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And yet... she was fundamentally an Ondocian. And a high envoy, no less. That meant she knew the value of a transaction. Of a contract. Of a trade.
“You know how to get the prince alone?” he said at last.
“One hears things.”
“And what is the cost for you to say what you hear?”
She smiled. “My, my. So rare to find a Mestibian who knows how business works. But to let go of such information, I would need, oh, the full details of Mestibes’s top three contracts this month.”
“Impossible,” he said with a hearty laugh, playing it off as though he was refusing, rather than the truth—that he didn’t know that information.
“Ah, I can see you are no fool, Herald. Well then, perhaps you can tell me a little more of your cousin instead?”
“Teigra?” he said, cocking his head. “Why should you care about her?”
“Why should you care about meeting the prince?”
And a clever snake at that.
He considered protesting. But Teigra had hardly been loyal to him. Perhaps it was time to even the stakes.
And so he told her. It was nothing dramatic. Nothing that might be used too badly against poor little Tiggy. Just her interests and the like. Some general comments on her personality—such as it was. Things that Fabulosa could have find out herself, with a bit of effort.
Fabulosa stopped at a fork in the road. “You are new in town, Herald. You probably don’t yet know where they serve the best drinks?”
“I do not,” he said, with a knowing smile.
“If I were you, I would go out on a Tuesday evening and find the pub that serves the biggest drinkers in all of Ardora.”
39
TEIGRA
The shock at the Garden of Plenty faded in the weeks that followed, until Teigra was almost begging for something interesting to happen again. The work of a low envoy was basic and repetitive—writing out contracts and drafting responses to invitations, reading through page after page of family histories, and making little notes for meetings she wasn’t allowed to attend.
Often, the gruff Mr. Placi was her sole company. Ms. Securia and Jaspar were barely in the embassy most days, heading out for lunches and dinners, for casual mugs of tangy posca at little farmhouses, or attending all number of ceremonies—weddings and promotions and good-natured contests over the quality of produce. Often, there seemed no purpose to the meetings at all, beyond simply being there, in the fray, making contacts and making friends.
And as the days passed, Teigra devoted herself to all these new friends in Ardora. After all, she couldn’t devote herself to her one true friend.
She’d barely seen Aurelius for a month now. He always left the compound before the sun rose and didn’t return until well after dark.
Once, when she’d been working especially late, she’d heard him limping through the midnight courtyard, grunting with each step. Unable to bear it any longer, she’d rushed outside to help him, clutching at his head, blood staining his tunic.
But he’d just brushed her aside.
She’d cried herself to sleep that night. But there was nothing more she could do. Ms. Securia was watching her. Those eyes saw everything. They bored into her like they could see her very soul.
And the future of House Cosmin lay in the high envoy’s hands.
Days later, she’d been lying awake, homesick in her room, wondering what Mother and Jaronas and even the nosy Tulla would be doing, when she’d overheard her two masters returning from a dinner party.
She knew she should have covered her ears, but the words made her listen even more intently.
“The girl is useless, Mr. Accola. Utterly useless. If only we had Ms. Mattic back.”
“Dorina returned to get married, Ms. Securia.”
“Typical. All these girls, putting marriage before their polity! Well, at least we won’t have to worry about that with this one.”
