“Tomorrow and every night till the summer ends,” Shorro said.
“Good. Then that’s what I’ll do.”
“I appreciate it.”
The long walk, the conversation, and the transaction had finally made me sleepy. I gave them a drowsy smile and prepared to head back to my bed. “Tomorrow night, then.” They gave me that fisted salute, and I left them.
My next day was exactly the same, down to the route I took through the castle and grounds. This time, however, I carried a small glass vial in my pocket and a basket of other treats over my arm. Cloate accepted the potion with far more reverence than he showed for the two silver coins he dropped in my palm, though I was unexpectedly thrilled to receive the money. It was the first time I had been paid for witchwork; I was surprised to discover how much I liked the sensation. I was sure Milette had done nothing to earn even so small a store as this.
“Remember—it must be poured into something she drinks, and she must drink all of it,” I cautioned. “Can your Meekie ensure this?”
Shorro nodded. “She says she can.”
“Good,” I said. I had set my basket down when I arrived. Now I opened it and laid out its contents: a stoppered pitcher and five metal cups. “Is anybody thirsty?”
Even Clem and Estis looked interested at this. “We’re not allowed wine while we’re on watch,” Shorro said regretfully. “Any liquor.”
I uncapped the pitcher. “It’s not wine,” I said. “It’s water flavored with dried raspberries. I mixed it up before I came out here. Are you allowed that?”
“Oh, yes, lady, we’re allowed that,” Shorro said enthusiastically.
So I poured measures out for all of us, then took the vial back from Cloate’s hands. “Half for me,” I said, and tipped some of the contents into my own cup. Smiling, I handed the other portions around and raised my own cup in a toast. We all drank quickly.
“What did you call this?” Shorro demanded. “Tastes wonderful!”
“Water flavored with dried raspberries. Something my grandmother taught me.”
“And there’s nothing in it? No magic?”
“Nothing at all,” I replied with a smile. I handed the vial back to Cloate. “That’s for you.”
He was watching me as if to make sure I didn’t turn into a dragon or a wraith before his eyes. Fleetingly I wondered if he would really have the nerve to slip the dose to the young woman with whom he was smitten. But I had provided the product I had been paid to deliver; the rest was out of my hands.
“What does it taste like?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Nothing. Water. She won’t detect it.”
He nodded. “Well, then,” he said, and added nothing more.
“Anything else?” I asked the group at large. No one had any more questions or requests. “I’ll be going, then. But I’ll come back every once in a while to check on your progress. I’d like to see how this romance turns out.”
As I headed back up to the castle entrance, this time forgoing the pleasure of balancing on the edge of the fountain, I did take a moment to wonder what effect the potion might have on me. It was supposed to make you sensitive to unvoiced love, allow you to pick up on a yearning you might otherwise have overlooked. It was crafted to open your eyes. My eyes would be open, but I had started to think I had already noticed things I should have seen a long time ago; so I wasn’t sure witchcraft would offer any more revelations.
AT THE END of the week, Elisandra returned. I was in the north garden when the cavalcade pulled up, but I ran toward the courtyard at the sound of the new arrivals. I was in time to see Kent help Elisandra from her coach. She seemed to lean against him a moment for support even once her feet were on the ground. Even from a distance, I thought she looked weary beyond telling, and I did not rush forward to greet her since I was sure she would have many matters to settle before she had time for me.
Instead, I hung back as the cortege entered the castle, and I slowly climbed the stairs to my own room, figuring I would wait there till she sent for me. But I was not even in our own hallway when I encountered Kent coming from the direction of Greta’s suite.
“There you are!” he exclaimed. “Elisandra keeps asking for you.”
“She does? I thought she might want to rest—”
He shook his head impatiently and grabbed my wrist. “And no one knew where you were, and I had to admit I’d scarcely laid eyes on you the past two days—where have you been hiding yourself, by the way? I haven’t seen you take a morning ride since you’ve gotten here. I loitered at the stables a good hour this morning, thinking you might show up.”
