Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Stefano remained for some time on the edge of the island, letting the pond water bathe his legs and belly, paralyzed with anger and fear.
He should have known better than to trust the princess.
His own experiences had repeatedly taught him that the nobility felt beholden to nobody and cared for nothing except their own interests.
He’d been that way himself, allowing a good man to be used for his family’s purposes.
Claiming to love that man and yet doing nothing to protect him.
Still doing nothing, even now. Nobody was here to help him or advise him what to do. He might as well dive into the pond and let one of those monstrous fish eat him. He was weak. Foolish. Useless. He was—
He was allowing self-blame to slip into self-pity. And by the gods, he was a person, a prince, and the beloved of the very best of men. He could damned well act like it, for once.
Stefano scrambled out of the water, climbed to the island’s highest point, and hopped onto the small table he found there. A few people strolled in the gardens near the boulevard, but there was no sign of the princess. Or of Henry.
In this form, Stefano was small enough to sneak into the palace unnoticed, perhaps through an open window or by slipping through when someone opened a door.
If he was careful, he might even be able to explore the building until he found Henry.
But then what? King Cyrus had required that his sons be trained in fighting, and Stefano was moderately skilled with a sword.
But that did him no good now, and a frog could hardly hope to best human guards.
Unless, Stefano supposed, it was a poisonous frog.
But he wasn’t one of those species, and even if he were, he doubted that he could find a way to persuade a guard to lick him.
No, what he needed wasn’t a guard’s lick but a princess’s kiss.
And while previously he’d felt bad that Dianora had been ensnared in his family’s plots, Stefano now concluded that she owed him assistance.
She’d promised and then walked away. He wasn’t angry with her—she was barely more than a child, after all—but he believed he’d be justified in demanding she keep her part of the bargain.
So what he had to do, he decided, was find her.
It took him only a few moments to cross the pond and then, in great leaps, approach the palace.
None of the public-facing doors were ajar, and any open windows were too high to reach, so he hurried around to the other side of the building.
In his experience, the more private parts of a palace were always busy, at least during the daytime, with servants, messengers, and tradespeople constantly coming and going.
That proved to be the case here as well.
He squeezed through an iron fence into a yard where men and women stood over steaming tubs of laundry, stirring with heavy sticks while chatting with one another.
The air was thick with the scents of lavender and wet fabric, and his skin greedily drank in the humidity.
Young men and women hauled baskets of wet linens over to hanging lines, while others folded dried cloths, placed them in different baskets, and carried them into the building via a propped-open door.
Mindful of busy feet—and a few cats that sunned themselves atop a low wall—Stefano crept in through the door.
He skulked in shadowed corners as he made his way through a maze of corridors.
The kitchens filled the air with scents of smoke and roasting meat, and there were endless storerooms, workshops, and other utility spaces.
The noble residents of this house likely ventured here rarely, if at all, and it was unlikely that the princess would be lounging in the buttery or the larder.
So when Stefano discovered a narrow stairway, he hopped up the steep wooden stairs.
A servant on her way down saw him, gave a little yelp of surprise, and aimed a kick in his direction.
But she was carrying a laden tray and missed him, after which she continued on her way, no doubt with more important things to worry about than one small frog.
The next floor was considerably grander, with meeting halls and formal sitting rooms. Furniture was elaborately carved, painted white and gold, and upholstered with thick cushions.
The walls were adorned with bright frescoes and hung with paintings of scenery, celebrations, and state occasions.
Elaborate mosaics decorated the floors, illuminated by sunlight streaming through large windows.
It was all a bit dizzying, a stark contrast to the somber solidity of the décor in the Thanytsian royal palace.
Stefano wished circumstances were better and he could wander the halls as a welcome guest, admiring the artistry and the vividness of it all.
Instead he did his best to avoid the notice of humans, cats, and dogs.
