“Angharad!” I shouted, startling Kante.
He reared up, whinnying in protest, and whipped his head around in alarm. Angharad stepped back as I went to Robert, bending over him. The corvid was merely a bit dazed, and once he regained himself, he gave one last look and took off.
“It’s a crow, for gods’ sake,” Angharad mumbled, brushing off her skirts. “They bring pestilence.”
“Not Robert.” I searched the dead grass for whatever he’d dropped. Eventually I found it: a ring with a large square garnet at its center. It was a gorgeous red, deep as wine or fresh blood, set in gold that had been worked into elaborate swirls and flowers along the band. The stone glowed with inner fire, capturing what little light filtered through the clouds.
The color made me think of Quinn, who favored reds in his clothing. He’d been scarce through the proceedings this morning…
“Robert?”Angharad asked, breaking the moment. “Why is a crow bringing you jewelry? And why is his name Robert?”
“I feed him, and he brings me things. I call him Robert because he’s an insatiable thief, and it sounds like ‘Robber’,” I answered, rising to my feet. I soothed Kante, once again taking the reins. “I’m going to retire him. He’s all riled up now, anyway. You should go inside, have some tea.”
Angharad frowned. “Perhaps I should. My apologies, Your Highness, I seem to have disturbed you greatly.”
“There is no need to apologize.” My attention returned to the ring as I closed it in my palm. “We are all a bit out-of-sorts.”
Chapter 28
The queen’s solarwas arranged for Sahra’s weekly lessons, a semicircle of chairs gathered around the seeker. It captured the eastern light, warming the room for the near-dozen hopeful learners assembled; spring was only weeks away, but the weather gave no hint of it.
The courtiers waited out the beginning of hard times inside the castle walls, passing the time with fascinations, like signing, and whatever games they could manage indoors. Meanwhile, root vegetable stores were depleting across Gallae. The famine brought monotony to the royal supper, and hunger to the commoner’s house. Most of us had the good sense not to complain.
I settled into my usual seat between Winnie and an empty chair—Florence’s, when she bothered to attend. Looking around the room moved me: all of these people, from the Duke of Greene to Lady Diamond, had dedicated hours to learning this language for me. Even if most of them merely sought favor with their future queen, I couldn’t deny my gratitude.
Sahra conducted the day’s lesson as we practiced telling stories. The Duke of Greene gave the first example, hands weaving in the air with precise and flowing gestures.
“Excellent,” Sahra praised. “See how he connects each sign? No choppy movements.”
“I could tell a story,” Angharad offered, already giggling. “It’s about a lonely milkmaid and a sailor—”
“Perhaps you should master basic greetings before attempting innuendo,” Winnie suggested softly.
Angharad raised her middle finger.
Sahra turned to Nicolas, who sat rigidly in his chair. She tempered the lesson for him. “Try asking for a glass of wine, Your Highness.”
The prince grunted softly, passing a brief glance my way. I spared him at least a look. Things were strained between us, but I knew better than to go out of my way to offend him. Anything to avoid another private conversation.
He shifted from his rigid position. His hands moved stiffly, fingers tangling in the middle gesture. All the while, the muscles of his face tensed and twitched with repressed frustration.
“Slower,” Quinn suggested. He leaned forward, demonstrating the phrase with natural fluidity and ignoring the way it made Nicolas clench his teeth. The prince tried again, this time managing something that at least resembled the phrase, though his motions remained forced.
Sahra nodded. “Better. Lord Quinn, show us how to respond to that request.”
Quinn’s signing was remarkably smooth, though he was no stranger to learning new languages. The signs were simpler than the spoken tongue, leaving the mind to fill in elements like articles and auxiliary verbs.“Of course, Your Highness. Perhaps a drink will ease your movements.”
His hands found a natural rhythm with the language. I kept my gaze neutral, though I couldn’t help but notice how seriously he took these lessons. The garnet ring weighed heavy in my pocket; I’d carried it for weeks now, waiting for the right moment that never seemed to come. After our Fintrus exchange in my chambers, I was extra careful not to cross that line from friendship into flirtation. My caution drove a nail between us, but the man was uncursed; I hoped, with time, that whatever he felt for me would fade. It had to.
Winnie had also been practicing, joining classes from the very beginning, even when she ought to have been mourning. When it came to her turn, she signed with such elegance that she might have taken extra lessons behind the scenes, either with Sahra Doonle or the duke. The pair of themhadbeen spending more time together, especially now that I’d given her a temporary leave of station. It didn’t seem as though anything had developed between them, but Winnie kept her secrets behind locks and chains. For all I knew, the two might have eloped.
“Alana.” Sahra turned. “Challenge them. Come up with something unique.”
I stood, nodding, but unlike all the rest, I couldn’t communicate by tongue. Only my hands spun the story, and thus I was often used to quiz the rest on how far they’d come. The sound of shifting fabric and hands greeting hands was the sole noise I produced as I recounted a story from my days of reading in the woods: a handsome magister tricked into servitude by a monster.
“Would anyone like to venture a guess as to the plot of Alana’s story?” Sahra asked.
Angharad raised a hand. “I saw the wordhandsome.”
