Lord of the Silent Kingdom (62 page)

Each had her own small household follow her. Just people enough to maintain her in reduced misery. The Schmitts were supposed to maintain Helspeth but often worked for her keepers instead. They put in long hours but failed to make the tower fit for human habitation. Then the heavy snows came. Never warm, never properly fed, Helspeth became gaunt, subject to fits of the shakes and prolonged periods of withdrawal.

She did not expect to see the coming spring.

She wrote letters to the Empress but they came out almost illegible. Not that there was any point to pleading. There was no one to carry the letters away. Even had she been able to get them past Tooth and Fang, as she thought of those horrid old women.

She had felt alone and been afraid in Plemenza. But in Plemenza she had had Algres Drear. She had no bodyguards here, nor any patient ear to bend. Captain Drear had been sent east, to a garrison ever threatened by pagan savages. The other Braunsknechts had been scattered elsewhere. And the girl who was the author of their distress still did not grasp what she had done to earn such draconian retribution.

Ferris Renfrow arrived during a snowstorm. He did nothing to conceal his horror. Saying little, he went out again. He returned with the entire population of Runjan. He started giving orders.

Dame Karelina challenged him. “This isn’t any business of yours!” Voice heavy with scorn. Though her own antecedents were questionable.

Renfrow stared into her eyes. She wavered, but only momentarily. She was the wife of the Grand Admiral.

Renfrow said, “Pick up a tool and help. Or go away. If you insist on being part of the problem you’ll be corrected with the rest of the problem.”

Dowager Grafina fon Wistrcz got hold of the Dame’s arm and dragged her away. Still within earshot, Ilse-Janna snarled, “Don’t cross Ferris Renfrow! Ever! No good comes to anyone who does that! No telling why he’s here. But he will go away.”

Renfrow said, “He’ll go away. But he won’t forget what he’s seen.”

The villagers got a blazing fire going. Greta Schmitt brought a blanket. She placed it around Helspeth’s shoulders, settled the girl close to the fire.

Renfrow stalked around, tossing off orders. Villagers went to work improving and weatherproofing. A single hour’s work provided a dramatic improvement.

“Schmitt. Show me the account books.” He knew exactly where the harridans would be vulnerable.

Warmth penetrated Helspeth deeply enough for her shakes to subside into an intermittent problem. She surfaced in the present reality for moments at a time. She recognized Ferris Renfrow. And experienced a flood of joy and hope so profound that she plunged into unstoppable crying.

“Schmitt’s woman. Stay close to the Princess.”

Elsewhere, Dame fon Tyre tried to bully her own small household into evicting Ferris Renfrow from the tower. She refused to hear warnings from the Dowager Grafina. Her people did not. They knew the Renfrow reputation. That had been dark and deadly since long before the accession of Emperor Johannes.

The Grand Admiral’s wife had lived fifty-eight sheltered years. She had known little but her own indulgences until Empress Katrin, in a moment of high pique, rid herself of an annoyance by ordering the woman to Runjan to babysit her sister. Making Runjan a cauldron of rustic exile.

In one day’s time Renfrow’s will made the ground floor of the tower over into what it should have become with Helspeth’s arrival. Helspeth stopped shaking before the villagers went away. She regained her composure. Softly voiced, she told Renfrow, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Princess. You are the heir of empire. What they were doing is unconscionable.” He said no more. Helspeth began to understand how deep her danger had been. And might be once Renfrow went away again.

Renfrow told her, “You won’t be comfortable, here. You can’t be the Helspeth Ege you were before your brother died. But no one will try to make you die by natural causes anymore, either.”

Helspeth lost control of her bladder.

Renfrow told her, “I promised your father.”

She pulled the blanket around her again and stared into the flames, wanting to go away again. Hansel Schmitt brought more wood. He seemed obsequious. The way people do who want not to be noticed by someone held in high terror.

“Helspeth. Listen. You
must
pay attention. Your life could depend on you actually hearing me.”

Greta Schmitt brought hot broth. Helspeth responded to the aroma with more enthusiasm than she did Ferris Renfrow’s voice. Renfrow said, “I’ll take some of that myself.”