I’d been sleeping, but I hardly wanted to admit that. “I’ve been keeping busy. I thought you were, too.”
“Busier than I like,” he said, towing me down the hallway and turning the handle on Elisandra’s door. “But I still have time for you.”
We entered into a scene of confusion. Greta was scolding some young girl, who defended herself in the soft accents of a west country native. This was the new maid, I supposed, and I was pleased to see that she did not seem cowed by Greta’s bad-tempered demands. There were boxes everywhere, and two servants were just now lowering a large leather-bound trunk to the floor in one corner of the room. Fresh-cut flowers stood in vases all over the room, filling the air with the sweet scent of summer. Someone (Cressida, most likely) had known Elisandra was returning today.
Although she had been directing the men with the trunk, Elisandra caught sight of me and hurried over. “Corie! I’m so sorry I was gone when you arrived!” she cried, folding me into a tight embrace. I had the oddest sensation, that she clung to me a moment to catch her own balance—that she, always the most serene and levelheaded of women, had briefly needed my strength to assist her through a moment of despair. Then she lifted her head and smiled down at me. It was the same Elisandra as ever, calm, tranquil, no secrets to be read in the dark eyes.
“Look at you,” she said, as everyone seemed destined to say on this particular visit. “You’ve grown up so much! You look like such a lady.”
Greta broke off recriminations long enough to say, in our general direction, “But will she act any more like a lady?” Then she instantly returned to her tongue-lashing.
Elisandra ignored this interjection. “You seem taller. Are you taller? And—more filled out . . .”
I was blushing furiously. Kent was grinning. “Yes, several of the young men of the castle have already noticed her charms,” he said. “I think she’ll be quite the belle at the dinner next month.”
A shadow crossed Elisandra’s face, so faint that I almost thought I could have imagined it. “Oh, is that to come up so soon?” she said. “The dinner with all the viceroys attending?”
“Just a few weeks away,” he said cheerfully. “Of course, you’ll be popular, too. You always are.”
She ignored this observation as well. Still looking down at me, she said, “I brought you a present from Tregonia. If, as seems impossible, we ever get everything unpacked, I’ll give it to you. How was your winter? I can’t believe how much you’ve grown.”
“The winter was hard, but spring’s been good. I hate Milette,” I said. For, of course, she knew everything about my rival.
Elisandra laughed. “You’ll have to feed her frog eyes and owl gizzards and whatever evil potions you can concoct to get rid of her.”
“I can’t,” I said gloomily. “I don’t know any of the darker magics.”
Greta swirled up to us at that point, a tiny blond cloud of impatience. “This silly girl says you left behind that lovely shawl Borgan gave you,” Greta said fretfully. “I know that can’t be true. I want you to wear it to dinner tonight, so Bryan and his uncle can see how admired you are by other men—”
Elisandra faced her mother with her characteristically unruffled look. “It’s true. I left the shawl behind.”
“You what?” I had never actually heard Greta shriek before, though I would have guessed it to be with
in her repertoire. “You did not! You wicked girl! What will Dirkson think, what will his son say—”
“You did not hear the words that accompanied the gift of the shawl,” Elisandra said, completely calm. “To keep it would have compromised me. So I did not keep it.”
“Compromised you! In what way would it—I’ll have you know, the regent will not be pleased to hear this—”
So smoothly that I almost did not notice his movement, Kent laid his arm around Greta’s shoulders and turned her from Elisandra’s side. “Tell me the problem and I’ll inform my father exactly what happened. I’ll use great tact and guile, so he will have no reason to be angry at you or Elisandra,” he said. His arm still around her shoulder, he urged the protesting Greta toward the door. I caught the echo of her complaints and his soothing responses as they headed down the hallway.
I looked at Elisandra with my brows arching high over my eyes. “And just what did Borgan of Tregonia say to you when he gave you his lovely gift?” I asked.
She hesitated a moment, as if she would tell me, and then she shook her head as if shaking away a small, unimportant problem. “Oh—nothing, nothing, I just did not want to keep the gift, that’s all,” she said. “Corie, have you met my new maid, Daria? She’s from Chillain. I just love her accent.”
