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“Papa, I think Mama is dying.”
3-year-old Bryan tugged at Sir Robert Tynsdale’s sleeve. Robert, who had just finished changing baby Susan, looked down at his son and said, “I don’t think she’s dying.”
“She said she wished she was dying.”
“H’m. Let’s go see, shall we?” He gave Susan to the waiting nurse, washed his hands in the basin, and then followed his son down the hall and into the bedroom he shared with his wife.
Alicia lay in the bed with a quilt pulled up to her chin. The bed curtains hung loose, arranged so as to block the beam of bright sunlight from the big windows that overlooked the garden. She had a cold towel on her face. She groaned as the door opened and pushed the towel back so she could see Robert.
“Remind me never to try to match the princess drink-for-drink, ever again. I’m not 16 anymore.”
“Neither is Princess Elwyn.” Robert sat on the end of the bed and patted her feet.
With a moan, Alicia sat up. “You know, she was never like this at school. She was a bit of a prude, to be honest.”
Little Bryan asked, “What’s a prude?”
“Someone who knows when to quit,” said Alicia. “I’d better get up. I should see what Mrs. Phelps is making for breakfast.”
“It’s noon,” said Robert, putting a hand to his face to conceal his grin.
“Finster’s balls!” cried his wife, rolling uneasily out of bed. “I’d better get to the palace. The queen probably needs me.”
Robert kissed her forehead and sniffed. “I’ll tell Edith to run you a bath first.”
“Let me guess. I smell like whiskey, don’t I?”
“You smell like the princess!” said Bryan.
Alicia laughed ruefully and said, “I’m telling you, she used to be a prude. I don’t know where this comes from, Robert. I really don’t.”
Robert took his son to the nursery. Then he wandered off to find the housemaid, only to meet her coming up the grand, wood-paneled staircase in a hurry.
“Sir Robert,” she panted, “there’s a servant from the castle down in the parlor! He says you’re to come immediately.”
After telling the girl to prepare his wife’s bath, Robert carried on down the stairs. He found Miles Richards in the front room, resplendent in his blue and silver silk livery.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt your day off, Sir Robert, but the queen has requested that you attend her at the castle. Her majesty stressed that if you have other obligations, she would be happy to—”
“No, no. Let me grab my sword and tell my wife where I’m going.” He did so, and in less than a minute, he was heading out the door with Miles and climbing into the bright blue royal carriage. “Do you have any idea what this is all about?”
“Yes, sir. Visitors have arrived from the Immani Empire. Her majesty felt that you, in particular, would like to see them. And perhaps you might like to help them settle in, here in Leornian.”
“Me? Really? Who are these visitors?”
“One is a lady. A lady scholar, if you can believe it. She is the daughter of Rufus Stylianos, who I’m told is a famous Immani shipping magnate.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of him. Interesting that his daughter came here to study in the middle of a war.” As the carriage turned off Peters Street onto Addle, Robert looked out the window and saw the big towers of the castle’s front gate. “Who else?”
“Sir Presley Kemp and Professor Grigory Sobol, sir. I’m told you will recognize the names.”
“Oh, yes. Yes, I do, Miles.” Robert sighed and sat back in the cushioned blue velvet seat.
The mission to get Grigory Sobol out of Loshadnarod had been a decade ago, but he still remembered it like it had happened last week. He often thought of that mission, though not because of Sobol or Sir Presley. He remembered it because it was the first mission he had ever undertaken as a knight, at the personal request of Queen Rohesia herself. It had been a pivotal moment in his life—perhaps the most important turning point of all. It had changed him from an idealistic, naïve young squire into...well, into the man he was today.
He also remembered it because it had been his first mission with William Aitken. And William was now on the other side of the civil war. They were in the same line of work, as it were, but on opposite sides, which meant that Robert often had occasion to think about William and wonder what he was doing. And that always reminded him of that first mission, when they had each discovered what the other was made of.
The carriage pulled up in front of the palace of the Bocburg, and Miles led Robert up the front steps, through the entrance hall, and down the passage to the duke’s study. Which these days was the queen’s study, instead.
Her Majesty, Rohesia Sigor, Queen Mother and Queen Regent of Myrcia, stood in front of the window at a little tea cart, serving out small glasses of some bright yellow wine. To her right, just taking a glass, was a tan-skinned, dark-haired woman in a bright red dress of Shangian brocaded silk. This was presumably Miss Stylianos, the lady scholar. To the queen’s left stood Sir Presley and Professor Sobol. They both had on traveling clothes, made of comfortable wool tweed, in matching patterns. They were both still slim and handsome, but they bore definite signs of middle age in the lines and angles of their faces. Robert was struck by this realization—in his mind, whenever he remembered that mission to Loshadnarod, they were still young men.
“I suppose we all look ten years older now,” he thought. “Well, except the queen, of course.” Much to his wife’s amusement, Robert refused to acknowledge that Queen Rohesia had aged so much as a day from when he had first met her.
“Sir Robert! There you are,” said her majesty. “Please, come join us in a drink.”
Robert joined them, bowing first to the queen, then to the others. The queen presented him to Miss Stylianos, who curtsied and shook his hand.
“I have heard a great deal about you, Sir Robert,” she said, in a high-pitched, almost girlish voice that didn’t quite match her appearance. Up close, she, too, had the marks of middle age—fine lines around her eyes and along her neck.
The queen had already asked them about their journey, apparently, but she did so again, so that Robert could hear the thrilling tale of minor roadside incidents and their running list of the finest inns between Terminium and Leornian. He listened appreciatively, though as they went on, he found himself paying more attention to Miss Stylianos, the newcomer, than to either of his old friends.
