are forfeit.”

  That gave me pause. “You would threa
ten your own kin? He is your nephew!” This is why she insisted on putting Layton with the Ilores, to control me.

  “I will not hurt him because you will obey, won’t you?” She stared at me like someone might a bug in their path. I was easily squashed and replaceable; I was worth less than nothing to her.

  “You’re a monster.”

  “Name-calling will get you nowhere. If you love your son, find out what I ask and do not write me again. I will contact you; have no doubt about that.”

  She turned away. The wind caught her cloak and swirled it around her. For a moment I considered picking up a rock and bashing her head in with it. She has my son; what choice do I have? I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands. I had fallen neatly into Idella’s trap because Artor had asked me. How could you do this to me, Artor? I thought you loved me.

  Chapter Seven

  The locket. My necklace. Artor’s words: Remember the old oak tree. That is where I will be. A group who called themselves the Order of the Oak. That was all I had to find out who killed my husband and why. Hilliard had disappeared. I went back to the Hall of Entertainment several times but never saw him again. Those who would talk to me had either never heard of him or did not know where he had gone. Tomas, on the other hand, seemed my constant shadow. He stumbled upon me in the garden. We met by chance in the halls. Everywhere I turned, there he was, watching me, baiting me with his smiles and his casual touches. He knew something, but I had been hesitant to call upon him, in part because he was overly friendly with me. I kept thinking about Idella’s threats. What choice did I have?

  He sent me an invitation to a gathering at his home. I labored over my answer for longer than I liked to admit. He wanted me, that much was plain, but how much of my self-respect was I willing to give up for the truth? In the end, I replied that I would attend.

  The gathering was at his home, and I hired a carriage to take me into the city. Unlike many of the peerage, Tomas Deane did not have accommodations at the palace. Apartments in the palace were reserved for those that were of noble birth or title. I watched the city pass by as I rode to the gathering, questioning if I had made the right decision in agreeing to his offer. The city was in poor shape. A Neaux attack had cut the city off from the supply route to the west, and food was being rationed. Those of the upper class did not feel it as heavily as the citizens of the city did. Even in the merchant district, where Tomas lived, I saw boarded-up houses left vacant, children with gaunt faces wandering the streets begging, and small folk who were starving without enough to eat. Mangled and maimed men leaned against alleyways with beggar’s bowls thrust out, looking for a few coppers. I closed my curtains on them; there was little I could do. This was war. You cannot save them all. Whatever my noble intentions, I had little power and less knowledge.