The butterfly cloak! ‘No. Never. It takes my breath away.’ She watched me closely as I stared about wide-eyed. I stooped and tried to touch a flower. Cold stone and a tingle of magic up my finger. I drew back from it.
‘Ah, well.’ Her tone was dismissive. ‘It’s impressive the first time one sees it, I suppose. They were an interesting people. But pretty trickery of this sort was not worth dealing with their self-importance, or their dragons. They exhausted our tolerance. Come. We will eat now.’
There was a table with a white cloth on it and two chairs. There were two plates on the table, and cutlery and glasses. Against the wall, two men stood, holding trays. They were dark-haired and dark-eyed, and for one moment it felt as if I had come home. ‘Please, be seated at the table,’ Capra said. ‘You are my guest today. Let us share a meal.’
I moved cautiously toward the table. My guard closed the door and took a place beside it. Capra gracefully took her seat. I set my sandals below my chair, and then carefully sat with my candle beside me. I folded my hands at the table’s edge and waited.
‘Well. Not entirely unmannered, I see.’ She gave a casual flip of her hand toward the waiting servants and they advanced to the table. Food was set before me and my glass was filled. I waited, watching Capra. I suddenly felt that I represented not only Withywoods but all the Six Duchies. I would not behave like an unmannered dolt.
She took a damp cloth from a covered dish on her right and carefully wiped her hands, paying special attention to her fingers. I imitated her and returned the cloth to the dish as she did. She picked up a utensil that baffled me, and speared a chunk of pale flesh on her plate. I copied her, chewing the bite I took as slowly as she did although it was cold and tasted strongly of fish. ‘Tell me about yourself,’ she invited me after the third bite. ‘You are no servant’s child. Who are you?’
I had just swallowed a square of something yellow and sticky. It had been sweet and only sweet, with no other flavour to it. I sipped water to clear my mouth and let my eyes wander the extraordinary room. I decided on the truth. Or some of it. ‘I am Bee Badgerlock, of Withywoods. My mother was Lady Molly Chandler, wed to Tom Badgerlock. We are landed gentry. My mother died recently. I lived with my father and our servants. I led a pleasant, peaceful life.’
She was listening. She took a small bite of something and nodded to me to go on.
‘On a day when my father was away, as we prepared for a holiday, Dwalia came with her luriks and a troop of Chalcedean mercenaries. She slaughtered my servants and set fire to my stables and kidnapped me. She brought me here.’ I took another bite of the unpleasant fish, chewed it slowly and swallowed it before I added, ‘If you will send word to my father, it is likely he will ransom me.’
She set down her utensil and looked at me carefully. ‘Would he?’ She tilted her head. ‘Your father would come himself to get you, do you think?’
It was no time to share my doubt. ‘He is my father. He would.’
‘Then your father is not FitzChivalry?’
I replied truthfully, ‘I have always heard him called Tom Badgerlock.’
‘And Beloved is not your father either?’
I gave her a puzzled look. ‘I love my father.’
‘And his name was Beloved.’
I shook my head. ‘I have known no one that answers to such a name. Beloved? In my country, sometimes the princes and princesses are given such names. Loyalty or Benevolent. But not such as I.’ Nor my sister, it suddenly occurred to me. Nettle and Bee. Never to be princesses. That bothered me for an instant but, Do not be distracted by self-pity. You are in danger, in the very jaws of a trap. Watch your enemy!
To hear Wolf Father so plainly made me braver. I sat up straighter.
She nodded to herself. ‘Unfortunately, we are unlikely to ask a ransom of your father. To send a messenger so far on such an uncertain errand would be more expensive than any ransom we could wring from him. Late last night, after some earnest counselling, Dwalia admitted that she knew you were female for months. But instead of admitting her mistake then she chose to bring you here, regardless of the loss of luriks and horses! She also conceded that while she once believed she would find the Unexpected Son at Withywoods, she now believes you are no such thing. She concedes to an opinion I have long held, that the Unexpected Son was Beloved’s Catalyst. A man named FitzChivalry.
‘From Vindeliar, however, we have wrung a different tale. He still believes you are the Unexpected Son. And he claims that you are capable of magic and full of sly trickery.’
On the wall, I had another glimpse of the predator. It was a cat. It sprang, missed and a large bird flew up. I spoke carefully. ‘Vindeliar is full of peculiar ideas. When he helped capture me, he called me his “brother”. And even after they knew I was a girl, he called me “brother” still.’ I gave her my best perplexed expression. ‘He is a very strange man.’
‘So. He is mistaken about your magic?’
I looked down at my plate and then back up at her. I was still hungry but the food was so foreign to me that it was hard to eat it.
Wolf Father whispered to me. Eat it. Fill your belly with anything. In this place, you can’t depend on anyone to feed you. Stuff yourself while you can.
I ate two more bites, trying not to make a disgusted face as I got it down. I hoped I looked thoughtful. Then I replied, ‘If I had any magical power, would I be here? A prisoner, far from my home?’