Grace of the Goddess (The Death Dealer Book 3) (19 page)

              “You would rather deal with bowing and scraping by servants on this stair?” Grace forgot her tone and quickly amended it. “No disrespect meant, Your Highness.”

              “I did not think of that, though this is a fortuitous meeting. I wanted to speak with you.”

              “Goodness, I feel like I am in a play. Friends and rivals pulling me into their chambers for secret conferences,” quipped Grace.

              “Tristan has talked to you, then?” The prince leaned against the wall. One false step and he’d tumble down the stairs. Grace thought the knock on his head would do him well, given his recent folly.

              “He has, Your Highness. My lips are sealed. I am off to bed now.”

              “I actually had one more request. I did not want Tristan to deliver it, given his feelings toward you.”

              Grace really did feel as though she was an actor in a silly play. The whole situation would have felt like a joke had she not been terrified of king’s justice raining down on their heads.

              “You lived in Glenbard for some time, right?”

Grace nodded affirmatively.

“I need someone to run messages there. Someone who knows a thing or two about the workings of the city. Someone who knows the thief king, perhaps. That friendship must have been fruitful. Don’t look shocked, Grace. I have men all over the realm who report to me. You are a point of interest for me.” His eyes shimmered in the torchlight.

              Grace remembered dancing with him years ago. He was a decent man, but she didn’t like being in his thoughts, and she didn’t like the way he looked at her now. It wasn’t lust, at least not in the way some men looked at her. It was longing, though; for what, she wasn’t sure.

              “Highness, I am no errand runner, and you speak loosely on a stair used by many. I belong here in Arganis, and I am sorry if that does not fit your plans.” She bowed, hoping it showed humility. She felt she spoke out of turn, but she wasn’t going to let him think he could hire her to be some secret courier in Glenbard.

              “I meant no offense, Grace. Please, go on to your room and forget I said anything.”

              Grace straightened, forced a smile, and left the prince standing alone on the servants’ stair.

Thirteen

              It was just before dawn when Grace woke to the sound of hammering. Bleary eyed, she pulled on her uniform trousers under her nightshirt, wrapped a cloak around her shoulders, and after a few tries managed to slip her feet into her boots. She trudged through the kitchen, almost relieved to see the cook ordering her minions to prepare the food Drake brought in. The servants in the kitchen mumbled a few “hellos” to Grace as she walked through their ranks.

              She exited the castle through the kitchen door. In the courtyard, men, mostly lumberjacks, were busy setting up giant tents. The villagers would eat in them during the wedding feast. She saw braziers being dragged into place to keep the insides of the tents warm, and Master Broyles stood in the center of all the activity, barking orders to the laborers.

              “Your racket would wake the dead, Master Broyles,” Grace said as she came to stand next to him.

              “You are learning too much sass from Master Hoburn,” Broyles grumbled. “We need these tents ready for midday. If you can swing a hammer, start getting the posts in the ground.”

              “I have never swung a hammer in my life. I don’t even know what a hammer is,” Grace joked, trying to beat a hasty retreat before Broyles made her help the laborers.

              “Saucy wench,” he muttered as she hurried off.

              Grace circled the grounds to make sure all was as it should be before returning to the warmth of the castle. She took the servants’ stair up to the upper floors, where she hoped to catch her mother before Leandra arrived. It would be nice to spend a quiet morning with her. The stairway was as dark as it was the night before, and she took each step carefully so as not to slip and fall on her face. Upwards she went, enjoying the solitude of the early morning, but she halted her progress when she heard voices on the landing above her. She pushed herself further into the shadows.

              “There are ships heading to Pirate’s Bay and Renea. They will be as well stocked as those that landed here.” Grace frowned to hear Katherine’s voice. “I hope the fool didn’t put his seal on these orders. I gave him Nicholas’s seal for a reason.”

              “He’s as bold as brass, that one.” Grace grabbed the wall for support.
Leon?
How many more players were in Drake’s little conspiracy? “My brother is fit to be tied over this mess. I wish you had let me tell him.”

              “Your brother is a good man. He brought Arganis back to prosperity when Daniel would have run it into the ground, but he is also a king-fearing man and we could not have him involved.”

              From outside, Grace heard Broyles shout at someone. There was a great ruckus, and Grace could only hear some of what Leon and Katherine said. When the noise died down, she was able to hear the secret conversation better.

