“Your Royal Highness,” Ead said, “pardon my ignorance, but who rules Mentendon in your absence?”
“Princess Ermuna is acting as steward while I am in Inys. Of course, I hope that Queen Sabran and I will eventually come to an arrangement whereby I am able to spend more of my time at home. Then I can be both consort and ruler.” He ran a stem between his fingers. “My sister is a force of nature, but I fear for her. Mentendon is a fragile realm, and ours is a young royal house.”
Ead watched his face while he spoke. His gaze was on his love-knot ring.
“This is also a fragile realm, Highness,” she said.
“As I am learning.”
He cut the lavender and passed it to her. Ead rose and dusted off her skirts, but Lievelyn seemed in no hurry to leave.
“I understand you were born in the Ersyr,” he said.
“Yes, Highness. I am a distant relation of Chassar uq-Ispad, ambassador to King Jantar and Queen Saiyma, and grew up as his ward.”
It was the lie she had told for eight years, and it came easily.
“Ah,” Lievelyn said. “Rumelabar, then.”
“Yes.”
Lievelyn pulled his gloves back on. He looked over his shoulder, to where his Royal Guard waited by the entrance to the garden.
“Mistress Duryan,” he said, softer, “I am glad I happened upon you this morning, for I would have your counsel on a private matter, if you would be good enough to give it.”
“In what capacity, Highness?”
“As a Lady of the Bedchamber.” He cleared his throat. “I should like to take Her Majesty into the streets, to give alms to the people of Ascalon, with the view to going on a longer progress in the summer. I understand she has never made a formal visit to any of her provinces. Before I raise it with her … I wondered if you might know why.”
A prince seeking her counsel. How things had changed.
“Her Majesty has not walked among her people since she was crowned,” Ead said. “Because of … Queen Rosarian.”
Lievelyn frowned at this. “I know the Queen Mother was cruelly murdered,” he said, “but that was in her own palace, not on the streets.”
Ead considered his earnest face. There was something about him that compelled her to honesty.
“There are wrong-headed people in Ascalon, drunk on the same evil that has tainted Yscalin, who long for the Nameless One to return,” she told him. “They would bring down the House of Berethnet to ensure it. Some of these people have been able to enter Ascalon Palace. Cutthroats.”
Lievelyn was quiet for a short while. “I did not know of this.” He sounded troubled, and Ead wondered what Sabran did talk to him about. “How close did they get to her?”
“Close. The last came in the summer, but I have no doubt that their master continues to plot against Her Majesty.”
His jaw firmed.
“I see,” he murmured. “Of course, I have no wish to put Her Majesty in danger. And yet—to the people of Virtudom, she is a beacon of hope. Now a High Western has returned, they must be reminded of her love for them, her devotion to them. Especially if she is forced to, say, raise taxes for the creation of new ships and weapons.”
He was serious. “Highness,” Ead said, “I beg you, wait until you have a daughter before you put this idea to Her Majesty. A princess will give the commons all the comfort and reassurance they need.”
“Alas that children cannot be called into being merely by our wishing hard enough for them. It may be a long time yet before an heir arrives, Mistress Duryan.” Lievelyn breathed out through his nose. “As her companion, I should know her best, but my bride is the blood of the Saint. What mortal can ever know her?”
“You will,” Ead said. “I have never seen her look at anyone the way she does at you.”
“Not even Lord Arteloth Beck?”
The name stilled her. “Highness?”
“I heard the rumors. Whispers of a love affair,” Lievelyn continued, after a hesitation. “I made my offer to Queen Sabran in spite of them … but from time to time, I wonder if—” He cleared his throat, looking abashed.
“Lord Arteloth is very dear to Her Majesty,” Ead told him. “They have been friends since they were children, and they love each other as brother and sister. That is all.” She did not break his gaze. “No matter what rumor might have you believe.”
His face softened into a smile again. “I suppose I ought to know better than to pay heed to gossip. Doubtless there is plenty about me,” he said. “Lord Seyton tells me Lord Arteloth is now in Yscalin. He must be a man of great courage, to go so boldly into danger.”
