Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
AUDREY
“Gaelena said, ‘What is a curse if not walking the path you are destined for, but did not choose?’ But Hruudwulf, in his grief, only heard the words she said and not the magic she wove in the background. Staring at his loved ones, his fangs grew.”
~ Southern lore
H e stood broodingly beside the fire. I’d given him space last night and this morning, too. He didn’t want to talk, and I didn’t know that I really did, either. But I would’ve been able to focus better on my own tasks if he didn’t glower quite so much.
“So, we’re leaving the tower,” Chay said, settling himself beside the fire, his hand on the mantle white-knuckled. The throat of his shirt was open, and the planes of his chest were as tanned as the rest of him. “Anything I ought to know?”
I pulled my eyes away from his chest, and fury pulsed in my head. “There are many things you ought to know. I don’t believe it’s my role to explain them to you, sir.”
“Ah, and now you want me to tug my forelock and kneel? I see. And what am I booked in for this afternoon, my lady? Am I a co-conspirator or a yes-man?”
I reminded myself I’d stolen him from his life and forced him to take the lives of others. And I still couldn’t stop myself from saying, “I think it’s safe if you book yourself in as an unsufferable lump for the remainder of your service, sir. We can decide on details as they arise.”
“Today is a fiery day. Noted.” He shifted his sword, making a show of loosening it in its scabbard. “At your service, my lady. Since I’ve no choice.”
“I wonder which one of us regrets that more,” I muttered, wishing I could get comfortable and dive back into the columns I’d been deciphering. But comfort would mean creasing skirts, and I needed every starched scrap of credibility I could shroud myself in.
“I don’t.” There was real bitterness in his words as he turned away from me, and despite the way he jangled and the entirely just anger he held onto, my heart twinged for him.
He wasn’t likely to forgive me any time soon, and I could live with that. But I didn’t have to live with being his jousting dummy, either. I sat there, staring at the page in front of me, running through the different conversations I could have that would explain all fault tracked back to my father.
But it didn’t. Those children had died to Chay’s sword specifically because I’d chosen to be there. I’d wanted to do better than everyone else.
His service, and the strict nature of it, were not my responsibility. That he’d come after me that night to rescue me was entirely his decision. I would’ve been fine, probably.
My skin crawled as I remembered the whirling darkness, nausea, and Mikus’ hands.
All of that was not my fault. But I had to bear the weight of those tiny lives. I had to learn from them, and ensure I never made such a mistake again. But that wasn’t something I could promise to do. It was something I’d have to live.
Which guided me back to today’s itinerary.
Isolde swept in, Thomas behind her, face pale, waiting to one side.
It was early, but the sun was up, and if Steward Daniel’s assistant was abed late today, I’d be shocked.
I didn’t tell Thomas or Chay our goal. Bees buzzed in my head as we set off, Isolde setting a quick pace beside me. Her eyes raked shadows and darted around corners. Her steps never faltered.
One day, I’d be like that. People would look at me and say, “ She’s as reliable as the moon. ”
I quickly identified the stand-in Master Steward, not because I could see the pins of office, but by the pile of papers in his arms, his frustrated expression, and the two haggard guardsmen in front of him. “There are no more Healers,” the makeshift Master Steward was telling them. “So you’ve little choice but to tell your fellows that if they’re unwell, they ought to stay home and try herbal remedies. Just adjust the roster.”
My heart squeezed as the three fell silent, turning to us. The stand-in, whose name I thought might be Romwell or Roswell or Wellross, paled when he saw me.
That didn’t usually happen. Not to me. My father, yes.
And with my father in my mind, I asked, “Are we likely to struggle to fill patrols?”
The two guardsmen shared a grim look. Romrosswell bowed to me. “This is a matter for the guard, my lady. Not the likes of you and I.”
Ah, a problem not belonging to us, a Master Steward specialty. I noticed the look the steely-haired guardsman gave Thomas over my shoulder. It wasn’t a happy look, but it spoke of shared experiences. “How fares the Captain?” I asked, going off-script again in a way I suspect my father would’ve approved.
