“Please, call me Jo,” she said for what felt like the hundredth time. Straightening and rolling her aching shoulders, she glanced from the entry passage into the thronged Great Hall.
Actually, it probably was the hundredth time. Her parents were hosting the first major Midwinter party of the season, and it seemed as though they had invited everyone who was anyone at the Valdemaran Court—and many of those must have accepted. The rooms were packed with nobles and important merchants and courtiers, and her parents had insisted that she stand with them to receive all their guests. It wouldn’t be so bad, if her parents didn’t also insist on using her full given name—Lady Jhosan Amberdale—which, when pronounced the way they intended, “chosen,” made every introduction emphasize the fact that she was clearly not Chosen.
Even when my parents seem to accept that I will not be the next “Amberdale Herald,” they still are pointing out my failings. It stung in a deep and bitter way, that even though Jo knew the life of a Herald was utterly wrong for her, her parents felt being a Herald was her only destiny. Nearly every generation of Amberdales for several hundred years had contained at least one Herald, and her parents had been determined that she would be the next one. She had been tutored with that aim, had been a Blue studying at the Collegium for years despite her rank, all to keep her near the Companions, as though proximity was the main thing driving their Choice.
Now that my brother is married and settled, my parents’ focus is all on me. Whether that’s a good thing or not remains to be seen.
Jo dragged her thoughts back to the party. Lord and Lady Amberdale had just finished chatting with the newest arrivals, and they turned their attention to their daughter.
“I think that’s the last of them,” Lady Evie said. She smiled a little at the relief that crossed Jo’s face. “Yes, Jhosan, you may go find your friends. Just don’t forget to come back to us before we move in to dinner.” She waved one hand in a shooing motion, and Jo didn’t wait for further permission.
It’s not as though they’re unkind, Jo thought as she maneuvered through the crowded hall to the library, where she was sure her friends would be waiting. They just don’t understand.
Every corner, every beam, every table of the public areas of the mansion had been decorated for Midwinter. This year, her mother had decided on a theme of ice and snow, even though the actual weather had been unusually mild. Silver snowflakes and glass and crystal icicles glittered, hanging from fresh fir garlands and branches that released their crisp scent as the air warmed. The indoor wintry wonderland effect had elicited many compliments, and Jo had seen several ladies, whose own parties were still to come, studying the garlands as though calculating the costs of replicating them.
Passing through the door into the library, she went from winter fantasy to solid indoor comforts: plush velvet and warm firelight (well-screened to prevent accidents among the books), and a spicy perfumed air from the incense Lady Evie had used before the gathering.
“They finally let you escape, eh?” As she’d expected, several of her friends had gathered here, where it was quiet and uncrowded. The speaker was a lanky girl in Trainee Grays, Jo’s closest friend in the Collegium. Tyria was a distant cousin, and although she didn’t have the Amberdale surname, she did have their dark golden hair, where Jo’s was a deep nut-brown. Jo was certain Tyria could stand as the Amberdale Herald for this generation, but Lord Jaren and Lady Evie had never agreed.
“The important guests are all here by now, so they didn’t see the point in all of us standing in the coldest part of the house any longer,” she replied, rubbing her hands together in front of the firescreen.
“Ha, we’ll get you warm again!” cried Kosti, and he gave her a handled mug that he pulled from the corner of the firescreen. She lifted it to her face and inhaled deeply of the redolent spice of mulled cider, closing her eyes and smiling. Cradling the warm mug in her cold fingers, she took a sip, then blinked.
“You’ve put more into this than cider!” she scolded, and laughter surrounded her.
“Of course,” said Kosti, his blue eyes sparkling. “It wouldn’t be a Midwinter party without a bit of stronger drink!”
“Don’t worry,” Tyria added, “I poured it myself, so it’s not as potent as if Kosti held the liquor bottle! Now, we’ve got the gameboards all set up, so we can play at Tables until . . .” She let her voice trail off.
“Until I have to find my parents before we go in to dinner. A candlemark or so, I think,” Jo replied.
The others nodded, and the six of them sat down at three small tables, where game boards with pegs were already set up. Jo paired with Kosti for the first round, while Tyria matched wits with Geren, and Demi faced Cendro.
