Brin slept in longer than usual, probably from the late-night drinking, and I got off to an early start. I felt good, like I’d had a full night’s sleep. Perhaps sleep was an illusion for this body, or I just had good genes or sothing. Probably an enormous liver. Whatever the reason, plans required my attention. And I needed to change my schedule. Thankfully, my schedule setting person was available, having not shared so many jugs of ale with us the night before.
“Good morning, Sir Tread!”
“Your Highness,” he bowed. “Uh, I’m not quite used to the sir part of my title. I’m not old enough to be called ‘sir,’ I think.”
“Well, tough. It’s your title now. Anyways, what’s on the agenda for today?”
“Morning tea with the lords and barons leaving today. Nothing for the afternoon.”
“Perhaps I can fit so sword practice in.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. Uhm,” he looked down at his notes, seemingly returning to that shy boy I t so long ago, “The Countess would like to speak with you. Brin’s mom, about, uh, she wants to request that you grant her leave to return to their holdings.”
“Hmm. I wonder. I doubt Carlisele would try to take the castle now. We’re entrenched in it and we have the magical advantage. But . . .”
“But?”
“You know, I wonder.”
“What’s that?”
“You see, the problem is that if the Carliseles return to their earldom, they’ll probably get in touch with Hafthon and do so scheming. I need a way to separate them.”
“So . . . I should deny her request?”
“Actually, Tread, can you set up a eting with her today? Dinner. Invite her to dinner. I’ve got a terrible, stupid plan.”
“Terrible and stupid?”
“The worst plan possible, really.”
“And you want to help facilitate this plan?”
“I think we’re just going to have to.”
“Terrible and stupid. Alright.”
***
Tread sent a boy out to deliver a ssage to Countess Carlisele to et for lunch. Ti to get to the heart of the matter, do my best to block Hafthon.
I’d tell Brin later. She’d be happy, perhaps excited with the news. At least that’s what I told myself.
No. Nope, my little voice said. Brin had already told this idea wouldn’t work. And a huge part of hated it. In fact, almost all of . It’s just that the other options were worse. So, here I was, setting it in motion. After all, I didn’t have much choice, I needed at least one of the earls on my side supporting the knighthood. One more other than Maitlan, I an.
Yeah, Brin was going to be angry. Probably put in cute dresses the rest of my life. Make-up. Perfu, even.
I’d arranged for our dinner to be laid out in a small room overlooking the garden where once Bechalle had taken through, arm in arm. Early winter, leaves off the trees, now stark and silent, casting shadows across the snow on the ground, little herbs and bushes and large stones standing through the white snow here and there, it was a different place. Perhaps desolate to so, but lighter and happier to .
Because Bechalle was gone. Because soon the remaining ambassadors and suitors would also be gone. Winter weather might bring the cold, but it was also bringing peace and relative safety.
It was ironic, the reason I’d called the countess here essentially ca from Bechalle. In our long discussions on running his duchy, taxes, and handling bannern, he’d told to restrict good education to your own household, keep your bannern under you in all respects. I’d simply thought he was a psychopath, if pragmatic. No, that’s only in retrospect. In truth, I didn’t know what to think of that comnt at the ti he made it.
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Yet it made sense now. Hafthon was competent. More so than either Carlisele or Crygmore. Hafthon had marshalled the power holders of this duchy after Bechalle’s death to hinder . It wasn’t a leap to see him going for the crown. Were Bechalle alive, he’d recomnd choosing another as the duke. Soone less competent and easier to control. I hated and hated the fact that I was, essentially, taking advice from his mory. He was dead, and my world was better off, yet he wouldn’t be forgotten or even shut up in the mories that sotis intruded on my thoughts.
Trying not to be annoyed at myself, I was sitting when she arrived and rose, “Countess Carlisele, a pleasure to see you today.”
“Your Highness, I can’t tell you how honored I am to share this dinner with you.”
Her words jarred for a mont, but yes, dinner. For a mont and despite the sunlight, I’d imagined it was evening. Anyways, I gestured at the adult beverages on the table, “Wine?”
“Yes, and unsweetened if I may. I’ve grown fond of your thod of enjoying wine.”
“Oh? My thod?”