The makeshift Master Steward’s expression was fixed in lines of calm. “I’ve named Smythesson as Acting Captain until he recovers.”
Or dies. “You did?” I smiled. My hands hung awkwardly beside my body, but I didn’t let them lift to cradle myself. “I’m sorry, Master Steward, what was your name?”
The young guard ducked his head to hide a grin. Behind him, the old guard stood, stone-faced.
“I’m Acting Steward Romwell, my lady. Can I arrange a time to discuss this with you?”
“What’s ‘this?’” I asked. The color in his cheeks rose, and I realized I’d accidentally antagonized him, but I had no regrets. I discarded the line of questioning instantly, though, redirecting to the information I needed. “I understand Smythesson is a loyal La’Angi guardsman. I was hoping to enquire after his qualifications in running such an elaborate organization as the guard.”
“Certainly, my lady,” Romwell said stiffly. “If you’ll step into my office?”
I hesitated, looking between where the assistants had their desks and the Master Steward’s rooms.
Cheeks red, he stepped back and indicated the Master Steward’s rooms. I’d insulted him a second time, and that one I did regret, though probably not as much as I ought.
The office had space for me to sit, a tray of tea that no longer steamed with browning herbs floating in the water, and a decent view of the city.
I paused on the inside of the door, though. The Acting Steward made as if to turn, but the older guardsman stepped forward. “Romwell, this isn’t tenable. There are no precedents we can draw on?—”
Romwell’s hand snapped out, closing around the older guard’s gambeson. “Send me Smythesson, then. And if you’re so concerned, go and make yourself useful.”
Confident I wasn’t supposed to see that, I eased out of the doorway. The old guard didn’t so much as glance at me. I realized I wasn’t breathing as I let myself into the office.
The guard and the Master Steward worked hand-in-glove. They had to. But they were also overseen directly by my father.
“If I need to explain every decision I make to every person in this castle, we’ll be in a sorry state by the time the Duke gets back,” Acting Steward Romwell said out in the hallway, and there was no mistaking the threat in his words. “I don’t expect he’ll have my patience.”
There came some murmured conversation. I recognized the tone of platitudes and tried to breathe. My father would be gone for years, but more importantly, he couldn’t manage a crisis from afar. These power plays would never have been allowed to draw breath under him.
Romwell was still red-faced when he strode in, papers ruffling in one arm. His hand where he’d grabbed the old guard was muddy.
I’d thought he’d be someone I could put my weight behind. Was I better to stand behind someone who would cause division, or allow the fractures to happen and throw in with someone I liked?
I didn’t know enough to choose a good representative for the job of Acting Steward. I knew about supply and demand, I understood distribution and logistics, but I didn’t really know what people would need.
But I was confident what people didn’t need was an ego bigger than this keep.
My carefully scripted options vanished from my mind as I watched him take a seat opposite me. Was it fair to judge his ego so harshly? Would I act any differently in his shoes?
“My lady,” he said with a tight, tired smile. “Would you like some tea?”
My stomach curled. “No, thanking you, Master Steward.”
He nodded and poured himself a cup. It didn’t steam. “You’re concerned about the plague,” he said, and I nodded. “It’s concerning, my lady, so that’s the right response. However, I question your judgment in surfacing from your tower so soon.”
I’d expected that. “I question Steward Daniel’s judgment in leaving.”
Romwell’s smile was razor thin. “As do many, my lady. There could be extensive unrest, but such things are not uncommon during trying times. Regardless, the safest course for you is the one he explained.”
“Not uncommon?” I shook my head. “What time was it not uncommon for all the mages to be dead and gone, the herbs ineffective, and the guard unable to man the walls?” He opened his mouth to object, and I shook my head, hard, because mayhap the guard could man them now, but why had those two been so worried if it wasn’t on the horizon? “How many of those burning houses were sanctioned by you?” I asked him, and he looked surprised, as if he hadn’t thought I’d see the columns of smoke.
