Shadowrise (33 page)

“How clever of you, Highness,” Ivgenia said.

Eneas gave her a look of gentle reproof. “It was luck, my lady, as I said. I had no idea that Risto would walk into a siege. Xis has threatened Hierosol for years, but none of us truly believed it was more than bluff, since it was easier for the Xixian autarchs to snatch prizes among the rich islands on the southern coast. In any case, word came, and I was there with a company of battle-ready men. Good fortune, as I said, was on our side.”

“A blessing from the gods,” murmured Briony.

Eneas nodded. He was known to be devout, and had quietly gifted several temples while his younger siblings were spending their own money on the pleasures of earthly existence. “Yes, a blessing indeed. Are you sure you wish to hear this all again?”

“Please,” Briony told him. “We get so little firsthand news.”

He gave her a wry look. “But I hear you have been out getting a good look at the world, both on your way here and since you have arrived, Princess Briony.”

For a moment she was nonplussed, until she realized he must be referring to her trip out of the palace with Ivgenia. But why would something like that interest Eneas? Unless he was just interested in Briony in a general way, and had been asking about her . . . She couldn’t afford to be too sure of herself, though: he might be interested in Ivgenia, after all—she was a pretty, vivacious young girl with a good family bloodline.

“I have found trouble for myself in all kinds of places, Prince Eneas,” she told him, ignoring Feival’s smirk. “I obviously require better advisers to keep me from mischief. I hope you will feel free to lend me your wisdom.”

He smiled. “I would consider it an honor, Princess. But from what I hear you have done well and bravely on your own.”

He really was quite handsome—there were no two ways about it. Briony was of several different minds about all of this. On the one hand, she felt like a traitor—a real one, not just one of Ivgenia’s father’s tenants trying to withhold a half-basket of barley to get through the winter. After all, she intended to use this man, not for his good or his country’s, but for her own family’s—to make up, in part, for her own failures. But there were several problems with such a plan. One was that Eneas might well be too clever to be manipulated, in which case she might alienate someone who could otherwise have become a true ally here at court. Second, the prince was not the kind of man of whom she could happily take advantage. By all accounts except his own (which tended toward modesty) Eneas was kind, intelligent, and extremely brave. He loved his father but was not blind to his own country’s failings. He was also fiercely loyal to his friends, as everyone assured her. How could she set out to use her so-called womanly wiles to get her way—the very methods she had long despised when used by her stepmother Anissa or the other ladies of the Southmarch court?

But the need is great because the cause is so important
, she told herself.
The lives of my people. My father’s throne.

Yes, and revenge against the Tollys,
a sly little voice reminded her.
Do not pretend you do not wish that as well.
Not a noble motive, but one close to her heart. Hendon Tolly had taken almost everything from her. He and his brother Caradon deserved to die, preferably after much suffering and humiliation. Hendon had not just stolen her family’s throne, he had made Briony feel helpless and weak, and for that alone she wanted him dead. Sometimes she felt as though she would never be strong again until Hendon had been punished for that crime.

“Princess?”

She lifted a hand to her mouth, embarrassed. How long had she been woolgathering? She dared not even look toward Feival, who must be beside himself. “I’m sorry, I . . .” Might as well use the chance when it was there. “I suddenly remembered . . . a painful thing . . .”

“It is my fault.” He looked as though he believed it. “I should not have teased about your trip to the Flower Meadow market—that was cruel and thoughtless. I forgot utterly that was the day your young servant died. My deepest apologies, Princess.”

Was that what they had been talking about—the market? She had entirely lost the thread. The simple thought of Hendon Tolly grinning that fox’s grin of his as he bragged about how he had stolen her throne . . . “No, no,” she said, recovering herself. “Not your fault, sir. Please, you hadn’t finished telling us about the siege.”

“Are you certain that you wish to hear my dry tale yet again?”

“It is not dry to me, Prince Eneas. It is like water to a parched throat. Go on.”

He continued as Briony and Ivgenia and the other women listened intently, and even Feival kept forgetting that he was supposed to pretend he was working. Whether they were all fascinated by the prince’s relief of the Hierosoline garrison and his escape back across the Syannese border with Marquis Risto and his men, or because Eneas was simply a fascinating man with an even more fascinating place in the world, the audience was no less rapt for it.

When he had finished his tale the prince stood and bowed and asked Briony’s permission to leave her—a bit of southern court etiquette that amused her, as though the very presence of a noblewoman was like the pull of a whirlpool on a hapless swimmer, a death grip from which only the maelstrom itself could set the unfortunate free.

And what if I said no?
she wondered even as he kissed her hand and bowed to Ivgenia and the other ladies.
What if I commanded him to stay? Would he have to do it?
What nonsense etiquette was! Something that had no doubt begun as a way to keep men from raping and killing, at least for short periods of time, had taken on such force that it could sometimes cause the most ridiculous confusions.

Ivgenia quickly broke the silence after Eneas had gone. “He seems to care for you, Princess Briony. That is the third time he has come to see you this week!”

“I am an entertaining oddity,” she said, waving the idea away. “A princess who has traveled in disguise. I am like something in a story for children.” She laughed. “I suppose I should be grateful I am not the subject of a more dreadful tale, a child abandoned in the woods or one who is mistreated by a cruel stepmother.” Her own laugh ended quickly. Neither of those things were far from the truth.

“You make too much protest,” Ivgenia said. “Doesn’t she, ladies? ” The others, maids and ladies-in-waiting, nodded their heads. “He has true affection for you, Highness. Perhaps it might become something more if you were not so stubborn!”

