Of Whispers and Daggers ✓ [TLRQ #2]

Chapter 46 - Leavi

The castle is even more alive with rumors today than usual, but my mind is too fuzzy to give them its normal focus. The Retran girl is Princesse Consort now. There are several descriptions of the necklace Aster gave her as a gift of their engagement. I block out its particulars. She said some things in the Auditorium, and the Ladies are various shades of appalled and aghast. "The nerve," says one, "to lecture us about honor!" Their posturing holds no weight with me. I imagine they could do with several lectures about honor, and I almost feel grateful to the Consort for offering them their first. They've certainly paid Aster very little.

People also confer about why the Kadranians have yet to attack. Some think they're getting ready to retreat. I barely stifle a laugh the first time I hear that. It's a wonderful idea, sure.

But Aster wouldn't be engaged if there was any reason to think Morineaux could win this war on its own.

The competing theories of the Ladies are much more cynical. The Kadranians are anticipating a horde of reinforcements; they hope to starve us out instead; they're playing games with us, and as soon as we look away, they'll break in and slaughter every last woman, man, and child.

The options, it seems, are naive hope or despair.

Few mention the staff. Few mention the Retran force. The first, I don't think they understand. The last, if they do know about it, I think they're beginning to wonder if we'll make it long enough for that to make a difference.

A true fear of death is wrapping its black claws around these stone walls.

The day feels like it drags on forever, but by that afternoon, I'm finally delivering my last note to one of the Inner Ladies. I enter the room she sits in with a few of her peers, chatting and laughing at a tea table. Servants line the walls, some fluttering forward to take plates and refill cups. At the table's head sits a dark-skinned woman with a necklace glittering like a hundred stolen stars.

I stiffen in the doorway.

Consort Riszev looks almost as uneasy. She nods her thanks at a servant pouring her tea, then grimaces as she takes a sip.

"Is it not to your taste?" Inner Lady Irrianet asks.

Riszev looks rueful. "Not yet. We do not have such a drink in my country. But I thank you for your hospitality." She smiles. When she sips again, her face stays straight.

"There's no sense drinking what you don't like," Irrianet says. She waves over a servant. "Strange, isn't it, how some things can be made high in one country and low in another." She smiles, but I sense fangs behind her lips.

I force my feet forward, stopping beside the table. "A message for you, Lady Darraphí."

"Oh." She takes it, and I step back as she reads.

"It is not low," Riszev says. "Just not known."

"Either way." Irrianet glances over to the maid who approached. "Take her tea and bring her something she'll like."