Thornlost (Book 3) (10 page)

They were told about another surprise, and not the good sort. Touchstone triumphant, Touchstone celebrated, Touchstone recognized wherever they showed their faces in Seekhaven—but the coveted invitation to perform on the last night of Trials before the lords and gentlemen of the Court had gone to Black Lightning.

“
R
eady? C’mon, Mieka—mustn’t keep the Princess waiting!” Mieka growled wordlessly over his shoulder at Jeska. The masquer’s reply was a laugh and an echo of footsteps down the hallway. Mieka went back to fumbling with his jacket buttons. They seemed to have multiplied since the last time he’d worn it—what had been one dozen now had become at least three—and his mother-in-law had been careless about the laundering as well, because the damnable thing had shrunk a bit. Not through the shoulders, which would have interfered with his glisking and annoyed the piss out of him, but around the ribs. Which was just as annoying in its own way. Giving up at last, he wrenched the thickly embroidered silk from his arms and grabbed a green brocade shortvest to wear over his white shirt. He wouldn’t match the rest of Touchstone, and they wouldn’t present the elegant picture Kearney Fairwalk intended when he ordered the clothes, but that was just too bloody bad.

Always refurbishing their stage clothes, was His Lordship. White, black, various shades of gray; one set of outfits that featured the same jacket in four different but harmonious jewel tones; shirts, trousers, longvests, tunics—but not, praise to all the Old Gods, any more of those silly neckbands with the pleats. There was a newer fashion now, featuring cascading lace at the throat and, for the truly stylish, at the wrists as well. The former itched, and the latter was impossible to work in. Every time Mieka considered complaining, however, he made himself recall last summer’s little foray into a corseted blue gown and high-heeled shoes. Gods, what women had to put up with.

The green vest looked fine with the ruffledy shirt, he decided, although he had his doubts about keeping the lace cuffs out of the soup. He was trying to fold them up a little when a bellow of his name sent him running for the stairs.

His arrival was greeted variously. Jeska, who never cared what he wore because he always looked perfect, rolled his eyes. Cade, who fussed over his wardrobe in the belief that if people were looking at his clothes, they wouldn’t notice his face, frowned. Rafe merely arched a brow. Mieka glared at them all, daring them to say anything.

But as the silence lengthened—and he knew how effective a silence could be in theater, making an audience more and more nervous until people were positively aching for more words—he finally burst out, “There was a smudge on me jacket, all right?”

“I thought your mother-in-law took care of your frustlings and fripperings these days,” Rafe remarked.

“She does,” he affirmed.

“Not very well, evidently.”

“Not this time.” The slander made him feel a bit guilty, so he added with a grin, “But she’s a fantastic cook!”

Rafe’s mouth twitched. “Obviously.”

Stung, Mieka poked a finger into Rafe’s stomach. “Hark who’s talking!”

On the walk to the castle, Jeska shared the Court gossip one of his many lady friends spent her days collecting—for anonymous publication, and not in the
Court Circular
. Princess Miriuzca had recently been made a Duchess in her own right. “A title and the wherewithal to support it,” Jeska explained, “to pass on to any daughters. Not at all like Princess Iamina, who has naught of her own.”

Mieka laughed. “But she’s rich! Like all the Royals!”

Cade regarded him with something that wasn’t quite condescension. “The dowry all went to Lord Tawnymoor when she married him, didn’t it? And if she divorces him, he keeps it all.”

“So she’s stuck with him,” Jeska said. “And has to plead with her brother the King when she’s out of money. He must be tired of it, so he settled a Duchy on the new Princess to prevent the same thing happening with her.”

“That’s a scandal,” Mieka announced.

“In the impossible event that Blye and Jed divorced,” Rafe challenged, “who d’you think would wind up with the glassworks?”

“Blye,” Mieka said at once. “Because my brother knows I’d kill him.”

“Tell that to the law courts.”

“But it’s not fair!”

“So now you see why King Meredan dredged up one of the old extinct titles and gave it to Miriuzca, with all its lands and—” He broke off as Jeska smirked. “No lands?”