“Is Lady Millia here?” Kosti tried to use an undertone, but the room was so quiet as the dice rolled and markers were moved that everyone heard him anyway, and he blushed at the good-natured teasing that followed.
“Yes, she’s here, and her father is keeping her close by his side. He knows she’ll flirt with every male present if given a chance, and who knows what trouble she’ll get into.” Jo tried to keep her voice from sounding too irritated. Lady Millia Hereval was nice enough, and Jo was friendly with her, but she was also an attractive heiress and therefore a target for every poor noble in Court—and most of the rich ones, too. The fact that she was a flirtatious featherhead meant her father had his hands full trying to keep her suitors in line. Jo didn’t understand Kosti’s infatuation with the girl, but she was quite certain it would lead nowhere. Her friend, a younger son of minor nobility, was precisely the kind of partner Lord Delv did not want for his daughter—young and without either influence or wealth of his own. And Lady Millia herself had shown no interest in Kosti other than welcoming his flattery as she did that of every man in her circle.
Several rounds later, Geren was declared the victor for the evening, and Jo left the group in search of her parents. When she didn’t find them in any of the decorated rooms thronged with guests, she returned to the entry hall, wondering if there had been some latecomers to draw them away from the gathering. That chamber, too, was empty, but she stood for a moment in one of the corners, enjoying the silence. Even the conviviality of her friends was wearing on her, and she closed her eyes, breathing in the pine scent from a nearby tree, which her mother had ordered cut and brought in from their farm estate just the day before.
“She’s a fool, and she’ll be shown up for it, right enough.” The harsh tone startled her, and she instinctively shifted deeper into the corner behind the tree, tucking her skirt around her and turning her face to the wall, peeking sidelong to the entrance behind her. Two men had entered and stood inside the doorway, just past where they could be easily seen from the Great Hall. They kept their voices low, but she’d always had keen hearing.
“I don’t want her hurt.” This was a younger voice, one that seemed vaguely familiar to her. A subtle whine inflected the words.
“No, nothing permanent, but her father’ll be looking on your suit with favor afterward.” There was a slight accent in the deeper voice, but it was neither the throatiness of Karse, nor the lilt of the Tayledras. Hardornen, perhaps?
“What must I do?”
“I’ll tell you at the Delamers’ party. By then I’ll have the arrangements made for the Court feast.”
The two figures separated, the larger, presumably the older speaker, disappearing out the front door while the slighter man returned to the party.
Jo stood in the entry hall for a few minutes, calming her racing mind. She thanked the gods she had insisted on wearing her dark green gown rather than the silvery one her mother had preferred. Silver was too close to Trainee Grays for her taste anyway, but it would have stood out sorely from behind even this thickly needled tree.
The two men had to have been talking about Lady Millia—her father’s determination that she have a wealthy and powerful husband was well known. And no one as young as the whiny man had sounded would have the influence to satisfy Lord Delv, even if he had wealth. But what were they plotting? Not an abduction, nor rape, unless that wouldn’t qualify as “permanent damage” in the older man’s mind. Scandal of some sort was the only thing that made sense.
Her mind was still spiraling over these thoughts when she decided it was safe enough to return to find her parents, that the younger man had disappeared among the guests and wouldn’t notice her emergence from the hall where he had just been. Lord and Lady Delamer were hosting their party in a sevennight, and the Royal Feast, the highlight of Midwinter Holiday, was another sevennight after that. Less than a fortnight, then, to figure out what was going on and what to do about it. Lady Millia might be a silly young woman, but she didn’t deserve to have her prospects constrained by a false scandal.
I can’t go to the Guard, not with so little as I know, just a fragment of an overheard conversation. Who would believe me? She glimpsed her mother surveying the guests from the other side of the room, a delicate frown barely hinted at in the crease of her brow, and hurried over, her stomach sinking.
“I am sorry I was delayed, Mother,” she murmured. “I became overheated in the library and needed to step out for some air.” It was mostly true, and her mother nodded shortly.
