Woes and Hose Read online

There were going to be delegates from other nations. All twenty-one houses, plus the people of the Confederacy. A great opportunity to mingle, to meet new faces, to learn their customs, to spy on them. This was why Father had sent her in the first place: to rein in Quentin and to counter Faranc ambitions.

  It’s a trap.

  Quentin had assured her there was no threat. Embassies were safe. There could be no violence, no matter what happened elsewhere. No one would harm her.

  She looked at the Faranc mansion, a beautiful three-story house with purple and green creepers growing over its east face, and felt like an infiltrator going into an enemy camp.

  Well, in a way, she was.

  She would have her maids, of course, four Drechknights, and four Confederate soldiers, chosen by Quentin as her personal guard, although her husband-to-be assured her there was no need for armed men. Didier was also coming with her—as her interpreter.

  “Remind me, why can’t Quentin join me?” she asked him again.

  “The protocol dictates embassiers must come see the Constable in his court,” Didier replied. He waved at a court servant, who came closer with a tray of fruit and watered wine. Didier plucked a grape off the tray but did not eat it.

  A convenient way of ending alliances, Mina thought. If Quentin wanted to get rid of someone, he could just send them to one of the houses, and if some misfortune befell them there, who was to blame?

  Is that what he plans for me? Is he in league with the Faranc?

  For the thousandth time since she’d first met Quentin, she believed him to be too gullible for his own good, but then, she reminded herself, again and again, one could not become—and stay—the Constable of the White Confederacy, the Lord of All Shires, by being stupid and trusting. Quentin’s open charm was just another way of fooling his enemies, she knew. A stark opposite to Father’s sharp, direct, and brutal ways.

  Father would not have sent me here to die.

  Or would he?

  He had sent Dick to Ostfort…

  Intrigue was driving her mad. She was growing suspicious of everyone and everything. It must be Didier’s presence.

  “What have you heard of Prince Dietrich?” Mina asked, trying to distract herself from the late afternoon party.

  “Didier hears that Prince Dietrich is forging himself quite a reputation. He is courageous and cunning. He has fought off three assassination attempts, no less, and he’s keeping the Nurflander and Barvan attackers at bay, despite overwhelming odds. Milady must be proud.”

  Mina nodded weakly. Yes, extremely proud. Three assassinations… So, she wasn’t the only one trying to get Dick killed. That did not surprise her in the slightest. Had one of killers been Sandro or someone he had retained? Was he dead? Captive? Being tortured and forced to divulge difficult secrets? No wrath was coming her way, but that meant nothing. Father was brutal and lacked finesse, but he could also be very patient when needed.

  She wanted to know if Eva was safe, but she couldn’t ask that question, ever. Father’s Builders reported occasional news from Ostland, on the progress of allied armies converging onto the besieged city, but they never told her anything about Father’s missing hostage. After all, why should they?

  There was nothing she could do now. She had to wait. Things were out of her hands. Whatever happened in Ostfort was going to be the Saint’s will.

  She glanced toward the Faranc house. It was shaded by tall poplars, the afternoon sun slanting through the branches and lighting the decorated gardens gold and green. Several chariots were making their way uphill. She saw the Gepeni banner, the Oonglant coat of arms on a black carriage, and the Hyevan and Fresnald flags.

  Trying to distract herself was only going to make her think more about Dick and his successes. Feeling sorry for herself or worrying about events she could no longer control was not going to make Father make her his successor. She was a Drechtoter, and she couldn’t let Faranc antics or Quentin’s obtuse forthrightness derail her. If she couldn’t face some Faranc official or handle the stress of war and intrigue and uncertainty, then she did not deserve to be King Ulaf’s daughter.

  “Let’s see the Faranc embassier,” Mina said.

  She had expected extravagance. Opulence. Odd customs. Flamboyance. Excess. Liveried men and exotic dishes. Entertainment of all sorts and colors and sounds. Armed men standing discreetly here and there, pretending to be part of the decor.

  She had not expected the smell of shit.