“No lands,” Jeska affirmed. “And there’s the real scandal of it, according to Court thinking. Instead, he gave her full interest in ten ships.”

“A Princess engaging in trade!” Waving a hand in front of his face like a lady fighting off a fainting fit, Cade grinned. “Once my mother hears, she’ll take to her bed for a fortnight with the shock!”

Another shock was waiting at the castle. Though Mieka saw it at once, none of his friends did. They were escorted to one of the small walled-in gardens that afforded what passed for privacy in regal life, made their bows, and accepted seats at a prettily decorated table under a chestnut tree. There were six of them at table, Touchstone and the Princess and Lady Dylas Clickpine, a
dark, shy little girl of about eighteen who said exactly nothing the whole while. Such seclusion from prying eyes and eavesdropping courtiers was a signal honor for which Jeska expressed their gratitude with one of those just-shy-of-incandescent smiles he used on lovely ladies who belonged to other men. A casual lunching of sliced fruits, chopped vegetables, breads, cheeses, and the latest in savory jellies was placed before them—no soup, Mieka was grateful to note—and as the conversation progressed along entirely conventional lines, Mieka decided that if the Princess wasn’t saying anything about it, then neither should he. But he knew now why she had a new title.

Only the thought of how excited his wife would be when he told her all about their lunching with the Princess kept Mieka from succumbing to boredom. He forced himself to pay attention to most of the talk, added a few stories of his own (those suitable for polite company), but was struggling against yawns by the time the sweet was served.

The servants withdrew to the doorways. So did Lady Dylas, at a signal from the Princess, with the only words she had spoken that afternoon: “Yes, Your Grace.”

Rafe smiled at Miriuzca and said, “Begging your pardon, Your Highness, but how do you keep track?”

She widened limpid blue eyes. “Of what?”

“Of who you are. In the last hour I’ve heard people call you six different things. Your Royal Highness, Princess, my lady, Tregrefina, Duchess, Your Grace—does anybody ever call you by your name anymore?”

She looked surprised for an instant, then burst into a deep, throaty laugh completely at odds with her cream-and-sunshine beauty. A girl who looked the way she did ought to giggle. That laugh of hers belonged to a much older woman… and a much happier one, Mieka realized with sudden shock of insight. Then he reminded himself who she was married to—to whom she
was married? Was that the right way to say it? Curse Cayden for making him worry about such silly things.

“One of these days,” Mieka said, “my lady Duchess Highness Grace Tregrefina Princess and all the rest, you’ll have yet another name.” When they all looked at him, he smiled. “There’ll be a little bit of a somebody racing about the Palace yelling ‘Mum!’ at the top of his voice!” He took it as a sign of how quickly and completely she’d learned to mask her true feelings that she didn’t blush, only laughed again. But she couldn’t quite conceal the sparkle in her eyes, and he took the wicked liberty of giving her a grin and a wink.

On the walk back to their lodgings, Rafe said, “All right, then, out with it. What was all that in aid of?”

“All what?” Mieka asked innocently.

Cade eyed him sidelong. “You know something.”

“I know many, many things!” He danced lightly round a watering trough outside a riverside tavern, like a Piksey round a wishing well—until Rafe grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and threatened to dunk him.

“River or trough, your choice.”

Mieka struggled, Rafe shook him, and finally he yelled, “All right, all right! I’ll tell you when we get back to our place!”

“You’ll tell us now!”

“Not in front of everybody in Seekhaven, I won’t!”

Upstairs, in private, with the door shut, he gathered the three of them close with a crooked finger and whispered, “The Princess is in pig.” When they all looked shocked, he made a face. “Thunderin’ Hells, couldn’t you see it?”

“Somehow,” Rafe mused, “the words ‘Princess’ and ‘in pig’ don’t exactly dance trippingly from the tongue.”

“Call it what you like. She is. Takes an experienced father to see these things,” he went on, and instantly regretted it when Rafe’s blue-gray eyes went blank.

