“Are you going to tell her?” Nimbus asked.
The two were in Amilia’s office, finishing the last of the invitation lists for the scribes to begin working on. Parchments were everywhere. On the wall hung a layout of the great hall, perforated with countless pinholes from the shifting of guest positions.
“No, I’ll not add to that witch’s arsenal of insanity with tales of mysterious disappearing pots of soup! I’ve worked for months to put Modina back together. I won’t allow her to be broken again.”
“But what if—”
“Drop it, Nimbus.” Amilia shuffled through her scrolls. “I should never have told you. I went. I looked. I saw nothing. I can’t believe I even did that much. Maribor help me. The witch even had me out in the dark chasing her phantoms. What are you grinning at?”
“Nothing,” Nimbus said. “I just have this impression of you slinking around the courtyard.”
“Oh, stop it!”
“Stop what?” Saldur asked as he entered unannounced.
The regent swept into her office and looked at each of them with a disarming smile.
“Nothing, Your Grace, Nimbus was merely having a little joke.”
“Nimbus? Nimbus?” Saldur repeated while eyeing the man, trying to recall something.
“He’s my assistant, and Modina’s tutor, a refugee from Vernes,” Amilia explained.
Saldur looked annoyed. “I’m not an idiot, Amilia, I know who Nimbus is. I was thinking about the name. The word is from the old imperial tongue. Nimbus, unless I’m mistaken, means ‘mist’ or ‘cloud,’ isn’t that right?” He looked at Nimbus for acknowledgment, but Nimbus merely shrugged apologetically. “Well, anyway,” Saldur said, addressing Amilia. “I wanted to know how things were proceeding for the wedding. It’s only a few months away.”
“I was just sending these invitations to the scribes. I’ve ordered them by distance, so those living the farthest away should have couriers leaving as early as next week.”
“Excellent, and the dress?”
“I finally got the design decided. We’re just waiting for material to be delivered from Colnora.”
“And how is Modina coming along?”
“Fine, fine,” she lied, smiling as best she could.
“She took the news of her wedded bliss well, then?”
“Modina receives all news pretty much the same way.”
Saldur nodded at her pleasantly. “Yes, true … true.” He appeared so grandfatherly, so kind and gentle. It would be easy to trust him if she had not seen firsthand the volcano that lurked beneath that warm surface. He brought her back to reality when he asked, “What were you doing in the north tower last night, my dear?”
She bit her tongue just in time to stop herself from replying with total honesty. “I bumped into some guards delivering soup there in the middle of the night, which I thought odd, because …”
“Because what?” Saldur pressed.
“Because there’s no one in the tower. Well, besides a seret, who appears to be standing guard over nothing. Do you know what that’s all about?” she asked, pleased with how she had managed to reinforce her innocence by casually turning the tables on the old man. She even considered batting her eyes but did not want to push it. Memories of Saldur ordering the guard to take her out of his sight still rang in her head. She did not know what that order had really meant, but she remembered the regret in the guard’s eyes as he had approached her.
“Of course I do. I’m regent—I know everything that goes on.”
“The thing is … that was quite a lot of soup for one knight. And it vanished, pot and all, in just a few minutes. But since you already know, I suppose it doesn’t matter.”
Saldur studied her silently for a moment. His expression was no longer the familiar one of condescension. She detected a faint hint of respect forming beneath his wrinkled brows.
“I see,” he replied at length. He glanced over his shoulder at Nimbus, who was smiling back, as innocent as a puppy. To her chagrin, Amilia noticed that he did bat his eyes. Saldur took no apparent notice of his antics, then reminded her not to seat the Duke and Lady of Rochelle next to the Prince of Alburn before withdrawing from her office.
“That was creepy,” Nimbus mentioned after Saldur left. “You poke your head in the tower and the next morning Saldur knows about it?”
Amilia paced the length of her office, which allowed her only a few steps each way before she had to turn, but it was better than standing still. Nimbus was right. Something strange was going on with the tower, something that Saldur himself kept careful watch over. She struggled to think of alternatives, but her mind kept coming back to one name—Degan Gaunt.
CHAPTER 19
GALENTI