The Gypsy King (39 page)

“Truly,” he continued with an enthusiasm that Persephone found inexpressibly appealing, “you are a
most
uncommon noblewoman and one whom I would like to know better. I will be dining in state this evening so that my subjects may see that I am well, and if it would please you, I should like to have you join me.”

Persephone's heart swelled again—the king himself was inviting her to supper! Then she remembered that she'd agreed to share supper and “amusements” in the Regent's private chamber that evening.

“Not to worry,” said the king, upon learning of her prior engagement. “I will invite the Regent to join us, and we shall all be merry.”

THIRTY-ONE

“
I
DON'T KNOW WHY you agreed to accompany him to dinner,” said Azriel with more than a trace of complaint in his voice.

Persephone sat before the looking glass, admiring the job that Martha and the sisters had done. They'd all been frankly horrified when “Lady Bothwell” had returned to her chambers trailing a smelly mongrel and looking like something the cat dragged in, and they'd wasted no time preparing a bath and setting about the business of making her look fit for a king. Persephone flushed hotly as she recalled the expression on Azriel's face as he'd slowly emptied pail after pail of hot water into the claw-footed tub—half-amused that she'd been unable to come up with an excuse to entirely ban her Master of the Bath from the process this time, half-ready to explode with desire. Indeed, there'd been moments when she'd thought he'd fling the pail across the room and sweep aside the floating rose petals that were the only thing protecting her nakedness from his hungry eyes.

Pinching herself hard to force her thoughts back to the moment, Persephone tugged on the long, puffed sleeves of her silvery gown and said, “I agreed to accompany King Finnius to dinner because he is the king, because I like him and because it gave me a ready excuse not to spend an evening alone with the Regent.”

Azriel let out a loud, indignant huff. “I told you that
I
would come up with a plan to keep you out of the hands of the Regent.”

“And what plan had you come up with?” she asked, twisting around to face him.

Azriel, who was lounging in one of the chairs by the fire, rolled his eyes heavenward and sucked in his cheeks. “I was still working on it,” he muttered.

Persephone tried not to smile. “And what of the plan to rescue your little kinsman?” she asked, turning back around and reaching for her wine goblet.

“Figured out down to the last detail.”

Persephone choked on her mouthful of wine. “Really?” she said in surprise, after she'd recovered.

“
Really
,” said Azriel smugly. “Today, while you were out gallivanting with your noble friends and making moon-eyes at the king—”

“I was not making
moon-eyes
—”

“I learned that the dungeon is deep underground with a single well-guarded entrance—”

“Everyone knows that,” said Persephone, not bothering to hide her smile this time.

Azriel scowled at her before continuing. “I also learned that almost no one is permitted to enter the dungeon save
for the prisoners who are condemned to it, the guards who patrol it, the Regent and his general.”

Persephone frowned. “But if no one but them enters, how will we get in?” she asked.

“I said
almost
no one,” replied Azriel even more smugly than before. “Every second day, a pair of kitchen slaves is sent down to distribute bread to the prisoners. They will go down this evening; two days hence—which Meeka informs me is the king's birthday—we will go down in their stead, carrying their sacks of bread and dressed in their robes.”

“Why would they let us do that?”

“Because they dread and fear the task, and also because they will be stinking drunk on the fine wine that I will have given to them to drink.”

“Where will you get fine wine?”

“I will
steal
it,” explained Azriel with exaggerated patience. “I'm a thief, remember?”

“I
remember
,” said Persephone, bugging her eyes out at him before reluctantly picking up the amethyst necklace that the Regent had given her.

“Once in the dungeon we will search until we find the child—”

“They say the dungeon is a vast labyrinth,” said Persephone as she fumbled with the clasp of the necklace. “We could search forever and not find him.”

Azriel—who'd silently come up behind her—lightly ran his hands along hers until he reached the clasp of the necklace, which he deftly closed. He then placed his hands on her shoulders, caught her gaze in the looking glass and
said, “We'll just have to hope that doesn't happen, won't we?”

Feeling a little dizzy, Persephone nodded and rather breathlessly asked, “W-what if the guards who patrol the dungeon are familiar with the regular slaves? What if one of them notices that we aren't them—or worse, recognizes me as Lady Bothwell?”

Stepping away from her, Azriel began to pace the room. “Most New Men think almost as highly of themselves as noblemen do and therefore I sincerely doubt that any will have lowered themselves to familiarity with dungeon slaves. I also doubt their ability to see that which they do not expect to see, which is why I'm not overly concerned that they will recognize ‘Lady Bothwell' covered in ashes and dressed in rags. Moreover,” he continued, “since the king has insisted that free food and wine be distributed throughout the city in honour of his birthday, and also that processions, contests and entertainments be held both within the palace walls and without, additional soldiers will be needed aboveground to maintain order among the revellers. Therefore there will be fewer guards on duty in the dungeon than usual—a circumstance that further reduces our risk.”

