“What did you say?” He leaned forward, delighted. “I thought I heard you mutter some very indecent curses. No one could curse as well and as creatively as you, you know. I learned the best curses from you. Ah, those were the good times.”
“I would not dare breathe anything improper in Your Imperial Highness’s presence.”
“Ah, Pippa, my Pippa. Such snobbery does not suit you.”
She sniffed.
“Come.” He lifted a finger to beckon her closer. “And pick up your reward.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I shall remain here, Highness, but I would very much like my reward, provided it is of material means.” She leaned forward with a stage whisper. “Meaning money.”
Knowing him, he would probably take advantage of the situation and try to kiss her. Or worse.
She felt heat spread up the back of her neck.
“It is of material means.” He nodded.
Pippa ignored the slight feeling of disappointment. If he gave her a coin or two, she would take it, because she was not a girl who would turn down money.
“But you have to step closer.”
Watching him warily, she took one, two steps closer. He picked up the coat, which was draped over the side of the chair, and dug into its pockets, drawing out something.
He held out his hand. “Give me your hand, and I’ll give you your reward.”
She held it out.
Into her palm, he dropped something cold and smooth and brown.
“Chestnuts!” Pippa breathed. She adored chestnuts. She loved climbing onto the tree to pick them directly off the branches, and to collect them from the ground. She loved the sweet, earthy smell of chestnuts as it filled the air, homely and comforting.
He nodded. “My entire pocket is full. I got them from a vendor outside the Burgtor. What do you say?” He looked at her expectantly. “Let’s fry them?”
That was too big a thing to decline. “But how? You don’t have an open fireplace in these chambers.” The rooms in the imperial palace were heated by ceramic ovens that were fired from the corridors. “Besides, we need an iron skillet or pan to put them in.”
“Where could we get that?”
“In the kitchen, of course.”
“Then let us proceed to the kitchen and get one.”
“But…”
“Hush, no arguing. Come, let us go.” He pulled on a banyan, a pair of slippers and headed out the door, in the wrong direction.
“It’s this way,” Pippa informed him, pulling him on the sleeve towards the door that led to the spiral servants’ staircase.
They went down the stairway, along another corridor, another stairway; once or twice they paused, hiding around the corner or in doorways, waiting for footsteps to pass by before they continued on.
The kitchen was on the lower floor of the building. Since it was early in the morning, Pippa assumed it would be empty, and she was right. The scullery maid who tended the hearth fire was gone, either asleep in a corner somewhere or sent on an errand. She gave Klemens a surreptitious gesture to follow her.
Klemens followed her curiously into the kitchen.
“I daresay this is the first time for you here,” Pippa said, as she opened a cupboard looking for a small iron skillet.
“It is indeed.” He opened a drawer, peeked inside, inspected the copper pots that hung from the walls,plucked a plum from a plate and bit into it. “I miss Lotta’s apfelstrudel.”
Pippa looked at him with a pang. “You remember that?”
