Not Really the Prisoner of Zenda (25 page)

“It’s all been arranged. Once they reach the Adahan border, they’ll be joined by another company of Baron Adahan’s troops. She’ll be quite safe, I assure you.” He turned to Leria. “Now, let me be very clear, Lady — you’re not some sort of prisoner; I’ll not drag you, kicking and screaming, into the coach that will be here at first light. If you choose to spurn the invitation of the Dowager Empress, just tell me now or tell my captain in the morning, and I’ll convey word of that to Biemestren, immediately, by telegraph from Nerahan.”

She really didn’t have a choice. If she refused — no matter how carefully she phrased it — Treseen would be sure that it would widely be bruited about that, as he had put it, she had “spurned the Dowager Empress’s invitation.”

“Of course,” she said, nodding. “I’ll be honored to attend the Empress.”

Treseen was a good enough politician that he kept his smile inside. He had bought himself more time, and gotten what he surely thought of as a nuisance of a girl out of his way, at least for the time being.

She understood why Treseen was happy.

What she didn’t understand was why Erenor was holding himself so still and tight that she was certain that he, too, was delighted. Was it really as simple as him not liking to travel, and enjoying the prospect of being left alone with his study and his spell books, food and drink available at the pull of a bell rope?

Possibly. Erenor didn’t have to have complicated motivations for everything.

She thought about asking him later, but decided against it. He’d just lie.

“In the morning, then,” Treseen said, rising.

“Yes.”

***

Erenor still was overly pleased with himself as they stood and watched Treseen ride away, but he was starting to let it show.

She tried to keep her voice low and level. “So — you’re happy that I’ve been sent for.”

“Well, no,” he said, smiling. “I’m not looking forward to that lost-little-child look that the baron will surely display upon his return, no. I’m hoping it’s just that, and not a full-scale tantrum. Do you think that smoke will actually pour out of his ears?” Erenor shook his head. “I’m not sure if I’d rather that he comes back here first, or finds out in Dereneyl — and it’s perhaps just as well that he’s not one for breaking furniture when he’s angry.”

“I’ll leave him a note,” she said.

“And I should get how many men to hold him down while I read it to him?” He waved that away. “Well, I’ll manage. But yes, I’ll admit that I do see some advantages in all this, although I’ll freely confess that I far prefer your conversation to that of the guards and the serving girls — except for the little upstairs maid, who is not altogether utterly unpleasant to either ear or eye … or the touch, for that matter. And I will admit without any necessity of having hot irons applied to my tender flesh that having to watch so carefully over you has prevented me from being able to freely go into Dereneyl, and seeing if some of the locals can easily be separated from a little coin, and I assure you I will be taking full advantage of that in your absence.

“But I think you’re missing the best part of it.”

“Oh?”

“A problem is best dealt with the center. Here, we’re at the edges. I’m not at all sure what Treseen and Miron have planned — if they have anything planned, as of yet; Forinel’s timely reappearance caught them rather off guard, didn’t it?

“Tyrnael — and Treseen, no doubt — intended to push Parliament into making Miron the baron, and we’ve no reason to think that they have any less desire for that now. More, if anything. Tyrnael wanted a Holtish baron who was under his influence, and Treseen wanted to keep his soft, no doubt very lucrative, job as the governor, for as long as possible. A bit of tension there, no?

“Still, the first desire hasn’t changed, and the second want is probably more urgent. For them. Particularly with Forinel, right this moment, showing all and sundry that he has quite a lot to offer — I think he’ll be at least partly successful with the bandit problem, and I think that will give him some very serious credibility with the local lords … although you can expect that Moarin will be more than a little resentful at having to shell out good silver.” He raised a finger. “But think on it: the center is Biemestren, and you have just been invited — no, better than invited: you’ve been commanded to the center, when up until now you had been dispatched to the fringe.

“I think that opens up a whole world of possibilities, don’t you? Treseen is anchored here, yes, but do you think that Miron will allow you to whisper into the Empress’s ear with nobody around to plead his own case? Don’t you think that Biemestren is going to draw Tyrnael, as well? Isn’t it at least possible that not only this matter, but others, can be resolved by one very smart young woman, who has the ear of not only the Empress but the Emperor, and is ready to say or do what needs to be said or done, at the right moment?”