“Your father is waiting for us outside the dining hall,” Lady Evie said, her voice clipped with impatience, and she turned and led the way through the crowd.
Fortunately, Jo was seated between Tyria’s parents at dinner, and the two of them kept up a brisk enough conversation that she had only to offer an occasional comment or question and could keep mulling over the overheard exchange. By the time dinner had ended, she had come up with a plan.
She wouldn’t tell her friends, at least not yet. Kosti had never been able to keep secrets or dissemble. Even Tyria, who was almost a Herald and as such honor-bound to protect the innocent, would want to get others involved, or go to the Guard, and Jo was back up against the barrier of how little information she really had. No, first she would go to all the Midwinter parties she’d been invited to, including the Delamers’, to listen for that voice and try to at least figure out who the younger man was. If she was lucky, she’d find out who the older man was, or what they had planned for the Delamer’s party.
Then . . . well, she’d figure the rest out then.
The day of the Delamers’ Midwinter party dawned cloudy and cold, gray clouds threatening all morning until at last, in the midafternoon, the first flakes began to drift to earth. Jo watched them through her bedroom window, her breath fogging the glass as she leaned forward so her eyes could follow one particularly fat snowflake all the way down to the courtyard below, where it soon melted on the paving stones. The mild early days of winter meant that the ground had not yet frozen through, but all the old gran’thers tucked in the warmest corners claimed their bones were saying the cold was coming and that the Terilee River would be frozen soon.
Jo sighed, idly drawing a pattern in the fog her breath created on the glass. Never had the chaotic round of Midwinter parties seemed so exhausting. In years past, she might have skipped a few of them, or only been part of the main throng for a brief time before escaping to a quiet corner with Tyria and the rest. This year, she had attended every single one she’d been invited to and had quietly inserted herself into Lady Millia’s set of friends. The Amberdale name was powerful enough that Lady Millia welcomed her company—indeed, if her older brother hadn’t been married last year, Jo suspected he would have been a prime target for Lord Delv’s ambitions. Jo’s own friends were a bit puzzled by her absence from their group, but her frequent visits to the Hereval estate passed without much comment.
One good thing had come from being so involved in the social whirl, though. She was certain that the younger man who wanted to force Lady Millia’s hand was Rix Ultare, another younger son like Kosti. Rix, too, hovered around the edges of Millia’s circle and was alternately flirted with and ignored, like all the other young men. Only Jo, because she was looking for it, saw the quick flash of anger in his eyes whenever Millia turned away from him. He kept the petulant whining tone from his voice when he spoke, but Jo was positive it was the same one she had heard in her parents’ entrance hall.
And Jo had managed to intercept a gift with a message that had been left for Millia during morning visits, tucked in the corner of her favorite windowsill in the Herevals’ smaller sitting room. It was a clever carved cat figurine, with a note that read “With fondest Midwinter thoughts from your admirer, your precious pet.” She had retied the note around the figure and placed it back in the corner just before Millia had entered the sitting room. Jo had noted how Millia’s eyes went straight to that windowsill, how they had brightened a little and a light flush touched her cheeks, but she did not move directly to retrieve it. It had been much later that she had gone to the window as though to look out, placing her hands on the sill and subtly pocketing the figurine.
So, Jo thought, retracing the swirls of her finger on the glass, the plan must be to woo her into indiscretion by luring her with gifts and notes from a secret admirer. I wonder what other nonsense they have written to her, that she responded with a blush. Tonight, she would be at the Delamers’ mansion early, so she might see all of Lady Millia’s encounters, as well as watch for Rix and his unknown coconspirator. Not for the first time, she wished she dared take Tyria into her confidence, but even that wouldn’t have helped her tonight, for Tyria had not been invited. No, she would have to do it herself, to learn what she could.
“I hadn’t heard anything from you. I wondered if you’d given up.” It was Rix’s voice, with that whine that made the hair on the back of Jo’s neck stand up. How does he manage to keep that tone out of his voice around everyone else?
“You’re almost as much a fool as she is. But she’s ready to fall for the bait. I’ve been sending her presents the last sevennight and more, and she’s been blushing mightily over them. She even managed a return message.”
