Grace of the Goddess (The Death Dealer Book 3) (4 page)

              “Gracie, why are you dressed like that? If your father sees you in men’s attire, he’ll be most furious,” Grace’s mother said. She didn’t resist her daughter’s effort and allowed herself to be led back inside the castle.

              Lady Deidre Hilren was once the most beautiful woman at court. Age did not diminish that beauty, though she no longer went to court. When her husband, Lord Daniel died she became a ghost of her former self, and in recent months, her mind had gotten worse and worse. She went through maid after maid, and the guards steered clear of her when she wandered away from the care of her nurse. Everyone believed madness was contagious, and some even stayed away from Grace for fear she would fall next.

              Grace paid no heed to the warnings she received; it was merely old wives’ tales and misinformation from foolish physicians. Whatever was wrong with her mother required patience and care, not avoidance, and she scolded her fair share of maids for believing such nonsense.

              The front hall of the castle was almost as cold as the courtyard. The stone pillars and floor offered no warmth or compassion, only coldness. The grand staircase that led up to the household’s quarters stood before Grace. As a guard, she wasn’t supposed to take the main stair, but she didn’t want to pull her mother all the way to the servants’ stair.

              Deidre babbled on about nothing in particular as they climbed. When Grace first returned to Arganis, her mother was still able to remember Grace’s scandal and her flight from home. Then, every so often she would forget something; small things, initially. It was then that Grace learned this wasn’t unusual for Deidre. Her uncles stated Deidre was just addled and not to worry, but then the frequency changed and month by month, Deidre got a little worse. Now Grace was lucky when her mother even remembered her name.

              “You are getting on in years, Gracie,” Deidre proclaimed as Grace opened the doors to her chamber.

              The solar had a fire and the candles were lit, giving it a warm glow. There were three wooden chairs, adorned with purple pillows, set around a small table. There was a wolf skin rug before the fireplace and a larger, cushioned chair alongside it. A small stand with a book on it was within easy reach should the lady wish to read while enjoying the fire. Her mother’s loom sat next to the window with an unfinished tapestry upon it. Grace knew it well. Deidre had been working on it almost her entire life, although it was covered in dust now. The loom hadn’t been used much since Grace’s father died. The door to Deidre’s sleeping chambers was open, though the room was dark.

              Grace eased her mother into the chair before the fire. “Where is Leandra, Mother?”

              “That silly bitty went out to fetch a chicken or something.” Deidre waved a hand dismissively. “We were supposed to play chess when I woke, but then she rushed off.”

              Grace went into her mother’s sleeping chambers to fetch a blanket. Even in the darkness, she had no trouble finding the bed. Like the bed in her former room, the wall facing east had wood paneling and a bed frame built from it. In the darkness Grace groped for her mother’s blanket, only to find it damp. She pulled her hand away, giving it a sniff. The scent of urine overtook her nose and she vigorously wiped her hand on her pant leg.

              “My lady, where did you run off to?” a frantic voice cried.

              Grace hurried back into the solar to find a bewildered Leandra wrapping a clean blanket around her mother. Leandra Smith was an experienced healing woman from town. She’d helped deliver Grace and even attempted to heal her father when he was thrown from his horse. The years had been kind to her, reward for all the good she’d done about the town. Her hair was steel gray and her face showed the wear of a life of worrying, but she was spry. Unlike other people her age, she didn’t require a cane to get about and her eyesight was as keen as ever. She didn’t bend with age, but remained standing tall. Her green eyes took in Grace and she sighed.

              “I called a maid to take away the sheets, but the silly girl hasn’t come up yet, I take it.”

              “Does it happen often?”

              “Once in a while,” Leandra replied, shrugging. “Best to clean it up and hope for better days ahead.” Grace moved past Leandra for the door, not wanting to look at her mother just yet. “Don’t be feelin’ ashamed of her, young mistress.”

              Grace’s hand hovered over the door handle as Leandra spoke, but she let it drop to her side and looked over her shoulder. “She is not who she was when I left, Leandra,” Grace said softly.

              “No, you’re right, but neither are you. You changed greatly to the point that not many would know who you was, but don’t look sad. I didn’t say it was a bad thing. You’ve changed and so has she. She accepted
your
changes, and you should do the same.”

              “But Leandra-”

              The nurse held up a hand that demanded silence. “She’s still your mother.”

              Grace lowered her head. Leandra was right. In the time she was gone from Arganis, everyone had changed. Some of it was for the better and some of it wasn’t.

              Grace lifted her head to address her mother, but found Deidre’s head down and her eyes closed. “When she wakes, tell her I’ll be by at the noon meal to play chess.”

              “A fine idea, Grace.” Leandra smiled.

              Grace exited the room and heaved a sigh. She moved slowly down the hall back toward the grand staircase, feeling utterly morose. She was no longer in the mood to go about her day’s duty.

              Along the walls were the portraits of her family, all watching her pass by them, judging her with their ever watchful eyes, like somehow they knew her embarrassment with her mother and her own shame at disgracing the family. She stopped before the one that depicted her parents with her as a small girl. She’d been about four at the time, and she remembered being forced to sit still for hours while the artist painted. Her mother was seated in the portrait, wearing a deep blue gown with silver trim. Around her neck was a moon pendant with a thick, silver chain, and her blonde hair was artfully tied up and contained in a net. Four year-old Grace sat on her lap in a green gown, her dark blonde hair down, framing her face. She remembered her mother trying to put ribbons in her hair on the days they sat for the portrait, but Grace always ripped them out. Behind them, with his hand on Deidre’s shoulder, was her father.

