The Lascar's Dagger (24 page)

“And that is to be the Princess’s bride price?”

“Yes. It’s all agreed upon. The final documents will be signed when the Regal arrives. He will be on the ships that will escort the Princess to Ustgrind.”

“The Regal is coming
here
?”

“Well, not to Throssel. To Betany, I understand.” His thin veneer of sarcasm made it clear he thought Saker’s unthinking remark less than intelligent. Betany was on the west coast, a short sail across the Ardmeer estuary from Lowmeer, whereas a ship coming to Throssel would have a long sail around the south of Ardrone. Depending on the winds, that could take many weeks.

“He will not land on our soil, though,” the Prime continued. “The protocol is too problematic. They will be married on board the Regal’s vessel within a matter of weeks, and then sail for Ustgrind.”

“She’s been sold for a cargo of spices.”
And you are not a disinterested party, are you, you bastard? I heard you bought shares in the new trading company being set up here
…

“Not one cargo,” Fox said, unfazed. “Many. A fifteen-year agreement with Lowmeer, plus a land-based concession area, shipping berths and protection, all granted by the raja of the island to us and Lowmeer, at Lowmeer’s insistence. Doubtless backed up by their guns. Not to be sneezed at.”

He thought,
Juster will be furious. The King will be revoking his letters of marque once the agreement is signed, I’ll wager. Ardrone can’t sign a treaty of cooperation on one hand and have privateers thieving Lowmian cargoes on the other
. “One wonders what the inhabitants of Kotabanta think about their commerce being part of a dowry to a princess they can hardly have heard of.”

The Prime shrugged, indifferent.

“Well, I hope I can persuade Lady Mathilda that the trade is worth her sacrifice,” Saker said, even though just considering the idea made him ill. He clamped his jaw tight to stop himself speaking the angry words that hovered on his tongue.

“I rely on you to do that, Rampion.” Valerian lifted his drink in toast. “Here’s to a profitable commerce in spices!”

Saker raised his goblet in turn. The sip he took almost choked him.

Poor Mathilda.

He pushed that thought away and dug his nails into his palms as Valerian Fox began to tell him exactly what to say to the Princess.

Celandine the grey opened the door to the Princess’s apartments in answer to Saker’s knock. No hint of a glamour, or of blue eyes, or of beauty. Just sallow skin, a dull expression and a silent tongue. She was dowdy, always unadorned, so insignificant. He felt a pang of guilt. This surely was the kind of person a witan should reach out to in case they needed help. Instead he’d ignored her, disregarded her occasional astringent wit.

Looking at her now, he saw nothing to hint at the illusion he had glimpsed on board the
Golden Petrel
. It must have been lascar magic. Nothing to do with her. She had been holding the dagger…

He smiled at her and handed her a woven gift basket with a lid. “A new kerchief,” he said, “with my apologies for the ruin of your last one.”

She smiled then, but he thought it was more in surprise than in delight. “My thanks,” she replied. “I hope your hands are healing.”

He showed her his newly scabbed palms. “Sore still, but no signs of infection, thanks to you.”

“More thanks to the wine I put on them, in all probability.” She ushered him in and closed the door. Taking the lid off the basket, she peeked inside. He’d chosen a grey kerchief, guessing she wouldn’t wear any other colour, but he couldn’t resist one with white lace edging depicting oak leaves. It had cost him more than he’d expected, and quite a bit more than he could comfortably afford.

The corners of her lips twitched up. “Lace,” she said, and her cheeks flushed pink. “Are you tempting me away from my widow’s weeds and into the frivolous, witan? Reproaching me, perhaps, for my lack of ornamentation when in the presence of a princess?”

“Mistress, I would not presume to do either. Besides, the oak leaf is a symbol of the Va-Faith. It can never be considered frivolous.” He smiled so she wouldn’t think he was chiding her.

“I stand corrected, and will wear it with that in mind. Thank you, sir.” She inclined her head, and effaced herself like the mouse she was. When he noticed her next, she’d faded away into a corner of the room like a shadow, to sit with her head meekly bowed over a book. Probably her prayer book, although he was beginning to wonder if it was wise to make assumptions about her.