Jo filed that bit of information away—it meant Rough Voice must have been watching Millia as closely as she. Or had suborned one of the servants to do so. And that Millia had been an active participant in the written exchange—although she was certain the younger girl didn’t know the identity of her supposed admirer.
Jo shifted slightly, leaning toward the hall mirror and patting at her hair, twisting the dark curls into different places and fiddling with her garnet-tipped hairpins, looking for all the world like a flighty featherhead herself, oblivious to anything except her own appearance. But the movement had changed the area of the room reflected in the glass, and now she could see Rix—and the other man.
She was hard-pressed to keep from staring. She had expected to see someone in unremarkable formal garb, but the man with Rix was positively flamboyant, clad in swirls of color lavished with embroidery in an unfamiliar style. She didn’t recognize him, but his dark coloring, unusual clothing and accent all suggested he was a foreigner. Perhaps one of the late Consort’s countrymen? There were some who had stayed in Valdemar rather than return to Rethwellan after the Prince’s accident. The two were keeping their voices low, but the gentle curve of the ceiling carried the words just enough that she could make them out.
“I’ve a plan to deliver the last note to her at the Court feast by a page, who will guide her to me in a private chamber, then tell you where to go. After a suitable interval, you will become concerned, seek out her father, and come find us. I’ll make sure what you discover will leave her father desperate to unload her onto anyone willing to take her.”
“Perfect. My debtors are beginning to be importunate, and this will answer nicely.” The smug satisfaction in Rix’s voice made Jo’s stomach roil with anger, and she forced herself to keep her attention on her reflection in the mirror and maintain her pretense of vanity as the two separated, the stranger again departing and Rix passing behind her to rejoin the party.
Jo’s hand nearly shook with fury. This was more than just a passing scandal of sweet-sounding lies and silly notes. What Rough Voice seemed to be suggesting was, in her opinion, permanent damage, and she couldn’t believe that Rix was so blinded by his own straits that he would casually agree to be part of it.
In the wine-red folds of her skirts, Jo’s fingers clenched into a determined fist. Somehow, Lady Millia must be protected.
Early in the morning after the Delamers’ party, Jo did what she had always done when she was uncertain of how to act: she went to the Companions. Although classes at the Collegium were ended for the Midwinter Holiday, and most of the students gone to stay with family and friends to celebrate, plenty of Heralds remained in residence, and students could still come and go as they wished. As she paced along the freshly snow-dusted path to Companion’s Field, she recalled the first time she had come here years ago, a ten-year-old girl in Blues, and the sidelong glances the Companions had given her.
“As if I’d try to force myself on one of you,” she remembered saying to them. “Even if Mummy and Daddy don’t realize it, I know I’m not going to be a Herald.”
After that, the Companions had relaxed and approached her, and she would often come to Companion’s Field to talk out her thoughts with them. Those wise blue eyes with their silent, comforting presence helped her to think, to filter out the unnecessary worries and focus on the important things.
Even now, as she neared the fence, a white shape drifted out of the snowy trees and trotted along the rails to meet her. She leaned against the fence and scratched under the unpartnered mare’s mane, then spilled out the whole story, of Lady Millia and Rix and how the stranger whose identity she still didn’t know was going to pretend that he was having an affair with Lady Millia, and probably rape her, so that she could be forced to marry Rix. “And I don’t know where to go or who would believe me,” she finally finished, and looked up to find that another Companion had joined the first, watching her intently.
“Kantor?” she gaped, incredulous. There was only one Companion who had the build of a warhorse rather than their usual lean, elegant lines. “You think scandal among the middling nobility is important enough to concern Weaponsmaster Alberich?” Kantor tossed his head in an imperious “yes,” and Jo turned to face the Collegium, only to see a solid figure in gray leathers moving down the path toward her.
“If the Palace it involves, concern the Heralds it must. Kantor your story has told me,” the Weaponsmaster said when he neared her. “Little though you may think it, significant it is, what these men might plot.” His piercing eyes softened into a slight smile. “So a plot of our own to answer we will have. But in cold we need not stand. Come.” He turned without waiting for a reply, and Jo, stunned, followed him in silence back to the salle.
