Chapter 26 Seraphina
Chapter twenty-six
Seraphina
Humming a jaunty tune to herself, Olivia plucked another scroll from the leather satchel thumping against her side with each long-legged step.
Fumbling it open with her unbroken hand, she reported, “You’ve received well-wishes from some Drakmori lord.
A Lord Flemoine, Count of…” She squinted.
“Some place I can’t make out. But it’s just more of the same. ”
Her friend fluttered the parchment in her face. “Promises to swear fealty when the Crow takes the throne, not before. Unless you can send aid to help him deal with this Bonesinger warlord, and then he might reconsider.”
Seraphina pursed her lips and continued down the corridor, making for the balcony overlooking the yard where Aldric was training the new recruits. “Flemoine…where do we know that name?”
Alyx stirred where she lounged—coiled about her neck beneath the warm ruff of her fur cloak. The usuru purred, clearly content with her lot in life despite the dreadful cold slicing through every inch of the palace.
Seraphina lifted a hand and absentmindedly stroked the winged serpent’s scaled throat.
Olivia clucked her tongue against the back of her teeth. Laughing, she asked, “That’s Master Kyn’s kin, isn’t it?”
Seraphina huffed out a sigh. Yes, that was where she had heard the name before. Kynielle Flemoine, medic for the Twelve Sons. The only member whose father recognized him despite the fact that he was still illegitimate.
If not even Lord Flemoine was willing to back Aldric’s claim to the throne of Drakmor, who would?
Olivia’s expression soured when she didn’t share in the amusement over the wordplay.
“Now don’t go being in a foul mood just because the Drakmori aren’t falling all over themselves to start a civil war.
You can call that man the King of Drakmor all you like, but that doesn’t actually make him the King of Drakmor. ”
They came to a pause before the balcony doors, the windowpanes thick with frost. The moment a Queensguard stepped forward to open the doors, the air that whipped into the hall sought to pierce her straight to the bone.
With a hiss, Alyx burrowed deeper beneath her cloak.
Olivia groaned, “Can’t we just watch from the windows?”
Seraphina thinned her lips and forged out into the cold.
“One,” she rattled off, “I am not in a foul mood. I am merely pensive. Two, Aldric Hargrave is the King of Drakmor. Warwick Hargrave divorced his first wife on the grounds of sexual immorality, citing that Aldric was the product of an affair. But he’s not.
Ergo, the divorce would be nullified were Rosa Hargrave still alive—”
Olivia snorted and muttered, “Ergo,” under her breath.
“—which makes Charlotte Hargrave a mistress and Edmund Hargrave a bastard,” she concluded, flicking her friend a sidelong glance. “You can dislike him all you like, but you can’t argue with my logic.”
“You disliked him just a week ago,” Olivia complained, “and now you’re just…”
Seraphina’s attention shifted across the yard to where her Crow stood watching his men spar with the youngest recruits.
His glaive in hand. His expression stern.
Though he wore his usual attire—black leather, as ever—the fading light of late afternoon glinted off the hammered gold crown now resting on his brow.
Simple, practical, with sharp points and an utter lack of adornment, it was the first crown she had found that she could convince him to wear. It made him look like a warrior king.
A man ready to reconquer Arlund.
“…completely ignoring me. You know, you remind me of someone.”
Seraphina blinked and dragged her attention back to her friend, her eyebrows knitting together. “Who?”
“You,” Olivia drawled. “When you were sixteen and mooning over Tiberius.”
She balked and twitched further away, heat crawling up her neck. “I am not mooning over Aldric. I am simply…” Her mouth worked uselessly over the words that would not come. What was she doing? “Studying his technique.”
“Mmhm.”
Thinning her lips, Seraphina changed the subject. “Sir Tristan will be home in another week, won’t he?”
It had already been one week since the Duke of Coreto, the Count of Wellane, Lord Tiberius, and Sir Tristan had departed court. One week since Edmund’s betrayal.
One week since she had declared to the world that Aldric Hargrave was the true King of Drakmor.
Olivia’s gaze shuttered, her expression now unreadable. “I don’t see what Dacre has to do with anything.”
Curiosity gnawed at Seraphina, tempting her to pry for more details on just what was going on between those two. It wasn’t her place to know. If Olivia wanted to share, she would share.
…But still, she so desperately wanted to know.
Someone else’s—anyone else’s—drama would be a welcome distraction from her own.
Instead of sating her own curiosity, she decided to be a good friend and changed the subject. Again. “Are there any more letters?”
Olivia grunted, rifling through her satchel. “Why am I having to play secretary again? You usually do this sort of thing with ol’ Percy.” Her friend shot her a knowing look. “Is he still mad at you for listening to the Crow’s advice over his?”
A quiet ache stirred just beneath Seraphina’s ribs. It had been days since her godfather had last spoken to her about anything that didn’t concern a direct matter of state. “Duchess Edith reports that she has almost brought him around. Another day or so should do the trick.”
Olivia pulled free another missive. “Just one last letter for today.” Cracking the wax seal, she skimmed its contents and snorted.
