The Two of Waters: discovery.
The appearance of something unexpected, or sometimes, recovery of something that was lost.
Having lost the great corset battle, Katrin avenged herself by laying out the stiffest, heaviest gown Arisa owned, and lacing it very tightly. But even the dark-brown velvet, with its stiff brocaded front panel, was better without corsets than the lightest gown was with them. Arisa spun, nimble in her stocking feet, making the heavy skirt bell and sway. Perhaps she would dance tonight—one of the simple dances.
“Stop that,” said Katrin sharply. “The prince will arrive at court soon; you’ve no time to prance about.”
Arisa didn’t care who engaged the prince’s attention, but she knew her mother would care, so she stopped twirling and allowed Katrin to dress her hair, fasten a necklace, and slip high-heeled shoes onto her feet. When she looked in the mirror, she forgave her maid for battles past. The rich brown brought out red lights in her hair, and the wide stripe of gold brocade that ran down the front of the bodice and skirt brightened the somber color.
“I look very fine, Katrin,” said Arisa. “Thank you.”
Katrin sniffed. “Even the scullery maid goes laced.”
“Then the scullery maid can neither move nor breathe,” Arisa retorted. If Katrin wanted to be miffed because the gown looked wonderful without corsets, then that was her problem.
Arisa’s uncorseted state didn’t draw a glance from anyone, even when she reached the gold salon, where the prince was “taking his ease” this evening.
Though her mother could move in her corset, Arisa noted. The Falcon was dancing with a man in the blue coat and white britches of a naval officer, his feet light in his polished boots. Only army and naval officers wore their uniform boots to court. Low-heeled boots. Arisa wondered if she was the only one who envied them.
The Falcon, always alert, saw Arisa watching and flashed her an approving smile. Because she was there? Because the gown looked so nice?
Arisa sighed. She’d have to approach the prince tonight, to keep her part of the bargain, and the Falcon would doubtless prefer to have it happen sooner. So why didn’t she cozy up to the brat, Arisa wondered crossly, instead of flirting with sailors?
But the officer didn’t look like he was flirting, his expression far too serious for someone dancing with the most beautiful woman in the room. Of course, Arisa reflected, she was also the deadliest.
Arisa wove through the crowd, which would grow denser as she neared the end of the room where Edoran sat on one of the few chairs. At least she had no fear that her mother would suddenly introduce her to a stepfather; she’d loved Arisa’s father too much for that. He had been hanged, when the old regent purged the navy of all the officers who’d been loyal to the admiral who had challenged him. The Falcon had watched the hanging, one of her mother’s men had told Arisa, her hand gripping the locket he’d given her and her face as hard as stone… except for the tears pouring down and down. She’d never cried since, they said, and Arisa couldn’t prove otherwise.
The Falcon had worn that locket when she’d stolen a load of gunpowder from a naval depot, or guns being shipped to the army troops who patrolled Deorthas’ borders, or especially when she’d relieved one of the king’s tax collectors of his strongbox.
She hadn’t worn it for the “ordinary” jobs, when the tax money was gone and the Falcon’s men robbed coaches to feed themselves and their families. Only when she struck an important blow against her enemy did the locket come out.
Arisa would probably never see that locket again, and she wasn’t sure whether she felt relief or regret. With the old regent finally dead, her mother was free to build a real life for herself— and her daughter, too, Arisa supposed.
But why did she have to do it at court?
No, Arisa told herself firmly, this was better—court and all. Perhaps one day her mother would introduce her to a stepfather. That would be another good, healing thing, though it would certainly feel odd.
“Why are you standing there, staring into space?” Weasel asked. “People are walking around you, like a statue in a town square.”
“I’m putting it off,” Arisa admitted. Weasel knew her well enough to understand what “it” was without being told. “Remember what happened last time?”
Weasel’s grin held as much sympathy as amusement. “Well, you can’t put it off any longer. Edoran sent me to fetch you.”
“Is he in arrogant mode, or weird mode?” Arisa asked.
Weasel frowned. “That’s not fair.”
Arisa waited.
“Weird mode,” Weasel sighed. “He’s still looking off to the south and he won’t tell me why. The last time I saw him like this, we heard later that a heavy snow had come down on a couple of mountain villages. Collapsed several buildings. But he says it’s not the weather.”
“Definitely weird,” said Arisa.
“Coming from Mistress I-Have-Withe,” said Weasel, “that’s a bit much. Don’t tease him about it. I think the servants used to, or someone did.” He turned and led her through the crowd.