By the time Jo and Weaponsmaster Alberich had entered his chambers adjoining the training salle, another person was there waiting for them, mugs of hot tea on the low table in front of her.
“Lady Pennory?” Jo schooled her face into a less undignified expression. A few years younger than Lady Evie, Lady Theara Pennory was a powerful and popular fixture of the Court and a frequent guest at the Amberdale mansion. What could she possibly have to do with the Weaponsmaster?
Fortunately, Lady Theara was blinking at Jo with a very similar befuddlement. “Jhosan?”
“Please, call me Jo,” she said without thinking, the reply a reflex from years of polite correction.
Lady Theara looked up at Herald Alberich. “Herald-Chronicler Myste said that you needed me for a delicate project. Does Jo . . . ?” She let her words trail off and eyed the Weaponsmaster expectantly.
“Overheard something, Lady Jo has, and the advice of the Companions sought.”
“And the Companions very sensibly turned to you.”
“And I to you in turn,” he finished. “So, Lady Jo, relate all to Lady Theara.”
Jo repeated everything that she had told the Companions, from the first overheard words at her parents’ party, to the friendship she developed with Lady Millia, to the note with the cat figurine, and then to the conversation at the Delamers’. In Lady Pennory’s tightening lips and narrowing eyes she read an anger on Millia’s behalf that matched her own. When all was said, she leaned back in her chair, clutching her cooling mug of tea, reassured that they at least believed her and certain that Millia would now be safe.
“I think I have a guess of the identity of the other plotter, although I have no idea of how he came in contact with Rix Ultare, or what he plans to get out of this,” Lady Theara said, slowly, and the Weaponsmaster nodded.
“Fit it does, with what we already know of him. But act we cannot.”
“Exactly. He falls under protection, and we have no irrefutable proof.”
“But you have to help Millia!” Jo burst out. She still wasn’t sure how or why Lady Pennory was involved, but it certainly sounded as though they knew who Rough Voice was but were going to let him alone to do what he would.
The Weaponsmaster and Lady Theara exchanged a look, and the Weaponsmaster nodded, lifting his palm toward Lady Theara in a gesture of encouragement. She turned toward Jo.
“Jo, your family has a long history with the Heralds, so you know better than most what role the Heralds play in Valdemar.” Jo nodded. “But there are places the Heralds cannot and should not go.”
Jo blinked, considered, then nodded again. “Of course, the Crown must have . . . other means of acquiring information.” But what did all this have to do with Millia?
“Exactly so. Weaponsmaster Alberich coordinates many of those . . . means. As do I.” At this, Jo simply stared at the older woman, who smiled. “I have trained a handful of young women who move freely about the Court to be eyes and ears where others cannot be.” She eyed the stunned Jo appraisingly. “Since you are already a friend to Lady Millia, I think it would be helpful if you were to aid us in protecting her, rather than introducing another young lady into the situation. I promise you that it should not require too much of you.”
“Well, I can’t leave Millia to face this on her own, can I? If I know something that can help, I have to.”
“Spoken like an Amberdale,” Lady Theara replied with a smile. “I’m surprised you didn’t talk to Tyria, though.”
Jo hunched one shoulder into a shrug. “Until last night, I didn’t really know anything, just guessed. And I didn’t want to involve Tyria, or Kosti, or any of the rest of them, with guesses. And once I knew, well, I didn’t have a chance to see her, so I came to the Companions instead.” At that, she looked over at the Weaponsmaster, who had been silent.
“So,” he began, “now, we plan.” The three of them leaned forward over their now-cold mugs, and the conversation began in earnest.
As the dance ended, Jo cordially thanked her partner and drifted back to the side of the Court ballroom. Queen Selenay had taken her place on the dais, with Queen’s Own Herald Talamir a pale shadow beside her. Most of the rest of the Heralds had already disappeared from the formal event, back to their rooms at the Collegium or joining with friends or family in the antechambers. Now that the royal feast was over and the Heir Elspeth had been taken back to her room by her nurse, the rest of the Court settled in for a long night of dancing and gossip.