              The artist made Deidre sit and Daniel stand because she was a few inches taller than her husband. He wore a black jacket that hung down to his knees, and underneath was the same tunic the guard wore. It displayed the Arganis hawk, but his was made of a finer material than the linen one Grace wore. It was velvet, if Grace’s memory served her. He also had on heavy gold chains, and hanging off his belt was a sword with an emerald inlaid in the pommel. His mousy brown hair hung long, but he’d combed it back and tied it for the portrait. He was clean shaven and his eyes were steely, hard. None of them were smiling.

              Grace sighed and touched the face of the younger Grace in the portrait.

              “Grace, aren’t you late for muster?” Grace nearly jumped out of her skin. She spun on her heel and found her cousin, Calvin, leaning in the doorway to their Uncle George’s private library. He was her height, with light brown hair and brown eyes. He was well-built, muscled from his knightly duties. At one time they were almost the same size. It was how Grace was able to masquerade as him, thus dooming herself to a life of servitude.

              “I was seeing my mother to her rooms. She broke free of Leandra again.”

              “Ah, well it’s good you’re up here. George and I have some messages we need brought to my father,” Calvin said. His father, Leon, would be unhappy to receive more messages, more orders, and more nonsense, as he put it, which kept him from his duty.

              Grace followed Calvin into George’s library, over to a small desk and chair at the center of the room. The fireplace was down to embers and a chill had settled in the air. The walls were lined with shelves of books and scrolls, remnants of George’s university days. George was bent over the desk, giving some document a going over.

              He straightened when Calvin cleared his throat. George was taller than Daniel and Leon. He stood at a middling height and had shaved his head to hide his baldness. He sometimes kept a bushy gray beard, but today he had only stubble on his chin. He was dressed in gray hose and a white linen shirt. He smiled at Grace.

              “You’re to be our messenger today, Grace? Or is it Grayson when you are in uniform?” He crooked a finger, beckoning her to come closer.

              “It will always be Grace for you, Uncle George.” She stood next to him, looking down at the document he scrutinized so. It bore the royal seal.

              “I need you to tell Leon that His Highness, Prince Drake, plans to attend the wedding,” George said, frowning.

              Grace looked over to Calvin, whose mouth was turned down. “Pardon me, but isn’t the Prince’s presence a sign of favor to Arganis?” her cousin asked.

              “It would be in better times, but we are hard put to find food for the few guests who
did
plan to join us here. I do not know how we will find food to feed the Prince and whomever else travels with him,” George said.

              It was Grace’s turn to frown. “I thought we were going to purchase food stores from Sera? Wasn’t that the plan? Use our stores for the wedding feast and give the town something to celebrate, and then have Sera help us through the winter?”

              “According to His Majesty, purchasing food – or anything for that matter – from our ‘enemies’ is a punishable offense,” Calvin grumbled. He moved to the opposite side of the desk, pulling George’s document away and reading aloud, “‘Let it be known that the blasphemous woman in Sera, the one who calls herself queen, is an enemy to the good people of Cesernan. Importing goods is a treasonous offense and will be handled as such by the king’s court. Signed, His Most Royal Majesty, King Frederick I.’”

              Grace grabbed the document from Calvin and inspected the wax imprint fixed to the bottom. “But Sera had a plentiful harvest, and the sailors say Queen Eleanor is willing to sell to countries whose crops were ruined. Why would the King forbid his lords from buying food to feed their people this winter?”

              George took the document back from her. “He wants to go on a military offensive in the spring. He has been petitioning his most loyal lords to raise the funds.”

              Grace’s mouth dropped open. She couldn’t believe such nonsense. “With an army that is half starved? It will be war with Sera if he tries.”

              “Sera and Cesernan have been bickering over their claims on the Nareroc Islands for years. Frederick wants to drive them off once and for all.” Calvin rubbed his neck, obviously agitated. If there was a war, as a knight of the realm he’d go to the battlegrounds. It wasn’t something Grace liked to think about.

              “Frederick has wanted war with Eleanor since she was crowned. He’s been planning this offensive for years. We’ll not have a wedding feast for your cousin, I’m afraid.” George moved closer to her, reaching across her for another letter off the desk, and the smell of wood smoke and pine overtook her. There was a certain comfort in George’s scent, despite his general lack of interest in anything that wasn’t related to the business of Arganis or his personal studies. “He’s already arrested Duke Nicholas of Actis.”

              Grace pulled away from her uncle to stare up at him in disbelief. Nicholas was the father of Calvin’s betrothed. “Certainly Calvin marrying Victoria will reflect badly on us!” From the corner of her eye, Grace saw Calvin scowl. “I am sorry, cousin, but Nicholas was deep in Frederick’s council. If
he
is considered a traitor to the crown, won’t his family be suspect as well?”

              “Hardly,” Calvin huffed. “The Duchess Katherine of Actis and her children knew nothing of the Duke’s business. He was caught trying to buy grain from Sera after Frederick’s proclamation. The King, without even a trial, sentenced him to hard labor on Nareroc.”

              “What sort of madness has taken the King?” Grace snapped. “To sentence a man like Nicholas without trial? What do the other lords think of this?”

              “That is none of your concern, Grace,” Calvin hissed. She turned on him, narrowing her gray eyes and curling her lip. He sighed and the hardness of his features softened. “No one is willing to talk openly about it at the moment, lest they suffer Frederick’s displeasure, so let none of the guards or servants know. There’ll be gossip enough when Nicholas is not here for his daughter’s wedding.” He sounded almost annoyed at having to explain it to her.

              Grace nodded her understanding. “I do hope Victoria is faring well through this.”

              “And Katherine?” Calvin prompted.

              “And Katherine.” Grace had a few brief encounters with Katherine of Actis before her disgrace, and still could not find one nice thing to say about the duchess.

              “If you’ve no more questions,” George cut in quietly, putting a slip of paper in Grace’s hand. “Give this to Leon and go about your duties.”