“So that shine in her eyes is her husband’s doing,” Cade murmured, “but nothing her husband’s done—if you see what I mean.”

Jeska was frowning. “Why haven’t they announced it?”

“How should I know?” Mieka shrugged. “But she is, and it’s a thing I’m thinking will make us a nice profit from a few discreet wagers.”

“No!” Cade exclaimed, recoiling. “That’s disgusting!”

“It’s worth money,” he replied flatly.

“It’s also illegal,” Rafe said.

“So?”

“Don’t do it,” Cade warned. “I’m serious, Mieka. There’s no bookmaker in the Kingdom wouldn’t report you for trying to place a bet like that.” Pointing a long finger right at Mieka’s nose, he went on sternly, “Bailing you out of quod isn’t on my list of lovely ways to spend an evening. And lawyers come expensive.”

Another shrug, and a regretful sigh; might have been nice to make a little extra cash on a sure thing. He bared his teeth and pretended to nip at Cade’s finger. “Oh, all right. But here’s another thought. Briuly’s here, yeh? Let’s have him come on right after us when we do the show at the Pavilion, and sing them all out with a lullaby. The Princess will appreciate that.”

It was a feature of Trials that minstrels of all sorts roamed about, playing the taverns in hopes of attracting the notice of some lord who would offer employment. Most of the great landowners already had their own pet musicians, but there was always a chance of picking up some work. Briuly Blackpath was as little to be bought as Touchstone or the Shadowshapers, with whom he’d hitched a ride to Seekhaven this year, so despite his brilliance with the lute, he didn’t have a noble employer. Like his cousin Alaen, he played when and as it suited him. Rich he was not, but he kept himself in strings and tavern patrons kept him in beer, and he was just as happy to have it so.

Briuly had an advantage possessed by no other musician: He was known personally to Princess Miriuzca, for last summer he had been one of the party sent to escort her to Albeyn. Word had got round that at this, the first Trials she would ever unofficially witness, she had asked for him to be present, just as she had asked for Touchstone to be the theater group sent to her homeland. It was Hadden Windthistle’s opinion that Briuly was too unworldly to take advantage of this preference; Mieka understood this to mean that, like Cayden at times, Briuly was too full of himself and his notions of the Purity of Art to attend to the practical side of life.

When Touchstone reached the castle on the night they were engaged to play for the ladies, Briuly was already there, seated on the edge of the stage, spindly legs dangling as he played whatever pleased him at the moment and ignored the milling throng of Court ladies. Cade went over to him, bent to murmur something in his pointed Elfen ear, and Briuly nodded without breaking the complicated rhythm of his fingers on the lute strings. Watching this, Mieka shook his head and sighed resignation as he mounted the side steps and approached the glass baskets full of withies. The Blackpath cousins were two of a kind, no matter how little they resembled each other physically. Both were deeply in love—Briuly with his lute, Alaen with Chirene—and neither of them had any time or thought for anyone or anything else. In fact, Alaen had stayed in Gallantrybanks during Trials, for Chirene was there and Sakary was here and the silly giddiot continually cherished hopes of seeing her alone.

The ladies began to settle into their seats at the Pavilion, eagerly anticipating the shock of what they were about to see. They all wore the usual masks and veils, pretending that nobody knew anybody else and none of them were really here. Princess Iamina was as always identifiable by the jewel of yellow diamonds and pearls that fixed a thin silk veil to her high-piled braids, but this year she had competition regarding rank. For the first time
in Mieka’s experience—admittedly not extensive—the Queen was present at a performance. He’d never heard of Roshien’s attending one of these late-night pretend-secret shows. But that pudgy morsel of rose silk and wispy gray veils could only be the Queen, for everyone curtsied as they passed her, and again to the tall, masked girl in blue beside her. Mayhap Roshien was here because of the play’s historical importance. Mayhap she had been persuaded by her new daughter-in-law. Mieka smiled to himself, wondering how much of the Court shared Miriuzca’s secret.