  The Faranc embassier was holding reception in the largest room on the second floor of the house. It had four entrances, each one leading to a different chamber: a library, a trophy chamber, a music room, a gallery of paintings. Whichever way the guests came up, they had to come through one of the four chambers and glimpse a facet of the Faranc strength—prizes from military conquests, rare books, beautiful art.

  And then, in the center hall, she had glimpsed Head Embassier Peppernell.

  He was sitting on what looked to be an elaborate chamber pot, painted red and gold. He was surrounded by a small army of servants, and behind him there was a tall pile of gifts, wrapped in colorful silks, with dried flowers and frilly ribbons added for extra decadence.

  The entourage seemed oblivious to the embassier’s… state. The guests looked confused as they moved about the chamber.

  Mina’s knights had stayed on the floor below, mingling with the armed escorts from all the different nations. Her maids were wrinkling their noses, looking fascinated and repulsed at the same time. Didier was smiling, as though he had not a worry in his life.

  “What is this?” she whispered, looking at the bizarre scene over the shoulder of a Hyevan envoy, waiting to be announced by a Faranc clerk; there was one standing at each doorway, and they quietly coordinated among themselves.

  “His High Well Born Bozidar, the Emissary to High Emperor Ratibor of the Great Empire of Hyevan.”

  Didier arched one of his perfect brows. “A new Faranc invention. It’s quite the fad.”

  Mina narrowed her eyes. “It’s a chamber pot.”

  Didier tutted. “Not at all, milady.”

  Don’t forget Didier is Faranc. This might all be a well-planned insult against Monrich. “I am very keen on fads.” Her calves tensed at the memory of rigorous ballez lessions. “That is a man defecating in the middle of a room, encircled by household help and honorable visitors.”

  Didier motioned for her to step closer so that the clerk could announce her. She knew the official would be ready. He would have been alerted the moment she had stepped into the house. That much was expected. But now…she wasn’t quite sure what to expect.

  The chamber pot lackey had broken all the rules of the game.

  Father had sent me here for a reason. He knew. He knew this would happen.

  The only reason for the Faranc embassier to dare something so obscene was to challenge the Monrich position and influence in the Confederacy. This was the Faranc king’s way of protesting the alliance between Father and Quentin. This was Faranc moving against Monrich.

  A subtle, bloodless insult. A calculated move done in one of the safe houses surrounding Neuchtaffel. If not for the smell of shit, Mina might have been impressed. Even her brother, after all those years spent in Volkard’s brothers, didn’t have the imagination for something so outrageously vulgar.

  Mina stepped close and let her lips stretch into a measured smile as her titles were announced in a rich, clear voice, once in Faranc, once in Richs and once in Valedian.

  The chatter in the hall subsided. Everyone turned to regard her. Men bowed and women curtsied. Except the embassier. Pepperell was still sitting on his pot.

  Mina exchanged a few inane pleasantries with some of the other visitors before she converged on the source of stench in the center of the chamber. Head Embassier Peppernell waited patiently, and then, as she came close—but not too close—launched into an overflowing tirade of false excitement and praise.

  Didier translated, his voice tinged with amuseme
nt. He might have known this would happen, too, Mina knew. Well, whoever Didier worked for—Quentin, the Faranc, her father—she would give them something to talk about.

  Peppernell obviously expected her to let him kiss her hand.

  Mina folder her gloved hands in front of her and waited.

  The embassier blinked rapidly, then turned to one of his servants, his mouth constantly moving, spewing useless words. Peppernell extended his arms, holding her gift. Mina inclined her head, and unlucky Elsa stepped forward to accept it. The poor girl could barely hide her disgust.

  Everyone else was watching the exchange with fascination. Mina wasn’t a violent person, not like her wretched brother, but she imagined herself kicking the embassier in the face, making him topple off his smelly little throne.

  She thanked the embassier and moved back into the crowds, ignoring the gossip around her. Elsa was holding the gift like it was a rabid dog.

  “Milady has conducted herself with impressive restraint,” Didier commented, sidling close to her. Perhaps too close.