He stood, the chair scraping heavily. “And what is it you would have me do that I do not, my lady? I saw the mess you made of those in the hall, what wisdom have you gleaned from your actions?”
The world spun slowly around me. I felt the words crowding in my head. “Turn the tourney grounds into a field hospital,” I said, before I could be silenced. “Offer support to transport the sick out of the city. Somewhere warm to sleep, food, and company are all things we can offer, and the tourney grounds has space.” He was staring at me, but I’d practiced this. “Offer free meals as rewards for those who help bring their sick fellows in. The rich won’t want to go to the lower marketplace for treatment, and the poor don’t deserve to have the majority of the plague hosted alongside their homes. The tourney grounds are more neutral.” He went to argue, but my momentum carried me forward. “If it comes to mass graves, it’ll be simpler to manage from the tourney grounds.”
He scoffed at me. “The tourney grounds? Free meals?” He shook his head, nose wrinkled as if disgusted by something on his shoe. “We need the harvest so we don’t starve this winter. There will be no free meals for anyone except you. Go back to your lessons, my lady. You’ll have babes soon enough to fuss over. Enjoy your peace while you can.”
The floor opened beneath me. I’d expected refusal, but that hurt. “Your decisions will be documented,” I told him, as he put down his armload of papers and gathered up another. “And weighed.”
“Yes, my lady,” he said tightly. “Good day.”
He walked out, leaving me with his untouched tea and the crumpled stack of reports.
I’d be fed, even if no one else would. Why did I hate that so? Yet, if it came to it, yes, I wanted to eat.
“The tourney grounds are a good idea,” Thomas murmured. “Get the sick out of the city. Offering free food’ll do it, too.”
“Of course it would.” I glanced up at him. “What’s happening with the guard, Thomas?”
He glanced at the door. “I don’t know what you mean, my lady.”
I stood and shut the damned door. Romwell had basically volunteered his office to me, anyway. “Who is Smythesson, who is standing in opposition, and why is Romwell choosing Smythesson?”
Thomas glanced around, clearly uncomfortable. “My lady…” I waited, watching as he shifted from one foot to another. “Smythesson is no one. He’s never done anything. But he’s loyal.”
That was predictable. “And the opposition?”
His eyes darted again. “My lady, I’ve never been much for gossip. Truly, I cannot tell you much.”
Thomas was hiding something, though. I was sure of it. He knew something. Otherwise, why was he so nervous? “What can you tell me?”
He wet his lips, looking at Isolde and then at the tips of my slippers. “I know Kaelson disavowed any position of responsibility after…”
I waited, but the word just faded. “After?”
“Wolfswail.”
As would any human with a heart. And the older man, who’d looked at Thomas. “Was that Kaelson there, earlier, speaking to Romwell?” The one with the dirty gambeson who Romwell had been comfortable enough to threaten?
“That’s he.”
I thought of that ink-stained hand curling in the fabric, and rage-filled, childish screams echoed in my head in warning. “Why did he disavow a position?”
Thomas shook his head.
“War’s bitter,” Isolde said by way of answer. “The Master Steward named men he can control, not men who will question.”
“I can’t say, mistress,” Thomas answered, head bowed.
It made sense, though.
I wasn’t an expert on any of this, and curse Chay’s jangling belt, interrupting my thoughts! But if Kaelson had served in a major position during the war, he’d know better than I what to do. And he wouldn’t jangle. “If I speak to him, is he likely to be reprimanded?” I asked Thomas.
He hesitated. “Mayhap. If you were known to be seeking him out…”
It’d be seen as going against Romwell’s directives.
“Fine.” I pushed down the hopeless guilt. “Next stop, then. I’ve a prisoner to meet.” I paused to glance over the papers Romwell had left, but it was all just anticipated harvest numbers. “All in all, that went better than I expected,” I said to Isolde. Shock, and then amusement, flared in her gaze. I was treated to a rare toothsome grin, ruthless and full of mirth.
“It’s early yet,” she said, and the words held both threat and laughter.