She glared at him and then sighed. “No, I suppose you’re right.”
I knew the duchess’s name, although I had never seen her in person. She was almost as well known in Lanover as the king, her shrewd negotiations often turning treaties in our favor. I had also wondered if she might be sent along on the Tour. Perhaps Celine was right, and King Leonardo intended to test the abilities of his children. Of course, that didn’t mean none of the old guard were included. We dragged a bevy of older nobles with us since their ties throughout the kingdom would be of value to the young royals.
“Still,” said Celine, brightening, “we’ll have more fun without her one way or another.”
“Is fun all you think of, Celine?” asked Cassian, with a significant look toward the tent flap.
“No, of course not,” she said quickly. “This whole situation couldn’t be more awful.” Her face fell into such a woebegone expression that I wanted to go over and put my arm around her shoulders. But I didn’t quite dare. I hadn’t forgotten the sight of her the day before weeping over the infant, and I hoped her brothers understood that she joked and made light of things so she wouldn’t cry. It was a strategy I had used many times myself.
Frederic ignored his siblings, focusing instead on me. “What is it you wanted to tell us, Evie?”
Three pairs of royal eyes trained on me, and I gulped.
“It’s something I overheard yesterday. And then something one of the townsfolk told me.” I quickly relayed the way the unknown man had attempted to rile the crowd—downplaying my own involvement—and then repeated the story shared by the street urchin.
“What?” gasped Celine. “You mean…”
Cassian ran a hand over his chin, his eyes hooded and thoughtful.
Frederic rocked back, his face paling a shade. “Could you point out the man in a crowd, do you think?”
“I…” I chewed the inside of my cheek, wanting to say yes but not sure in all honesty if I could. A lot had happened the day before, and I had been running on very little sleep. “I don’t know. Maybe?”
“I think we need to talk to this boy,” said Cassian. “Not that I don’t trust your recounting, Evie, but I would like to assess his character for myself. Did he look the type to make up such a story just for mischief?”
Here I felt myself on surer ground. “No. I didn’t get that impression at all. He seemed grateful for the assistance you brought. I think he wanted to repay you the only way he could.” I took a breath. “I believe him to be a street urchin, Your Highnesses. He probably isn’t used to gifts of clothes or food. And they have a strict honor code, for all it differs from that of an ordinary citizen. If they incur a debt, they will balance it, as well as they are able.”
“Hmmm…” Cassian looked skeptical, but Frederic weighed me with an all-too-knowing look. My eyes fell away as I fought to keep a flush from rising up my face. I reminded myself that he knew nothing of my past.
“But…what does it mean?” asked Celine, seemingly less concerned about the source of the information. “Ringing the alarm bell early doesn’t seem like the work of an arsonist.”
“An entire town burned,” said Frederic. “And if it happened at the speed this boy claimed—a story that aligns with other comments I have heard about the fire—then it must have been the work of a large team of arsonists, all standing ready to act in unison.”
Cassian met his brother’s eyes. “A team who wanted the town to burn, not the townsfolk.”
“Could the bell-ringer have been a rogue arsonist?” asked Celine. “One who had a last-minute change of heart?”
I frowned. “He didn’t exactly seem the type for that when he was riling the townsfolk to anger.”
“Dead people cannot be whipped into a fury against the crown,” said Frederic softly. “And they cannot spread out looking for new homes in other towns, taking their anger and hatred with them.”
“Perhaps they bargained on Father not sending help,” suggested Cassian. “Perhaps they thought we would continue with the Tour and send only a small contingent here.”
“If so, they bet wrongly,” said Frederic, steel in his voice. “Which shows they don’t know us at all.” He rubbed a hand across his eyes. “I didn’t expect it to start so early. All the other talk came from the south…”
“It seems Father has some wiles left in his old mind, after all,” said Cassian wryly. “Apparently no part of the kingdom is safe.”
“No.” Frederic sighed. “For all the assistance we have offered here, if the Tour is trailed by disaster, it won’t help our standing in the kingdom.”
Celine hopped up from her seat. “We’ll just have to be on the alert, then, and make sure no more danger finds our people.”
Cassian and Frederic exchanged a look that was all too simple to read. If only it were that easy.
At the princes’ request, I tracked down the Medellan urchin to ask if he could point out the rebel arsonist to me. But after thoroughly searching the survivors, he returned to inform me the man had disappeared.
I could read the disappointment in Frederic’s and Cassian’s eyes when I reluctantly passed on the information. Neither of them spoke any recriminations, but my insides roiled anyway. For all I knew, the man might have disappeared immediately after our confrontation the first morning. But perhaps he had not. Perhaps if I had gone to the royals as soon as I heard the urchin’s story…
But there was nothing I could do about it now.
The Tour stayed for two full weeks in Medellan, longer than we would have done in normal circumstances. We helped dig graves and wept with the local people through each simple burial ceremony. And we each contributed what skills we could to helping those who remained.
Frederic refused to leave until the townsfolk had been provided for, so instead of visiting the surrounding towns, those communities sent delegations to us. Some of the people from Medellan were unsuited to life in tents, and the visitors discussed arrangements with the royals, both for housing these individuals, and for sending workers and tools to help rebuild the town.
I had no business with the delegations, so I returned to my work with the blankets, wishing that every problem could be solved with a needle and thread. On the third day, the steward appeared and re-directed us to a comfortable tent without walls. The roof kept the sun off our heads, but the open sides allowed plenty of light in for our work. Someone had even found a couple of long wooden tables and benches, and I could see from their faces that my team appreciated the change.
On the fourth day, several large bags of old shoes, in a range of conditions, arrived at the sewing tent. Apparently, we had been designated as the center of the town’s re-clothing effort. The mayor’s wife followed close behind and somehow talked me into overseeing the distribution of the boots and shoes that had been donated from the capital. By the end of two full days of shoe fittings, I was more than grateful to return to sewing. For every thankful recipient, there had been an unhappy one who claimed their new boots didn’t fit or who felt they deserved a better quality pair than they had been given.
On the sixth day, just before we ran out of material, a pile of new bolts arrived in a variety of materials. Their quality was inferior to the wool of the blankets, but they were serviceable and, given the heat, I was glad to have some lighter materials to work with.
Celine stopped by most days to sit for a few minutes with the girls and chat. And even Frederic came by once to thank them all gravely for their efforts. The lunch bell rang while he was with us, and he insisted on walking me to the closest kitchen tent to collect our meals.
“How are you liking your new workplace?” he asked. “It seems superior to the bare ground at least.”
I looked at him sideways. “I suppose I have you to thank for it. It’s very considerate of you.”