The countess continued to read a moment longer, then she lowered the paper and the lorgnette and, without a glance at Stephano, proceeded to give instructions to Dargent, who noted them down in his book. Unlike many women in her position, who gave over control of their wealth to male relatives or trusted advisers, the countess managed her estate and business concerns. The instructions she was giving Dargent had something to do with the felling and sale of timber on her land. Stephano was angry and embarrassed at being ignored and he had difficulty hearing what she said through the blood pounding in his ears.
At last, her business concluded, the countess handed Dargent the paper and nodded her head in dismissal. Dargent rose to his feet, bowed to the countess and inclined his head to Stephano, then exited the room through another doorway. The countess turned her gaze upon Stephano.
“You were not summoned,” she said in mild reproof. “What have you done to my secretary? Sliced him into bits?”
The door flew open and the flustered young man burst inside. “Madame, I am sorry! I did not see the captain enter. Here, you, sir-”
The secretary reached out his hand to grab hold of the interloper and drag him out. Stephano stopped the man with a look.
The countess glanced past the secretary’s shoulder and saw Rodrigo smiling from the antechamber. He placed his hand on his heart, bowed low. The countess gave a deep sigh.
“Thank you, Emil,” she said to her secretary. “Remind me to teach you how not to be an idiot. That will be all.”
Blushing, the young man cast a furious glance at Stephano, then withdrew. Rodrigo gave a wave to Stephano and mouthed the words, “Pays well!” Emil shut the door and Stephano and his mother were alone.
Stephano gave a mocking, servile bow. “I am here, Madame, your indentured servant, come to work off my debt.”
“Don’t be more of an ass than you can help, my son,” said the countess. “I find it so tiresome.”
She made a commanding gesture. “Fetch my scarf. We are going to take a turn about the garden.”
“Fetch your own damn scarf. I am not your lady’s maid,” said Stephano angrily. “And we will talk about this here and now-”
The countess fixed her lustrous blue-gray eyes upon her son. “I said we will take a turn in the garden. Now hand me my scarf.”
Stephano swallowed his wrath. He snatched up the lace scarf-made of lamb’s wool, delicate as cobweb-and flung it over his mother’s shoulders.
“If I refuse to undertake this job, will you really send me to debtor’s prison, Mother?”
The countess raised a delicate eyebrow, gave a delicate shrug, and said coolly, “Don’t ask stupid questions, my son.”
Chapter Three
The king is the absolute authority in the land, but he requires the support of the great families and they require him. They feed off each other. He sees to it that they are constantly vying for his favor. Alliances and ties between the Peers of the Realm run together like the notes in a symphony. The person conducting the orchestra is not the king, but the Countess de Marjolaine.
Only the noble and ancient Dragon families of Rosia remain aloof from the politics of the royal court. Since the disbanding of the Dragon Brigade, the offended dragons have shunned court altogether. His Majesty does not appear much bothered by their absence. Perhaps because he no longer requires the dragons in his new, modern navy.
COUNTESS CECILE RAPHAEL DE MARJOLAINE was fifty years old and the poets of the age still wrote songs to her beauty. They spoke of luxuriant silver hair, with curls falling on alabaster shoulders. Her blue eyes were likened to sapphires, her cheeks to the damask rose. Her figure was superb. Tall and slender, she moved with a languorous grace that suited her height.
Her complexion remained smooth, perhaps because no strong emotion was ever allowed to touch her. She had never been heard to laugh. No lines of joy creased her lips or crinkled the corners of her eyes. No lines of worry or care marred her forehead. The only two flaws on her lovely face were a single deep furrow slanting between her brows that deepened when she was absorbed in thought and a small, white scar on the right corner of her lip. The only sign of her age was the skin on the back of her hands. Once white and delicate, the skin was now stretched taut and crisscrossed beneath with blue veins.
The countess did not follow fashion. She set fashion. Her gown was simply and elegantly made of sky-blue satin, the skirt falling in sumptuous folds from a pointed bodice, the sleeves tight to the elbow, then flowing and lined with lace. She wore a necklace of blue sapphires and several very fine jewels on her fingers. Among these rings, lost and unremarked amidst the rubies and diamonds and sapphires, was a plain golden band, which she never took off. When she was preoccupied, she would often absentmindedly twist this little golden ring.
The countess led Stephano from her study into a library filled with books, whose leather bindings gave off a pleasant scent. The books were not merely decorative, as were books in the homes of much of the nobility, many of whom were practically illiterate. The countess had always been fond of reading and whereas the other fashionable women of the time invited the rich and the powerful to their salons, the countess preferred to invite poets and artists, philosophers, musicians, and scientists.
She and Stephano passed through the library and entered a small and cozy sitting room. Glass-paned doors opened out onto a charming patio enclosed by a waist-high stone wall. Trees of all varieties, many of them rare species imported from other countries, had been planted in tubs made of wood and stone. The trees formed a miniature forest that effectively screened the garden from view of prying eyes peering out nearby windows.
Looking through the trees in one direction, the observer could see blue sky and the deeper blue-purple of the mountains, green woods, and the sun shining off the crystalline surface of a distant lake. In the other direction rose the spires of a magnificent cathedral, surrounded by a large complex of buildings, all protected by a wall, all stuck far below on solid ground. The bottom level of the floating palace were about even with the cathedral’s bell tower.
How the grand bishop must hate that, thought Stephano, amused.
“Shut the doors,” said the countess.
Stephano complied. The countess rearranged her scarf around her shoulders, then walked over to the wall and gazed out into the cloudless blue sky. She began, unconsciously, to twist the small golden ring.
Stephano remained near the door, silent, waiting for her to speak. He had never been in her garden and he was entranced by the beauty of the view. He was also, truth be told, always a little awed and uncomfortable in the presence of his mother, though he would have knocked out the teeth of any man who said so.
“What do you know of the Royal Armory?” the countess asked abruptly, turning to face her son.
Stephano was accustomed to his mother’s manner of doing business; no pleasant niceties or idle talk. She went immediately to the heart of matter at hand. This was the last subject he would have expected his mother to bring up and he had to take a moment to think.
“The Royal Armory makes the weapons and armor for the king and the Royal Regiment, the king’s guards. When I was Commander of the Dragon Brigade”-his voice took on a tinge of bitterness-“the Royal Armory outfitted me and my company with magically enhanced riding armor and our muskets. The Royal Armory made some of the finest armor and weapons I’ve ever owned.”
“The Armory also looks for ways to improve those weapons and armor,” said the countess.
“That’s a given,” said Stephano.
The countess eyed him. The small furrow dug into her brow. “Don’t stand there hovering by the door as though you are ready to bolt any moment. Come closer, so that I don’t have to shout.”