She had a kind of studious, detached interest in the world around her. Almost as if she were preparing to take a test on what she saw here at the castle. And from time to time, he caught her exchanging meaningful glances with the queen. He began to think she hadn’t really come to Leornian to study engineering with Professor Sobol.
“It seems Broderick’s army is tightening the noose,” said the queen, her smile faltering. “Our friends here came through his lines, and they saw scout patrols as close as the turn for the Chickwell road, east of Champsford.”
That was no more than five miles from that very spot.
“I’ve already had Miss Stylianos write a little report for my brother,” the queen continued. “She really has the most remarkable memory for detail.”
Robert bowed and thought, “Yes, I bet she does.”
The queen announced that she had a meeting with the lord high treasurer, and she asked Robert if he could escort the three travelers to their apartment near the university.
“I would love to have them here at the castle,” she said, “but there are so many people in town now, since the retreat. And Sir Presley and Professor Sobol seem to already have a neighborhood in mind where they would like to stay, closer to the university. So Duchess Elena and I have made the necessary arrangements, in accordance with Sir Presley’s instructions.”
She rang a bell and asked Miles Richards to bring the coach around and help load the travelers’ luggage into it. They left the study, and Robert started to follow them, but the queen asked him to stay for “a brief word.”
After looking around to make sure the two of them were alone, she shut the door. “Is your wife well, Sir Robert?”
“She is...looking after the children this morning, your majesty.”
“Ah. Of course. After I saw Elwyn this morning, I wondered if dear Alicia might be feeling a bit under the weather. But that is not why I asked you to stay behind. You might want to find an opportunity to speak with Miss Stylianos privately.”
“She is not actually Professor Sobol’s graduate assistant, is she?”
The queen smiled. “I thought you might guess it. Yes, she works for...some old friends of ours in the Empire. She’s in your line of work, not Grigory’s. I’d like for you to give her any assistance she requires.”
“Naturally, your majesty. It will be my pleasure.”
The weather was perfect—bright and sunny, with a warm, steady breeze, but not quite so miserably hot and humid as the last week had been. So Professor Sobol and Sir Presley insisted on sending Miles ahead with the carriage and the luggage, and walking through town to their new apartment.
At first, they pretended to play tour guide for Robert and Miss Stylianos, pointing out the best taverns and coffee shops, the best places to buy candles and ink and everything else imaginable. “Sir Robert, have you ever tried the cheese soup at The Lamb and Rose over on Allman Street? Well, you simply have to!” “Miss Intira, if you want new dresses while you are here, all the best fabric is sold over there at Bonacieux’s.”
They quickly became lost in their own memories, though, and stopped paying more than passing attention to Robert and Miss Stylianos, who were following behind them on the pavement. “Remember that party we went to there? What was that fellow’s name?” “Oh, look! That horrible apothecary went out of business! It’s a butcher’s shop now.”
Robert slowed his steps, allowing the two lovers to get a little farther ahead. Then, strolling closer to the Immani woman, he said, “Her majesty suggested that we should talk privately, Domina Stylianos. She said I should offer you any assistance you need.”
“How very kind. Please, call me ‘Intira.’ If we’re going to work together, Sir Robert, it seems only right that we should be friends.”
He told her she could drop the “sir” and simply call him “Robert.” “Is there anything I can get you right now?” he asked. “Maps? Supplies? Weapons, perhaps?”
“Thank you, but nothing for the moment.” She tapped her fingertips together and chuckled. “I’m quite well-armed, as it happens.” The phrase seemed to amuse her, for some reason.
“Oh. Very good. Anything else?”
“I will need a reliable way to get in and out of town without too much trouble. We—my employers, I mean—happen to have an agent in Broderick Gramiren’s camp. I may need to meet with him—or her—from time to time.”
“An agent with the enemy?” In his mind, Robert ran through all the people he knew were in his half-brother’s inner circle. Duchess Flora, perhaps? Maybe a preost or bishop in the church?
“You’re trying to guess,” said Intira. “Don’t try to guess. I’ll only tell you if I decide you need to know, for some reason. And if that happens, I’d like for it to be a surprise.”
“A surprise?”
“Think of it as a bit of feminine mystery.”
“My wife likes to say that ‘feminine mystery’ is what men call it when they have poor powers of observation.”
Intira laughed. “I shall have to meet your wife. She sounds like a woman after my own heart.”
They rounded the next corner and saw Presley and Grigory on Docent Lane, looking up at a blocky little red brick apartment building with a mossy slate roof. The royal carriage stood out front, and Miles Richards had already started unloading the luggage.
“Oh, it is the same building!” Professor Sobol said, a hand clapped over his mouth. “The very same one.”
Sir Presley reached over to pat Grigory’s back, pausing to give his shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “It’s a better apartment—bigger and on a lower floor. And a little garden terrace in the back. But do you suppose the current tenants will mind if we run up and ask for a look at the other one?”
They both wanted to see their rooms immediately, but Miles reported that the landlord still had a man in there, putting a fresh coat of paint on everything. So they decided to go have lunch, instead.
“We should go to Crane’s for cinnamon rolls!” said Grigory. “Then we can go to our favorite quad and eat them under the oak tree.” He turned to Robert. “Surely you patronize Crane’s bakery all the time.”
“To be honest, my wife prefers Sharman’s,” said Robert.
The professor looked stunned, like Robert had confessed that his wife enjoyed wearing burlap dresses and drinking ditchwater.
“I think you’ve scandalized poor Grigory,” said Sir Presley.
“It is not her fault,” said Grigory, with a generous smile. “She must not have had a cinnamon roll from Crane’s. Come along now, everyone. We will all have them, and then you, Robert, will take some home for your wife, and then she will see!”