The Schmitt woman’s lips tightened and lost color but she held Ferris Renfrow in no less high terror than did her son. When she brought the broth for Renfrow he slipped her a small purse. “Tell no one. Use it on the Princess’s behalf. And keep a close account. You may keep a fourth for yourself.” He looked her straight in the eye. “Tell no one. Not either of those hags. Not your husband. Not the Princess herself.

Understand?” Greta nodded.

In a voice barely audible, Helspeth told Renfrow, “I’m listening. Thank you. For coming.”

“I repay my debts. And I do what serves the Empire. Letting the heir to the ermine be murdered by neglect is not in that interest.”

Helspeth eased her grip on her blanket. The ache went out of her fingers almost immediately. The fire had begun to have an effect. At last.

“Listen closely. Your life will improve going forward. But you must not attract attention. Be pliant. Do as you’re told. Offer no offense, however unreasonable the dons at Alten Weinberg become. Be your sister’s strongest supporter, regardless of your private opinion. Her reign won’t be one of the memorable ones. Unless she surrenders to the Council Advisory or she goes completely mad. Which could happen.”

She murmured, “Greta put something in the broth.”

“Are you listening?”

“I’m listening.”

“Good. I’m hoping you’ve learned something. The lesson being that a princess’s actions directly impact many other people.”

Tears slid from the corners of Helspeth’s eyes as Renfrow reviewed the current situation of her Braunsknecht lifeguards and Lady Hilda Daedal, whose husband had required her to go into a convent.

“This doesn’t make sense. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Why are you here, then?”

“But …”

“You knew you’d irritate people in Alten Weinberg. Admit it. You could’ve saved everyone misery by staying in Plemenza while your hired men dealt with the monster. They would’ve censured you for employing foreigners but you’d still be there. However, you wanted to tweak their noses. In fact, you scared hell out of powerful people who saw way too much Johannes Blackboots in Hansel’s youngest daughter.”

“I know, Ferris. I know. I’ve thought about that so much.”

“On the good news side, you won’t be marrying anytime soon. If that’s a positive.”

“I’m not going to get married, ever.”

Renfrow smiled. “As may be. But one more reason you’re in bad odor is, your adventure cheapened you as marriage bait. Every court in the Chaldarean world was interested. Your portrait was making a progression from capital to capital. You were quickening hearts. Then word went out that you’d gone off into the wilderness for a month with a band of common soldiers.”

Helspeth sighed and drew her blanket around her tighter. Renfrow was getting excited. She had not recovered enough to handle the pressure.

He eased up. “There is a humorous side. One court remained interested. Jaime of Castauriga himself came all the way to Alten Weinberg to meet you personally. Castauriga being under heavy pressure from Navaya, he’s in desperate need of allies. When he presented himself to Katrin it was, for her, love at first sight. Despite the age difference.”

Helspeth’s brain began to move again. “And he wouldn’t mind being the consort of the Empress of the Grail Empire.”

“Especially after she has a few children.”

“When will they marry?”

“Springtime. Ironically, after the Remayne Pass opens.”

Helspeth sighed. “Have the crones heard?”

“They’ll be told. The news will ease your situation. And the wedding should mark the end of your exile.

Unless you do something else to frighten the councilors.”

“I still don’t understand all that.”

“Certain people have elevated themselves dramatically by orbiting your sister closely, Princess. Most of them Brothen Episcopals. They know the majority inside the Empire are strongly indisposed toward the Brothen Patriarchy. When you show the initiative you did, even bringing in specialist operators, you remind them that you’re Johannes’s daughter. The Princess Apparent who could step in and change their world.”

Helspeth began to get a glimmer. “But I’m not interested, in any of that.” She made a soft, squeaky noise as the Captain-General popped into mind.

“Yes?”

“Just a random thought. It startled me.”

“I see. Tell me. Have you heard anything I’ve been saying?”

“Yes.” Sigh.

“Katrin’s marriage isn’t set in stone. Negotiations are still going on. Jaime is making demands that no one on our end will meet.”

“So I’m not off the hook?”

“Not till Katrin gives birth to a male heir who survives long enough to have sons of his own.”

“God help me.”

“As I said, it should get easier once I speak to your keepers. Then easier still after Katrin weds. That should end your rustication. Behave and you could be back in Plemenza before winter comes round again. In Alten Weinberg at the least.”

