“I’ve no idea but in a little while a couple of guards will come by and take it. To be honest … I’m afraid to ask where it goes.” He paused. “Amilia, what’s wrong?”
Amilia stared at the big pot, her mouth partially open. Noise on the stairs caught her attention. Two men entered the kitchen. She knew them by sight. They were guards normally assigned to the east wing’s fourth-floor hall—the administration corridor, where she and Saldur worked. They recognized her as well and took a moment to bow. Amilia graciously inclined her head in response. Their looks revealed they found this courtesy odd but appreciated it. Then they turned to Ibis.
“All done?”
“Just a sec, just a sec,” he muttered. “You’re early.”
“We’ve been on duty since dawn,” one of the guards complained. “This is the last job of the night. Honestly, I don’t know why you put such effort into it, Thinly.”
“It’s what I do, and I want it done right.”
“Trust me, no one is going to complain. Nobody cares.”
“I care,” Ibis remarked, his voice sharp enough to end the subject.
The guard shrugged his shoulders and waited.
“Who’s the soup for?” Amilia asked.
The guard hesitated. “Not really supposed to talk about that, milady.”
The other guard gave him a rough nudge. “She’s the bloody secretary to the empress.”
The first one blushed. “Forgive me, milady. It’s just that Regent Saldur can be a little scary sometimes.”
Amilia agreed in her head but externally remained aloof.
His friend slapped himself in the forehead, rolling his eyes. “Blimey, James, you’re a fool. Forgive him, milady.”
“What?” James looked puzzled. “What’d I say?”
The guard shook his head sadly. “You just insulted the regent and admitted you don’t respect Her Ladyship all in one breath.”
James’s face drained of color.
“What’s your name?” she asked the other guard.
“Higgles, milady.” He swallowed hard and bowed again.
“Why don’t you answer my question, then?”
“We takes the soup to the north tower. You know, the one ’tween the well and the stables.”
“How many prisoners are there?”
The two guards looked at each other. “None that we know of, milady.”
“So who is the soup for?”
He shrugged. “We just leave it with the Seret Knight.”
“Soup’s done,” Ibis declared.
“Is that all, milady?” Higgles asked.
She nodded and the two disappeared out the door to the courtyard, each holding one of the pot’s handles.
“Now, let me make you something,” Ibis said, wiping his big hands on his apron.
“Huh?” Amilia asked, still thinking about the two guards. “No thanks, Ibis,” she said, getting up. “There’s something I need to do, I think.”
The lack of a cloak became painfully uncomfortable when Amilia was halfway across the inner ward. The weather had jumped from a friendly autumn of brightly colored leaves, clear blue skies, and crisp nights to the gray, icy cold of pre-winter. A half-moon glimmered through hazy clouds as she stepped through the vegetable garden, now no more than a graveyard of brown dirt. She approached the chicken coop carefully, trying to avoid disturbing the hens. There was nothing wrong with being out, no rules against wandering the ward at night, but at that moment she felt sinister.
She ducked into the woodshed just as James and Higgles passed by on their return journey. After several minutes, Amilia crept forward, slipped around the well, and entered the north tower—the prison tower as she now dubbed it.
Just as described, a Seret Knight, dressed in black armor with the red symbol of a broken crown on his chest, stood at attention. Decorated with a red feather plume, the helm he wore covered his face. He appeared not to notice her, which was odd, as all guards bowed to Amilia now. The seret said nothing as she stepped around him toward the stairs. She was shocked when he made no move to stop her.
Up she went, periodically passing cells. None of the doors were locked, and she pushed some open and stepped inside. Each room was small. Old, rotted straw lay scattered across the ground. Tiny windows allowed only a fraction of moonlight to enter. There were heavy chains mounted to the walls and the floor. Some rooms had a stool or a bucket, but most were bare of any furniture. Amilia felt uncomfortable while in the rooms—not just because of the cold, but because she feared she might end up in just such a place.
James and Higgles had been correct. The tower was empty.
She returned down the steps to the seret. “Excuse me, but what are you guarding? There is no one here.”
He did not respond.
“Where did the soup go?”
Again, the seret stood mute. Unable to see his eyes through the helm, and thinking perhaps he was asleep while standing up, she took a step closer. The seret moved, and as fast as a snake, his hand grabbed hold of his sword and drew it partway from its scabbard, allowing the metal to hiss, a sound that echoed ominously in the stone tower.
Amilia fled.