“Stubborn?” She had thought she was doing everything but throwing herself into Eneas’ arms to keep his attention and good will. “How have I been stubborn?”

“You know perfectly well,” her friend said. “You do not mix with the other folk at court except at meals. They think you too proud. Some say it is only that you have been so harshly treated, but others say . . . you must forgive me, Briony, but I will tell you the truth for your own sake . . . but others say that you think yourself better than the folk of the court.”

“Better!” She was astounded. That the people of this grand, decadent court should think her too proud—it beggared her imagination. “I think myself better than no one, least of all these fine lords and ladies. I do not mingle because I have lost the art, not because I despise the company.”

“There!” said Ivgenia triumphantly. “It is as I have told others—you feel out of place, but not above things. But truly, Briony, you must spend more time among the nobles here. They fall easily into gossip and Jenkin Crowel does you no favors in your absence.”

The name of Tolly’s envoy was like a splash of icy water. She had avoided the man for days and he had seemed to do the same with her.

“Ah, yes . . . you are no doubt right. Thank you for your concern, Ivvie, but I’m tired now and I’d like to lie down.”

“Oh, my dear Briony!” Ivgenia looked miserable. “Have I offended you, Princess?”

“Not at all, kitten—I’m just tired, as I said. Ladies, you too may withdraw. Feival, stay for a moment so I can discuss some business with you.”

When the others were gone, or at least discreetly out of hearing, she turned on the player. “Crowel does me no favors? What does she mean?”

Feival Ulian frowned. “You must know, Briony. He is the right hand of your enemy. What do you think he does? He works against you whenever he can.”

“How?” Anger flooded her—anger and fear. Tessis was not her home. Briony was surrounded by strangers and some people clearly wanted her dead. She threw down her needlework—a clumsy, irritating affectation for her at the best of times. “What is he doing?”

“I have not heard any reliable news of his actual works.” Feival had turned away and was admiring himself in a mirror hung on the wall, a habit of his that maddened Briony, especially when she was talking to him about serious things. “But he speaks against you—carefully, and never in general company, of course. He says a quiet word here, drops an offhand hint there . . . you know how it is done.”

She did her best to bank the flame of rage: it would do her no good to let it overwhelm her. “And what slanders does Jenkin Crowel spread?” She had grown heartily sick of looking at Feival’s back. “By Zosim’s masks, man, turn around and talk to me!”

He faced her, surprised and perhaps even a little angry. “He says many things, or at least so I hear—he is not such a fool as to speak lies about you to me!” Feival scowled like a sulking child. “Many of them are just small insults—that you are mannish, that you like to go about in men’s clothing, and not simply for disguise, that you are sour-tempered and a shrew . . .”

“More true than not, so far,” Briony said with a grim smile.

“But the ugliest thing he will not say directly, but simply hint. He lets slip that at first everyone thought the southerner Shasto had kidnapped you . . .”

“Shaso. His name was Shaso.”

“ . . . but that now folk in Southmarch believe you were not taken against your will. That it was part of a plan you made to seize your father’s throne, and that only Hendon Tolly being there prevented the two of you from carrying it off.” He flushed a little. “That is the worst of it, I suppose.”

“The two of us? My brother Barrick and I?”

“No. In the hints he lets drop, your twin brother was a victim too, sent away by you to die fighting the fairies. Your accomplice, claims Crowel, was that very southern general Shast . . .
Shaso
—the man who killed your other brother. And that he was . . .
more
than an accomplice . . .”

Briony’s rage was so sudden and so powerful that for a moment blackness rushed into her head and she thought she was dying. “He
dares
to say that? That I . . .” Her mouth seemed full of poison—she wanted to spit. “His master Hendon
did
kill his own brother—surely that is what he is thinking of! He is telling people that Shaso and I were
lovers?
” She lurched to her feet. It was all she could do not to snatch up her sewing and run out to stick a needle in Jenkin Crowel’s eye. “The infamous . . . pig! It is bad enough that he should insult that good old man who died trying to get me to safety, but to suggest that I would . . . that I would harm my own beloved
brothers!
” She was weeping now and could barely catch her breath. “How can he tell such lies about me? And how can anyone believe them?”

“Briony—Princess, please, calm yourself!” The player looked almost terrified by what he had unleashed.

“What does Finn say? What are people saying on the street, in the taverns?”

“It is scarcely discussed outside of court,” he told her. “The Tollys are not particularly popular here, but it likely makes people wonder. Still, the king
is
popular and you are his guest. Most Syannese leave it to him to know what’s best.”

“But not here in the court, I take it.”

Feival was trying to calm her now. “Most people in the court do not know you any better than do the drunken fools in the taverns. It is because you lock yourself away here like an anchorite.”

“So you are saying . . .” She paused to get her breath, to feel her heart slowing a little. “So you are saying that I should get out and mingle with the others in Broadhall Palace more often? That I should spend more time with folk like Jenkin Crowel, swapping insults and telling lies?”

Feival took a breath and straightened, the very picture of a man who had suffered unfairly. “For your own good, yes, Princess. You should make yourself seen. You should show people simply by your presence that you have nothing to hide. Thus you will refute Crowel’s lies.”

“Perhaps you are right.” The heated fury was receding, but what replaced it was something no less angry, only colder. “Yes, you are right. One way or the other, I must move to prevent the spreading of such terrible, terrible stories.

“And I will.”

The temple of Onir Plessos did not have enough beds for all the newcomers but the pilgrims were a sensible lot, happy enough just to find refuge from this year’s cold spring rains. The Master Templar told them they could spread their blankets in the common room after the evening meal.