As the cavalcade arrived in the town of Woodville that morning, a little girl on the front step of a baker’s shop had shouted, “I love you!” then she blushed and hid her head in her hands. Catherine was carrying a sprig of the pretty and delicate wissun, with its many tiny white flowers that made a round head. She pulled up her horse and passed Tanya the flower, saying, “Give it to the girl,” remembering to add, “speak in Pitorian.”
Catherine watched as Tanya maneuvered her horse over to the girl and held out the wissun to her, saying, “With thanks from Princess Catherine.”
The story quickly spread and soon more girls and some boys were also shouting, “We love you!”
Catherine smiled gracefully and gave out more flowers. They rode slowly onward, and Sir Rowland handed Catherine another blossom of wissun.
“It’s fortunate indeed that it grows wild all the way to Tornia,” he remarked. “But I begin to fear that there will be no wissun left in all of Pitoria by your wedding day.”
Catherine laughed. “Indeed I would not wish that.”
“You are doing well, Your Highness. Though I’m not sure your brother appreciates your efforts.”
Catherine glanced toward Boris. “Well, at least he looks smart.”
Boris’s horses, men, and weapons were all handsome and gleaming in the sunlight. Her brother rode at the front of Catherine’s entourage, with Noyes, as always, at his shoulder, keeping his watchful eye on things. Boris ensured that the cavalcade kept moving. He was determined they shouldn’t be delayed from reaching the capital and complained bitterly that Catherine was deliberately slowing their progress. He was right, but for once Boris’s power was limited. He could get his men to keep the roads clear and he insisted on an early start in the mornings, but he could not control the crowds nor their determination to see their new princess.
“I must thank you once more for your assistance, Sir Rowland,” Catherine said. “It is through you that all this has been possible. But I’ve been thinking of something else that I’d like to do, and again I need your advice.”
“I’m all ears, Your Highness.”
“My color is white. Is it possible to arrange for my own men to have their hair dyed white? I don’t mean the soldiers, but the entertainers, dancers, and musicians.”
Sir Rowland clapped his hands. “An excellent suggestion, Your Highness. It would add hugely to your prestige. Only the most powerful of lords display their colors in this way and, I have to say, no other women do.”
Catherine was delighted but cautious. “There’s no reason I shouldn’t do it, is there? It wouldn’t offend the prince or the king?”
“The reason is purely financial, Your Highness. Supplying the dyes can be costly when you have many men and their hair does keep growing.”
“I can find the money,” said Catherine thoughtfully. “But can hair even be dyed white?”
“I believe so. We will transform the dancers’ hair this evening and judge the effect. You really are changing the fashions, Your Highness. Reports from Tornia say that your dress is already being copied. Few wore white before you arrived, as it was considered too simple a color.”
Catherine smiled. “It seems we are all learning.”
* * *
The next morning Boris came to Catherine’s bedchamber as she was dressing.
“Can you never be ready on time?” Boris complained.
“I’ve been busy.”
Catherine had been working out her debts. She needed money. Since arriving in Pitoria she had been showered with gifts—a horse, shoes, cushions, lace, fans, feathers, wine, and even some books, but what she needed was money.
“Busy deciding which dress to wear?” Boris mocked. “Or dyeing your hair?”
“It’s my men who dye their hair, not me.”
“I’ve seen them prancing around this morning. They look ridiculous.”
“I think they look wonderful. Though I feel the white is a little too yellow at the moment, but perhaps that was just the firelight last night. If we can get it with a hint of blue, they will match much better with Prince Tzsayn’s men.”
“What do you think you’re achieving with this performance, sister? Other than appearing ridiculous?”
“Happiness. Pleasure. Joy. The things you never appreciate.”
Boris curled his lip and turned to leave. “I’ll be happy, pleased, and joyful if you depart on time for once.”
“Before you go, Boris, there’s one more thing we need to discuss. I need money to buy dresses.”
Boris turned back. “You have dresses.”
“It appears I need more.”
“Not to me. You’re clothed, aren’t you?” And he leaned forward and picked at the slash in her dress. “Though barely. You like to reveal your body, don’t you, sister?”
Catherine drew a calming breath. “I am following the Pitorian fashion. Fitting in. Becoming like them, as I said I would do. It reflects badly on Father for me to wear the same dress every day. It looks as if he’s poor, as if Brigant is penniless. At the very least I need a new wedding dress and new garments for my maids. I hear Tzsayn is extremely discerning about fashion.”
“Then he can buy you a dress.”
“Sir Rowland tells me that Prince Tzsayn listens to daily reports of our progress. I would hate for the prince to be disappointed to hear that I’m wearing the same gown each day. What a shame it would be if the lack of a few dresses were to prevent my marriage.”
Boris hesitated before muttering, “Have your dresses then. But you’d better make sure they’re good. If Tzsayn refuses you because the cut of your sleeve is wrong, you’ll . . .”
“Yes?”
“You’ll have to explain it to Father.”
Catherine forced a smile. “Well then, I will ensure that the dresses are the best. That means they will be more expensive, of course.”
Boris’s mouth was a thin hard line. “Of course.”
He turned and stalked out.
Catherine let out a shaky breath.
“Has the prince really been asking about our progress?” asked Sarah.
“I have no idea,” replied Catherine. “I would in his place, but I don’t presume to know his mind.”
She didn’t add that she was starting to worry that the prince hadn’t sent her any sort of communication—not a letter or even a token. Was he ill or just not interested? She knew so little about him still, and yet in four days’ time she’d be married to him and her life would change again. But she was determined to do all she could to shape the future the way she wanted it.
EDYON
SOMEWHERE NORTH OF DORNAN, PITORIA
IT WAS the end of the third day after fleeing Dornan, and they had been riding slowly north all day. March’s shoulder was causing him agony if his horse moved above walking pace. Now they were around the fire, Edyon asked, “Shouldn’t we head west to the coast tomorrow? March can’t go on like this.”
Holywell shook his head. “Since we can only go slowly we’ll have to stick to the quieter routes, Your Highness. We can’t outrun any pursuers, so we have to avoid them, and the ports will be the first place the sheriff’s men will be looking for you.”
“If they’re looking for me,” Edyon said.
“They’ll have found your bag near the body of the sheriff’s man. While I’m sure they’re not the world’s greatest minds, I think it’s safe to assume they’ll manage to piece those few clues together.”
Edyon wished he hadn’t told March about leaving his bag, or, rather, he wished March hadn’t told Holywell.
“Are you handy with a sword, Your Highness?”
For a moment, Edyon thought he detected a mocking note in Holywell’s voice, but, when he looked, the man’s face was sincere. Edyon laughed bitterly.
“I’m sure you’ve noticed that I don’t have a sword, and just so that you fully understand the situation, as a general rule in fights I get beaten to a pulp and pissed on.”
Holywell tilted his head. “You handled the sheriff’s man well enough.”
Edyon couldn’t reply. He wasn’t proud of what he’d done. What would happen now to the man’s family? His wife? His fatherless children? Their misery was his doing.
“Will you take first watch, Your Highness?” Holywell said. “Then March and I can relieve you and you can sleep through till dawn.”