Grace of the Goddess (The Death Dealer Book 3) (17 page)

              “You look like the cat that's got the cream. I take it no nightmares of death and destruction?”

              “No. The goddess Diggery gave me fine dreams last night.” Grace touched her lips. She could still feel the warm softness of Jack's mouth on hers.

              The wolf goddess promised to give her strength, and as she woke up she felt light, her heart swelling with love. Things did not look as bleak as they once did. She smiled at Cassandra.

              “Gods do make oddities into the people they've chosen. One day you are moping about or picking fights in the stables, and the next you are smiling and looking rather content with yourself.”

              “Gods are funny creatures, Cassandra.” Grace got out of bed, tweaked Cassandra's nose, and set about changing into her uniform.

              Cassandra rubbed her nose, acting as though Grace had left something on it. “I am glad to see you in better spirits. I thought maybe a return to old habits might dredge up terrible memories. I did not want to see you so sad that you wouldn't eat. Not again.”

              There were three men in the grave because of Grace, and the churned up memories put a damper on her good mood. She nearly scowled at Cassandra, but stopped herself. She forced a smile, but felt the corners of her mouth tugging down.

              “Don't mind me, Grace.” Cassandra pulled her into a hug. “You only did as any would have. Do not let me spoil your good humor! Think back on the lovely dream you were gifted.”

              Grace returned the hug and tried to focus her mind on the encounter with Jack. She wasn't sure if it was a trick of Diggery’s to ease her mind, or if the goddess had actually melded his dreams with hers, but either way it didn't matter. She found it hard to believe it was just a trick. His smell and kiss were too real. In any case, she felt satisfied that he was doing well enough that she didn't need to run to Glenbard to save him.

              Grace broke the hug and smiled at Cassandra without a hint of sadness in her heart or written on her face. Her friend touched her cheek and returned the smile.

              “I hear we are to receive a large gift from His Highness today,” said Grace as she continued to get ready for the day.

              “So Master Broyles says,” Cassandra replied as she made up Grace's bed. She had never been one to sit on an un-made bed.

              “Calvin thinks there is some mischief behind it.”

              “Broyles will have a fit if anything goes amiss for the wedding tomorrow, prince or not.”

              Grace fastened her sword belt around her waist. She combed out her hair and braided it down her back.

              “No needles today?”

              “No. I do not anticipate finding any fights today.” She grabbed her coat and slipped into it. Grace was ready to begin her morning.

              “No fights today?” Cassandra put a hand to her breast dramatically. “Those are words every lady's maid wishes to hear. She longs to know her lady won't be breaking noses and having hers broken in return.”

              Grace gave Cassandra a little shove. “I am not your lady, and you are not my maid. Come on then, I need to get to the stables.”

~*~*~

              Grace was excused from the morning ride to join Hoburn at the docks. It was a change Grace was happy for. She enjoyed the rides well enough, but today her mind wasn’t on guarding the riding party. She still lingered in her dreams with Jack.

              “You have a dreamy look in your eyes this morning,” Hoburn remarked as they walked for the village.

              “You and your wife are very observant of my moods today.”

              Hoburn shrugged. “I am just making pleasant conversation.” He nodded hello to some of the lumberjacks heading into the forest toward the saw mill.

              Grace did the same. The men passing them muttered hellos and went on their way. “How do you feel about duty in the village today?”

              “Gratified. I know how to speak to a sailor or a shopkeeper, but how does an unthinking brute like me talk to fine ladies like the duchess and her followers? Or to ride with those knights? They make a simple man like me feel useless.”

              “You talk and ride with Sir Leon and Sir Calvin.”

              “They are men of Arganis, same as me.” Hoburn smiled crookedly at Grace and she rolled her eyes.

              They went into the village and made straight for the docks, as the prince expected a cargo ship to arrive before midday. Prince Drake played his hand close to his chest, only winking and smiling slyly whenever he was asked what he planned to give Calvin and Victoria. Grace thought Calvin was probably right that some prank waited for them, but she was still excited. She would be among the first to see this mysterious gift.

              The ocean came into view as they approached the docks. Waves beat along the shore with an unceasing rhythm and the light spray caught on the breeze. The sun shone, the wind blew, and Grace sniffed the air, catching the tangy scent of saltwater. She shielded her eyes from the sun and scanned the water. A ship was visible, though just barely. Its sails were opened into the wind. It would make good time to port.

              Hoburn and Grace arrived at the docks, where they sat on empty crates and waited for the ship to anchor with its mysterious cargo.

~*~*~

              The ship threw down its anchor around noon. They flew unmarked white flags, which made Grace raise an eyebrow. Normally ships that came to Arganis flew the flags of Cesernan. The occasional trade ship came with flags from the Nareroc Islands, but she had yet to see an unmarked ship. Even bandit ships flew Cesernan or Nareroc flags to avoid notice.

              Hoburn looked just as confused at the white flags. They got off their crates to stand by the now lowered gangplank. The master of the dock, a squat man with gray hair tied into a ponytail, joined them from the little boathouse where he conducted business.

              “What’s this?” His eyes locked on the white flag.

              “We think this is the ship His Highness is waiting for, Master Kenneth,” Hoburn explained. “But there’s no accounting for flags of surrender.”

              “Ready your weapons, guardsmen, er and guardswoman. Haywin!” A young boy of about ten popped his head out of the boathouse. “Grab your sister and be prepared to sound the alarm if needed.” He walked to the end of the gangplank and Grace and Hoburn flanked him, hands on their weapons, ready to draw them if needed.

