Chapter 44
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
ISOLDE
Your archers are ample. They’ve vanished, as they always do, reappearing just to adjust my list of targets.
Having your trackers to do the reconnaissance quietly in the background while mine do the day-to-day work of war is useful.
As for sending more to capture a sorcerer.
..I’ve had a lot of bodies, old friend. I suspect they’re flimsier than their Cursed counterparts, hence their swift deaths in captivity.
It’s of limited importance. —in a letter from General Victor, Duke of La’Angi to General Dieudonné, Count of Black Borough
La’Angi Keep
My limbs started to feel tired. The post-exertion energy only lasted for so long, and there had been extensive exertion. How Audrey was still upright but functioning so well was beyond me.
I hoped she could maintain her pace until it was safe to slow.
I barely side-stepped the runner who dashed past me, his small legs pumping hard. They didn’t usually ask young children to do very much, so I was surprised to see official ribbons dangling from his hand.
“Sorry, mistress!” he crowed, skidding to a halt, his eyes bright as I juggled the tray, somehow keeping it straight. “Got a message for t’ lady,” he said, proudly, holding up a very tall, tightly rolled piece of paper.
I sighed, lowered the tray I held. “Go on, then,” I said. “Put it on.”
His grin was huge. “Thanking you, mistress Isolde!”
I continued along, passing one of the halls with the frescoes being restored by patient—and probably impatient—artists.
They’d run over time, but because the delay came from a delivery Audrey had been responsible for, she upheld the contract in hopes the hall would be ready for the festivities in less than a week.
She had alternative plans ready to put in place and a cut-off date to make the change already.
The reek of the paint made my head spin.
Orvald was trotting along, his chestnut hair in artful disarray, a bundle of what could have been paint brushes or murder implements under his arm.
If Orvald was here, Sandra wouldn’t be far.
The boy had pickpocketed her heart and she didn’t even know she’d been robbed yet.
“Get the windows open,” I told him, seeing where he was headed. “Audrey won’t like dead artists in her hall.”
He grinned and tipped an imaginary hat to me, entering the room with a fancy little spin. All that energy was wasted on the young. I passed Thomas, standing smartly by the door, his shield resting by his feet, one had on his spear. He gave me a nod. I pretended not to see it and floated on past.
Audrey had chosen the room well. A large, rich table was the only item she’d left in here, but it needed no adornment.
When we’d cleaned it up half a moon ago, she’d stood in the center of the room, her hands on her hips. Covered in dust, her hair going everywhere, she’d grinned and declared, “It’s a place for business.”
Now there was no dust in sight, and her hair was neat as a pin. Comfortable chairs, paper, quills, ink, ledgers all stood very neatly on the table, but left plenty of space.
The merchant she was currently meeting with was rolling up a map, a smile on his face, his movements unhurried.
Sandra leant over and pointed silently at a page—Audrey made a few quick marks where she indicated.
I set the tray down on the other side of the table and went to look out over the bailey and into the city.
The weather was still excellent. I knew Audrey had plans to have glass shutters installed so she could have the view—and the light—even during winter.
She ran through pleasantries as I listened with half an ear.
A seabird glided into view, its wings carrying it high above with apparent effortlessness.
I felt the tiredness in my own body with pleasure, watching it coast along.
I could do that, on land. My feet carried me the same as its wings. I was free.
Pleasantries were exchanged. I listened to the merchant’s steps, the whisper of his paper and the sigh of his velvet and leather garments. I heard the door snib closed behind him.
“That went very well.” Sandra said the words sooner than I would’ve advised, tense with excitement she’d been unable to contain. That Thomas had seeded such an insightful human was proof a man’s input was of middling importance when it came to creation.
“I wouldn’t have been brave enough to ask for the eight-year contract after he offered such a good price,” she continued. “I almost choked when you suggested it.”
“I’m not going to lie,” Audrey said. “I was worried he’d push back. Now I’m worried it’s too good.”
She stood, taking time to stretch her muscles.
Some people went lean when they worked hard.
She wasn’t one of them. Her arms wouldn’t look out of place on a blacksmith.
One of them was entirely bare, the dress cut in a dramatic slash across from one collar to beneath her other arm.
On the exposed arm, she wore a silver spiral high up on her bicep.
