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He took Ilse and Valara up the main stairs, along a stone passageway to a wide corridor that extended as far as Ilse could see. The air felt cool and stale, as though few people frequented this wing.
Bassar stopped by a low square door, constructed of thick golden wood, and carved with leopards and other wild creatures. A young man in livery stood at attention, while from within came the murmured conversation of servants at work.
“My lady,” he said to Ilse. “Your rooms. I’ve taken the liberty of providing you with clothing from our stores, until we can supply you with better.”
Ilse paused before she entered. “And our cousin, the duke?”
“He has not yet arrived. I will send him word as soon as he does.”
An incomplete answer to all the questions she had, but Ilse did not insist. The man had told her all he knew, or that he thought appropriate to relay. She called up a smile, one appropriate for the trusted servant of her distant cousin, and passed through the doors.
* * *
VALARA ENTERED HER new rooms cautiously, taking in all the details.
A fire blazed in the enormous brick-lined hearth. Several maids had already arrived with hot bathwater, which they were pouring into a tub in the dressing room. Others brought trays of refreshments: hot soup, wine, steaming bread. Beyond, a low, arched passageway led into the bedroom.
She had not known what to expect of Miro Karasek and his home. Home. Her lips puffed in silent laughter. What an inadequate word. Her first glimpse had reminded her of the ancient fortresses of Morennioù, all bare stone, carved from mountains. There were no true mountains here, only pine-forested hills rolling away in all directions, but she could tell this building had stood through centuries, its floors and stairs polished by the passage of many, many servants and nobles. And this room … Only the multicolored woolen rugs and a series of round windows relieved the impression she had stepped into a cave, however bright and warm.
She disliked this separation from Ilse. She disliked more Karasek’s unexpected absence. Her thoughts ran through all the possibilities, none of them good. Karasek delayed. Karasek arrested on suspicion. Karasek betraying her to Markov and the council.
And yet, the steward had not questioned their poverty. He had not even asked to see the letter of introduction. Apparently Sovic’s judgment was enough.
“My lady,” the steward said.
His name was Bassar, she recalled. Valara nodded, not quite trusting herself to speak yet.
“I have sent word for a seamstress,” Bassar said. “My lord duke will make good your losses. Until then”—he gestured toward a trunk by one wall—“we can provide you with suitable attire from our stores.”
He paused, expectant.
I must get alone. I must think.
“Thank you,” she said, taking care to speak as Ilse Zhalina taught her. “I … I am tired. I need to eat and rest. Alone, please.”
She bowed her head, as if weary.
(Not a lie. She was weary—weary of pursuit, of dissembling every moment, even to her companions. Court had never demanded quite so much.)
“Of course.” Bassar motioned for the servants to withdraw. “If you should discover anything lacking, please send a runner. I shall have one waiting outside your door.”
The moment she was alone, Valara threw off her sodden clothing and sank into her bath. The maids had left an astonishing array of soaps and brushes and cloths. She used them all, reveling in a luxury she had not known since Morennioù.
Since Karasek had brought a thousand soldiers to her kingdom.
She shivered in the cooling water. Six months had passed since that day. She could not guess how many more until she regai
ned her homeland.
From far off a bell rang, rendered faint and dim by the stone walls. Valara rose from the bath and dried herself. The maids had hung a selection of clothes by the fireplace. She dressed in a loose gown and drew a robe over that. Her chambers were warm, but she needed the familiar weight of layers upon layers. It was the closest she could come to feeling at home.
Eventually, she remembered her dinner. She ate with little attention to the food, wondering what other plans Karasek had laid, what other schemes he had not revealed to her. Her thoughts drifted from Karasek to Morennioù and then to Jhen Aubévil, once her best friend in childhood, in a court where friendship was little valued. Later, because his father held great influence at court, and because her father valued that influence, they had arranged a marriage between their houses. Her sister’s death and her own ascension to heir had changed the balance but not the substance of their relationship—
Oh, but that was too painful a thought. She had last seen Jhen in the company of his father, riding toward the castle gates. Had they broken through the line of Károvín invaders? Or were they among the many dead she had passed on the way to the ships?
I cannot, cannot think of that yet.
She set her plates aside and paced the room. Her circuit took her past the doorway leading to her bedchamber. She flinched away from the memory of other stone passageways, other lives, where she felt imprisoned by walls and unhappy decisions. She paused by a tall mirror on its stand and examined her appearance.