              “No, I will not tell him. I will not let any of this come down on my son’s head,” Leon said a bit louder. “And if
you
were smart, you would shield
your
son from it too. If he is taken up like Nicholas, the king will appoint a new Duke of Actis and you will be out in the cold.”

              “Don’t be such a –” Katherine whispered her response. Grace smiled in spite of the gravity of the situation. They obviously thought themselves alone, but the duchess still silenced whatever insult she said to Leon out of some long-remembered maidenly shyness.

              On the stairs below her, Grace heard movement and then saw Kara come onto the landing. She wore a dark gray cloak with the hood pulled up and moved quietly and slowly, probably trying to catch Leon and Katherine at something. “Maid!” Grace yelled loudly. “Should you not be in bed? Or perhaps tending to Her Grace?” Above her, the voices stopped. If her uncle and the duchess had any sense, they’d be fleeing back to their rooms.

 “I am running an errand for Her Grace, you heathen. Lower your voice or you will wake everyone up.” Kara now stomped up to Grace’s spot on the stairs.

              Running an errand?
Grace thought.
And I am the goddess Kamaria herself
. “Permit me to join you. I am on an errand for the steward, Master Broyles. I am seeing if any of our guests require anything before the wedding.”

              Kara didn’t betray her annoyance; instead, she smiled and waited for Grace to lead the way to the guests’ chambers. Grace took the lead, heading up toward where she had heard Katherine and Leon. Though she knew they were smart, she was still relieved to see them gone as she stepped onto the landing.

              “You are running errands dressed like
that
?” Kara asked as Grace opened the door leading down the hall. “You are still in your nightshirt.”

              Grace looked down in dismay. She had merely rolled out of bed to investigate the noise from the courtyard and then to see her mother, so she didn’t think a change of clothes was in order. It was too late now.

              “When Master Broyles bangs on your door, you best be ready to hop to, proper attire or no.” If Broyles saw her attending anyone in a nightshirt he would flog her, but Kara didn’t need to know that.

              Grace went straight for Katherine’s room, where she let the maid knock and call for the duchess. Katherine opened her chamber door, looking in no way frazzled at her near escape on the stairs. She wore a red dressing robe over her nightdress, held fast at her neck.

              “Grace, what on earth are you wearing?”

              “I have been sent to make sure everyone has what they need for the day. I expected only to speak to maids and valets, but Kara said you were awake. I apologize for my appearance, Your Grace.”

              “Kara, fetch me some water. I would like to wash my face, and the water in my pitcher is ice cold.”

Kara bowed, hurried into the room, retrieved the pitcher, bowed again on her way out, and scurried off down the hall.

“Thanks are in order,” Katherine said. “You are a most attentive young guard.” She kept her words vague in case Kara still lurked nearby. “Tell the steward I am not in need of anything. I believe everyone else is still asleep, but I have heard a few servants scuttling about.” The duchess grasped Grace’s forearm firmly; a grasp soldiers used to greet one another. Grace returned the grip on Katherine’s arm. The duchess mouthed “thank you” and released Grace.

To keep up appearances, Grace went from room to room. The servants in Gretchen and Juliet’s rooms stated the ladies were in need of towels and hairpins. Tristan’s servant said the knight wanted warm tea and whiskey. Grace grabbed the first Arganis servant she found and passed the requests on. Once she visited each room, she went up into the tower to visit her mother.

Deidre was still in bed. Since Katherine’s arrival, Grace’s mother had more good days than bad. She sometimes slipped into her old habits of crying, screaming and such, but she didn’t wander anymore and she didn’t attack anyone who told her Daniel was dead. Leandra suggested sending Deidre to stay in Actis after the wedding, or asking Katherine to stay in Arganis for a while. Grace didn’t like the former, and doubted Katherine would agree to the latter.

“Mother?” Grace asked as she sat on Deidre’s bed.

The night before, Deidre insisted she would have to get a good night’s sleep because she would be wed to Lord Daniel in the morning. As such, Grace wasn’t sure in what state of memory she would find her mother when she woke.

“Grace, dear, are you excited to see your cousin married?” Deidre sat up, propping her back against the pillows of her bed.

A bubble of stress deflated inside Grace’s chest. Her mother was in the present, which meant she most likely wouldn’t make a scene at the wedding.

“When you go to the tournament this summer, you will find a husband,” said Deidre cheerfully.

Grace tensed a little. At least her mother’s mind was
mostly
there. “I do not think I will find a handsome knight or lord at the tournament, Mother.”

