“Lord Ventillas gave them the use of his chambers,” Master Jacomel explained at Cas’ questioning look. “He’s in your rooms, so you’ll have to share until all is sorted. We are filled to the rooftops here.”
The corridor was lit, not with torchlight but with the last of the summer’s fireflies. Each wall niche held a glass ball set on an iron stand. Within each glass were thousands of sparking, blazing insects, darting here and there and giving off enough light to rival the outdoors. Cas and Master Jacomel traveled down the corridor and to the right, where the keep’s second-largest set of chambers, Cas’ old rooms, were located. Master Jacomel closed the doors behind them.
Cas stood in the center of the room. He turned slowly. “It looks the same.”
A fire blazed pleasantly in the hearth. Tapestries decorated the walls and kept the heat in. Another door led to a darkened bedchamber. Above the hearth, on the mantel, was a miniature of the Palmerin aqueduct that he had built a lifetime ago, as a young boy.
“I cannot say the same for you.” There were tears in Master Jacomel’s eyes. “I thought it was your father standing outside that carriage. Does your brother know you’re here?”
A nod. “I saw him by the lake.”
“Did you tell him where . . . ?”
“There was no time.”
Master Jacomel pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve and wiped his eyes. “Then don’t tell me. I should not be the first to hear. Child, how we mourned for you.”
Cas touched the steward’s shoulder, then dropped his hand. It was the only comfort he could offer. “I would not have stayed away if I could have helped it, Master Jac.”
The steward crumpled the handkerchief in a fist. “I’m not going to like this tale of yours, am I?”
The scars on Cas’ back pulled at him. “No.”
There came a knock at the door.
Two male servants hauled in a large tub, which they set before the fire. Six chambermaids followed, each carrying a bucket of steaming water. Another brought towels. Yet another produced a cake of soap and a bottle of fragrant oil. Cas stopped her from pouring the oil into the tub. He refused to reek of jasmine or whatever that terrible smell was.
“Ten of you to draw a bath?” Master Jacomel’s handkerchief had disappeared up his sleeve. If the servants noticed his reddened eyes, no one dared show it. “Lord Cassia is near dead with cold. Out, out!” He pointed to the door and sent everyone scurrying.
When they had gone, Master Jacomel knelt before a chest set against the wall. He opened the lid and rifled through clothing. Cas laid the cloak over the back of a chair, then went to stand by the hearth. “The queen has lived here a year, I heard.”
“Yes.” Master Jacomel held up one of Ventillas’ tunics for inspection before tossing it aside. “Your brother was part of Princess Jehan’s cortege. He brought her to the king in Elvira, but it was no longer safe there with the plague. Lord Ventillas offered them sanctuary here. The other guests have not been in Palmerin as long. Most have come for the naming ceremony.”
“I didn’t know Ventillas was part of her cortege.” That meant he had traveled to Brisa. Cas and his brother had been in the same kingdom without either of them knowing it.
“He volunteered to go. It was hard for him to be here after . . . well. Distraction has been good for him.”
After Cas had vanished, was what Master Jacomel meant. “There’ve been no reports of plague for months, anywhere. Besides the occasional animal. Why is she still here?”
Master Jacomel had been examining the cuffs on a jacket. At Cas’ question, he looked over with a frown. Cas knew his words were mean-spirited, ungenerous. He would not apologize for them.
“Because of the child,” Master Jacomel said simply. “Queen Jehan learned she carried the prince after they arrived here. She wanted to stay until the babe was born.”
“And Ventillas agreed?” His brother, who hated the northern kingdom even more than Cas did. At least he had, once.
“Could you say no? To a woman with child?”
“She’s a Brisan princess,” Cas said, his tone flat.
“She’s the queen of Oliveras,” Master Jacomel corrected. “Our queen now.”
Cas stepped closer to the fire, as close as he could get without being burned.
“Cassia.” Master Jacomel shook out the jacket and laid it across his arm. He came to stand beside him. “I’m beginning to harbor a terrible suspicion as to where you’ve been these last three years.” Cas did not look away from the flames. He could feel the weight of Master Jacomel’s knowing. “But the war is over. Hear me when I tell you Queen Jehan is not without influence. She has the might of the king behind her. He loves her. Do not make faces at me, it’s true,” he added at Cas’ expression. “You saved her son’s life today. Do not destroy that goodwill by saying something foolish in her presence.”
Cas thought of the carriage ride with the queen and her nurse. I can take care of myself in my own home. Don’t trouble yourself, Your Grace. Huh. Too late for that.
“When will she go?”
“A week, maybe less. The prince is old enough to travel safely. They will all go. The packing has already begun.”
A knock on the door once again. More servants brought in trays of food. But just as they slipped from the chamber, another figure appeared in the doorway.
Sorne.
“Cassia.” Her smile was wide, her color high. As though she had been running. She wore a leather apron over her red dress, gloves and shears peeping from pockets, and a red kerchief in her hair. “When I heard—I dared not believe—but you are alive, and oh, you are here!”
She rushed across the chamber, threw her arms around him, and wept noisily, sobbing into his neck. Cas did not move. His arms hung at his sides. Sorne’s father had served his faithfully in the war. Orphaned as a young girl, she had come to live at the keep as his father’s ward and then, upon his death, as Ventillas’. She had been a childhood companion, and before Cas had left home, a boy of fifteen, he had tucked a flower in her hair and kissed her, and promised to return by summer’s end. He barely remembered that boy. Helplessly, Cas looked over her head. To Master Jacomel.
“Come, Sorne. There’ll be time to speak to him later.” Gently, the steward took her by the elbow and guided her to the door, ignoring her protests. “Those clothes will not fit perfectly,” he said to Cas. “They will have to do for now. Eat. Rest. No one will disturb you here.” He left with Sorne, closing the door behind them.