Page 9 of Traitor Son

Of course, when she had begun her apprenticeship fifty years ago, she had never imagined she would end her days in exile. But when disaster had befallen Lady Rache Pavot, she had chosen to follow her evento Aldeburke. Rache Pavot had been the truest kind of lady, gracious to everyone down to the lowest scullery maid, keeping a harmonious home even with the contentious Hurrells. That was the mark of a noblewoman, and there were plenty that had the title of Lady who were no such thing.

And there had been the princess to think of, too.

Azelma didn’t believe in wishing stories or magic. But she did believe there was a natural order of things, that the world gave with one hand and took with the other. Some people thought that things should always go their way even if they didn’t put in the work todeserveit, as if bread would rise without a good slap and a hard, muscular kneading. And that just wasn’t so.

“Keep your fingers out of my black pudding,” she snapped when the handsome knight appeared again, just before sunrise. The duke’s men took it in turns to supervise the preparation of his food. “The beasts in the field know to wait for breakfast.”

“I’ll still be hungry then,” he said with a winning smile that revealed a dimple in his cheeks. Azelma studied him, marking the blond hair and hazel eyes, which looked a little red-rimmed. What had he said his name was? Miche? “Do you live in this kitchen, grandmother? I swear you’re here every time I come in.”

“How else would I save any food for the table, I’d like to know,” she grumbled. “Locusts.”

“I heard the princess is still ill,” he said sympathetically. “I have a remedy from my mother, a sovereign cure.”

“Do you, now?”

“Barley porridge with honey, and a few other things,” he explained. His eyes went over the pots and pans on the stove avidly, no doubt searching for the soft, bland food usually offered to the unwell. “Have the maids already taken up Her Highness’s breakfast?”

“You’re a nosy fellow, aren’t you? Here. Take these and be off with you.” Azelma shoved an assortment of breads both sweet and savory into his hands. “If His Grace grants permission, I’ll make that porridge.”

“His Grace?” Sir Miche hesitated, his eyebrows pulling together.

“Are your ears full of wax? Go on, get out,” she ordered, brandishing her spoon. “But only if Duke Andelin tells me directly! I know young men. You’re all frightful liars.”

* **

The library was not the first place Remin would have searched for a simpleton.

Easing the door shut behind him, he paused to scan for danger. The old lady in the kitchen had all but shoved him down the hallway, and he doubted that a crew of assassins were hiding among the encyclopedias. It was a surprisingly large library for a modest estate; tall bookshelves lined every wall, and the room was broken up into sitting areas with deep couches and heavy worktables, generously supplied with oil lamps. The whole place smelled agreeably of leather and old paper.

It had been almost a week since he had arrived at Aldeburke, and other than their short encounter in the forest, he hadn’t seen a hair of the princess. Moving silently through long aisles of bookshelves, Remin searched, wondering why the cook couldn’t have just come out with it and told him where the girl was. At the back of the library, he came to a wide bay window that looked out on the rose garden. The last row of shelves was missing two bookcases, so as not to block the light, and his eyes drifted upward.

In the small space above the window, a light was glowing.

Remin eased back, peering into the nook. In the depths, a light gleamed on long hair, and he heard the distinctive rustle of a page turning.

“Princess,” he growled. “Come out of there at once.”

The head jerked. The light went out. And a moment later a pair of eyes peeped out of the shadows, round with terror.

“Do you think you’re an owl?” he asked impatiently. “Get down here.”

How had she gotten up there in the first place? There was no sign of a ladder; the girl must be nimble as a squirrel. But she accepted her fate. Her eyes vanished and a pair of small bare feet emerged, and Remin hastened over as she lowered herself off the side of the rafter, dangling. Her refuge was at least twelve feet off the ground.

“Drop,” he ordered. “I’ll catch you.”

Silently, she obeyed, turning her body in midair so that he caught her neatly as a cat. She felt shockingly light, but then, Remin had never held a woman in his arms before; were all of them like this? More to the point, though her face was pale as paper and her tawny eyes absolutely enormous, she didn’t feel the least bit fevered.

“You don’t look sick,” he observed, frowning down at her. “You’ve been hiding in the library all this time? Can you read?”

Uneasily, she shifted in his arms as if she wanted to wiggle away, and he tightened them like iron bands. He had no patience for any further games.

“Can you or not?” he barked, and she nodded frantically, shrinking back. “Can youtalk?”

She nodded again. That was ambiguous at best.

“Tell me what you were reading. Don’t think, answer.”

“I—”

---