“Speak up!” Krasta told Bauska, and squeezed the maidservant’s upper arm--which she’d never let go of--harder than ever.
Bauska whimpered yet again, then did speak, in a very small voice: “Milady tells the truth. I will have a baby, and Captain Mosco is the father.”
Mosco had wasted no time recovering his aplomb. With an extravagant Algarvian shrug, he said, “Well, what if I am? That’s what comes of poking, every now and then anyhow.” He turned to Lurcanio. “It’s not as if I’m the only one, my lord Count. These Valmieran women spread their legs at a wink and a wave.”
“I know that,” Lurcanio answered. He was looking at Krasta. Blood rushed to her face--the blood of outrage, not that of embarrassment. She squared her shoulders and drew in a deep breath, preparatory to scorching Lurcanio. But, a moment later, she exhaled, the scorching undelivered. She did not care to admit it even to herself, but Lurcanio intimidated her as no one else ever had.
He spoke to Mosco now in Algarvian. Mosco kicked at the carpet again as he answered in the same language. Krasta had no idea what they were saying. Though she had an Algarvian for a lover, she had not bothered learning above half a dozen words of his language.
To her surprise, Bauska leaned over to her and whispered, “They say half-breeds are the last thing they want. What are they going to do to me?” She looked as if she wanted to sink through the floor.
“You understand the funny noises they make?” Krasta said in some surprise. To her way of thinking, servants barely had the wit to speak Valmieran, let alone any other language. But Bauska nodded.
Lurcanio and Mosco went right on talking, taking no notice of the two women. Krasta squeezed Bauska’s arm again to make the maidservant tell her what they were jabbering about. In due course, Bauska did: “Mosco says they’ll have to make sure the baby weds an Algarvian, come the day. In a few generations, he says, the Kaunian taint will be gone.”
“He says that, does he?” Krasta whispered back, outraged all over again. Everyone knew--everyone in her circles knew--Kaunian blood was infinitely superior to that of the swaggering barbarians from Algarve. But she did not have the nerve to throw that obvious truth in Lurcanio’s face. Instead, she tried a different ploy: “How happy will Captain Mosco’s wife be to learn of his little bastard?”
She wasn’t sure Mosco had a wife. By the way he flinched, though, he did. Lurcanio spoke in a flat voice, the one he used to give orders: “You will not say a word to Captain Mosco’s wife, milady.”
After gathering herself, Krasta looked defiance at him. In trying to keep her from playing the game of scandal, he had, for once, overreached himself. “I will bargain with you,” she said. “If Mosco acknowledges the bastard as his, if he supports the brat and Bauska as they deserve, his wife need not hear anything unfortunate. If he acts as so many men are in the habit of acting ...”
Lurcanio and Mosco spoke back and forth in Algarvian. Again, Krasta had no idea what they were saying. Bauska did, and let out an angry squawk. Pointing at Mosco, she said, “You certainly are the father! I don’t tomcat around, and you’ve proved you do.” Krasta didn’t know whether to believe her or not; she operated on the assumption that servants lied whenever they got the chance. But Bauska sounded convincing, and Mosco wouldn’t have an easy time proving she lied--not for some months, anyhow.
He thought of that, too. “If the child has hair the color of straw, it can starve for all of me,” he growled. But then, with a sour look at Krasta, he went on, “If I see signs I did in truth sire it, it shall not lack, nor shall its mother. This I would do for my own honor’s sake, but--”
“Men speak of honor more often than they show it,” Krasta said.
“You do not know Algarvians as well as you think,” Mosco snapped.
“You do not know men as well as you think,” Krasta retorted, which drew a startled gasp of laughter from Bauska and a couple of harsh chuckles from Lurcanio.
“I was trying to tell you--if that is so, the child and mother shall not lack,” Captain Mosco said. “And, if they do not lack, not a word of this shall go back to Algarve. Is it a bargain?”
“It is a bargain,” Krasta said at once. She did not ask Bauska’s opinion; Bauska’s opinion meant nothing to her. When her maidservant nodded, she scarcely noticed. Her contest was with the Algarvians--and she had done better against this pair than the Valmieran army had done against Mezentio’s men. If only we might have blackmailed the redheads instead of fighting them, she thought.
Lurcanio sensed that he and Mosco had come off second best. Waggling a finger under Krasta’s nose, he said, “Do remember, you have made this bargain with my aide, who has his own reasons for agreeing to it. If you seek to play such games with me, you shall not be happier for it afterwards, I promise you.”
Nothing could have been more nicely calculated to make Krasta want to try to punish him for his Algarvian arrogance .. . though having his child struck her as going too far. And Lurcanio had shown her he was not in the habit of bluffing. Disliking him for the steadfastness she was also compelled to respect, she made her head move up and down. “I understand,” she said.
“Good.” He was arrogant indeed. “You had better.” And then his manner changed. He could take off and put on charm as readily as he took off and redonned his kilt up in Krasta’s bedchamber. “Shall we go out this evening, milady, as well as tomorrow? Viscount Valnu, I hear, has promised one of his entertainments on the spur of the moment.” He raised an eyebrow. “If you are irked at me, I can always go alone.”
“And bring some ambitious little tart back here?” Krasta said. “Not on your life!”
Lurcanio laughed. “Would I do such a thing?”
“Of course you would,” Krasta said. “Mosco may not know men, but I do.” Lurcanio laughed again and did not presume to contradict her.
Pekka hurried around the house flicking at imaginary specks of dust. “Is everything ready?” she asked for the dozenth time.
“As ready as it can be,” her husband answered. Leino looked around the parlor. “Of course, we haven’t stuffed Uto into the rest crate yet.”
“You told me I’d get in trouble if I went in the rest crate,” Uto said indignantly. “That means you can’t put me in there either. It does, it does.” He drew himself up straight, as if defying Leino to deny it.
“Big people can do all sorts of things children can’t,” Leino said. Pekka coughed; she didn’t want this issue complicated. Leino coughed, too, in embarrassment, and yielded the point: “This time, you’re right. I’m not supposed to put you in the rest crate.” Under his breath, he added, “No matter how tempted I am.” Pekka heard that, and coughed again; Uto, fortunately, didn’t.
Before any new arguments could start--and arguments accreted around Uto as naturally as nacre around of bit of grit inside an oyster--someone knocked on the front door. Pekka jumped, then hurried to open it. There stood Ilmarinen and Siuntio. Pekka went down on one knee before them, as she would have before one of the Seven Princes of Kuusamo. “Enter,” she said. “Your presence honors my home.” It was a commonplace greeting, but here she meant it from the bottom of her heart.
As the two elderly theoretical sorcerers stepped over the threshold, Leino also bowed. So did Uto, a beat slower than he should have. He stared at the mages from under his thick mop of black hair.
Ilmarinen laughed at that covert inspection. “I know about you, young fellow,” he said. “Aye, I do. And do you know how I know?” Uto shook his head. Ilmarinen told him: “Because I was just the same way when I was your size, that’s how.”
“I believe it,” Siuntio said, “and you haven’t changed much in all the years since, either.” Ilmarinen beamed, though Pekka wasn’t sure Siuntio had meant it as a compliment.