One tiny pup with frizzy white fur saw him and began to yap furiously, but it was attached to a leash held by a brightly dressed woman who sat on a divan.
Without looking up from her sheaf of papers to see what the dog was barking at, she scolded it and pulled it closer.
Stefano did his best to canvass every room on this floor, but there was no sign of the princess. He was growing tired. It had been a trying day, and he’d covered a lot of dry ground for a frog. When he spied a courtyard with a tinkling fountain, he was sorely tempted but continued onward.
The good thing was that, aside from the servant on the stairs and the frizzy dog, nobody noticed him. Everyone was far too concerned with their own matters to see a small, desperate creature crawling and hopping behind furniture and into the corners.
A staircase near the front of the palace led from this floor up to the next.
It was broad enough that five or six adults could have marched abreast, and the marble steps were covered in thick carpeting.
It was an excellent place for royalty to make a grand entrance, but despite the fact that it was deserted, Stefano didn’t use it.
Instead he found a different way up: a mundane stone stairway where each step had been worn slightly concave from years of use. He waited for a pause in the traffic before ascending, and although he passed three uniformed functionaries, none noticed him.
As far as he could tell, this floor housed offices on one side and private chambers on the other.
Most of the doors were closed, but he caught glimpses inside a few rooms. One of them, a bedchamber with shelves full of books, reminded him a little of the sanctuary that he and Henry had shared in his home palace. Luckily, frogs cannot cry.
He came close to tears, however, as what felt like hours of searching proved fruitless. During every minute of that time, he pictured his Henry. Endangered. Perhaps hurting. Perhaps worse.
The sun set. Servants lit candles and lanterns, closed windows, drew curtains.
Loud voices carried from somewhere below—a banquet hall, he guessed.
A woman laughed nearby, but when he rushed over to see, it was an older woman in expensive mourning clothes.
She’d rested a hand on the shoulder of a more vibrantly dressed woman of similar age.
It seemed an intimate moment, and Stefano hopped quickly away.
He sheltered for several minutes under a small round table, breathing hard, lecturing himself not to give up. His skin felt dry. But if he closed his eyes, he could hear the vicious snap of the whip against Henry’s back and see blood, bright against pale skin. For him. Henry had borne that for him.
Two people with heavy treads approached, speaking quietly to each other although Stefano couldn’t make out the words.
But as they passed, he caught sight of their faces and recognized them: this was the king of Fraysia and his chief advisor.
Stefano had met them when they made a visit to Thanytsia to negotiate the relinquishment of Innisbar.
Now, he followed several paces behind them, and when they entered a room, he slipped inside and hid behind an enormous potted plant, peeking around one side to watch.
King Verzant collapsed into an upholstered chair with a groan. “Counselor Ristani grows more long-winded with every passing day.”
“He is very fond of the sound of his own voice,” replied the advisor with a snort.
He was young for his position, likely not yet forty.
Stefano couldn’t remember his name but did recall that he’d been surprisingly pleasant during a state dinner where they’d been seated across from each other.
“He generally has insightful things to say, at least.”
“Generally.” Verzant poured himself a generous glass of wine and took a long swallow. “Is there more information yet on the incident with Dianora?”
“No. I can check with Captain Jusufi, if you like. But I’m sure he’ll report as soon as he extracts anything useful.”
Extracts. Stefano shuddered. At least he had the consolation of knowing that Henry must still be alive.
Verzant took another sip. “It’s probably nothing. Some fool who’s in love with her or….” He waved a hand.
The advisor looked doubtful but didn’t argue the point. “Would you like to discuss that sewer project now? The architects are eager—”
“I’d rather swallow my own tongue. Let me be, Ebuka. The shit and the architects can wait until the morning. Now I’m going to finish this bottle.”
Ebuka gave a slight bow. “I hope it grants you a good night’s sleep.”
“I haven’t had one of those in a decade. But I bid you a good evening.”
“Good night, sir.” Ebuka bowed again and left.