And I hope not a whisper of the gossip will involve Lady Millia when the night is done, Jo thought fervently. Even through the dances she had taken part in, she kept looking for Rough Voice—Weaponsmaster Alberich and Lady Pennory had not said who they thought he was. And she also watched Millia, who had come to the Feast with an almost frenetic energy about her. The younger girl was clearly taken up with the idea of her secret admirer revealing himself to her at the Midwinter Feast, probably entertaining fantasies of dances and gifts and betrothal.
At last, she saw the dark coloring of the stranger who had spoken with Rix, clad again in elaborate clothing covered with ornate embroidery. I wonder how many young ladies are wishing they could get that much gold thread worked into their gowns, she thought while covertly watching the stranger. He leaned over to a nearby page, handing him something and gesturing briefly to her side of the chamber.
Jo, in turn, exchanged a quick glance with a liveried servant standing near her (who was actually a young Trainee not wearing Grays), and he followed her closely as she moved toward the low bench where Lady Millia was seated, surrounded by her admirers. When the page sent by Rough Voice approached, she intercepted him.
“I will hand it on,” she said in a low voice. “Where?” She held out her hand imperiously, as though confident the page would give over his task, and he responded by dropping a small wrapped object into her outstretched palm.
“Th-the lower arcade,” the boy said, “third door on the left.”
Jo nodded in dismissal, and the lad returned to his place while she swiftly pocketed what felt like another figurine. Without turning to look, she sensed the Trainee behind her vanish into the crowd. Alberich had assigned him to shadow her because he had sharp hearing to make out what was said, but he wasn’t yet skilled enough in MindSpeaking with his Companion, so he needed to find the Weaponsmaster in person to relate this last piece of the puzzle. She sidled over and sat next to Millia, who freely shared her bench with her. This was the hardest part of it all, to get Millia to come with her.
When the next dance had begun, she leaned over and whispered in the other girl’s ear. “Your precious pet is waiting.” She hoped that the term, which had seemed so unusual in the note she had seen, would be sufficient to entice her.
A faint blush tinged Millia’s cheeks, and she glanced over at Jo. “You know?” she murmured back.
Jo raised one eyebrow and smiled slightly, hoping that her expression appeared lightly teasing. Vain, silly thing, she thought, not for the first time. Well, Lady Pennory will set you straight, if anyone can. She tilted her head toward the doorway, and Millia nodded, excitement suffusing her face. Arm in arm, they stood and moved out into the halls of the Palace, looking like any two young ladies in each other’s confidence, with secrets to share.
Once in the hall, Jo guided Millia, not to the lower arcade, but into the Collegium library. Moments after they arrived, Lady Pennory entered, and the thunderous expression she wore silenced Millia’s questions.
“Your vanity, young lady, has almost gotten you into very serious trouble.” She held out her hand, and Jo dropped the wrapped figurine into it. Over Millia’s protestations, Lady Theara opened it, revealing a small carved dog that looked to be part of a set with the cat. “Hmph. Pretty enough, but there are a thousand like it in Haven.”
Millia pouted, but Lady Pennory gave her no chance to speak. “Where was she to go?” she asked Jo.
“The lower arcade, third door.”
“Ah. Let’s give them another minute, then we can join them.”
“Them?” Millia’s voice trembled a little, but Lady Theara did not explain further. Instead the three of them sat in silence, listening to the crackling of the logs in the screened fireplace, until the older woman stood and, gesturing, led the two young ladies down a series of side passages that brought them to the lower arcade without passing by the ballrooms.
As they arrived, they saw Weaponsmaster Alberich and two Guardsmen restraining Rough Voice, while a young woman with pale blond hair like Millia’s stood nearby, a fierce expression on her face and a dagger in her hand.
“Little bitch,” Rough Voice snarled as he was pushed past the girl and out the nearest door. A Captain of the Guard remained behind, moving into the room to wait.
Millia stared. “Who is that?”
“Which? The Trainee pretending to be you, or the man pretending to be yours?” Lady Pennory’s voice was crisp and carrying, and the Trainee looked over at her and gave a slight curtsy. “No need for formality, Peri,” she continued. “You took no hurt, I take it?”
