Page 78 of Crown of the Courtesan

He reaches out with his hand. “Tabitha…”

I take a shuddering breath and push past him, suddenly very aware—and very embarrassed by my outburst. Before he can say anything else, I leave him with his hounds in the empty garden.

He doesn’t come after me, a fact that fills me with relief as I sleep away the rest of the day, missing the strategy meeting and missing dinner.

* * *

The following morning, Valora is already waiting when I emerge dressed for training.

“Please, Valora…” I play with the curly ends of my braid, pleading with her, “Please tell me what is happening in my home court. I can’t stop worrying about Alexandria. It keeps me awake at night.”

She cocks a thin eyebrow. “Don’t⁠—”

“—Couldn’t you tell me a little of what’s happened since my disappearance? What of General Metalla? The missing women? So much time has gone by now with absolutely no news.” My complete isolation only worsens the looping thoughts about home.

“You know it’s forbidden.”

“If you trust me enough to train with you, then why don’t you trust me enough for this?” I insist, clasping my hands together. “I fail to see how hearing a little news will cause any harm.” Our budding friendship has to count for something.

She bristles, her tone turning sharp. “Do you forget I’m a general who held men killed by the stroke of your pen?” Her expression becomes severe in warning. “Just because my actions toward you are not cruel doesn’t mean you gain privileges that jeopardize my warriors.”

She sighs at my wounded face, hooks her arm through mine, and says quietly, “Come on. The others are waiting. We’re attacking with our shields today…”

* * *

I plan to demand information about Alexandria the next time I see Ashland, but I lose my nerve as we fall into a routine of tense tolerance for the next two weeks. We only talk when necessary and avoid anything that might provoke the other. Our conversations are limited to literature and Agatha’s cooking.

Every night, he shows up at my door with a new book, and it has been so long since a cross word has been spoken that I swallow my questions, unable to bring myself to ruin the tentative peace between us. Valora’s sharp rebuke isn’t easily forgotten, and I don’t wish to repeat it with Ashland when he can be far more cruel.

But cruel isn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe him when I hear scrapes of wood and twangs of chords being jostled down the corridor, making me peek my head out of my doorway to find Ashland and two manservants trying to awkwardly carry a large piano down the hall.

Valora rounds the corner behind them, munching on roasted chestnuts. She cracks the shell of another against her palm. “You’re lifting with your back,” she sharply informs Ashland. He adjusts his grip with a strained grunt, shifting the weight.

“What’s going on?” I ask, lifting my eyebrows.

“He said it’s for you.” She pops the chestnut into her mouth. “Hope you’re a good player. It’d be a shame if we went through all that effort of dragging this beast of an instrument from the basement for nothing.”

During dinner that night, I try to ask Ashland why he’s given me such a thoughtful gift, but he only evades my question, claiming he did it for selfish reasons—that entertainment at the castle is sparse, and I’m going to earn my keep. One way or another.

And soon, the easiest time we spend together is in the evenings while I take out my frustrations on the keys of the slightly out-of-tune piano in the drawing room. As a result, we don’t have to pretend to converse. I play, and he listens, sitting across the room, watching me as he sharpens his sword. Sheet music begins appearing in the novels he brings me, and on a particularly rainy night, I discover lyrics tucked inside. My singing must surprise him because he moves closer, putting his sword away.

By the time I’ve gathered the courage to broach the subject of Alexandria again, Ashland leaves for a mysterious expedition to the northern shore without so much as saying goodbye. He’s gone for nearly ten days.

When I hear of his return from the maidservants, I’m confused when he doesn’t arrive at the adjoining door to escort me to dinner like he usually does.

Rather, I’m left with a half-enthused guard trailing me to the dining hall. A roar of laughter filters through the corridor.

Am I late?

The table is already overflowing with commanders deep in rowdy conversation and platters of food. Next to Ashland sits a young woman with sandy-brown hair. Her skin is pale against dark eyelashes that land on cheeks sprinkled with a dash of freckles. She’s obviously a commander of some sort, as evidenced by the expensive gold breastplate she wears over the bodice of her brown corduroy dress. Her skirts end just below her knees and flounce over shortened, lace-trimmed petticoats. Knee-high pointed leather boots stretch out as she crosses her legs next to Ashland and rubs her foot along his calf.

They are laughing so hard with bent heads that they don’t notice me at first. It’s not until I’m standing there awkwardly that she peers upward, her eyes taking stock of my every detail—from my flyaway hair to my scuffed boots—before I sit down.

Ashland follows her line of sight, and his smile drops. “Ah, there you are. I’d like you to meet one of our spies. This is Adele. She and her entourage have just arrived from our outpost at the Citadel.”

“Only just arrived, but planning to turn right back around for our next mission once we exchange horses,” Adele chirps, placing a hand on Ashland’s chest. “By the way, your stablehands seemed insistent on making sure I knew what sort of exemplary care my horses would be in. I’ve never seen them in such a tizzy arguing with each other over who would take on the responsibility.” She rises, showcasing her petite frame, and fetches a new decanter of wine. Instead of returning to her seat, she lowers herself onto Ashland’s lap with a little bounce. My eyes widen—surprise flaring at this stranger.

As if this were a common occurrence when she visits, Ashland only half-chuckles, unaffected and almost bored, as he leans back. “The fear of displeasing a lady is a true struggle for young boys. Give them a break.”