Daria came forward, deferential but not shy, and gave me a little curtsey. “You’re Corie, then,” she said, and it was a lovely accent. West country, just as I had suspected. “Your sister talks about you, oh, so often.”
I smiled at her. She had the fair skin and blond hair common to Chillain, and her small bones did not hide her innate strength. Cressida had called her quiet, but she looked like a fighter to me. “You’re new since the summer,” I said. “How do you like Castle Auburn?”
“So exciting!” she said. “All the lords and ladies with their grand ways and their pretty speeches. And the aliora! I never saw one before in my life. I was afraid at first, but that Cressida—she made me feel warm as my mother’s daughter, first time she talked to me.”
“That’s what the aliora do,” Kent said, reentering the room. “Make you feel loved.” I saw his gaze lock with Elisandra’s before he had even shut the door behind him, and a flare of understanding seemed to briefly brighten the air between them. “She’s all settled,” he added lightly. “Any other tasks I can perform for you?”
Elisandra smiled tightly. “No, just sit and talk to me while Daria and I unpack.”
“Are you sure you want us?” Kent said. “I can go away while you get settled. And I’ll drag Corie out, too, if you need to be alone.”
“No, stay, both of you. Tell me what’s been happening. I’ve missed you both so much.”
Kent draped his long body in one of her delicate chairs, and I seated myself cross-legged on the fluffy bedspread. “Well, the big summer ball is next month, as I’ve already reminded you,” he said. “We’ve received acceptances from all eight provinces—except for Chillain.”
Elisandra stood over the open trunk, pulling out wispy silken underthings and folding them into careful shapes. “Chillain,” she repeated in a neutral voice. “That’s surprising.”
“That’s what my father said. He still thinks Loman might send Goff as an envoy, instead of coming himself. Which is insult enough.”
“Does Bryan know?”
“Oh, yes. He laughed. He said, ‘Well, Loman’s got no beautiful daughters anyway, so why would I want him to come?’”
I was surprised at this cavalier attitude, but Elisandra seemed unmoved. “That must have pleased your father greatly.”
“As you say,” Kent replied dryly. “But everyone else will be here. I imagine we’ll have no end of intrigue.”
“What about your father? Is he still feeling unwell?”
“No, the fever passed a day or two after you left. He was weak for another day, and then back to his usual strength. You know my father.”
“And Tiatza?” she asked. “How is she?”
I frowned at this, for that sounded like a lowborn name. Certainly it did not belong to any court lady I knew.
“Next month, perhaps, so Giselda thinks,” Kent replied somewhat mysteriously. I had the feeling they were deliberately talking in ambiguous phrases to prevent me and Daria from understanding them.
“That’s early, isn’t it?”
“Giselda is expecting trouble.”
“I’m sorry to hear it,” Elisandra said. She handed a stack of folded undergarments to Daria, who carried them to the armoire and began to store them away. “Does your father know?”
“Oh, yes. This pleases him even more than the other.”
“And Bryan?”
Kent spread his hands. “He should know. He does not act as if he cares.”
“I imagine he does not.”
Kent was watching her. Though he sprawled in the chair, appearing completely relaxed, I had the impression that he was tense, uncertain, worried about something he was reluctant to voice. I thought, for truly the first time in my life, Why, he loves her. He could not have made it more plain if he had stood up, crossed the room, and put the shelter of his arms around her.
“And you?” he asked softly. “Do you care?”
She came to sit beside me on the bed. Though we sat there without touching, for a moment I felt as if she wanted to lean against me, laying her head upon my shoulder. That clearly did her need for comfort come through.
“It might be easier if I did,” she said quietly. “Now, isn’t that strange? You’d think just the reverse would be true.”
I reached over to take Elisandra’s face between my two hands and turned her toward me. “If you have private things to discuss with Kent, Daria and I will leave the room,” I said. “If not, let me stay awhile so you can tell me about your trip to Tregonia. But I think you should take a dinner tray in your room tonight. You look exhausted and sad. And we should not be keeping you if you need a little time alone.”
