Catherine’s tour of the garden with Tzsayn took half the morning. Tanya, having eventually found them, shadowed them at a respectable distance. They stopped in an arbor for elderflower water and some fruit before strolling to the walls to look out over the city and the land beyond. After their rocky start, Catherine was pleased to find Tzsayn both intelligent and courteous, and the conversation ranged over their education, touched on his travels to Illast, her journey to Pitoria, and the inevitable comparison of food and clothing. By the time they returned to the castle, Catherine felt almost at ease with her husband-to-be. Of course that didn’t mean she particularly wanted to marry him, but, she reflected, it could be a lot worse. He could be like Boris. At that thought, she said, “You seemed deep in conversation with my brother yesterday evening.”
Tzsayn smiled. “I thought Prince Boris would be interested in how we manufacture the silk for my clothes. With the first course I began with the silk worms, and by the end of our eighth course it only remained to detail the process of making the dyes. I’ll have to complete my explanation next time I have the pleasure of his company at dinner.”
Catherine nodded, again feeling unsure how serious Tzsayn was being.
“I should add,” the prince explained, “that when I met Prince Boris on my visit to Brigant, he and his delightful and charming friends spent a full evening telling me of their hunting exploits, in incredible detail, and with a certain amount of repetition, specifying their weapons, the best types of spear, the best type of horse, the best saddle, boots, leg protection, and so, so much more. I thought it must be the Brigantine way to pick a topic and go over and over it.”
Catherine smiled. “Actually, that is the way of many Brigantine men.”
At that they arrived back at the terrace and Catherine was surprised to see Sarah, pacing up and down in some agitation. When she spotted Catherine, her hands flew into a blur of signs.
Slow down, Catherine signed back. What is it?
Sarah returned just two words.
Ambrose. Here.
Catherine felt the ground shift beneath her. Noyes had said he’d been caught, been killed. Of course it was a lie! She couldn’t get her breath. Tears filled her eyes. Ambrose was alive!
“Catherine?” Tzsayn’s voice was concerned.
With a supreme effort, Catherine controlled her emotions. “Excuse me, Your Highness. I fear I’ve had a little too much sun.”
“Come, Your Highness,” said Tanya soothingly. “Too much sun before your wedding will not do.” She curtsied to Tzsayn and, taking Catherine’s arm, led her inside.
AMBROSE
TORNIA, PITORIA
AMBROSE WAITED by the gate as more and more people came and went. He wondered if the boy had just thrown his hair away and forgotten about him. He started at the appearance of each new person, his heart lifting, hoping it would be someone he recognized. He stared at one woman who was coming toward him, and it took him a few moments to recognize her. It was Sarah, Catherine’s maid, but she looked completely different. She was wearing a pale green dress in the Pitorian style. She looked stunning.
She came to him and curtsied. “Sir Ambrose.”
“Sarah!” Ambrose beamed. “It’s wonderful to see you.”
She returned his smile. “It’s good to see you too, sir, though more than a little surprising. Catherine was told that you had been killed by Noyes’s men.”
Ambrose shook his head. “As you can see, I’m alive and well, though in urgent need of seeing the princess.”
Sarah’s smile faded. “That’s not possible. The princess is with Prince Tzsayn at the moment. Their wedding is tomorrow. Nothing must stop that.”
Ambrose felt the familiar tightening of his chest at the thought of Catherine marrying another, and for the first time it was accompanied by a twinge of doubt. Would his news be rejected as the invention of a lovestruck fool?
“I’ve not come to stop it. But I have urgent news. It’s not about me, or the marriage. It’s . . . much more important.”
“The marriage is the most important thing. Perhaps after the wedding . . .”
Ambrose shook his head. “That’s too late. Listen, you know she’ll want to see me.”
“But that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea. Boris is in the castle with fifty men. If he sees you, you’re a dead man, and the princess will not thank me for that: to find that you are alive and then bring about your death! Never mind the trouble she’ll be in.”
“I understand you want to protect her, and I have no wish to bring her trouble. You know I would never wish her any harm. But this news cannot wait.”
Sarah looked torn.
“Please,” he begged. “She’ll want to hear it. Once I have spoken to her, I’ll go.”
“You’ll have to,” Sarah agreed, then she turned to the guard: “You know whom I serve? I am taking this messenger to the princess. He is safe with me.”
“As you wish, my lady,” said the guard, bowing.
Ambrose followed Sarah through the castle. She walked quickly, saying, “I’ll take you the quiet way, but everywhere is busy; there are so many people here.”
The place was indeed bustling, though once they passed the shining walls of the Great Tower it became quieter. Still Ambrose’s nerves were stretched to the breaking point. Noyes could be round any corner. And if he was taken now, Catherine would never know.
“Nearly there,” Sarah said.
“Nearly where?”
“The morning room. Actually, there are about twenty morning rooms, but this one is relatively private.”
But, as they went along the side of a small courtyard, Ambrose turned to see two purple-haired Pitorian soldiers talking with another man whose hair wasn’t dyed and who was wearing the uniform of the Brigantine Royal Guard.
“Damn!” Ambrose swung away and moved behind a pillar. But he knew he’d been seen. And from the way the man had stared at him, he’d been recognized as well.
“Please, we must hurry,” he told Sarah. He only needed a moment to tell the princess his news and give her the letter he’d stolen from Lord Thornlee. Even if he was caught, it would be worth it; as long as he delivered the message, there was a chance the princess could escape.
Sarah hurried up a flight of stairs and along one more corridor. “Inside, quick. I’ll bring the princess.” And then she was gone.
Ambrose paced the room. He had dreamed of seeing Catherine again, but not like this. He looked down at his boots, thick with dust and dirt. What would she think of him? Well, that didn’t matter; the point was to warn her, the point was to make her believe him. But then what? They were still trapped, hundreds of leagues from home in a foreign country, enmeshed in a plot he still didn’t fully understand. After all, Boris was in Tornia too. Had Aloysius betrayed his son as well? That made no sense. If Boris knew about the coming invasion, he must be planning an escape. Possibly with Catherine. Ambrose had been going over all these things for the last three days and still wasn’t sure what to make of it. Then there was the sound of footsteps approaching, the door opened, and Sarah entered, followed by Catherine, and all thoughts flew from his mind.
Catherine was wearing a figure-hugging silver dress slashed with white silk. Her hair seemed blonder than before and was piled on her head and pinned with white flowers. Her face was pale with shock. And then her eyes filled with tears.
“Ambrose . . .” Catherine breathed. “I thought . . . They told me you were killed.” And now the tears fell down her cheek.
Ambrose wanted to brush the tears away. Tears shed for him. He stepped closer. It always amazed him how she looked at him. So fiercely and so lovingly. He carefully reached out and as gently as he could he wiped the tears away with his fingertips. Catherine took his hand and kissed it.