  “Didier should move back unless he wants to suffer pain,” she hissed politely.

  Didier’s brows shot up. “Milady. Milady is full of surprises today.”

  “I am not the one with surprises. Did you know there was going to be this…ceremony?”

  The clerk shrugged. “Didier knows many things. But Didier did not know what kind of custom the head embassier was going to try. Didier swears.”

  She ignored his reply. She was here, in this nest of scheming, surrounded by important, powerful people. This was not a party. This was a mission. She was here to learn as much as could about Father’s allies and enemies, to glean their intentions, to hear what they had to say, and just as importantly, what they didn’t want to say.

  Until just moments ago, she had felt bored and confused and frustrated by her stay at Neuchtaffel. But Peppernell’s insult had given her sudden focus that she had not expected. It must be her Monrich blood. When surrounded by danger, she thrived.

  Father will be quite keen on learning more about this.

  Mina decided to swallow her pride and numb her nose for the evening. There was nothing to be gained by leaving early. She wouldn’t give the Faranc fool that satisfaction. She was King Ulaf’s daughter, and she did not intend to disappoint him. If Dick could show his prowess, so could she. And just like he was fighting in Ostland, she was going to fight here, this game of polite scheming. When war broke out with the Faranc, she wanted Father to know that she had done everything she could to undermine the enemy.

  Father will be proud, she thought, and went to glimpse some fine art in the nearby, less-smelling chambers.

  CHAPTER 37

  He is Above Us

  “Cage it for too long, and the lion may fear the grassland.”

  —RAVASHI PROVERB

  31st Day of the Month of the Sickle

  At first, she had been petrified.

  She could hardly sleep or eat, and the thunderous booms from the Hyevan cannon would make her wince every hour. She would sit or pace around, not really concentrating on anything, reading and rereading books because she could barely remember the last passage, too nervous to do anything meaningful, too anxious to think.

  After a while, her terror had faded, and she had gotten used to the noise. It was a second skin that she and everyone in Ostfort wore now. One of resolution and quiet, repressed fear.

  Here I am, Eva thought. Embroiled in war and killing once again! And who is my companion on this awful journey? Surprise, it’s Prince Dietrich, the liar, the coward, and…he seems to be trying hard to change his ways.

  She didn’t like being locked in her chambers. But she liked the notion of walking down Ostfort streets—and suddenly being attacked—even less. The assassination against Dick had clarified how precarious her situation was. If someone tried to hurt her—or kidnap her—she would be defenseless. Dick was right. She would be a most prized target, and other people might not be as nice and generous as him.

  What a cruel world, where Prince Dietrich might be considered a nice and generous person.

  A series of raps on the door announced Crispin. She had come up with the idea of a secret knock, so she would know it was him or Dietrich. If anyone overpowered the guards, she would have little say in what they did to her door—or her, but at least she could pretend she had some control over her fate. She wanted to face danger with dignity.

  “Come in.”

  The manservant stepped in, smiling brightly, as always, trying to distract her from the danger and death everywhere about. He was such a good and caring man. He was carrying something in his arms, covered with a veil. Eva felt a tinge of excitement skitter up her spine.

  “Good morning, my lady!” Crispin greeted cheerfully.

  “Crispin,” Eva greeted back. “You look happy.”

  “I’ve brought something for you.” He removed the veil with a dramatic flick of his wrist.

  Just books, Eva thought in a flash of disappointment. But no matter. It was the intention that mattered. “Oh, thank you. What are those?”

  “Enissian books! I…Prince Dietrich found them in a small book store on Horseshoe Lane. He believes you will find them quite interesting.”

  Eva sighed. “Crispin.”

  “My lady?

  “You don’t need to lie. You don’t need to protect the prince all the time. It was you, right? You thought about me, and you found the books?”

  Crispin grinned sheepishly. “Prince Dietrich is busy running the war, my lady. Yes, it was me. The books are old, and they smell funny, but you might appreciate—”

  She stepped up to the manservant and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you.”