Sadly, feeling shame, she asked, “And my Braunsknechts?”

“There’ll be no pardon for them. They failed their trust.”

Helspeth did not meet Renfrow’s gaze. But at that moment she decided to rescue Algres Drear and the others. They did not deserve such cruel punishment for having been browbeaten into compliance by the daughter of the Ferocious Little Hans.

She awarded herself a small sneer. She was in a spot so weak she could not save herself. Her one hope was this mysterious Renfoew, who dashed around shoring up the creaking foundations of the Empire.

“Someday …”

“Yes?”

“Someday I’d like to find out who you really are.”

Renfrow was startled. Then he smiled. “Your father said the same thing, once.”

“And did he?”

“Sadly, Fate caught up first. Quiet. Listen. I’ve cautioned you. I’ve cautioned you again. I’ve changed your situation to one you can survive. If you think before you talk or act. If you avoid being your father’s daughter.”

“I get it, sir!”

“I hope. I sincerely hope. I have my doubts. Blood will out. I won’t be here in the morning. I have to go to Brothe.
Please
take care.”

“Why doesn’t anybody …? Why do you keep saying the same thing over and over?”

“Experience. It takes immense perseverance to get an idea through an Ege skull.”

“But I …”

“You aren’t who or what
you
think you are, Princess. You’re what the world thinks you are. Your great task is to convince the world you are what it wants you to be. You have to be a chameleon. A timid, retiring chameleon. In the eyes of your enemies.”

“Enemies? But …”

“You see? Not listening. Again.”

A sharp pain of the soul. No one cared what she thought. She was a piece on a chessboard. Truly, she would have to wear masks to avoid sacrifice to the advantage of the Queen.

“I just grasped the full message, Ferris. Thank you.”

“Excellent. When next we meet, then, it should be in better circumstances. Drink some more broth.

Rest. The Schmitts will put you on a better diet tomorrow.”

Helspeth wanted to ask something else. The question sort of slid out of her mind sideways. Renfrow shimmered.

She did not recall her dreams. They felt portentous. The Captain-General was there. Katrin was there.

So were scores more, known and unknown, in a time of great stress.

She wakened feeling better than she had in months.

Ferris Renfrow was gone. He left the tower refurbished in plant and attitude. Helspeth had no more trouble with Tooth or Fang. She became perfectly pliant in turn.

19. Khaurene, in the Time of Bleakest Despair

Brother Candle and Socia Rault clung close for warmth. Also in the cluster were Michael Carhart, Hanak el-Mira, and Bishop Clayto. Above them were two ragged blankets taken from a dead man found alongside the road. No one knew which side he had served. No one cared.

The clump of misery huddled inside a stand of brush. The blankets had accumulated enough snow to conceal their color and keep body heat confined.

Though miserable and hungry, no one wanted to risk the road. There was a lot of traffic headed west.

Ducking into hiding would leave tracks in the snow.

Brother Candle wondered if escape had been smart. Their captors had shown no inclination to abuse them, nor any to turn them over to the Society. They had been warm and fed regularly. Of course, their captors had recognized Bernardin Amberchelle. It would not have taken long for reason to lead them to Socia’s identity.

There was a search on, prosecuted with minimal enthusiasm. It was cold out. Why be out in it when nobody really knew what they were hunting? Refugees? Those were everywhere, many young women trying to get somewhere safe from God’s laborers. Many were Maysaleans desperate to escape territories where failure to acknowledge Brothe’s primacy might become a capital crime.

Socia murmured, “We need to reach friendly territory before they realize who I was. There’ll be a reward, then.”

Brother Candle nodded, careful not to disturb the blankets. “But Patriarchals aren’t the only danger.

Duke Tomond’s defeated mercenaries are out there, too.”

Bishop Clayto muttered, “We have to move. This flesh is too infirm to withstand this for long.” He was shaking. He could not stop. Fear, malnutrition, and cold all contributed.

El-Mira whispered, “Get a grip, Clayto. Brother Candle has a decade on you.”

“He’s used to this. I’m a bishop.” Clayto snickered, still able to joke at his own expense.

The weather never cooperated. On the other hand, the Night and Patriarchal patrols proved harmless.