“Call it a fad if you like, but won are rejecting lead sugar in droves. The only people who yet buy it are the peasantry. Ever trying to emulate the nobility, but ever from behind in both ans and ti. The rchants are, of course, selling it to them at greatly reduced prices.”
I stared at her, blinking, trying not to say what I felt, but it ca out of my mouth anyways, “How awful.” Who knew my rejection of lead would end up poisoning the people who grew our crops?
“Yes.”
“I should outlaw the practice.”
“Making laws to suit your personal preferences might not be wise, my lady.”
I didn’t have an answer for that, so remained silent. It wasn’t really for personal preference, though the stuff tasted awful to , but widespread safety. Convincing others of that was proving difficult.
Thankfully, servants brought the food, and we continued our conversation through carefully cut, tiny bites. “At my coronation, you said I’d have to give the duchy to Hafthon. I want to entertain different ideas with you.”
She looked at for a long ti, holding her wine glass, and carefully placed it upon the table before speaking. “I did not. I did not say that you had to give the duchy to Hafthon-”
“You said either I give it to him or he would take it.”
“I believe I was more circumspect, my lady. That you could give it to my husband, but we wouldn’t have the troops to hold it. Also, that you could give it to Hafthon, or take him with you on your spring war.”
“Ah. Yes. I rember now.”
“You’re reconsidering giving it to Hafthon.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re thinking about giving it to my husband instead.”
“He is,” I stabbed a piece of at with my fork, “the only other possible choice.”
“There is Crygmore.”
We both laughed.
“I want sothing in return. I want your husband to support the institution of the knighthood. At our next council eting.”
“I’m afraid we cannot, my lady. For if we support you, and we take your gift of the duchy, we’ll lose to Hafthon later. And that could an losing our lives.”
“I’m willing to return the troops you’ve leant and leave you half of Bechalle’s army.” They had since joined mine under Captain Thrace. He and the soldiers seed quite happy to serve a princess instead of a duke. “That would be so 20 000 additional soldiers.”
She stared off into the distance of the garden. “With that many n, we might be able to hold. Narrowly.”
“I need to take so of Hafthon’s soldiers to ensure that you do.”
“That would be the wisest course of action, but I don’t know if he would give them to you.”
“He is my bannerman.”
She scoffed, but caught herself, placing a handkerchief over her mouth.
“Yes, alright. I’ll have to threaten him.”
“And will you be leaving and my daughters here?”
My turn to stare long and hard at the woman. She was conniving, no doubt, but also politically savvy. “Every ti I act in a moral fashion like, for example, not taking hostages, it endangers myself.”
“You will be taking and mine with you on to Barclay? To keep my husband in line.”
“My lady, I do not want to take children to war.”
She cocked her head, food and drink forgotten. “Yes?”
“Have your husband support in the council eting.”
She gave a careful, slow smile and raised her wine glass, “To retaking and reunifying the kingdom.”
I clinked glasses with her, together we drank. After, the main conversation over, we ate in silence for a bit. Not too far away, perhaps forty or fifty feet, I caught sight of black and orange fur. Hiding behind so bushes. Then its eyes appeared. A little fox, staring at .
As I stared right back, a few more eyes ca into view. “It appears there’s a family of foxes out in the garden.”
“Oh? A skulk of foxes?”
“A skulk? I take it that’s the countable noun for them?”
“The na for a bunch of them, yes. Rare to be in the garden, for sure. Perhaps chasing mice and rats.”
“They’re welco to those, then!”
“But a problem if they get too comfortable. They might steal so food or terrorize the cats.”
“Ah. Have you, ah, noticed all the crows around, too?”
“There have been plenty this year. Perhaps following a locust swarm in late sumr, stuck here for the winter.”
“Do they, this is going to sound crazy, but do they, uh, knock at your window?”
“Whatever are you talking about?”
“Nothing. Probably just crashed into the window or sothing. Birds.”
“The beef is nice.”
“Oh, yes! Free range and grassfed.” I closed my eyes to avoid her gaze that certainly questioned my sanity, stuck another chunk of at into my mouth. Really, it did taste good. The rest of our conversation was safely on aningless and trite topics, and I berated myself for straying from the path of normalcy. But, hey, royalty. We were all inbred, eccentric, desperately egotistical, whiny adult children.
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