  Crispin looked shocked. His face turned bright red. “My lady.”

  “Show me,” she mumbled, trying to recover from the moment of embarrassment.

  The manservant lay the books on the table. “Eh, a book on Enissian culture through the centuries, with a first record dated back to the Fall of the Valedian Empire. And then, there’s this one, The Delights of the Tongue, and it’s about cuisine and recipes, a compilation from a hundred ports by an Enissian food merchant. The third one is a treatise on how the city had withstood sieges in the past. It might not be what you’re looking for, but you could derive pride from it, and it might give you strength in this difficult time.”

  Eva ran a finger over the old, eaten leather cover. “Maybe Prince Dietrich should read that one.”

  Crispin made a wry face. “The prince has the Drechknights to help and advise him on matters of siege. I am sure they have all the necessary knowledge.”

  He is always so kind, and he never badmouths anyone. “Crispin, why do you serve Prince Dietrich?”

  Crispin frowned. “Because he is my master.”

  Eva started pacing around the room, frustrated. “It’s a horrible duty.”

  Crispin smiled softly. “Why do you think so, my lady? I serve the second most powerful man in the Monrich kingdom.” He rolled his eyes. “Well, maybe the third. But Prince Dietrich will be the king one day. It’s a great honor.”

  “He is selfish and needy.”

  “He is the prince, my lady. Princes are supposed to be selfish and needy.”

  “But he treats people badly.”

  Crispin folded his arms. “He is the prince. He is supposed to. He is above us ordinary people. Besides, my lady, if you put your emotions aside and look at Prince Dietrich objectively, you will realize he is not such a bad master after all. He is quite witty, he shares his jokes and thoughts with me, he takes me along on amazing adventures, he trusts my judgment, he confides in me, he has never raised his hand to me, and he is generous with his praise and prizes.”

  Eva watched Crispin with incredulity. Is this the same Prince Dietrich I was talking about? “You could serve someone else, more…gentlemanly and noble.”

  “Like whom?”

  Eva felt silly for even mentioning it, but she plodded
on. “You could just leave. Be free.”

  Crispin frowned again. “Why would I want to do that, my lady? What would I do on my own?”

  “You are talented, you are skilled with a sword. You could do many things.”

  “Serve a different master in the guise of a trade, my lady? I would rather stay with Prince Dietrich. He may not be the prince you’d hoped for, but he is a great man, and he is an excellent master. The common folk don’t often get to choose their destiny. I think I’m very lucky. Most people have to worry about simple things like bringing bread to the table and clothing their family. My worries are finding the best shirt for my prince and wondering what new crazy adventure he will embark on next.”

  “You could be free…” she faltered. Was she speaking about Crispin—or herself? Free from Dietrich? Or her father?

  Maybe Dietrich and I do share a bond. We both live in the shadow of our fathers.

  “Freedom is an illusion, my lady. It’s the currency of the poor. My lady, you look distraught.”

  “I am distraught. I will never be free of this prison.” She plumped down on a sofa.

  Almost boldly, Crispin sat next to her, but he still kept a safe distance from her. “My lady, you really do not want to be on your own in Ostfort now. Or anywhere near it. The city streets are extremely dangerous, and it’s killing fields everywhere else.”

  “But this will never end. Dick will always find some excuse to keep me locked up.” No, she wasn’t being fair. He had improved immensely. His manner, his speech, his intentions.

  Crispin seemed to politely ignore her. “I have something that will cheer you up.”

  He was such a sweetheart. He always tried to be so nice to her. “What is it?”

  “The finer details of a plan for our escape. Prince Dietrich wants us to be able to flee the city if it gets overrun by the Barvans and the Nurflanders. He only intends to bring you along, my lady. Not even his wife.”

  Eva was not surprised. Dick had never shown any affection for Amadea. She didn’t blame him, thinking of the idea of her own forced marriage to Master Battista Nacar. I fled my home, and Dick started a war because he didn’t want to be forced into a bond without love. In that instant, she felt closer to him than ever before.