He might be able to work his way into the palace…but no. He dismissed the thought almost immediately. Too close to the seats of power and too easy to fall afoul of them. There were taverns that catered to the Palace guard, but he had to believe that there would be suspicion there as well, and men looking over their shoulders. Nay, perhaps in a few months, but not now, when every loyalty was considered and questioned.
He could start at the wellspring, he supposed. Madam Winter’s pleasure house. He’d only that brief glimpse, but there’d been some connection between her and all the parties. Perhaps he’d glean a bit more from an evening spent in comfort.
At the very least, he’d obtain a good meal and a warm bed for the night.
Scruffy songster would not do for this, though, although his story of travel from Swift’s Port might be enough explanation. Perhaps he had taken shelter in a noble manor during the war and thought to try his hand in Edenrich now that the strife was over. That should work well enough for today, when he’d coin to spend. Tomorrow would care for itself.
Good enough. He lifted his head, pulled back his hood. It looked to be noon, by the sun. Time enough to move far enough away from his goal so as not to arose suspicions when he arrived. He chuckled to himself as he stood. Wouldn’t do to drop out of the sky like a thief.
Even if he was one.
Chapter Thirty
“She’s plotting something.” Lord Marshal Tarwain scowled as he paced before the fireplace in their family chambers. His bootheels rang against the stone floor as he strode back and forth.
Halithe sat on her stool, back straight, hands folded in her lap, eyes down as befit a young lady of quality. She had no doubt as to who her father was referring to. He’d been stewing since the morning meal.
She’d almost rather be sewing.
Almost.
“I was supposed to subdue the Black Hills until she got it into her head to send that scribe there first. I agreed that it was a good way to rid us of a problem, but who knows how long it will take. There are riches to be found there, wealth to be pulled from the very ground.”
Halithe made a soft sound of agreement, as she’d been schooled. Long experience had taught her to always be attentive, but never to offer her own thoughts. That didn’t stop her thinking, though.
Father was right, something was happening. There had been a flurry of activity in the wee hours of the morning. The Queen had closeted herself with her Bondmaidens, pleading illness, and all the noble ladies had been sent to their own chambers. There was a new tension in the air since the new Lord High Baron had been sent to his barony.
Almost as if others had discovered that they too could be “honored” in such a way.
“I think she’s avoiding the council.” Father turned on his heel and marched the other way. “She’s avoiding all discussion of lands and grants. And the King can’t be bothered with details. He spends all his time beating on the pells.”
Halithe would have nodded her understanding if her input had been welcome. Instead she kept her thoughts to herself.
“The only way that brainless idiot came to power is through her,” Tarwain said, making no effort to lower his voice. Halithe glanced carefully around, seeing no servants. But this was the Royal Court of Wyvern House, where one never knew who watched and listened. Did Father think himself immune?
“She’s the power, the brains, the manipulative she-wyvern,” Tarwain continued. His voice had changed, ever so slightly, growing deep, sultry—
Halithe closed her eyes, and willed herself not to react. It could not be, her father could not have—
“She is magnificent,” he mused.
Halithe must have made a noise, must have unconsciously twitched in a way that drew his attention. He came to stand in front of her, his hands behind his back. “I’ve strived to bring our family to the forefront,” Tarwain groused. “Done everything I could to bring us to a position of power and influence within the Court.”
Halithe tried very hard not to imagine exactly what he and the Queen had done.
“And what have you done, chit? These mage lessons are nonsense. The Queen has allowed them for now, for some reason, but you and I both know there’s no power for you other than that a woman gains through marriage. A good marriage, one that brings wealth and more influence, should be all that you strive for, all that you want. To build a foundation to pass on to the heirs of your body.”
Well, this was familiar ground, and she could ignore the rest, even as he returned to pacing, hurling barbed words at her for her failures. She didn’t sigh, didn’t shift in her seat, just settled in, knowing he’d have to let her go soon, for the noble ladies were to gather in the chapel in the next hour, to recite prayers for the health of the Queen and her child.
A soft knock at the door interrupted Father’s tirade. “Enter,” Tarwain barked.
Halithe raised her head as the door opened. Ritathan entered.
How did he do that, she wondered. Glide into a room so quietly, with no announcement, no boots ringing on stone. Just quiet assurance of power, and maybe the smallest clink of his chains. As if to say “I can kill you in an instant.”
She loved that.
“Forgive me,” Ritathan with a tone that implied anything but a plea. “I need my apprentice for a lesson.”
