“Not recently, Kendra. Let me ask you a simple question. How many are living in our palace today? No, those actually living in-house today?”
Kendra sensed a tricky inquiry and hesitated. The obvious answer was four, as they had just discussed, but that couldn’t be correct, or Elizabeth would never have asked the question. “I have neither seen nor heard of a few of them in days, maybe weeks, now that you mention it.”
“Exactly. There is only one still here. The new mage, Twin. My instincts tell me three have magically departed.” She snickered at her own silly joke again, before turning to me.
My face was fully under control, with no trace of humor, anger, or puzzlement evident. It was a face I practiced. When serving another, one must anticipate the needs, and when that fails, you are placed in an awkward position of holding steady on your course until ordered to change.
She said in an irritated tone, “Why are you still here instead of seeking out your clerk or scribe or whatever he is?”
“Just awaiting your further instructions, Elizabeth.” I gave a slight bow and backed away. Despite the unique relationship between her and my sister and me, the fact was we served at her privilege. If one day our ancestry demanded a change, an upgrade hopefully, she would be the first to congratulate and support us, but in the meantime, she spoke, and I obeyed.
She continued, to be clear, “My instructions were to go speak to your scribe and find a way to loosen his tongue that will not violate his oath of secrecy yet tell us what we need. I’d suggest asking him how that might best be accomplished instead of directly requesting the information. Just confirm the meeting between the princess and the king.”
“Anything else?” I asked, knowing there was. There always was. She also wanted me to find out about the absences of the mages yet hadn’t said as much.
Kendra said, “What is the relevance of all of this? Why is it so important?”
“Lord Kent,” My mouth spoke of its own accord, in a sudden burst of understanding. “His reaction in the garden was all wrong. We should have noticed that at the time.”
“Yes, he certainly had reason to stop and question the Heir Apparent’s servant, Avery, which is what he should have done on the spot. A simple question and answer for which there may have been a proper response. Avery may have been assigned to escort Princess Anna around the gardens. Instead, Lord Kent grew so angry it appeared his head might explode right off his body. Why did he react like that?”
“Because Lord Kent has also been seeing Princess Anna—in secret. That’s why he was so upset.” Something had finally managed to make sense to me. My chest puffed out in pride.
“And?” Elizabeth asked me pointedly, deflating my puffiness.
The feeling of pride diminished as fast as it had arisen. No response came to mind, and my pride took another beating.
Elizabeth waited a respectable time before helping me out. “Remember this morning he said he had a secret he was keeping from Avery and from me?”
“Of course,” I admitted, not knowing at all where she was going with the conversation.
Elizabeth threw her hand into the air theatrically. “Think. Princess Anna arrives from Mercia, the only place in the world where wyverns thrive, and she demands a meeting with the king, who is ill. Both Avery and Lord Kent occupy her time, plying her for information. Then, three mages and who knows how many others departed the palace in secret. It’s all connected.”
I didn’t bother admitting not understanding her logic, or to my stupidity for not doing so. My task was simply to verify a meeting. I headed for the north stables, where the minister’s offices had been moved a dozen years ago, an action that caused a stink in the palace. At least that was the local joke. The stink being the stables—and the move of the minister’s offices away from the royal wing.
As for myself, the smell of the stables was familiar and pleasant, which probably speaks to my lowborn beginnings. The scribe who was the subject of my visit was sitting fourth in a line of small desks, his larger and in better light from the window. Speaking to him directly would set tongues wagging.
He was older than me, smaller, and his eyes were intelligent. Our prior meetings had convinced me he was honorable in his work, and in repaying favors. Hopefully, that was not wrong.
The taskmaster was seated at the high desk front where he could keep a stern eye on his charges. My voice was slightly louder than necessary, ensuring the scribe would hear me and understand to offer help, “Princess Elizabeth requires the need of a royal scribe for a short time. Have you one who is between assignments or one that you can spare?”
My eyes met the eyes of the scribe I’d helped and wished to speak with. I raised my eyebrows slightly to encourage him to volunteer.
He quickly stood. “Sir, my assignment is nearly finished, and I can be of service to the Lady.”
The taskmaster growled at me, “How long will this take?”
How long didn’t really matter. It was a face-saving question. Princess Elizabeth wanted a scribe and would have one, no matter how long she required him. “One sheet neatly penned,” I lied. “The words are ready for transcription.”
He nodded and turned to the scribe, “Accompany him, Simon. Return quickly, there is more work for you.”
We departed together. Instead of taking him to Elizabeth’s quarters, we exited a side door and stepped out into the fresh air, a rare treat for someone doomed to work inside at a desk all day, most days. We walked together, past a small barn and into a patch of forest where a few rickety benches had been placed along the paths over the years. It was an area for a private conversation between friends under the shade of oaks and maples. In the winter, the lack of leaves on those same trees allowed the weak sun to warm those sitting.
“I have something to ask of you but need to determine how to best do it in a manner you can answer without you violating your oaths. Perhaps you can instruct me on best how to progress.”
“Thank you. Your friendship is appreciated, but I have sworn duties.” His attitude had turned formal and stiff. “What is it you need?”
“Good. You are honorable, as I believed. If I ask an improper question, will you simply raise a finger in warning to stop me from speaking?”
“Yes, that is something allowed.”
It would have pleased me to reveal to Elizabeth that through my clever and extraordinary insights, I extracted the required information with only a few words. The truth paled in comparison. With the first few words of every question, every scenario presented, and every prompted situation, his finger lifted, and my question was quashed. After what seemed like a hundred attempts, we were no closer to the truth we required.
On impulse, to change the subject and out of frustration, I finally attempted to make a joke. “Does the King wear royal-purple bedclothes when sleeping this time of the year, or does he sleep nude?”
Simon paused. His finger remained curled with the rest of them in his lap, and he smiled only a little. He knew from the previous questions what area of information we were seeking, yet each question had been rejected until now. Then he looked directly at me and said, “No.”
There! In one word he’d provided the information I required, for how else would he know for certain what color bedclothes my king wore or if he slept nude unless he’d seen for himself? Which now brought up the indirect question of why would he have been in the King’s bed-chamber? However, that was a question I could not, and would not, broach.
Even in the rules we’d set, there was a delicate line we’d toed, and any debt he owed had been more than paid. I smiled my thanks and said, “Now I am indebted to you. We have both been true to our masters and yet managed to do what is needed without breaking any oaths. This was important, or I wouldn’t have come to you.”