Chapter 29 The Rumor Mill
SOUNDTRACK: Got the World Watching Me by UNSECRET and Que Parks
~ brEN ~
“A woman among the dragonfuries and soldiers? Good Lord, imagine that.”
The woman sitting on the opposite lounge widened her eyes at her friend to her left. They both took a sip from their dainty cups.
I did my best to follow their examples, holding the saucer in my left hand while I lifted the tiny cup with my right. But the tea was so sweet, I struggled to swallow it.
“It’s definitely interesting work!” I said brightly.
The oldest of the women raised a brow. “I’ve never heard of a woman being allowed to work with the dragons before.”
I swallowed hard, remembering the Shadowfang precepts Voski was teaching me. Be honest, until you can’t.
“I think I’m the first—but I was at the Keep, and the dragons were very kind. And as long as the dragons are happy, the men will allow it.”
“I’m sure they will,” the older woman muttered under her breath, her closest friend tittering at her implication.
I tried to sip at my tea and breathe, pretending I hadn’t heard, but the corset they’d strapped me into forced me to sit bolt upright, as if I stood at attention while I was seated.
It made deep breathing difficult and pressed my breasts up towards my chin.
The dress was also low enough cut to bare two or three inches of cleavage—plumped by the corset’s constriction.
I would have been horrified, but there were no men in the room.
And when I caught a brief glimpse in the mirror of myself in the dusty-blue dress sheened with luxury, something in my heart fluttered.
Of course, that was squashed the moment I walked into this room of women in even finer gowns and jewels, all of them staring at me with their heads tilted, like they weren’t quite sure what they looked upon.
I’d been ushered to a two-seater couch, and next to me, another young woman I guessed was about my age, sat with a small smile on her face. She hadn’t spoken yet, but her eyes slipped back and forth between the older women and me, like we were strange cats who might fight.
The queen's whispered advice right before she’d led me into the room still rang in my head.
“Don’t be too coy. With nobles, rumors are snacks, and whispers are a feast. If you ingratiate yourself with anyone, offer a tasty morsel, but only in private—and always plead for secrecy. Bold honesty will only be assumed to be a ploy—it will get you nowhere with this herd.”
Then she’d ushered me into the room, introducing me to the women—whose names I’d already forgotten—and a few minutes later, after showing mostly disdain, she was approached by a footman and excused herself for a moment, leaving me there.
All eyes had followed her out of the room, then returned to me. Now they peppered me with questions and comments that sounded like compliments, but I suspected were poisoned apples.
“It isn’t often that Diaan patrons a youth these days,” the woman with the fine, gold, ringlet curls said, staring at me like she expected attack.
“I… I’m very grateful,” I said quickly, licking my lips to wet them.
“I asked for her assistance, and she was willing to give it. I’m honored.
” I ducked my head and leaned forward to place my oversweet tea on the table between us, but I’d forgotten the corset.
I could only bend at the waist and almost didn’t reach the tabletop with the saucer, so it clattered as it landed.
I winced.
One of the younger ones tittered.
Then they started talking about people I didn’t know—sharing morsels of that gossip the queen had mentioned.
I sat there, listening, trying to mimic their posture, paying attention to the way they spoke—hushed and through predatory smiles when they believed the words would be well received, chins high and tone cold if they expected disapproval.
It reminded me of the daughters of the wealthy farmers on Festival days, when they gathered to laugh and whisper together, though I imagined these women wouldn’t appreciate the comparison.
At some point, the young woman to my right leaned into my ear while her mother told a story to the others.
“I don’t like the tea, either,” she murmured under the level of the conversation.
“Oh! It’s quite nice, I just—”
“Don’t worry. No one likes tea as sweet as the queen, but we all put up with it because, well, she’s queen,” she said with an expression that suggested it could be deadly to do otherwise.
“Although, sometimes I wonder if she only sweetens so much to see if we’ll speak up,” she added as an afterthought.
“Have you had tea with her privately? Is it this sweet?”
It felt like the moment hung in the balance forever. As if I were staring, frozen—and surely she’d see my intention? Measure the lie? But then I made myself look aside as if I were checking to make sure no one else could hear us, then leaned a hair closer to her.
“We haven’t,” I said carefully. “But that’s because she’s stopped taking tea at all,” I said, then met her eyes before looking away and straightening, pretending to listen to the women on the other side of the table, while inwardly I begged her to take the bait.
She waited long enough that I thought for certain I’d misjudged, and she hadn’t taken my implication. But then she shifted her weight in her seat, leaned forward to pick up her cup from the table, then straightened, turning her head so that she whispered into my ear.
“Why would she stop taking tea?”
I waited a moment, eyeing the other women, before finding a reason to straighten my skirts and murmuring to her.
“Not only tea. Everything strong. Because she’s not feeling well, though she’s so strong, she doesn’t wish for others to worry,” I said hurriedly.
“I might suppose that’s why she was asked to leave the room, so no one would question.
She suffers pain,” I said, surreptitiously brushing my stomach and nodding when her eyes dropped to my hand.
She nodded hurriedly. But apparently, the too-sweet tea wasn’t a deterrent as she sipped demurely.
