Page 83 of Keeper of the Word
“To whom?”
“I do not read his messages nor scribe them.”
“’Tis a lie. In fact, I See your end. You shall meet your end when ’tis discovered that you are reading messages. Would you like to know more?”
“Lady Elanna!” Joss cautioned her. StarSeers were forbidden from speaking of one’s death.
“I swear I do not read nor scribe the prince’s messages!” His hands flew up to his face. The surrounding ravens batted their wings. “I am a loyal servant!”
“What is the village called?”
“Glyn. The messages go to the constable there. I know not to whom he gives them. I swear.”
“Glyn is not far from Lessio, m’lady. Only a day’s ride from where Lord Tolvar is.” Joss’s voice was lowered. “Mayhap he can investigate.”
Elanna nodded. “Give me a parchment, ravenmaster.”
“By the way, Lady StarSeer,” the ravenmaster broached. “This message came for you an hour ago. ’Twas yet too early to deliver it.” He held up the folded message, the seal on the back hidden.
Finally! Word from Tolvar. Elanna snatched the message and dug in. She wasn’t two sentences into the message when her heart dipped in her chest.
“’Tis not from Tolvar,” she said to the others. “’Tis from Tara. And she shall be here on the morrow.”
While they hadn’t beenable to gain information about why the prince was bent on writing and sending messages each day, at least they knew for certain he was sending them. Elannahadto speak to Prince Dashiell!
But how?
Fortunately, Hux had the answer. He’d made clever use of his time, it seemed.
Following Prince Dashiell for days had revealed to him the inner workings of the prince’s daily schedule. Even if there was a deviation, Hux said, there were only so many variations to that schedule. From all that Hux understood, no one save for the ravenmaster was aware that Prince Dashiell sent these early morning messages. The prince had been strategic in his timing, the exits and entrances, and maintained enough of a schedule that his excuse, an early morning constitutional, was questioned but could not be disputed. Hidden in nooks, crannies, and all manner of interesting places—the others blanched at the thought of him being caught—Hux stated he’d overheard King Rian lecture Dashiell each day about evading his guard. But as no one had evidence that the prince was not simply out for a stroll, that had remained the extent of it.
Hux did mention that the prince and the king had appeared more and more strained in their interactions each day. After these midmorning lectures, witnessed by the chancellor, the Warins on duty—but strangely never the queen—Prince Dashiell followed the sovereign to Sidra Hall, where King Rian held court until the midday meal. Prince Dashiell was then conducted to his rooms—Hux minced no words that the prince did not appear to go bychoice—where, from what Hux could gather, he spent time in study, prayer, or debate exercises with the chancellor or a pair of council members.
Midafternoon was the prince’s private training time, where Hux had observed the prince progress through the same sword exercises each day.
“He’s bored out of his mind,” Hux commented. “And when I overheard him ask his tutor when he was to learn a new skill in the art of the sword, the tutor remarked that he was unready. Who can say why Dashiell is not being challenged in his sword instruction? But his movements tell me he could perform the skills he’s learned in his slumber.
“Next, he attends the nightly banquet. Dances with exactly three ladies chosen by either the sovereign or the chancellor and then is waltzed off to bed like a good, little princeling.”
Elanna heard all of Hux’s recounting, listening for the moment she could insert herself into the prince’s day. And it had to be today. On the morrow, Tara would ruin everything.
“If I am correctly reading the expression on your beautiful face”—Joss’s gasp interrupted him—“You are wondering when you might bump into the prince. I noticed that speaking with him has become important to you. The answer is, you cannot. You shall need to dance with the prince.”
Chapter
Thirty-One
ELANNA
As if Hux were born for mischief, he’d not only ascertained Dashiell’s schedule but learned much of the chancellor’s schedule, as well.
“That man is difficult to keep up with. He’s flooded with enough duties and meetings for three people.” Hux shook his head. “I know not that the sovereign realizes how much he demands of Griffith.”
Hux had also mastered the duties of the Warins and when they changed shifts. Most were familiar to him now, though information about the new ones was slower to gain. One might begin to wonder how Hux gained this skillful art of deception. And as if shadowing the Warins wasn’t enough at which to marvel, he, too, had learned the schedule of four of the eight sovereign’s councilors. He’d even begun to pick up on the sovereign’s schedule—though that schedule diverted the most, he complained.
More helpful still, Hux had befriended several courtiers and high-ranking servants, including the housekeeper, the head stable boy, a knight in the queensguard, two chambermaids, and a few others that Hux chuckled about.
“So many delicious secrets in this place. I cannot wait to employ another one against some unsuspecting fool.”