He smiled again. “And, who knows? It’s not at all impossible that you might, at some point, find that you have some help in one or another matter, isn’t it?”

She was going to ask him what he meant — not that she thought that he’d say anything unless it suited his own purposes, though it was, at least, worth a try — but he muttered a few syllables, and the brightness of the afternoon rose up and blinded her painlessly.

And when the brightness was gone, so was Erenor.

***

“I understand that you’ll be leaving in the morning,” Miron said, as the serving girl laid another preposterously thin slice of roast lamb on his plate, then ladled a scant spoonful of the horseradish sauce on both the meat and the fried turnip cake. “Pity.”

She nodded, and forced herself to smile. There was no advantage to be gained in telling Miron just how much she hated him, and quite a disadvantage to be had in showing that sort of weakness, as she had in Governor Treseen’s office, but had not repeated since.

The problem was, probably, that she was too easy to manipulate for fear of being thought weak — after all, she could have eaten in her rooms, or forbidden Miron from joining her at table. But that would have made it seem like she was frightened of him, and she had decided against that.

Ella, the serving girl — she really should be better about remembering names, Leria decided — quickly eyed the level in the mottled-green wine bottle, then walked toward the archway into the main hall. She would be only a pull of the bell rope away, if that. More than likely, she was waiting just out of sight to be summoned, or to eavesdrop on their conversation, or probably both, come to think of it.

Or maybe, just possibly, Ella wanted to be close by in case Leria needed her, but that wasn’t something Leria could count on. It wasn’t that servants were incapable of loyalty — quite the contrary, in fact — but loyalty had to be earned, by treating them fairly if strictly over a period of time; it couldn’t be earned overnight, or purchased with a few coppers. Leria had quite deliberately not picked a permanent personal maid, yet, just for that reason — she insisted on competent service, but didn’t want to find herself stuck with somebody who couldn’t learn her needs, somebody she would have to live with for years and couldn’t dismiss without raising the suspicion among the staff that she was flighty.

She would see. She had told each of the serving girls that they were not to gossip at all about her habits, and had then quite deliberately given each of them different instructions as to minor details, and was watching carefully to see if, say, Ella miraculously discovered that she wanted her hairbrushes laid out in order of size, as she had told Starlen, or her next day’s underclothes daubed with a hint of attar of roses, as she had told Tinala.

Making everything appear effortless was, as she had known it would be, a lot of work, but Leria didn’t mind work, and in fact reveled in it.

She did not, however, at all enjoy having to put up with Miron, and the truth was that he scared her.

It wasn’t a dangerous situation, not really. It just felt that way.

Captain Thirien, she knew — although he wouldn’t quite come out and say it — had no love or respect for Miron, and the old soldier was utterly loyal to Forinel; so loyal, in fact, that she knew that it bothered Kethol. She didn’t think that it was an accident that Thirien was taking his own supper outside, in the garden, with only a few muttered curses and the occasional dropping of something noisy wafting through the open doors as a reminder that he was only a shout away.

Not that that was necessary, and in practice it was probably as much Miron’s protection as her own — although she doubted in Thirien’s intent — as she could hardly tear her dress and scream with Thirien right outside.

Although she had considered it.

But Miron would have just sat back in his chair, and looked vaguely alarmed, and not made a show of protesting his innocence, so there was no point in that.

Miron was as dangerous as a poisonous snake, and a country girl, noble or not, knew how to handle a snake: you hit it with something heavy, hard and repeatedly, until you were sure it was dead, and then you hit it a few more times, just to be sure.

What you didn’t do was sit across the table from it, which was precisely what she was doing at the small table near the hearth, where the family usually ate.

“You seem very quiet this evening,” Miron said. “Which suggests that you’re thinking deep thoughts.” His smile was a degree short of insulting.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I was just thinking that the soup was a little thin, and I’ll probably have to have a word with the cook about what goes into a proper stock. More chicken, I would think, and fewer dried carrots.”