“But what of the risk of waiting two days?” asked Persephone. “The risk to the child, I mean?”

“It concerns me greatly but I can see no help for it,” said Azriel. “The palace guards have a separate kitchen with poison testers so there is no way to slip them a draught that will put them to sleep and allow us to sneak past them, and a frontal assault on the dungeon entrance
would be suicide for us and certain death for the child. Waiting is a risk, but it is also our best hope.”

Persephone nodded. “And what if someone else ends up paying the price of seeing that hope fulfilled?” she asked quietly.

When Azriel looked at her uncomprehendingly, she continued. “Today I saw the bloody heads of six innocent men who were murdered because of the lies I told, Azriel. Those men's children are fatherless because of me—”

“Those men's children are fatherless because their fathers were murdered by the Regent,” said Azriel flatly.

“Because of my lies.”

“Because the Regent is
evil
,” insisted Azriel. “Persephone, I am truly sorry those men died but I will not accept responsibility for their deaths, and I will not allow you to do so, either. Two days hence we will rescue the little boy in the dungeon. We will do everything in our power to ensure that no one dies in the process, and then we will leave this place and you will never have to see the Regent again.”

Persephone nodded, not wanting to think about who else she might never see again after she left this place. “And what would you have me do between now and then?” she asked.

“Pray for the child and be charming to all,” replied Azriel. Then, lifting an index finger high in the air, he solemnly amended his instruction.

“Be charming to all,” he repeated, “but not
too
charming.”

As agreed, that night Persephone dined with the king, the Regent and all those who'd come to the noisy Great Hall to partake of a royal feast and get a glimpse of their handsome young monarch seated upon his golden chair beneath his purple cloth of state. Kitchen servants—all of whom eagerly watched to see how much the notorious Lady Bothwell would consume—presented dish after dish to the king, who dutifully sampled the contents of each, praised the chef and gallantly offered the choicest morsels to Persephone before sending the dishes onward to be shared among the other tables. He was unfailingly patient and gracious to one and all—midway through the meal, when a pockmarked servant accidentally dropped the roast beef platter she was carrying, he even waved away the furious, red-faced Master of Hall who'd come charging forward to berate the poor woman for her clumsiness. He then followed up this kindness by announcing that he liked the smell of roast beef so much that, henceforth, his juice-splattered shoes would be his favourite pair. At this, the Great Hall erupted in sycophantic laughter so loud that Persephone nearly inhaled a mouthful of pheasant.

After she recovered, she cast a sideways glance at the king and asked, “Do they always laugh at your jests, Majesty—even when they aren't especially funny?”

Delighted by her frankness, King Finnius threw back his head and laughed. “Always, Lady Bothwell,” he replied. “
Always
.”

To Persephone's relief, the Regent gave no sign that he was angry that his evening alone with her had been usurped, though Persephone was careful not to give him
further cause to feel slighted. She conversed with him as often as she conversed with the king and even passed him some of the choicer morsels from her own plate. It sickened her to have to dote upon such a monster—and to have to pretend to be enchanted by all that he said and did—but with two full days of imposture still ahead of her, she dared not risk losing his favour.

When the meal was over, the tables were pushed back against the wall, musicians were summoned and the ladies and gentlemen of the court were called to dance. Persephone—who hadn't seen the traditional dances performed since she was a child living in the master's house—declined to join in, giving the excuse that she was still bruised from her fall from the horse. Instead, she sat quietly by the Regent, doing her best to memorize the names and steps of each dance and smiling at the flushed king whenever he glanced her way.

“Are you sure I cannot persuade you to dance, Lady Bothwell?” he asked breathlessly, staggering over to her after one particularly vigorous set.

“I am sure,” she said, laughing at his bright-pink cheeks.

The king grinned like the boy he was. “Another time, perhaps,” he suggested.

“Another time,” she agreed.

“Promise?” he asked, turning his head to cough into the sleeve of his doublet.

Flustered, flattered and pleased, Persephone tucked her clasped hands beneath her chin, smiled and said, “Promise.”

The king beamed at her and the next moment was swept back up in the dizzying twirl of dancers. Persephone's eyes trailed him until she felt the Regent's cold black eyes upon her. Turning to him at once, she smiled dazzlingly and shrugged as if to say,
What could I do but humour him? He is the king
. The Regent stared at her for a moment longer before visibly relaxing, patting her hand with his own withered claw and calling for more wine.