But before I could warn her not to speak about it, a sharp gasp rose from the women across the small table and we both turned back to them.
One of the women on the couch across from us snapped a fan wide and began fluttering it, as if to cool her cheeks, while the other raised her chin and took another sip from her saucer, but her eyes glinted.
“What is it, mother?” the woman next to me asked sweetly.
“Nothing dear. Nothing suitable for your ears.”
“Oh hush, Morna, as if you won’t repeat every word to her the moment we leave the room.” The woman in the chair to my left rolled her eyes and flapped a hand at the tight lipped, severe woman.
“It’s hardly my place to repeat such salacious tales among the youth—”
“Is it the queen’s… disquiet?” my new friend asked and I froze, then gulped at the too-sweet tea, wincing. I shot her a look to silence her, but then the other women stared at her, eyes widening either in shock, or avid curiosity.
“You were aware of that, dear?” Morna replied cautiously.
I felt my new friend’s gaze flick to the side of my face and wondered if she’d blow this all apart for me. But she raised her chin, then nodded. “There’s been talk for some time. I thought you knew.”
Her mother’s expression darkened, but the woman next to her gave her a look. “You see, I’m telling you that the king isn’t nearly as discreet as you believe. If even the young ones have figured it out, it’s only a matter of time until the lowborn are speaking of it.”
I’d been pretending to take another sip of the tea—keeping my lips closed so none of it touched my tongue. But I almost choked.
The king was indiscreet?
While I wasn’t surprised, given the things Donavyn had told me about him, nerves skated down my spine. The queen hadn’t mentioned this.
Was I supposed to tell her?
Should I be the one to tell her?
The two older women began an argument—all very polite, tightly clipped tones relaying veiled insults about one another’s standing with the Royals and whose judgment should be trusted.
But while they continued to squabble so politely, the woman in the chair, who’d rolled her eyes at Morna, leaned over the arm to smile at me kindly. “Don’t mind them. They do this every time.”
I swallowed and plunged in. “Thank you. I am only worried that I may have ignited trouble, speaking out of turn. I didn’t want to start a fight by sharing my concerns. I wasn’t sure—” Then I caught myself, and looked at her, horrified, as if I hadn’t thought about what I was admitting.
Her brows rose and she leaned closer. “You told Jemma about the king?”
“No, no!” I gasped. “The queen, only I—oh shit.”
I’d raised my hand, as if to stop her speaking, but knocked the saucer held in my other hand and almost tipped the entire cup into my lap.
A few drops splashed on the stunning skirt, and my mouth dropped open.
I envisioned giving up my stipend for a year to pay for this incredible gown, but suddenly three sets of hands appeared, all clutching handkerchiefs or napkins, catching the drips from the cup and saucer, then guiding my hand to the table before I could spill more on my skirt.
“Don’t worry, dear. It happens to the best of us,” the kind woman said, but her eyes were avid on me.
The women helped me place the saucer on the table, then the kind woman pulled me to my feet and ushered me to the side of the room where a pitcher of water and basin had been left for the servants to wash their hands.
I gaped, at a loss, apologizing to the women at the table for my coarse language, who all giggled and assured me they’d heard much worse from their husbands.
“Tea is a woman’s bane,” she said airily as she led me over, picked up a cloth and dabbed it in the water, then began pressing it gently to my skirt. “But if we can dilute it, we might blend it out—only don’t press too hard, we don’t want to stretch the silk.”
“Silk?” I gasped, hurrying to take the damp cloth she’d given me to dab at my skirt.
“Yes, dear,” she said with a smile, then she dropped her voice to a whisper. “Quickly, while they’re laughing—you said the queen is indisposed?”
“I said she is unwell,” I whispered back. “And I was wrong to say it,” I put my hands to my face as if horrified. “She would be very angry if she knew—”
“Don’t worry, dear. I’ll make certain the ladies don’t pass this along. Do you happen to know why she struggles?”
I glanced over my shoulder at the women as if I were considering what they’d said, but then I met her eyes. “I fear for her health,” I whispered. “She’s very late in life to suffer… such a condition.”
The woman’s eyes bulged. Then she twitched and went back to dabbing at my skirt. “That can’t be. Surely not at this stage—”
“Of course not,” I hurriedly denied, as if to cover for myself. “I’m certain I was mistaken. Please, don’t listen to me. I was admiring your gowns and didn’t think.”
“Of course, of course,” the woman said, patting my arm with her free hand to soothe me. “Don’t worry about it in the slightest. Look, there, you see—once it dries, you won’t even be able to tell!”
I looked down, relieved to see that the skirt did, indeed, seem to be clean of the tea I’d dropped on it, though darkened where it was damp.
But before I could thank her properly, the door opened again and the queen swept in, her chin high, but cheeks with high points of color, as if she genuinely didn’t feel well.
“Brennan, forgive me, but I must go. And I promised to return you in time for the meal. Please, come with me. Ladies, I will see you tomorrow.”
Everyone stood, only to curtsey as she passed through. They babbled reassurances to her, and wishes for her day to be well, then she led me out of the door and we were gone.
The whole thing had passed in such a blur, I wasn’t sure whether to be horrified, or elated.