IWJACM Chapter 37

"Stay close by her. Watch her carefully. Report back to me."

Yvessa added, carefully.

"It's been barely a week since she came to Lothier. She'll need time to settle."

"No doubt—watch her closely. Report to me."

Rezet gave the brief instruction and made to turn away, and Yvessa hurried to add more.

"Even by day, she goes out of her way—goes down and spends her time there. She seems starved for the warmth of other people."

The warmth of other people. Rezet recalled it—that she'd told him once, how in all Argan's vastness, she'd spent her whole life inside just her own bedroom.

'Send her out to see the territory, then. At least that much.'

Lothier Castle had been noisy for days running. Every day a banquet was held in the hall to celebrate the war's end and the army's safe return. In the town, the festival had gone on for days as well.

He knew it well: wherever people gathered, the talk turned to Argan's princess. The fallen empire's princess—and a yon'gyn. Provocative enough pairing, that. Not talk that would die down soon.

And rumor has quick feet. The princess's name, already dragged through the capital's mud as a temptress—it wouldn't take more than a few days for that to reach clear to Lothier.

He had no intention of letting her wander where they'd bat her about like some plaything for gossip. Left to his own will—touring the territory, forget it, he wouldn't even put her outside the castle walls.

Lothier Castle was large enough as it was, plenty of rare sights inside its own walls. No need to risk sending her past them.

Rezet was just about to settle on that very conclusion when Yvessa carefully added one more word.

"Don't just send word through a servant. See to it she isn't lonely, and she'll come round soon enough. She looked to me like she needs her husband near."

"She said that?"

"She wouldn't say it outright. But there are things a body sees, waiting on her so close."

'She needs me—is that it.'

Even a servant's flattering little bid wasn't unpleasant to hear.

'Take her out with me, then…?'

If he took her out himself, no rumor could touch her, no danger either. His mind tipped toward it—that much, surely, could do no harm.

Confirming that her master's response was lenient, Yvessa hurried to press further.

"For instance—instead of staying up here, why not go down to the study now? Your Grace, you went down to see her, but you must've crossed paths without knowing it. She'll be at a loss."

"…Yes. Understood."

"Yes, then—through this door, if you'd—"

Rezet's brow drew faintly in.

"Door. What door."

"Yes? The door on the stairs that runs straight down to Your Grace's study."

Only then, seeing the maid's bewildered face, did Rezet remember the door existed at all. A stairway joining the lord's bedroom to his study—a passage he'd not set foot in, for as many years as he'd stayed clear of this bedroom.

"She went down through there?"

"Yes, yes…."

The door on the study's side, too, had gone so long unused it was all but taken for a wall.

He was fairly sure a side table and a strongbox had been set in front of it—and even by rough guess, that wasn't a weight she could've shoved open alone, from the far side.

Rezet's face went hard, plain to see, as he strode deeper into the bedroom. He tore open the door, half-swallowed by the curtain.

A passage long starved of light bared itself—black as a beast's throat flung wide. Every last expression drained off Rezet's face.

The door that had stood stubbornly sealed swung wide. Bright light poured across Elise's face. She flinched back on reflex, hand flying up to shield her eyes—and a startled voice came flying in after it.

"Ah—no. Something kept rustling in here—thought a rat got in, so I opened it up to check. Your Highness? What in the world are you doing here?"

Thank the stars, it was a face she knew. The instant she was sure of that—someone familiar—relief welled up in her.

"Sir Ruben?"

"Yes. It's been a while, Your Highness."

Ruben scratched his head and stepped back from the doorway.

"Come out this way, first, why don't you. This stairway—it ought to run clean up to the top floor… must've been sealed off, I suppose, from going so long unused."

"Thank you."

Elise drew her shawl tight at her front and stepped into the study.

'Thank goodness. At least she hadn't been caught, half-dead-looking, stuck in the middle of the stairs.'

Only once the relief settled did it occur to her—her hair undone, her dress not properly on. Elise checked her reflection sidelong in the window glass. Not quite shameful enough to be caught in front of others—but not a dignified sight, either.

But Ruben Diarck was a knight who'd already seen her far more ragged and shabby than this. So long as the man in front of her wasn't Rezet Kyrstan, there was no particular need to be pretty and proper about it.