It was both feminine and highlighted exactly how much muscle it adorned.
The reason for all that strength gnawed at me.
A well-placed arrow was all she’d need. It’s what she’d get, too, whether she liked it or not. If it was her life or her ego, the Butcher would die to my hand.
Really, it was just a formality at this point. Everyone in the city knew La’Angi was hers.
She was their beacon.
“I don’t think that’s a concern,” Sandra said, dryly. “He’s set to leave here with a purse too heavy to hold. I’d best go. I’ve got to check the tiles—Orvald says they’re green.”
“I thought we ordered blue?”
“That’s exactly what he said,” Sandra responded, amused. “See you soon. Bye, Isolde.”
I lifted a hand in farewell as the young woman left the room with a bundle of papers in her arms.
Audrey wandered over to me. Her steps were irregular length, her expression neutral, her eyes on the city before her. The set of her shoulders was soft. Her hands had popped up to hover either side of her waist. I was struck by how happy she looked. Drained, yes, but happy.
She poured apple juice for us from the tray I’d brought and lent on the bare stone beside the big open window.
She wore blood-red today. It didn’t compliment the copper in her hair, unlike most of the choices the tailors were making for her.
It did show off the strength in her back, leaving it exposed almost to the base of her spine.
They knew who she was. They knew what the people wanted.
Today’s dress was fitting for the bloodshed of trade. And her father would hate it, which made it even better.
“This suits you,” I told her.
She glanced at me as if surprised, then down at the dress. “This? It certainly is bold, isn’t it?”
“The dress,” I agreed, because it did. She looked strong and unapologetic, and that suited every woman.
“But I meant this.” I waved my hand at the room, quiet, now.
“You’re setting achievable goals and you’re progressing them.
You’re helping people in meaningful ways that’ll make a difference quickly but also for generations.
” I could see she was uncomfortable, so I added a good, broad, “You’re making things happen.
” That I knew she couldn’t disagree with.
She smoothed the dress over her hip with one hand, nursing her glass closer, but she didn’t dismiss my comments as I’d half feared she would. “I am,” she agreed. “I’ve got a long way to go, but you’re right, I enjoy it.”
“I didn’t say you enjoyed it,” I corrected her, knowing damned well how often she really didn’t. “I said it suits you. You can wear the responsibility and maintain your humanity.”
She looked down into her cup and I went over to the tray, giving her some space. Hearing good things, honest things, was harder than it ought to be. Mayhap I hadn’t given her enough good, honest things. That was my lack. But it was hard to look at her right then and regret anything.
“It’s very hard to believe I deserve all the acclaim I’m given,” she admitted, quietly.
I picked up the tightly wrapped scroll and carried it over to her. “The question isn’t whether or not you deserve acclaim and respect,” I told her simply. “The question is who doesn’t deserve to be acknowledged and respected. You receive the benefits of your hard work, but you pass it on, too.”
She laughed, shaking her head a little. “Oh, that’ll be bouncing around in my head for the next few years, I’ve no doubt,” she said, her long mouth pulled up in a wry smile that indicated she spoke in jest. But she didn’t.
“No one got better at anything while they were comfortable,” I reminded her, waiting for that to land before I offered her the semi-official looking scroll, resting it against her forearm with a cocked brow.
I recognized the colors on that parchment, and they didn’t make a lick of sense. Someone was covering their tracks.
“Where’d this come from?”
“Brett—I think it was Brett?—little floppy-haired stableboy who doubled in size over the spring.”
“Dom,” Audrey said, her eyes sharpening.
Trust Audrey to know the name of a boy so young he only did the odd job. She cracked the seal and angled the paper to better catch the light. If I hadn’t been watching closely I wouldn’t have seen the way her breathing changed or her quick swallow.
“We’re going for a ride,” she told me, rolling it up again and holding it over a candle.
“Are we?” I asked, surprised. “What about your clever little…?” I waved a hand at her books.
She frowned at them. “I’ll write up what I need, if you can send someone for Chay and to ready the horses. Best make it look like a picnic,” she added, with a quick glance outside.
“Who’re we going to have a visit from?” I asked, tiredly. Then I saw the white of her knuckles and the ghost of hope in her eyes. “Luca. This close to the tourney? The man must have a death wish.”