He watched her work, quiet, efficient, and, to his surprise, her presence was a balm on this wretched night. She wore tiny gold earrings shaped like pomegranate flowers. They were also engraved along the gold circlet on her head, in different stages of bloom. When she began a second braid, and a third, he let her be. Curiosity won out over his desire for silence. “You’re a historian.”
“Yes. Well, no. Almost.” She snuck a sideways glance, self-conscious. “I hope to be.”
“You’re an apprentice?”
“Sort of.” Her hands never stopped braiding. “My grandfather is teaching me . . . was teaching. That’s over now.”
Cas heard the catch in her voice. He did not ask her to explain.
Halfway through a fourth braid, she said, “May I ask a favor?” She did not wait for him to say yes or no. “Please don’t mention our first meeting to anyone. Ever. Or our second, for that matter. It would save me some trouble with my family.”
Stealing someone’s horse. Nearly mauled by a lynx. He did not doubt it. “I don’t know your family.”
“Oh, you do,” she assured him. “A year ago, I had fifteen brothers and sisters.” She glanced over in time to witness Cas’ goggle-eyed astonishment. “Half siblings,” she clarified. “Most I’d never met. That was before the pestilence. Today, I have one brother only, and he sits at the high table.”
“You’re King Rayan’s sister?” There was no great resemblance that he could see, beyond the rich brown hair and dark eyes. Traits shared by most of the kingdom. Nothing like when strangers looked to Ventillas, then to Cas, and saw instantly the blood that bound them.
“Yes.” She looked down at the braid as she spoke. “One of the old king’s many skeletons.”
The former king’s indiscretions were infamous. Rayan’s mother had despaired until, one bitterly cold night, after learning of yet another child born of her husband’s infidelities, she fled the palace and retreated to the nunnery at Salome. Her final years had been spent there, in silence and in solitude.
Cas said, “We all have skeletons.”
That brought a small smile. “Oh, I’m aware. I was raised by my grandfather, my mother’s father. Historians are experts on skeletons.”
“Where is your mother?”
A shadow passed over her face. “I don’t know. She brought me to my grandfather’s right after I was born. And then she left. No one’s heard from her since.” Lena reached into her pockets and withdrew a handful of silk ribbons, red to match her dress. She thrust them at him. “Here, guard these, won’t you? Otherwise, she’ll try to eat them.”
Cas took the ribbons. “This is a man’s horse,” he told her.
“They’ll be gone before you ride her again. I promise.” She took a ribbon, secured a braid, and began another.
Cas would hold her to it, for he could not ride the mare as she was. Though she did look nice, with her braids and ribbons. He would never say so out loud. Farther down the aisle, Jon reminded someone to fill the oat buckets.
Lena said, “I remember reading your family’s history when I was a girl.”
“Mine? Why?”
“For fun.”
Cas snorted.
“Really.” Her mouth turned up at the corners. “Palmerin was founded by two brothers I learned, a thousand years ago. The elder, named Ventillas, was a celebrated military commander and engineer. The younger, Cassiapeus, was also a soldier and engineer, but his main duty was as keeper of Palmerin. While Ventillas defended the kingdom abroad, Cassiapeus remained in the mountains, charged with the safety of the city and its people. You were named for them.”
She had reached the end of a braid. Cas offered a ribbon and said, “Ventillas was lucky. His name isn’t so awful. But Cassiapeus . . .” What else was there to say? It was the worst. They shared a smile. She did not try to convince him his name was anything other than terrible. He respected her for it.
“You told me your name was Cas, but everyone here calls you Cassia.”
“It’s an old name.” One from his boyhood. “It belongs to someone else.”
“I understand,” she said after a moment. “Cas it is.”
Time passed as another braid was worked. Lena held out her hand.
Absently, he passed over the ribbon. “Why were you looking for me?”
She looked away. “No particular reason.”
“Lena.”
A section of mane over another, and another. Expertly plaiting. Her words were quiet. “You gave him a second chance. The scribe. If he chooses to use it. It’s more than your brother would have done. My brother too.”
She spoke of Faro, who Cas had forgotten completely since her arrival. “He’ll starve before he finds other work. I’ve done him no favors.” Cas had only prolonged the inevitable.
“You don’t know that.”
Cas did not wish to speak of Faro. He asked again, “Why were you looking for me?”
Lena’s hands fell away from the unfinished braid. She turned to him, her expression troubled. “Because you haven’t seen Palmerin in three years. This is your homecoming, Cas. And you should not be here all alone, sitting in a horse stall.”
She could not have painted a more pathetic picture. His voice was low, almost inaudible. “Don’t feel sorry for me, horse thief. I don’t need your pity.”
“I’ll feel sorry for you if I want!” She looked as stung as he felt, before glancing past him. Her eyes narrowed.
Cas turned to look. The stall door stopped a foot above the ground. He could see a pair of black boots pressed up against the wall. Someone was standing right there listening to them, he realized, outraged. How much had he heard?
The door was closed but not latched, as the latch was on the outside. Cas placed his palm against the door and shoved it open as hard as he could. There was a satisfying crack, followed by a groan.
“My nose!”
Cas was on his feet and out of the stall. He yanked the eavesdropper around. “What do you want?” he demanded, then let go, surprised. A soldier in blue. He was Cas’ age. Just as tall but far thinner, wiry. His ears were uncommonly large. Cas remembered him from the lake. He had jumped into the water and taken the nurse away so that Cas could search for the prince.
The soldier clutched his nose with both hands. “You broke my face!”
“Next time don’t creep up on me,” Cas snapped.
“Hey! I wasn’t creeping.”
Jon poked his head around the corner, eyebrows raised. Trouble here? Cas waved him away.
“What would you call it?” Cas asked. The eavesdropper was exaggerating, Cas saw when he dropped his hands. Nothing was broken. There was hardly any blood.
Lena came to stand beside Cas. She wore her black cloak. “Bittor, you clod. Serves you right.” She thrust a snowy white handkerchief at him.
The soldier snatched it from her without thanks. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Analena,” he grumbled. “You were in a horse stall with—” He waved the handkerchief at Cas. “I thought you might need rescuing.”
“You thought no such thing.”
“What do you want?” Cas said again.
With a hiss, Bittor shoved part of the handkerchief up a nostril. His words were garbled. “The king wants to see you. Now.” He turned to Lena. “I’m supposed to find you, too.”
Cas said, “Why?”