Princess Mathilda was sitting on a window seat surrounded by others of her ladies. She was examining something in her lap. She looked up as he crossed the room towards her. His heart jumped. She’d never looked so lovely, or so openly glad to see him.

Dear Va, what I wouldn’t give to have her look at me like that every day of my life
…

“Witan Rampion! I am so glad you’ve come. Look what we have.” She indicated the heap of feathers that struggled in her lap. “It’s a finch that flew into the room, but it broke its wing against the window in its attempts to escape. Is there anything that can be done for the poor thing?”

He heard resignation in her tone, but when she raised her face to him, her eyes were pleading.

He took the bird from her and examined it. “It may be Va’s mercy if we were to kill it painlessly.”

“They are such beautiful songsters. I cannot bear the thought that it will never sing again.” She stroked the head of the bird with her forefinger. “I have an empty cage right here…”

Knowing what he did about her future, he was unable to refuse her anything. “Very well. We can try. First, does anyone have a kerchief I can use to immobilise the wings?”

One of the ladies immediately produced a piece of fine linen that probably cost enough to support a working family for a month or more. Carefully he wound it around the finch’s body and tied it firmly. Celandine brought the cage and Mathilda placed the bird inside, where it sat unmoving, traumatised.

“Everything should be free,” she said. “I hope it knows we are only trying to help.”

Va have mercy, how could he tell her she was about to lose whatever freedom she had? Postponing the moment, he said quietly, “I’ll ask the gardeners to supply you with a selection of seeds and nuts, for I doubt it will eat much else. Keep it bound like that until the wing is healed. Then we’ll see if it can fly and be released back into the wild.”

One of the ladies cried, “Oh no! We must keep it in a cage so we can enjoy the song!”

“Birds sing more sweetly without bars,” Princess Mathilda told her firmly. “Should it heal, I shall let it go.”

“Truly spoken indeed,” Celandine said, coming forward to take the cage and set it back on its stand.

“Right now, it’s better covered, to keep it still and quiet,” he said.

Celandine placed her own shawl over the cage, then retreated again in silence to her corner. The others giggled and lifted the edge of the shawl to see what the poor thing was doing in the dark.

Under the cover of their chatter, he turned to the Princess and said, “I must speak to you in private. Could you send your ladies away for a while?”

Her mouth tightened as she absorbed the seriousness of his request. She shooed the women from the room, telling them the bird needed quiet and she wished to pray. They left without a murmur, although being alone with a man, even a cleric, was a breach of protocol for a princess. Luckily, none of her older ladies-in-waiting were around. One of them would have insisted on staying, for sure.

With a gesture, Mathilda granted him the privilege of being seated in her presence. She herself sat upright, her back straight, her hands neatly folded in her lap, her eyes round with foreboding. Still she did not speak, and he felt his heart twist.

He said, “I am here at the request of the King, through the agency of Prime Fox. His Majesty wishes you to know that he has settled on a husband for you. He asks that you accept his choice and remember your duty.” The words choked him.
You bastard. How can you even
say
them aloud?

She paled. “So very formal, witan? I think you have ill news for me.”

He ploughed on, each word bruising his soul. “The Regal of Lowmeer has asked for your hand and his offer has been accepted. Your dowry has been agreed upon and the monetary amount in jewels and gold has been received. The rest of the dowry concerns – concerns a trade agreement, as yet to be signed.”

She was quite white now, and her hands twisted in her lap. “How long do I have?” she asked in a low whisper.

“The announcement of the nuptials will be made tomorrow. You are expected to leave as soon as we have word that the Regal’s royal barque has been sighted at the entrance to Betany Bay. I believe you will be escorted there by Prince Ryce. The wedding will be performed by our Prime on board ship because the Regal does not wish to set foot on Ardronese soil. That could be as little as two or three weeks hence.”

For a long while she sat silent, her face hardening in a way he’d never seen before. “And you?” she asked at last. “What do you think?”

“Need you ask?” The huskiness of his voice betrayed him.

“Yes.”

