“There must be some mistake,” Lord Amador said. “One does not simply misplace a nobleman’s daughter—”
“We will untangle this mystery, of course,” Queen Jehan said. “But not tonight. We are all tired and hungry.” She smiled at Clara, then turned as her old nurse approached, carrying the prince. “Faustina?”
Faustina handed the prince over to Lena. “I will see to her bath, Your Grace.” She held out her hand to Clara, her manner one of brisk kindness. “Come with me, child. There’s a good girl.”
But Clara would not go without Cas. She clung and whimpered. And that was how he found himself on a stool by the fire as Faustina transformed a tiny old crone back into a little girl. At least on the surface.
Ventillas had decided that everyone would sleep in the great hall. It would make leaving the following day simpler if they didn’t have to waste time searching the estate for stray travelers. Some had chosen to put up tents indoors for privacy. Most spread about on blankets and within bedrolls, as close to the fire as possible.
A tub had been filled with hot water. Faustina removed Clara’s blankets, layer by filthy layer. The blankets would have to be burned. They weren’t fit for the horses. Beneath the blankets was an ill-fitting nightgown that had once been white. Legs and arms poked out. Cas guessed it had fit perfectly a year ago. Silence fell as the nightgown was removed, a quiet filled with horror and pity. Clara was thin, covered with bites and scratches. Cas knew it should not have been a surprise given the state of her clothing, but it was. He was deeply and profoundly shocked. Even worse was seeing her stand there, shoulders hunched, shivering despite standing so near the fire. Faustina, unflappable, efficient, stood frozen, so Cas lifted Clara up by her armpits and said, “Come on, Clara, in you go.”
He held her over the tub. Instantly, she yanked her feet high as though he were about to drop her into a pit full of snakes. He smiled reassuringly. “You’ll like a bath. I promise.” He lowered her into the tub. The expression on her face—filled with wonder and bliss—had him swallowing. He remembered his first real bath after the prison and plague. He had earned some money digging graves and had gone to the public baths. Hot water, soap, a little extra paid for the owner’s daughter to cut his hair. It had felt like a small step toward his old life. Toward dignity.
Several women watched Clara with tears in their eyes. Recovering, Faustina reached for a cloth. The queen stopped her, saying quietly, “No, I will do it.”
Queen Jehan had exchanged her traveling costume for a simpler, blue dress. She knelt beside the tub, opposite Cas, picked up a cloth, and began to wash the child.
Lady Rondilla hovered over her, arms folded. She was not one of the women with tears in her eyes. Her expression showed revulsion, and at that moment, she looked very much like her brother and twin, High Councilor Amador. Sharp-featured, dressed in black, a single heavy line between her brows. “Your Grace,” she protested. “The child is filthy. Surely a servant—”
“I’m perfectly capable of giving a child a bath, my lady Rondilla.” Queen Jehan’s voice was mild. How did she feel, Cas wondered, knowing Lady Rondilla had nearly married the king? Would have married him, if not for Brisa’s offer of peace.
“It is a commoner’s task, not fit for a king’s wife,” Lady Rondilla said. “Not in this kingdom, at least.”
Lena stood off to one side, pretending to eat the prince’s small fist and making him giggle. At Lady Rondilla’s remark, she looked over at Cas and crossed her eyes. Beside Cas, Ventillas tried to mask a laugh with a cough.
Cas barely heard him, his attention on the woman by Lena. She was not much older than Ventillas, small and pretty. Her dark hair looked as if it had been freshly brushed. It hung loose past her shoulders, so long it nearly touched the stones. She wore a white nightgown, similar to the one that had just been peeled from her daughter. Years had passed since Cas had last seen Lady Danna. She had been alive then. Not like she was here, pale and transparent among the living.
“Do you see me, Lord Cassia?” Lady Danna asked.
Cas looked away. He shook his head quickly, earning strange looks from Lena and his brother.
“A king’s wife?” Queen Jehan repeated. Her tone was less mild. “Do you mean the queen, Lady Rondilla? Your queen?”
Lady Rondilla’s lips thinned. “I only meant—”
“Am I only to be queen to a few? To the privileged and perfumed? Do I shun all others?”
Lady Rondilla turned crimson. “No, certainly not, Your Grace.” A quick, barely respectful curtsy before she hurried away.
With Clara, Queen Jehan was gentle but efficient. Every inch was scrubbed. The water quickly turned a grayish brown. The queen had pushed up her sleeves, which made no difference because the entire front of her dress was soaked from Clara splashing about. Clara kept reaching for Cas’ hand, then letting go when diverted. Her mother, Lady Danna, knelt beside the queen, unable to take her eyes off her daughter.
Lena appeared with an armful of clothing. “These are from Lady Sol’s granddaughter. They might be a little large, but they should stay on.”
Queen Jehan scrubbed Clara’s neck, saying absently, “Lady Rondilla’s ward is also five, dear heart. She will have something more suitable.”
“I did ask.” Lena’s voice was neutral. “Regretfully, her clothing could not be spared.”
The queen looked up at that, eyes narrowing. She made no comment other than to thank Lena.
The queen kept her words light as she bathed the girl, humming occasionally, and soon after, three musicians gathered and began to play. At the first sound of the lute, Clara, distracted by her ear being scrubbed out, bolted upright and stared, making those nearby laugh. She had not spoken a word beyond telling Cas her name.
Queen Jehan said, “Do you sing, Lord Cassiapeus?”
Cas opened his mouth, but before he could lie to his queen, Ventillas, playing a game of chess with King Rayan, answered. “Like an angel, Your Grace. If I had a brother to spare, I would have sent this one to the monks for their choir.”
Cas glared at his brother, who grinned while the others laughed. Queen Jehan, smiling, said, “An angel? Then you must sing for us.”
“Oh no. I’m not sure I remember—” His protests mattered to no one. Not even Lena, who put in a request. “Sing something cheery.” Clara watched expectantly.
“Come, Lord Cassia,” the head minstrel urged, “what will you sing? We will play along.”
Cas had not sung in a long time. Not since he had set off with his friends on a journey that had ended terribly. He was not sure he could still sing. Or if his voice would fail him.
Lady Danna spoke softly. “Do you know ‘My Horse Thinks He’s a Prince’?”
Cas snuck a glance at her.
“It was Clara’s favorite,” Lady Danna explained.