“Withe isn’t like that,” said Arisa, following. “Lots of people have withe, some much stronger than mine. But I won’t tease him if he’s sensitive about it.”
Weasel smiled.
“No matter how weird he is.”
Weasel choked down a laugh, and Arisa grinned. But she’d keep her promise. It would be hard to have a… a gift of weather sensing that no one else believed in, especially as a child. She could all but hear some nurse saying, “Now, you stop making things up, Prince Edoran.” Or even worse, “Stop telling lies.”
No, she wouldn’t tease him. No matter how weird he was.
In fact, now that she was accustomed to reading that blank expression of his, Edoran looked more bored than weird. No wonder, that; most of the men and women around him were old enough to be his parents. In some cases, his grandparents.
The most important, most powerful shareholders paid their respects to the prince early in the evening, Arisa’s etiquette teacher had told her. These people must be them. And Edoran wanted her to interrupt them? He must be bored to madness.
But she was there—too late to run.
Weasel stepped up, right in front of Edoran’s chair, and bowed. “May I present Mistress Arisa Benison to Your Highness’ attention?” He could do an excellent noble imitation when he wanted to.
All eyes turned to her—impatient, critical, powerful eyes. Arisa stiffened her spine and stepped forward, careful in the awkward shoes. This time she wouldn’t fall. This time she would make her mother proud, instead of being scraped, scarlet with embarrassment, off the polished floor.
She took the final step and sank into a deep, graceful curtsy. And as she sank, she felt the stitches at the top left side of her bodice break—snap, snap, snap.
The sound was so soft no one else could have heard it. Arisa might not have heard it, if the sudden loosening of her dress hadn’t given it away.
She clamped her arm tight to her side, spoiling what her etiquette mistress called the “line” of her curtsy. Even so, two more stitches popped as she rose to her feet. The stiff front panel of her bodice started to gape, and she swept her forearm up to hold it in place, striving to look graceful, or flirtatious, or like she was going to scratch her chin—anything to hide the fact that her clothes were falling off. She stood perfectly still, afraid even to breathe. Her only chemise that was sufficiently low to accommodate this low-cut gown was far too sheer for modesty. Arisa had complained about transparent underwear the first time she’d worn it—but it was the fashion and no one was ever going to see it anyway.
The whole court would be seeing it, if any more stitches gave way.
Weasel’s eyes were wide with alarm, but he was as frozen as she. Arisa offered a heartfelt prayer to the god of the affairs of men to get her out of this.
Edoran made a soft choking sound and stood. His eyes weren’t wide, but narrowed in amusement—curse him. When he spoke, his regal voice gave nothing away. “I’m pleased to see you here, Mistress Benison. I wanted to thank you for… for your assistance with my research this afternoon. But alas…”
No one said “alas” in real life, not even in court. Arisa scowled. What was he up to?
“… I have no token suitable to repay a lady.”
The prince’s gaze roved over the crowd and settled on an elderly dowager.
“Lady Varent, may I beg the gift of your pin? I need a favor to bestow, but I have nothing to hand. You’ll be repaid for it from the royal vaults, severalfold.”
The dowager managed to look puzzled and simper at the same time. “Of course, Your Highness. Anything to assist your”—she glanced at Arisa, clearly not seeing her as courtship material— “your need.”
She pulled on the oval of rubies and gold that sprang from the middle of her bodice, and it proved to be attached to a pin. A beautifully, blessedly long pin.
Arisa closed her eyes and expanded her prayer to include the Lady, the Lord, and any other of the old gods that might care to take a hand.
She heard a light footstep, and opened her eyes. The prince stood a bit to one side, his body shielding the rent in her dress from the rest of the crowd.
“Accept a royal favor, with royal thanks.”
“Sure,” said Arisa faintly. “Whatever you say.”
His light hands pinched the top of the seam together. He inserted the pin and began to weave the point though the layers of cloth, neat as a tailor. His lips were only inches from her ear.
“Walk out with your head up,” Edoran murmured. “And if those catty girls try to delay you, say you’re on an errand for your mother and can’t stop.”
“Why are you doing this?” Arisa whispered. “Everyone will think you’re flirting with me, and those catty girls will tear me to shreds before I reach the door!”
“So tell them you are flirting,” said Edoran. “And that if they don’t get out of your way, when you’re queen, you’ll set them to scrubbing the privies.”
“I’d rather marry a toad,” said Arisa. Then she realized that might not be the brightest thing to say to someone who could still take back his pin.
“I couldn’t agree more.” Edoran drove the point through the final fold of fabric and stepped back. “There. It looks well on you.”