He chose his words carefully. “The marriage of a princess of Ardrone is a matter of duty, not pleasure. Your late mother was sent from Staravale to marry your father. I doubt anyone asked her if it was what she wanted. Yet by all reports, she was content, even happy.”

“No one married her to a man more than thirty years older than she was.”

Oh, blister my tongue
. “Ah … that’s true.”

“Can you save me from this?”

“I? I have no power at this court.” Her lack of guile surprised him, even as the request ripped him apart. She couldn’t think he could offer her a way out, surely?

“Would you save me if you could?” she asked. She stretched out her hand and laid it over his fingers. The touch was soft, but it sent waves of tension rippling through him.

“That’s not a fair question.” He swallowed. “You know I think of you kindly and desire your happiness.”

“I know you love me.”

He was stilled, appalled at having been so transparent, terrified that she was outraged by his presumption. Fool that he was, he’d thought he’d hidden the depth of the affection he had for her. She sat regarding him with her lovely blue eyes, no sign of tears now. Her face could have been carved from cold marble.

He said, carefully neutral, relying on the formality of language to maintain his distance, “You are the daughter of the monarch to whom I give allegiance. As such, you have my deepest respect.”

“You love me. And I do not speak of your duty, but of your heart. I am not blind. Your eyes tell of your longing. Your body speaks to me of your desire.”

Abruptly, he stood. “It is not meet for us to speak of such things. No matter how much I revere you, you are a princess, and you will marry as the King bids. I am not even of noble birth. I – I will leave you now. Should you wish me to lead you in prayer, send word to my room and I will come, as always.” He bowed deeply.

He was halfway out of the door when he turned back to say additional words of comfort, and his gaze met Celandine’s. In shock, he realised she’d never left the room, but was still sitting in the corner.
How is that possible? She wasn’t there!

Aghast, he knew she must surely have heard everything they’d said. Her eyes – as grey as the rest of her – contemplated him with a complete lack of expression, as blank as a pane of window glass. Forgetting what he had been about to say, he left the room.

Va’s teeth
, he thought.
She does have glamour witchery.

It had not been the lascar’s dagger trying to bewitch him on board Juster’s ship; it had been Celandine Marten.

Sorrel hid her anger. It wouldn’t help Mathilda to know how enraged she was. But the thought was there nonetheless.
How dare they treat a woman, any woman, as if she was a commodity to be bargained for?

She said, “It’s not the witan’s fault, milady. He has no power to alter this decision.”

Mathilda, still seated by the window, did not bother to look her way. “Do you think me stupid? I know that.”

Then why were you winding him up like a clockwork toy?

“And what of Ryce? He must have known the details of this for months! It doesn’t even matter to any of them that the Horned Death is raging in Lowmeer as long as they get the kind of treaty they want,” Mathilda said bitterly. “I so hate being in their power. Sometimes I want to seize a sword and chop off somebody’s head.” She took a calming breath, and added softly, “I will sabotage their plans if I can.”

Va’s teeth, what was the girl planning now?
She knew better than to ask; she was not Mathilda’s confidante. She had to wait to be told, which might or might not happen.

Mathilda glanced at her then. “Don’t worry, Celandine. Sorrel. No matter who I marry, I’ll take you with me. In another country, you’d be safer. You could even use your own face and name, for surely no one in Lowmeer will have heard tell of a common landsman’s murder outside the petty little town of Melforn on the other side of Ardrone.”

And it doesn’t occur to you that I might have other wishes?
She stifled a sigh. Once you’d lost control of your own life, it wasn’t easy to get it back again.

The Princess stood up, and squared her shoulders. “One day I will have power. I will show them all what a woman can do.”

Pox on all royals
, Sorrel thought.
She’s up to something.

T
here was no way he could sleep that night. He tossed and turned, then walked about the room until his feet were cold and he had to return to bed. It wasn’t just thoughts of Mathilda’s fate that tormented him; it was the mark he couldn’t see on his hand.

A’Va had tainted him. There was only one reason he could think of to do that: he was marked for death. Sooner or later one of A’va’s bootlickers would take it upon themselves to rid the world of a witan believed to be a threat.
And how am I supposed to be a threat anyway?