“This one is from a merchant prince of the city-states. One Signore Cesare Alberti of Alberti Banking. He says he admires your ‘audacity’—his words, not mine—and that he wishes you luck ‘in the lists.’”
Seraphina made a face. “Is that truly all?”
Olivia stuffed the letter back in her satchel and cheerfully reported, “Well, he also included a voucher that you can redeem for a case of wine from the Sfarzia Vineyards next year. Assuming you survive this one, of course.”
Despite herself, Seraphina couldn’t help but exhale a humorless laugh. The sound unfurled on a puff of vapor before her. “Charming.” Her gaze wandered again, seeking out the sight of her Crow still overseeing the training across the way.
Except this time, her gaze locked with his.
Because he was already staring at her.
Seraphina’s breath hitched. Her ridiculous heart skipped a beat. She was still not accustomed to this new way Aldric had of…looking at her. As if he could see no other.
As if only she existed.
Her eyes immediately lowered to the balcony railing. Self-conscious of the smoldering weight of Aldric’s gaze still lingering upon her, she wet her lips.
“And what about…what about this business with the pamphlets?” she asked Olivia under her breath in a desperate bid to distract her thoughts.
You are being ridiculous, she chided herself for not the first time as she cautiously peeked back toward her husband and found that his attention had already returned to the new recruits. Some of the tension eased from her chest, allowing her to breathe easier.
And yet a silly, little part of her wished he would look her way again.
Olivia hunched her shoulders against the cold, her arms crossing over her chest. “You mean the ones we’re sending to Drakmor or…” Her friend slipped the Queensguard standing post nearby a pointed glance. “The other ones?”
“The other ones, of course.”
“Of course. Well, it seems that particular printing press burned to the ground,” Olivia casually revealed on a murmur, sending Seraphina’s attention jolting back that way.
Oblivious, the Lothmeeran woman continued, “Along with every other printing press in Goldreach, now that I think about it, save for the very last one I serendipitously purchased right after our mystery arson’s burning spree.
Terribly strange business, that. But lucky for you that I did, given that my press is the one printing your pretty little declarations of war we’re flying across the Straight. ”
For several moments, Seraphina could only stand there, staring at her friend. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish. Finally, she managed, “Olivia…you didn’t—”
“Didn’t what?” Olivia asked, spearing her with a challenging look. “Do my job? No one was hurt, Sera. It was only a bit of wood. Some metal. Glass…”
Seraphina’s lips pursed. Her brow furrowed. She didn’t like it. Not one bit—this business of her own Spymaster burning down buildings owned by her loyal, hardworking subjects.
But so long as no one had been hurt…
“How in the world did you purchase a printing press?” she blurted out, unable to let the matter go just yet.
“Not on the wages you pay me, that’s for certain.”
Seraphina delivered up to her friend a flat look. “Olivia.”
The other woman sighed, shooting a glance first to the left and then to the right. “All right. Do you remember that awful diamond necklace Tiberius tried to give you?”
She had always wondered why Olivia had wanted to keep that wretched thing. “You didn’t.”
“Oh, I did. I’m still trying to decide what I’m going to do with the rest of the money I got for it.
Who knows? Maybe I’ll purchase a ship and start my own trading company.
” With a hint of her usual mischief, Olivia suggested, “Or perhaps I’ll just get another pet snake since someone made me give away my last one. ”
Seraphina’s lips quirked into a smile. She had missed moments like these. Moments where she and Olivia could just…exist. Talk. Tease one another. “I refuse to sleep in the same room as a viper.”
Without missing a beat, Olivia pointed out, “You sleep with an usuru.”
Seraphina rolled her eyes. “That’s hardly the same thing and you know it.”
Alyx purred again, as if aware she was being talked about.
Olivia’s expression sobered. Sidling closer until their shoulders pressed against one another, her friend whispered, “But to answer the question you didn’t ask—I have the ringleader of those pamphlets in custody as well. A merchant by the name of Ivan Talbot.”
The other woman’s features hardened further. “He has family in Mysai. I’ve asked him every which way I know how and I can’t get him to give up the name of his superior. He claims it was all his idea.”
Seraphina took a renewed interest in the balcony railing, studying the pattern in the marble there. “But you think he’s lying,” she murmured.
Not a question. A statement. She knew Olivia.
Olivia thought everyone was lying.
“I have my suspicions on who is truly behind it. And besides, my being suspicious of everyone and everything has gotten me this far in life,” her friend confirmed. “The Lady willing, it’ll carry me further still.”
At mention of the Lady, Seraphina winced. “Olivia—”
Olivia shot her a sidelong look. “If you’re about to invite me to chapel again, Sera…don’t.”
Seraphina set her jaw, prepared to protest further, before a flurry of movement near the palace gates drew her attention that way. Riders. Riders coming in fast, their horses lathered with sweat and billowing vaporous breaths in the chill air.
Even from that distance, she recognized the pair of men at once. And the sight of them stopped her heart cold.
It was Tiberius and Tristan.
Back from the duchy of Coreto a full week early.