For an instant, she was so startled that her habitual mask of serenity dissolved in a look of amazement. She was not used to hearing her younger sister speak with such forthright authority. Then she laughed and put her arms around me again. Once more, I had the sense that she was drawing strength from me, and I willed all my considerable resiliency to travel from my body into hers.
“Oh, Corie, you have grown up,” she murmured into my hair. “No more secrets with Kent. And don’t you dare go away yet. I’ve missed you too much.”
Kent did not stay much longer after that. Before he left, he paused to hug Elisandra briefly and ruffle my hair. I scowled; Elisandra smiled. No wonder she was the one he loved.
Though that was a very strange thought and would take some getting used to.
Elisandra had agreed that we should take dinner in her room, which did not please Greta when she was told.
“Your first night back, you should be in your customary place of honor for all the castle to see,” her mother said. “You should be reminding the wild young prince who his affianced bride is—”
“He knows very well who I am,” Elisandra said. “I’ll deal with Bryan tomorrow. Tonight I’m tired, and I want to see Corie.”
Greta fought the decision bitterly but, in the end, Elisandra had her way. Daria and Cressida brought food from the kitchen and arranged it on a pretty table in the center of the room before quietly leaving. The two of us talked contentedly throughout the meal, catching up on the events of the intervening months. Gradually it occurred to me that Elisandra’s news was more of the court and its visitors; she said very little about herself, her thoughts and her feelings. I was slowly beginning to realize that she never did.
Finally, abruptly, as she finished some light tale of a solstice mishap, I said bluntly, “So who’s Borgan, and what did he say to you?”
She looked startled for a moment, then her face reverted to its usual composed demeanor. “He’s Dirkson’s son. Megan’s brother. He gave me the shawl with the intimation that it was somethin
g he planned to give to his bride.”
“But you’re going to marry Bryan.”
“And Borgan knows that.”
“Then why—?”
She tilted her head to one side, regarding me. We had never discussed political intrigue; it had never before occurred to me that there might be any. Everything had, for so many years, seemed to me to be exactly as it appeared on the surface.
“Dirkson is ambitious,” she said. “Tregonia is the largest of the eight provinces, and adjoins Auburn. He does not see why he should not have some stake in the royal house, being so near the crown. Also, he does not care for Bryan.”
“Kent mentioned something of the sort,” I said.
“Did he? Well, Dirkson is not the only one, but he is the most vocal. He has said publicly and quite often that he will not accept Bryan as his liege. He has also said that he would be more malleable if there were some connection between his house and the royal court. He thinks to marry his daughter to Bryan and his son to me.”
“But you’re going to marry Bryan,” I said again.
She gave me a strange, unreadable look. “We are not married yet,” she said.
I was bewildered and oddly panicked. “But—Elisandra—don’t you want to marry Bryan? I mean—you have been betrothed to him forever—”
Again, the unreadable expression; her thoughts appeared to be turned inward. “What I want does not matter in the slightest,” she said softly.
“Of course it does,” I said impatiently. “If you love Bryan—”
Now she looked at me sharply. “If I love Bryan!” she repeated. “If I love anybody! My will is not consulted in these matters. I am a pawn, a bargaining chip. I am a possession to be laid on the dicing table. Matthew will do with me what he will.”
Now I was the one to stupidly repeat phrases. “Lord Matthew—”
There had been a surge of passion in her voice a moment before, but now she spoke in a completely calm and colorless tone. “I have no estate of my own, and my mother very little. All of the Halsing lands are held in trust by Jaxon, but they will not go to me, or you, until we marry. And even then we must marry a man of Jaxon’s choosing. Jaxon supplies our household expenses at Castle Auburn, but we are here, all of us—you and I and my mother—at Lord Matthew’s sufferance, because I am betrothed to Bryan. If he decides the crown would gather more glory by being bestowed elsewhere, he has the right to break my engagement to Bryan. And then my position becomes even more precarious.”