The other girl came over to them. “No, milady. He did not expect resistance, so I was able to give him a good knee in his bits and get my blade out before the Weaponsmaster and the Guards came in.” She grinned, then tucked her dagger back into a boot sheath under her skirts. “If it’s all the same to you, milady, I’d like to get back to m’family for the rest of Midwinter Eve.” Lady Theara nodded, and the Trainee bobbed her head, gave Millia a pitying glance, and vanished down the opposite end of the hallway.
Lady Theara eyed Millia, whose face had gone pale at Peri’s words. “Let’s go talk in the library, where we will not be disturbed.”
If anything, Millia went even paler at the prospect. Jo found herself pitying the younger girl, just as Peri did. Lady Theara was a redoubtable figure, and an angry Lady Theara was not to be trifled with.
When the three were once more seated in the quiet of the Collegium library, Lady Pennory broke the silence at last.
“Millia Hereval, you are a very fortunate young lady. Did you even give any thought to your supposed admirer’s identity?”
Millia had the grace to blush. “I . . . I thought it was Lord Beddoes.”
Jo was unable to completely conceal a burst of laughter, and Lady Theara actually rolled her eyes. “Child, you’re entirely the wrong type to appeal to Aphrim Beddoes. If you’d had a brother, maybe . . .” Millia blushed even redder at her error.
“I take it you had never met the gentleman Weaponsmaster Alberich was escorting out of the Palace?”
“No, never.”
“That was the person who sent you the gifts, not to woo you for himself, but to lure you into his not-so-tender embrace. At which point your father was meant to discover you and hand you off to another gentleman, who had employed this ruse to despoil you and make your father desperate to accept any suitor for you.” As Lady Theara spoke, Millia wilted ever smaller into her seat, sinking with the realization of the gravity of her mistakes.
Lady Theara paused for a moment, then smiled gently at the younger girl. “As I said, you have been very fortunate. Lady Jo overheard enough of the plotting that we were able to keep you safe—and in the process weed out from the Court a potential danger to other young women. Now go back to your father and use your head a little more next time!”
Millia wasted no time in fleeing the library, leaving Jo alone with Lady Pennory.
It was not lost on Jo that Lady Theara had still kept unspoken the identities of both of the men concerned.
“Should we be concerned about her being alone in the hallways? What if Rix decides to assault her himself?”
Lady Theara made a dismissive gesture. “Rix Ultare is a sniveling coward. I doubt he’d even try if he was employing that one to do his dirty work. If he keeps to his plan, he and Lord Delv should be at the antechamber now, where the Captain will share only that he and another guard prevented a potential assault. Lord Delv will rush back to the ballroom to find a chastened Millia, and Rix will be closely observed by the Guard for the rest of the night. If he’s sensible, he’ll pray that no whisper of his own role in this will ever get out in the Court.”
She leaned back in her chair and studied Jo, who waited in silence. “Would you like to do more of this?”
“My lady?” Jo’s mind lurched at the sudden change of subject.
“As Weaponsmaster Alberich said, I coordinate and train several ladies in the Court as observers, to be the eyes and ears and occasionally hands of Her Majesty. Most of the ladies I work with are of lower to middle rank, and often without family, so you would have access to different circles than they. You clearly have a, shall we say, ‘Gift’ for it, and the Companions seem to have vouched for you.”
Jo’s pulse raced in sudden anticipation. This . . . this she could see herself doing. She wasn’t the sort to travel all over Valdemar, nor the sort to listen patiently to tedious local squabbles, nor yet the sort to stand on the front lines whenever Karse invaded next. She was better suited to stay in one place, to observe from outside the action rather than as part of it. It was the sort of thing she would never have thought of, but now that it was proposed to her, it felt somehow right.
“An Amberdale spy instead of an Amberdale Herald?” She smiled slightly. “My parents might take some time to get used to the idea, but I think I would. Yes, I would very much like to join your ladies, Lady Pennory.”
“Please, call me Theara,” she replied, and they both grinned at the echo of Jo’s own oft-repeated words.
The whirl of Midwinter will never be the same again, Jo thought as the two of them returned to the Court.