“Very domestic of you,” he said, nodding in approval. “It’s good to have a firm hand around here, taking pains about such things. Mother, despite her many virtues, seemed to think that paying attention to the details was beneath her.”

“She seemed to, yes, but I didn’t notice a problem with the food.”

“No, you wouldn’t have, at that.” He chuckled. “Mother was more … concerned with results, rather than the process.” He sipped at his wine. “A quiet complaint to Cook would always be more than enough, without her having to specify what Cook ought to do about it.” He shrugged, and considered the meat impaled on his eating prong as though studying it intently. “Of course, the fact that she’d had Cook’s predecessor lashed and then dismissed from her service may have had something to do with how quickly the staff responded to her every need.” He looked up. “Not that I’m criticizing you, dear Leria. I’m sure you’ll have the house running splendidly in time for my brother’s triumphant return — oh, but, then again, you won’t be here for it, will you?”

“If you’re amused by the notion of Forinel and me being separated again, Miron, I think you’ll find yourself not amused for very long.”

He shook his head. “You wound me, Leria, really you do. I, for one, wish nothing but the best for both of you, truly.”

She nodded, as though she believed that. “Of course.”

“Then again, he is off doing something … well, soldierly, and that isn’t without risk, is it?”

“You hope that he’s killed by one of these Kiaran bandits, so that you can be baron.”

“Well, of course I do,” he said, punctuating the admission with a snort. “If I’d rather be the almost-landless second brother than Baron Keranahan, I’d be an idiot, and I think that one of the few things you and I can agree on is that I’m not an idiot.” He shook his head. “Still, that would make you sad, and that would sadden me. Truly it would. So shall we drink to his safe return to this empty house?” He raised his glass, and she couldn’t do anything but mirror him, although she drank only a little.

He was not going to get her drunk, if that’s what he had in mind.

What exactly was she frightened of? She wasn’t certain, not really. Miron had, of course, tried to press his attentions on her back before his mother had died, back when Elanee was trying to pressure her into marrying him, but that had ended when Kethol, Pirojil, and Durine had arrived, and since Kethol — since Forinel had left for Nerahan and whatever he and Pirojil were doing, there hadn’t been any of that sort of unpleasantness.

Which was, in a sense, unfortunate. She could have handled that easily.

“Yes,” she said. “But the only pity is that I won’t be here when your brother returns from Nerahan.”

“Returns in triumph, no doubt.” There was no overt sarcasm in his tone.

“Yes, it will be just that,” she said, her words more sure than her conviction.

“Then since we’re both convinced on that, we should probably drop the subject, lest our last evening together is wasted nodding our heads at each other, eh?” Miron conveyed a small piece of lamb to his mouth, and chewed slowly, thoughtfully, his head cocked to one side. “So, since this
is
our last evening together for some time, we should be sure to enjoy it. Would you care for a walk in the garden after dinner?”

“No, but thank you,” she said. “I’d best supervise the packing. I’m not sure how long I’ll be in Biemestren, and —”

“And there are far better seamstresses there than here or in Dereneyl — fond though I am of Madame Curtenell’s shop — and you might as well take advantage of your time in the capital, and travel lightly. Once you settle down to a life of a country baroness, there will hardly be many more occasions for that sort of expedition.”

“Country baroness? I think that Baron Keranahan” — she had used the title deliberately, hoping for some reaction, but she didn’t get one — “and I will be living in Dereneyl, at the residence there, sooner than you might think.”

He nodded, as though actually agreeing. “That’s quite possible. I suspect that Governor Treseen’s days are numbered — as governor, that is.” He smiled. “It will be … interesting to see how well Forinel can actually rule, once the responsibilities, as well as the title, are his.” He shrugged. “I, of course, wish him well.”

“Of course.”

He had the nerve to laugh. “You sound so skeptical, my lady, and I wish you wouldn’t. I had best have great faith in his ability to rule the barony, under present circumstances — although he showed scant interest in the details of such things before he left on his … little adventure, and it seems to me that it’s you, rather than he, who has shown any involvement in such things since his very convenient return.”