When we left the tent, Draw gave me his arm. I took it and we walked so slowly I could rest my head on his bicep. An evening bird trilled above in a tree, and the camp had the quiet bustle of transition as folk cooked and talked around campfires. I’d had a calm life but never peace like this. Home was quiet, yet the stillness there dissatisfied me. Work was fine, but cross-checking expenses and line-item transactions filled me with little purpose.
“And what was that other paper?” Draw asked, picking up on our earlier conversation as if it had never paused. There was no tension or suspicion in his voice. For all he knew, it was a secret list of the words and phrases I thought made me sound medieval but, as he explained while accusing me of making those words up, they made me sound like rubbish. How was I supposed to know no one actually saidmehaps?
Still, I hadn’t distracted him well enough if he was still curious about my scribbled notes. I pulled away instinctively, surprised that I hadn’t been as clever as I’d thought, but he pressed my hand into his arm in reassurance.
His face was open. Curious.
“Something I’ll tell you about soon.” I paused.Was that true? What would that mean if I told him about his fate?“But not today.”Thatat least was true.
“Lady Dottie of Mayfair, Apprentice Witch, Woman of Secrets,” he murmured, making light of it, but I could tell my hesitation grew his interest. He followed up on every lede, that was just who he was. The more a mystery built, the more insatiable he became.
He had no reason to think I’d written anything about him. After all, he was a minor character. Sherry Whitehorse hadn’t given him a single POV chapter. There was nothing to make him think the finale of the series rested on his shoulders—and wouldn’t, as long as I kept my cool and fixed the ending.
My peace evaporated as we walked. It was as if I could find moments, blocks of fulfillment, but once I settled in, I would always be reminded of the stakes. I didn’t like to think of my departure, but it was undeniable. I was acutely aware Draw and I would be separated at some final point. Perhaps there was always a shadow. Things were never truly perfect except in the small moments.
The queen often supped in her large tent with Ariana or Ironclaw, but that night she commanded her inner court to attend to her for dinner outside her tent. The canvas was the same beige as the rest of ours, but her tent was about six times larger. In front stood a strong fire circled by two teenage boys and a woman who were preparing the meal. Pots steamed, and meat and vegetables stood ready on spits. Fresh sage and pepper made the very air delicious.
To the side stood a long row of individual tables pushed together. Furniture was hard to come by in a military camp, and I wondered what lucky person got to load and unload the heavy chairs each day. I was grateful though, to look forward to sitting on something besides a wooden stump or Peanut Butter’s back.
Opposite us, Parable was talking at length to the Master of Horse who stared into middle distance, his handsome face blank, his wavy hair fully down, and clearly not fully listening to the long-winded advisor. Definitely not a conversation I was eager to enter, but Draw was already assessing them, no doubt having understood the underlying dynamic the moment he set eyes on them.
A guard stood at the entrance of the queen’s tent. She was still inside preparing for dinner. This was my opportunity. I needed to convince her to keep a closer eye on Ironclaw, especially after today’s fight.
“Draw, I’m going to...have a word with our queen.”
His attention was on Parable who had wrenched a coin from his pocket and held it up to the Master of Horse, but Draw’s glance snapped back to me.
“You’re going into Queen Elthra’s tent?”
“Yeah. Don’t you think that’s okay?”
“It might be,” he said lightly.
“Well, it’s part of my plan,” I said a bit ominously.
“I’ll see you at dinner, then.” He took a long stride toward Parable who was now holding the coin at eye level, squinting at it despite the Master of Horse’s inattention.
I glanced at the guard, and he nodded back, already tipping the canvas flap open. I steeled myself and walked through.
I blinked in the dim light and two chairs came into focus. The queen sat in a tall blue chair, Amelia the armorer in a simple wood one. The royal court wasn’t infinite, but I was still surprised to find them keeping company together. Queen Elthra surrounded herself with polite, loyal women like Ariana or entertaining ones like Issa. I would think Amelia spoke too bluntly for a queen’s taste. Her hair was as unruly as her conversation. It was chopped short to her chin, the layered ends made it seem like she hacked it off while at the forge and never thought of it again. Not exactly the picture of a queen’s usual lady-in-waiting.
“Lady Dottie,” the queen said. If she was surprised I waltzed into her tent, she didn’t show it. “Come and sit.”
“Come and drink is more like it.” Amelia held a small wooden cup in the air. “The perfect end to a day on the roads.”
I sat in another of the thin wood chairs. A servant I didn’t first notice stepped forward and presented me with a cup of light, acidic-smelling liquor. I thanked her, but before I could take a sip, Amelia suggested a toast.
“To our gracious sovereign,” she simpered, the demure expression on her heart-shaped face well exaggerated. Her black hair was tucked messily behind her ears, and she smelled faintly of leather.
I raised my glass in agreement, but Queen Elthra snorted. “Yes, I’m sure I’m known through the lands for my kindness. Lady Dottie, what is the customary toast from across the Seas of Melancholy?”
It wasn’t possible she knew the real toast, right? I mean nobody did, the Seas of Melancholy was just a name on the map as far as they were concerned.I took a breath and said, “We say cheers.”
“Cheers!” Amelia burst and took a deep draw.
I wet my lips only. The drink didn’t smell particularly appetizing, and I needed a clear head.
“We were just discussing Lady Issa. Little Meg told our armorer here what you said about her swaying her captors.”
