Elizabeth mused, “Lord Kent is a blowhard boy who wants respect. But my question is, who would possibly trust him with an important state secret? Let alone an unfounded rumor of no importance? What is happening?”
Kendra said, “While I agree with you, Avery wouldn’t have been there watching his door if he or the Heir Apparent didn’t suspect he knew something.”
Elizabeth turned to her. “There is still most of the day left. Go to his manservant and tell him your princess will walk the paths of the East Gardens after the noon meal. She would greatly enjoy his company so she may hear more about his plans for the future.”
“I’ll be with you?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“It would be foolish for a princess to walk the gardens without her protector. Besides, they say the gardens are magic this time of the season.”
“You never know what sort of magical things might happen in the garden,” I agreed.
CHAPTER TWO
Lord Kent and his manservant, an older gentleman called Pallor because of his pale complexion, arrived in the garden. Pallor was interesting, if for no other reason than he didn’t appear to partake in palace intrigue, yet his young master had been born cunning and crafty. The dichotomy always drew Elizabeth’s attention, as it did mine.
They were an unusual fit, and Lord Kent had the influence and power to choose servants far more prestigious and fitting for his role in life than Pallor. Elizabeth had mentioned the oddness of their relationship more than once. Not that there was anything suspect or nefarious to consider. Quite the opposite, in her opinion. She believed there was far more color to Pallor than his pale skin.
As for myself, his quiet ways and stoic manner impressed me so much that at times I attempted to imitate them. But my attempts probably failed to convey the quiet confidence and intelligence he portrayed. I didn’t miss the twitch at the corners of his mouth when his eyes met mine. No, he wouldn’t smile while working because that was not his station, and a smile might, in some circumstances, put his master in an awkward position.
Still, I’d not missed the twitch and did my best to return the same with a minuscule turn of my lips. We took up our respective positions behind the royal couple, trailing them by precisely six steps. We were close enough to hear their demands of us, yet not so close we intruded on their private conversation.
“Lord Kent, so glad you could find the time to rejoin me,” Elizabeth used her sweetest tone for the greeting.
Lord Kent puffed himself up and took his place at her side, to her left, of course. That placed her on his right, the subservient side. Despite his young age, he already knew more about power and how to subtly demonstrate it than many doddering old royals.
He waved an arm at the garden as if he was solely responsible for it. “I love walking in the gardens as the plants come to life after a hard winter.”
She smiled softly and batted her eyelashes. The pale blue of her long gown matched her eyes perfectly. “I suppose there is a parable about life in your observation, but I’m never clever enough to decipher things like that. Your forgotten meeting this morning went well?”
Despite wearing different clothing, Lord Kent’s eyes flicked down to his groin area as if to confirm no other wet stain had emerged. His tone was pleasant. “Yes, very well.”
The primary task for Pallor and myself was that we were also the protectors of our masters as well as servants. I wore a conspicuous sword. The silver caps of the scabbard were decorated with gold filigree, a lacework of intertwined vines. Where flowers should bloom, gemstones sparkled. All of that was purely for show.
Inside the decorative sheath rested a thin sword made of the finest Malawian polished steel with no decoration on the blade to detract from its deadly purpose. The blade was surprisingly light and agile in my hand. The single edge was sharp enough to slice in half the most delicate kerchief tossed into the air. Hundreds of hours of practice made my moves with the sword as smooth as those of any maiden on a dance floor.
Others preferred the popular heavy two-handed broadswords. They were nearly as tall as a man and heavy enough to chop firewood. A single downward swipe would split an enemy from head to waist in a single blow. I’d seen it happen.
Elizabeth had once questioned me about my choice of a weapon, subtly suggesting carrying one similar to others. I’d said, “My blade will quickly slice a man three or four times, if not deeply, and perhaps stab him twice before he can raise his broadsword high enough to swing once in my direction.”
“That’s it? That’s all you intend?” she asked as if offended. “You slice instead of kill?”
Ignoring her interruption, I continued, “Most men, even the best of warriors, will stop after they are cut a few times, and he hasn’t yet managed to lift his sword for his first swing. The flick of my blade will discourage an enemy from a fight—so the victory will be mine.”
“If he does not quit at your flicking?” She had asked, ever probing and questioning those around her and meaning no disrespect by the questions.
“Then my intention is to run like the wind.”
“Run?” She giggled. “My sworn protector will run at the sight of an upraised broadsword? Why? Is it not your task to fight for me to your death?”
“And that will happen. However, I’ll do it from ten more steps back from where your enemy raised that beast of a sword, and maybe another ten steps if he chases me and tires. I have no intention of standing up to such a formidable weapon with my little sword.”
“Your solution?” She prompted me. “If your sword isn’t enough?”
“A bolt fired from a crossbow, a knife thrown, or a well-aimed flower pot thrown in his direction all come to mind. Along with a pike, spear, arrow, or heavy rock. Anything I can grab and use as a weapon to attack from a distance, so I’m not sliced in half.”
Her eyes pierced mine. She said, “A little touch of magic will make any of those weapons strike your opponent accurately and with power. You will not miss.”
“No, that will not happen. And that same touch of magic will cause it to travel at deadly speeds. There are times when instead of controlling my magic, it controls me.” The same subject had been discussed many times.
Today, while in the Royal Rose Garden, she walked with her hands clasped behind her waist, out of Lord Kent’s sight, but where they were in sight for me. They communicated with me in a fashion only we understood. A wriggle of her index finger told me to reduce my speed, so the space between us increased. She wanted to say something privately to Lord Kent without Pallor or myself overhearing it.
I slowed my pace and Pallor matched my slightly smaller and slower strides. We walked side by side, eight paces back behind our masters instead of six. A glance at Pallor revealed he had slightly raised his eyebrows as he looked my way in question, yet he said nothing. But there was no doubt he had noticed.
His eyes left mine and darted ahead of the royal couple, then to either side and finally behind us. He sensed no danger but remained wary. We were alone, the four of us. His hand rested on the knob of the cane he used to walk with, a generally accepted concession to his age yet he carried no sword.
He was good at his service to his master, a skill much appreciated. Only a slight whitening of his fingers revealed the pressure he placed on an unknown trigger on the cane. His fingers had subtly changed position on the handle of the cane as his body tensed. The cane was not an affectation or a crutch as people believed, but a weapon. I was sure of it. Possibly a thin rapier hid inside it, or even a hated tri-cornered sword. They said the cuts from swords with three sharp edges never heal properly.