“Yes, Highness,” Ead said softly. “He is.”
There was a brief silence between them, peppered by birdsong.
“Thank you for your counsel, Mistress Duryan. It was generous of you to give it.” Lievelyn touched a hand on his patron brooch, the mirror of hers. “I see why Her Majesty speaks so highly of you.”
Ead curtsied. “You are too kind, Your Royal Highness. As is Her Majesty.”
With a courteous bow, he took his leave.
Aubrecht Lievelyn was no dormouse. He was ambitious enough to want to effect change, and he possessed what appeared to be an intrinsic Mentish fondness for dangerous ideas. Ead prayed he would heed her counsel. It would be madness for Sabran to show herself in public when her life was under threat.
In the royal apartments, Ead found the queen awake and calling for a hunt. Not having a swift horse of her own, Ead was given a high-bred steed from the Royal Mews.
Truyde utt Zeedeur, who had taken Ead’s position as an Ordinary Chamberer, would be among the hunting party. When they came face to face, Ead raised her eyebrows. The girl turned away, expressionless, and climbed on to her chestnut horse.
She must be losing hope in her lover. If Sulyard had written to her, she would not look so sullen.
Sabran refused to hunt with hounds. They were bound to kill their quarry cleanly, or not at all. As the party rode into Chesten Forest, Ead felt a sudden thirst for this hunt. She relished the wind in her hair. Her fingers itched to draw a bowstring.
Restraint was paramount. Too many kills would raise the question of where she had learned to shoot so well. She hung back at first, watching the others.
Roslain, who was said to have a flair for hawking, was all thumbs when it came to archery. She lost her temper within the hour. Truyde utt Zeedeur struck down a woodcock. Margret was the best shot of the ladies-in-waiting—she and Loth were both keen hunters—but no one could best the queen. It was all the beaters could do to keep up with her as she careered through the forest. She had a fine batch of conies by noon.
When she spied a hart between the trees, Ead almost let it go. A sensible lady-in-waiting would allow the queen to take the prize, but perhaps she could make one kill without arousing suspicion.
Her arrow flew. The hart collapsed. Margret, seated on her gelding, was the first to reach it.
“Sab,” she called.
Ead followed the queen at a trot to the clearing. The arrow had taken the hart through its eye.
Just where she had aimed it.
Truyde utt Zeedeur reached the hart next. She took in the carcass with taut features.
“It appears we will have venison for dinner.” Sabran was pink-cheeked with cold. “I was under the impression you had not hunted often, Ead.”
Ead inclined her head. “Some of us have innate skill, Your Majesty.”
Sabran smiled. Ead found herself smiling back.
“Let us see if you have any other innate skills.” Sabran wheeled her mount around. “Come, ladies—we will have a race back to Briar House. A purse for the victor.”
With cheers, the women spurred their horses after her, leaving the grooms to gather their kills.
They broke from the forest and thundered across the grass. Soon Ead was neck and neck with the queen, and they were breathless with laughter, neither able to gain on the other. With her wind-spun hair and eyes bright from the hunt, Sabran Berethnet looked almost carefree—and for the first time in years, Ead felt her own cares lifted from her shoulders. Like seeds from a dandelion clock.
Sabran was in high spirits for the rest of the day. In the evening, she permitted all the ladies-in-waiting to retire so she could attend to matters of state in her Privy Library.
Ead had inherited a double lodging from Arbella Glenn, closer to the royal apartments than her old quarters. The lodging was made up of two adjoining rooms, wood-paneled and hung with tapestries, and boasted a four-poster bed. Mullion windows looked out over the grounds.
The servants had already lit a fire. Ead removed her riding habit and patted the sweat away with a cloth.
A knock came on the door at eight. Outside was Tallys, the sweet young scullion.
“Supper for you, Mistress Duryan.” She bobbed a curtsy. No matter how many times Ead had told her it was unnecessary, she always insisted. “The bread is good and hot. They say a dread frost is on its way.”