“Oh, yes. Service inmyhonor was certainly on his mind the while.” I eye my lady closely. Truth be told, a man could go a long way without meeting a beauty Philippa’s equal, with her statuesque figure, her dark hair, and perfectly cream-colored skin. Her features are all rather large, her nose somewhat long, her mouth very wide. And yet somehow, they are arranged with such perfect symmetry on her face, one cannot bear to find fault with her. She is altogether striking, elegant, and refined. More than that, she is genuine. All the ladylike graces which I have fought so hard to mimic come as naturally to her as breathing.
Philippa is everything a future queen ought to be…a fact which a prince like Warrick couldn’t help noticing, I’m sure.
“Tell me,” I say slyly, “just how many times have you and the prince of Anfalen happened upon each other entirely by chance over the last several days?”
“We have…exchanged pleasantries on a few occasions.”
The tone of her answer speaks volumes. I cover a smile behind my hand. I ought to be jealous. Perhaps I even am a little; one doesn’t like to learn the fellows who have come expressly to makeeyes at oneself are instead making eyes at another. That being said, am I really so selfish as to begrudge Philippa a splendid match, particularly when I myself have no intention of claiming any of them?
I take a seat at the table and accept the meal she sets before me. I would like to ask Philippa to join me, but she has made it very clear from the earliest days of our acquaintance that ladies-in-waiting do not dine with the princess, even if the princess would prefer it. Sometimes these courtly protocols are all a bit much. “Well,” I say, “I do wish you the very best in all your future kitchen-fetching adventures. May they involve many more chance encounters with handsome princes.”
Philippa steps back from the table, her expression solemn. “Princess,” she says, “you do not suppose that I would interfere in something so sacred as a championship trial, do you?”
She looks so offended by the notion, I can’t help but reassure her. “Of course not! Dear Philippa, you have been nothing but a support through all of this. All I’m saying is that…well, it’s not as though I can marry more than one of them, now can I?”
Her lips thin. Without another word, she turns away and goes to straighten the chair I’d knocked over while attempting to reach the ceiling panel. She looks around, as though trying to discover something, then finally turns her stare my way once more. “And what exactly were you doing when I entered the room?”
I take a bite of roasted pigeon, chewing thoughtfully. What’s the use of keeping secrets? She’s already helped me sneak out once. “I have to go out again tonight,” I say. “To meet…someone.”
“A champion?”
“Yes.”
“The same champion as last night?”
“Maybe.” I duck my head, knowing it’s already too late to hide my blush. Using my fork to steer a few fire-blistered tomatoes around the edge of my plate, I say as casually as I can manage, “If I’m going to make this rendezvous, I’ll need a…boost.”
Philippa frowns. Then she tilts her head back, studying the ceiling. I see the moment she spies the grate. Her frown eases away, and her lips part in a simple “Ah!” She turns to me again, folding her arms. “I won’t have you getting lost in the shafts. You’ll take a spool of yarn with you to mark your way. I’ll fasten it in here and make certain it does not pull loose.”
I hadn’t thought of that. To be sure, I’d not thought of much beyond simply getting up there to begin with. Trust Philippa to pay attention to the details. “Thank you,” I say, sincerely.
She nods. Then: “Did you give your colors to Lord Elis to wear at tomorrow’s trial?”
A little taken aback by the question, I look up sharply. “Why…yes, actually.”
“But you’re not meeting Lord Elis tonight, are you?”
Slowly, I shake my head.
“So itisPrince Valtar,” Philippa declares with a triumphant gleam in her eye.
I lift my chin. “And how do you know I’m not meeting Prince Warrick?”
I’m rewarded for my cheek with a distinct flood of color up my lady’s neck. She goes very prim, moving across the room to her mending chair by the fire. “Well,” she says, with great elegance, “I suppose you might well be.”
The air shaftis, as one might expect, dark, stuffy, hot, punctuated with occasional blasts of cold air whistling down from theworld above. But, after the initial embarrassment of my hips sticking at the opening, and Philippa and I both working to twist my body into just the right contortion to make it through into the space above, I find it roomy enough. There’s no light save that which eeks through the periodic gratings, but my dark-adapted vision can manage.
I didn’t bother telling Philippa how I came up with the notion of using the air shafts to begin with. Something tells me she would not be willing to give Valtar the benefit of the doubt if she suspected he’d snuck into my chamber in the middle of the night. It is rather suspicious behavior, and I probably ought to be more concerned about it myself. It was easier when I could simply dismiss the moment as a nightmare, but now…
Well, no matter. I cannot deny the usefulness of these air vents. I crawl along, a little awkwardly in my skirts. Philippa helped me change into something light and practical for this little expedition, but I can’t help thinking trousers would be far more comfortable. I keep the ball of yarn Philippa gave me firmly in hand, unwinding it as I progress. And a good thing too! While for the most part I can peer through the gratings and follow the lower passages below me, it all looks unfamiliar from this angle. The shafts themselves are a wild tangle of catacombs in which an unwary sojourner might become hopelessly lost.
Where do they all lead? I wonder. Obviously they must extend to the surface world at multiple points. Is it possible to climb up those particular shafts? Or are they too steep and too tight to serve as an escape route? I ought to make a more thorough inspection of them, and vow silently that I will. But not tonight.
Tonight, I will have words with Valtar the Loomer. So help me!
This thought has no sooner crossed my mind than my outstretched hand comes into contact with…nothing. I pause, myheart suddenly lodged tight in my throat. There’s a great sense of emptiness before me. Feeling around, I find a ledge and inch myself a little closer. Though my vision can manage well enough in this dimness, I cannot see more than a few inches down into the plunging shaft before me. It must go to a lower level; how much lower, I cannot guess. I stretch out my arm, trying to feel across, but cannot find where this shaft continues on the other side. I suppose it doesn’t make a difference—there’s no way for me to crawl, climb, scoot, or shimmy across this void. Nothing for it but to backtrack.
Cursing through clenched teeth, I make my way back to a previous grating and peer into the hall below me. From this angle, I cannot see any sign of guards. If I’ve kept track of my route correctly, I am now a good three turns and a long gallery away from my own chambers. Last night, this part of the palace was unguarded. I suppose I’ll have to risk it.