The rubies probably did look good, glinting between dark velvet and pale skin, but all Arisa cared about was that it felt secure.
“Thank you,” she said, with such sincerity that several courtiers’ brows rose.
“You’re welcome,” said Edoran. “You may go.”
He turned back to his chair, drawing the crowd’s attention with him, and Arisa fled.
She made it out of the salon without any of the girls trying to stop her, which was a sure sign that they didn’t know what had happened.
What almost happened, Arisa thought, hurrying down the corridors to her room. She owed Edoran for this, no question.
There was also someone to whom she owed a different sort of debt, and she wanted to pay it right now—but when she reached her room, Katrin wasn’t there.
Arisa strode to the door that connected her room with her maid’s, and threw it open so hard that it banged against the wall. Katrin had been sitting in a chair, reading, the very image of a loyal maid waiting for her mistress to return.
“You set this up!” said Arisa furiously. “You sabotaged my dress. Deliberately!”
Katrin laid down her book, rose, and walked calmly toward the door. Arisa stepped into her own room, and Katrin closed the door behind her.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mistress Arisa. Was something wrong with your gown?” Her voice was innocent, but malice gleamed in her eyes.
“Rot!” Arisa was so angry her hands shook. She balled them into fists and began to pace, fighting down the temptation to pound them into Katrin’s trim stomach. Not because she was averse to punching Katrin, but because she was so angry now that if she started, she might not be able to stop. The part of her that liked that idea, that wanted Katrin bloody and moaning on the floor, scared Arisa more than anything Katrin could do.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Arisa told her. “So stop pretending. Coward. Witch!”
Katrin’s eyes rested on the pin. “Why Mistress, did that seam rip? How embarrassing. If only you’d worn your corsets.”
Fury boiled in Arisa’s gut. She pulled the pin from her bodice, holding it like a dagger. “Get out. Get out of my room. I never want to see you again, not in here, not in the palace, not anywhere in the realm! You’re fired!”
“We’ll see about that,” said Katrin coolly. But when Arisa stalked toward her, she backed to the corridor door and then through it, closing it behind her.
Arisa looked down at her sagging bodice and knew she couldn’t follow the maid, even if she wanted to. Her whole body was shaking now. She sat down on the floor and burst into tears of rage and humiliation. Then she wept because the whole last month had been so horrible, and her life was horrible, and she felt horrible too.
When her sobs finally eased, Arisa discarded her soaked handkerchief and poured cold water into a basin to soothe her burning cheeks. Her eyes and nose were red and swollen. Her heart felt raw, empty of everything except determination— Katrin would pay for this. But if she was going to convince her mother to fire the woman, she needed proof.
With the bodice half-open, it was easy to slide her arms from the sleeves and turn the dress so she could unfasten and then examine it. Most of the stitches on the left side had already ripped, but near the bottom of the seam a section of thread was still intact… almost intact. Every other stitch had been severed about two thirds of the way through, with only a wisp of fiber left to hold it.
Arisa scowled. It would have taken a very sharp knife, a very fine touch, and several hours’ work to so carefully sabotage such a long seam. Evidently, Katrin had all those things. It was expert craftsmanship, she had to admit, for the seam was just strong enough to hold if she did nothing to stress it, nothing but stand and walk about. But the moment she bent or moved swiftly… It could have happened on the dance floor, Arisa realized. In the midst of exertion and concentration, she wouldn’t have noticed until her bodice flopped like a dead goose, right in front of all her enemies. Embarrassing her, shaming her mother.
Hmm. Katrin might have done it for spite—she probably had—but she’d put in a lot of work just to embarrass Arisa. And it would have, at least it should have, embarrassed Katrin as well. If her bodice had come undone in such a spectacular, public fashion, no one would have blamed Arisa for firing the maid who looked after her clothes.
Was spite over losing a fairly minor argument worth getting fired for?
It might be, if you were sufficiently stupid, but…
Was Katrin trying to accomplish something more than leaving Arisa half-naked in front of her enemies? Had she been trying to humiliate Arisa in front of her mother’s enemies?
What Arisa did reflected on the Falcon. Her mother had repeated that time and again, and Arisa knew it was true. That was why she kept trying with all this lady stuff.
But as far as she knew, the closest thing her mother had to an enemy was Justice Holis, and Arisa didn’t believe the justice would do anything like this. He might be ruthless, if he had no other choice. In his long career as a judge, he had doubtless sentenced men to hang. But he would never come up with such a petty scheme.