“Tsk, is this about that ruffian?” Deidre took Grace’s hand and began to stroke it. “A city guard is far below your station, Grace. No matter how handsome he is.”

Grace had mentioned Jack to Leandra on a few occasions. When Deidre wasn’t fit to give motherly advice, Grace found Leandra was. The two talked in front of Deidre during those times when she sat blankly staring into space, although Grace never thought her mother retained it. She had certainly never brought it up before.

“Mother, it is a bit more complicated than that.” Grace locked her fingers with her mother’s.

“Don’t be like that stupid young man in Escion, Duke Robert’s son, Jonathan. He tried to steal from Katherine and then run away. No, you have a fine dowry thanks to George, and you have strong childbearing hips.” Deidre used her free hand to pat Grace’s side.

Grace let her mother keep talking about what good stock Grace came from. She told Grace that while she may be small like the Hilrens, she was beauty and grace like Deidre’s de Chillion line. “And what are you wearing?”

“I was going to change after I saw you,” Grace said. “I did not think anyone would mind this.”

“
I
mind, and if you think you are going to wear that faded yellow dress I have seen you in lately, you are sorely mistaken.” Grace’s faded yellow dress belonged to a woman in the village now, as it was given away when she was thrown into exile. It didn’t matter. Deidre wouldn’t suffer Grace to wear any of her normal dresses. “Go to my bureau. I have a pink dress you must wear to your cousin’s wedding. If I see you parading around in anything else today, I will have Leon take a switch to your behind.”

Grace got off the bed, walked toward the bureau, and pulled out her mother’s pink dress. “Try it on,” Deidre demanded.

Grace had no choice but to do as she was told. She stepped behind her mother’s room divider and stripped off her trousers and night shirt, and then pulled the dress over her head. It was too long in the skirts and a bit too tight in the chest and arms.

She looked at herself in her mother’s full length mirror. Her hair was a mess, hanging down her back in knots, and she looked sleepy with dark circles under her eyes, but she still felt lovely in her mother’s dress. The bodice had small, white pearls sewn into it and a square neckline, a modest cut for a young lady. The sleeves were close on her upper arm, but billowed open from the elbow down.

Deidre appeared in the mirror behind Grace, her eyes analyzing Grace’s figure. She turned Grace around, took hold of her face, and made her look this way and that. “I will need to hem this so you don’t step on the skirts all day, and we will need to net your hair, but I think this shall do.”

The young woman had no notion of how she was going to explain the dress to Leon. He expected her to stand at attention for the ceremony in her pressed guard uniform.

              Deidre ignored any protests her daughter had and stood Grace on a small stool. She complained that there was no time to hem the dress properly, but she pinned up the bottom, bemoaning her lot in life.

              “Other daughters would have come to me sooner to find a suitable dress, you know,” Deidre said around the pins in her mouth. “It is no matter. I hear there is a young knight from Escion here! And the prince! Even in this poorly hemmed gown, you will take their breaths away.”

              Grace had to admit she liked wearing the dress. She’d never been one to wear fancy dresses that cost more than some people’s houses, but like any other young woman, she liked to look pretty every once in a while. The bodice of the gown was a smooth, pink silk and the underskirts were soft linen. The more she moved, the easier it fit as the dress stretched to fit her bust and arms. She also liked the attention Deidre gave her. In these moments, her mother was more like the woman Grace remembered from her youth. For a moment, they were almost normal.

              Deidre gave her arm muscles a squeeze. “Have you been lifting sacks of flour? When did your arms get so big?”

              “I have been joining Uncle Leon in sword practice.” It was true enough.

              “I wish you would not pretend at being a boy.” Deidre helped Grace step off the stool and pulled her over to her chair by the loom. Deidre picked up a brush and set to work on Grace’s tangled hair.

              Grace felt the tug of the brush as her mother worked out the knots and gritted her teeth at the pain. She’d suffered worse things than pulled hair, but her scalp still ached.

              Deidre braided and pinned Grace’s hair up after brushing through it. She secured loose strands with hairpins and tucked the braids into a net. “Go have a look at yourself.”

              Grace did as her mother instructed and went behind the room divider again to check herself in the mirror. The hairnet was made of silver thread and shimmered in the weak light of the room’s candles. Inside the net, her hair looked like an interlocking knot that continued forever. The top of her head was outside the net and was combed back, leaving only a few strands hanging loose. Deidre had cut them to frame Grace’s face, giving her long bangs.

              “Well?” Deidre called from the other side of the divider.