"Did you come down to see His Grace?"

"That's right. He wasn't in the study, and the door wouldn't budge, so I was just about to head back up."

"That stairway's dark as pitch. You ought to have brought a light."

"Didn't think of it in time. Has the Grand Duke gone out somewhere?"

Ruben shrugged, shook his head.

"Couldn't tell you. I only came by myself to report in, but seeing as Sover's not around either, he's probably off inspecting the land. Or else out at the training grounds in front of the barracks. Care to go have a look?"

"Now?"

"If you like. Haven't had a look at the barracks yet, have you?"

Elise hesitated, then nodded. Nothing to do inside the castle anyway—a breath of outside air wouldn't hurt. She hurried after Ruben, who'd brightened up considerably.

"Our mighty army's one of Lothier's prides, you know! Now that you've come all this way to Lothier, can't very well let you skip past the barracks, can we!"

Ruben Diarck was a cheerful, lively knight. She'd thought all knights were gruff and cold like Rezet—seems she'd been wrong. By far the most talkative soul she'd met at Lothier.

"The barracks are quite a size, aren't they?"

"Well, there's plenty of us. Most territories, raising two thousand sworn men? Near impossible, that. Only works here because it's Lothier, and because our lord is who he is."

Every question Elise threw out came back with an answer minutes long, hearty and cheerful. Thanks to Ruben's endless jawing, Elise—usually shy around strangers—didn't even get a moment to feel awkward.

Before long, the topic drifted to Rezet Kyrstan himself.

"Not an everyday thing, mind, but there's times His Grace stands in himself as sparring partner. When that happens, Lothier's knights go plumb mad throwing themselves at him. A mountain none of 'em will ever get over—but there's some part in a man that wants to try climbing it anyway."

"Does anyone get hurt?"

"Ha! How's a spar going to go without somebody getting hurt? Happens every day."

"Every day, you say?"

Elise echoed, startled. A man built out of solid iron, and the word "injury"—the two mixed about as well as oil and water.

Ruben scratched his chin, a touch sheepish.

"Well—he's my lord and all, but there's no give in him, none. Spars like it's the genuine field of battle. Doesn't hold back one inch."

"Ah…."

"Had one poor fool wouldn't own he'd lost, pushed clean up to death's door, they say. Ha, the way he got walloped everywhere, all over—poor Jakob. Beat into mush, like dough good and worked. Ah—of course."

Ruben, who'd been rattling on cheerful as you like, glanced over at Elise anew.

"'Course, hard for Your Highness to picture it, I'd think."

Seemed frequent injury just didn't apply to that man at all. Some relief in that, for Elise—but at the same time, how thoroughly like him, to spar that way.

"I think I can picture it well enough. A cold one, isn't he."

"Eh, cold? Not hardly. Pays extra mind to you 'specially, Highness, he does. Kind. Gentle, even."

"…Looks that way to you?"

"Course it does. Rest of us, he's sharp as any blade, and that's no stretch. Every so often fierce enough to crawl right up your spine, reminds you plain what he is—cross him wrong at a time like that, you truly meet your maker…. Not often, mind you. But seeing all that—toward Your Highness, well, he's soft as a ripe peach. Soft as mush."

Not showing his face once, the whole week straight since she'd come to the castle—that's what passed for soft as a peach? Every peach in the whole world must've gone hollow at the pit, then.

While Elise scoffed silently to herself, they crossed the keep's inner courtyard and came up on the barracks where the knights lodged. A different air here from the keep, again.

"This here's where the knights guarding the castle lodge. Five knights, myself counted in, fifty-sixty private soldiers besides. Rest of 'em are up north, past the triple line, at the military grounds. All the soldier-training happens out there too. You'd have to go down past the outer wall—not walking distance, that. This here's the stables."

Elise spotted a familiar horse in the stables. A great black warhorse, black as pitch, chewing its hay while a stablehand brushed it down. Warmth rose up in her; she stepped in closer.

"Hello there. We meet again."

"Wait—Your Highness, that horse, don't go touching it careless-like, it's dang—"

Ruben's hand shot out, urgent. Then froze there, awkward, in midair.