The millpond—a small stream dammed with wooden planks—was torpid, covered in dead leaves and a darkened reflection of the blank sky above. I wanted to pull the planks from the water, to see movement. Instead, I threw a small pebble, which the pond accepted with no more than a sucking plonk, extending a few ripples in return.
“They saw them,” Otto called, emerging from the mill house. “Or the daughter did. From an upstairs window. A coach with two horses. Of fine make, she said. Except—it is why she remembered—she said there were scrapes along the side, as if made by a knife.”
“They were attacked?” I asked in alarm.
“He probably tried to scratch the insignias off so they wouldn’t be recognized.” Otto hoisted himself up onto the horse, offered his hand, and pulled me up behind him.
“Then we are on the right course.”
“Aye,” he agreed. And we started moving forward once more, leaving the motionless water, the somnolent water mill behind us.
“I fear that even if we find them, we will be too late. They’ll be married already. Or worse.”
“If the prince intends to follow through on his plan, then he will need to ensure she is not with child for at least nine months.” Otto looked forward so I couldn’t see his face. The thought was reassuring—though no guarantee.
We had not spoken much over the course of the afternoon, which had given me plenty of time to study the back of Otto’s head. His dark hair, threaded with strands of silver, was still thick and grew in a small whorl at the nape of his neck, which itself was tanned from the sun. Broad shoulders, and, I could feel from my hands on his sides, no lack of brawn, though he had the softness that also came from eating and aging well.
He was Sigrid’s advisor. Simeon’s. I wondered in what ways that might aid me, and in what ways he was putting himself at risk. We were both making bargains, but I did not know for what or with whom.
“Why are you helping me?” I asked, abruptly.
He glanced, briefly, back over his shoulder, and I saw the bridge of his cheekbone, a glint of his eye. “I was always helping you. Or trying to.”
I sank into the saddle, considering his words. Re-forming my memories—perhaps Otto was not ill-natured so much as protective. Perhaps he was not aloof, but steadfast. “Does the queen know?”
“That I was trying to help, or that I am here?”
“Both.”
He murmured some instructions to his horse—an animal that moved with twice Arno’s speed—and then was silent. After a moment, he said only, “Nay.”
“But—”
“But?”
“Why?”
He was silent again and I thought, after a long while, that he would say nothing. I could see only that small whorl of hair and the cords of his neck. But then, when I’d almost forgotten my question, staring off into the oak and ash trees lost in my own circling thoughts, he started talking.
“Before I came to this kingdom, I had a son.” His voice lowered. “He died when he was one. As did his mother.”
Except for the movement of the horse beneath me, I went completely still.
Otto continued, “He would have been the same age as Simeon. I didn’t know him well. I was a soldier then, and mostly away from home.”
“The pestilence?” I asked, quietly, thinking the timing was the same year as my own father’s death, when illness had swept its black hands across every kingdom, overstepping the boundaries as if they did not exist.
“I was a cartographer—a surveyor—for the army. Where I come from, the land, the people, are marked by strife and struggle. For power. Contested borders. Factions vying for influence, control. I was always sent to the edges of the conflict, to mark and remake maps as landchanged hands. And it changed hands often.” His voice was marked by bitterness. “When I was away, those same wars came to my village. My wife and son were both killed. I do not even know by which faction. Or how. Or who buried them. But I came home to two mounds. It was a kingdom of sides. And I soon lost sight of which one I was on. Could no longer understand which one was right. So I left.”
“And came here.” I didn’t have the right words. I worried that perhaps in acknowledging the calamitous part of what he had shared, I might discourage him from sharing further. But it also might have been the careful decision of a coward.
“My skills were in high demand. Your king—the king—hired me. And, over time, my advisory extended from maps to other matters.”
“Watching Simeon?”
“Leaders that try to impose their beliefs on those around them are dangerous. I came to your land because your royals have little ambition beyond their tiny world, and that keeps people safe. If you keep those that steer the ships and direct the armies calm, there is less blood. Fewer mounds. And so I’ve made that my purpose—made the kingdom my responsibility. When it comes to Simeon…” He released his pommel and ran a hand through his hair. Glanced back at me. “I did not know. Or I did not understand the extent of it. I did what I thought I could. It wasn’t enough. So I am trying to do more.”
“I am sorry,” I said, when he was finished.