              “Ho!” Master Kenneth yelled. A few sailors were hanging over the edge, smirking at those who came to meet them. “Wipe those smiles off your faces! I demand to speak with your captain.”

              Some of the sailors shouted things back in a language Grace had heard before, but didn’t understand and couldn’t quite place. She frowned as she tried to place it. One sailor, a hairy giant with ginger colored hair, scooted away from the railing.

              “I don’t like this,” Hoburn remarked.

              “Don’t get all jittery, boy,” Kenneth said, but his tone wavered.

              A man of middling height, bearded with fiery red, thick, curly hair came down the plank. He wore a leather coat that stopped at his waist, and Grace noted the inside of it was fur lined. His wool trousers were gray, but Grace couldn’t see the shirt he wore under the thick coat.

              “Stop right there!” Kenneth instructed.

              The man stopped halfway down and held his hands up in surrender. “We have a delivery for Prince Drake.” The man’s deep voice carried across the docks. He talked in a lilt Grace knew from her time in Glenbard, but she still couldn’t quite place it. One of the eastern kingdoms, maybe.

              “I have orders from the prince with his seal on them, if you would like to see. Allow me to grab them from inside my coat.”

              Kenneth nodded and the man, presumably the captain, reached down into his coat and retrieved an envelope. He took one more step, holding it ahead of him. Kenneth took a few steps to meet him, snatched the envelope, and backed down the plank again. He looked it over, eyes widening with each word.

              “You have food for a wedding feast on board?” The master of docks looked up at the captain. Kenneth looked skeptical.

              “Food and my men.”

              Kenneth handed the envelope to Grace and Hoburn, but Hoburn grabbed it first and Grace pushed closer to him to look it over. The owl seal was on it, denoting official orders from Drake, but there was a second seal. It was in purple wax next to Drake’s, and showed two rearing horses with a crown between them. The queen of Sera had approved these supplies personally.

              Hoburn looked down at Grace. “You may want to run this to His Lord.” For all his silliness, Hoburn was no fool.

              “Captain,” she said, “I am taking these orders to my Lord George Hilren.”

              The captain shrugged. “As the lady wishes.”

              Grace took the envelope from Hoburn and turned to run back to the castle. All her good feelings from earlier in the morning melted away. She wanted to find Drake and box his ears for being an impudent prince. He of all people knew that trading with Sera was a punishable offense. Being the heir, he might escape with a stern warning from the king, but what about George or Leon? Or even Calvin? They were subject to king’s law and they couldn’t very well accept goods from a banned trading route.

              Grace picked up her pace and sprinted through the gates of the castle, followed by the calls of the guards in the gatehouse. The riding party was returning. She paid them no mind, even though Tristan yelled after her to mind herself among her betters.

              In the main hall, servants were getting tea and lunch ready for those who had just returned. Broyles was at the center of the activity, as usual.

              “Miss Grace, what demon has set a fire under you?” he asked, turning away from his duties.

              “Where is my Lord George? I need to speak to him right away.”

              “In his library, I believe, but what is this all about?”

              Grace didn’t take the time to answer Broyles. She took the main stairs two at a time and found George where Broyles told her he would be. Leandra and Deidre were with him. Deidre played chess with her nurse while George looked over his books. He and Leandra looked up at her, but Deidre simply moved her queen and proudly declared “check.”

              “Grace, you look as though you have seen a ghost.” George cocked his head to the side.

              “Might I have a private word, my lord?”

              Leandra moved to gather up Deidre, but George waved her back into her seat. “We will go into the dining room. Come along, Grace.”

              Grace followed her uncle into the private dining room, closing the door and locking it. George took his place at the head of the table and Grace rushed over and placed the envelope in front of him.

              George reviewed the note and said, “This is a trade order for grain, cabbage, salted meat, and a few other goods.” He looked up at Grace, giving her a look that suggested she was crazy.

              “But the seals…”

              He looked back down, examined the seals, and his mouth formed a very tight line. He sucked in his bottom lip ever so slightly and bit down on it. George pushed the papers away as though they contained a plague he might catch if he handled them too long. “This is treason! What madness is the prince thinking?”

              Grace heard something in the hall, and from under the door she caught a shadow. She blinked and it was gone. She remembered Katherine’s suspicion of her maid, Kara. Had Frederick sent other spies along with his son? Were there some already stationed at Arganis?

              “Lower your voice, my lord!” Grace hissed. “It may not be too late to undo this damage. Master Kenneth won’t let the ship unload. Send a writ demanding they leave.”

              “On what authority? If I show them my seal, what good will
that
do? This is a royal mark, and as such, only the prince can order them away.” George pinched the bridge of his nose. “Pox and rot,” he muttered under his breath. “Go back to your post and send Master Broyles to me at once. The prince probably made the order before the king outlawed such trade,” George said, although he sounded unconvinced.

              Grace bowed to George, opened the door, and scanned the hallways. The shadow was long gone. She returned to the main hall, sent Master Broyles to George, and continued on to the courtyard. The ladies and knights had already cleared out, probably on to lunch; only Drake remained, lounging by the gatehouse.

              “Has my present arrived?” he asked cheerfully.

              Grace turned her fierce gaze on him and then bowed to hide the anger in her stare. “It has, Your Highness.”

              He clapped his hands together. “Wonderful! Calvin need not worry about providing a wedding feast large enough for the village now.”