Petty and malicious; that’s what this was. And if Weasel’s mentor wasn’t either of those things, about half the courtiers in the palace qualified just fine.
The Falcon had been given the position of lord commander of the army and the navy, all of Deorthas’ military. The real commander of the army, the man who held their loyalty, was General Diccon, and Arisa thought he was content with his position. But Regent Pettibone had put men loyal to him in charge of the navy, and the Falcon and Justice Holis had fired most of them. Along with the palace guard, all its officers, and quite a few other government officials as well.
How many of those men had relatives at court? Relatives who might hate Justice Holis and the Falcon for their families’ loss of power.
For the first time Arisa understood what Justice Holis meant when he said his government was “precarious.”
But if someone had bribed Katrin to embarrass the Falcon through Arisa, there might be evidence. If Arisa could find it.
Arisa put on her robe, went to Katrin’s door, and pressed her ear against it. She heard nothing. Was Katrin reporting to her true master or mistress right now? Or was she in the servants’ hall, complaining? Or having a good laugh at Arisa’s expense? Her cheeks grew warm.
When she’d first moved into the palace, Arisa had envied the close friendships that formed in the servants’ hall. Friendships the nobles, intent on their rivalries, almost never managed. The servants had their own quarrels, but they would close ranks against an outsider. Arisa would have to prove any accusation she made, or she’d be accused of making the whole thing up to get back at her maid. And all the servants would turn on her.
She knocked softly. If Katrin was there, she might think Arisa was about to apologize—and she’d never do that! Not for anything! She could say that she wanted to be sure Katrin was packing.
No sound. No answer. Arisa knocked again, then tried the doorknob. Locked.
Arisa frowned. She didn’t remember Katrin locking the door when she came into Arisa’s room, but she’d been so angry she might have missed it. And it would have been easy for Katrin to return to her room through the corridor and lock the door, unheard, while Arisa was bawling. But why would she?
If this door was locked, the door in the corridor probably was too. Arisa didn’t have Weasel’s skill with a lock pick, but she didn’t need it—the keys to all the doors that led into her room were in her jewelry box. She’d never used them before, but she had cause enough now!
The second key she tried opened the door.
“Katrin?” she called softly. “I just wanted…”
No need for a lie; the room was empty.
Arisa stepped in and looked around. She had never been in her maid’s room before today—even when they weren’t fighting, she and Katrin hadn’t been friends.
It was smaller than Arisa’s room, though not as small as she’d expected. It held a bed, with a chest at the foot, a wardrobe, a stand and washbasin, and the upholstered chair with footstool where Katrin had been reading. The chair looked a bit lumpy, and the upholstery was patched.
Arisa went first to the chest. If Katrin had any papers, they would probably be there. Her heart pounded as she lifted the lid. She could explain her presence in her maid’s room, but Arisa had no excuse for going through her things. A hat, broad-brimmed straw to protect a white complexion from the sun. Come summer, no doubt, Katrin would be nagging Arisa to wear one. Beneath it Arisa found several more books, blank paper and ink, and a purse that jingled when she lifted it. A spool of half-finished lace and a well-stocked sewing kit that contained, among other things, a small sharp knife. Although her lips tightened, Arisa replaced it in the tidy kit. By itself, the knife proved nothing.
There was also a doll, some inexpensive jewelry, and a number of personal items, things you’d expect to find in any female servant’s room. No contract offering Katrin a hundred gold blessings for making the Falcon’s daughter look like a clumsy, ignorant fool. A contract signed, of course, by both parties.
Arisa sighed. Had she really expected to find such a thing? Katrin was petty and malicious—or a highly competent traitor— but she wasn’t an idiot.
Arisa replaced everything carefully in the chest and went to the wardrobe. Probably nothing there but clothing, and Katrin might return at any time, but she knew she should look.
Smaller hats on the top shelf, dresses, skirts, blouses, petticoats. Arisa’s eyes slipped over the shoes so quickly she almost missed it. Mud. A pair of worn sturdy shoes, thrust toward the rear, crusted with dried mud.
Arisa picked one up and examined it, the dirt gritty against her palms.
Weasel would tell her that there were dozens of reasons for Katrin to have muddy shoes. She might have gone for a walk in the garden after a rain. Or had to run an errand in bad weather. Or, or, or…
Arisa knew that Katrin was the one who’d climbed up over her balcony after the last big storm. Katrin, who was sneaking out of the palace, not because she was meeting a young man but because she was up to something.
Perhaps she shouldn’t ask her mother to fire the maid after all. Because if she didn’t, the next time Katrin went out, Arisa could follow her.
