“It is a matter of matching affinities, my lady,” Mionet was saying. “Such pranks are no fun if your victim doesn’t enjoy it. Sometimes they might even thank you for it,” she added, suddenly filled with mischief. "I have just had the most marvelous idea. Shall I prove it to you?"
"Prove it how?" Ophele had learned to be wary when Mionet got that look in her eyes.
“A surprise,” the other woman said cheerfully, turning to the counter to inspect a neatly folded stack of clothing from Master Tiffen. “I assure you, your victim will thank you for it, and perhaps you might get something that you want in the bargain.”
“My…victim?” Ophele echoed. She had a sudden, dreadful suspicion.
“Well, who else?” Mionet asked wickedly. “He will thank you for it, see if he doesn’t. Perhaps he will even be pleased enough to reconsider that other matter.”
There was only one thing Ophele had asked that Remin had refused, and been disappointed enough to confide it to Mionet. Ophele hesitated.
“It does no harm to ask,” Mionet reassured. “Now, listen, and do just as I say…”
Bending her head, she whispered her suggestion as Master Tiffen was gathering the remainder of their order, her red lips curving in a devilish smile. The bit of lace in her fingers stretched over the back of her hand in an explanatory sort of way.
Master Nore Ffloce, passing just outside the tailor shop, was very startled by the sudden squawk of alarm from within.
***
If anyone had asked Mionet’s opinion, she would have said the chief trouble with the Duchess of Andelin’s education was that too many people had their hands in it.
It was bad enough to have Leonin and Davi hanging about every moment of every day, privy to every discussion, no matter how sensitive the topic. But now that Sir Justenin had injured his shoulder, he was permanently occupying one end of the long table in the solar, leaving very few moments in the day for Mionet to impart the secret and perilous knowledge meant only for the ears of women.
She tried to make the best of it. The duchess changed her clothing at least three times a day, sometimes four if her dance lesson had been particularly vigorous, and today she had finally consented to allow Mionet to oversee her bath. With Leonin and Davi—and everything else—stripped away, it was the most opportune possible moment for sensitive conversation.
“My, we could spenddaysshopping for these things,” she said, examining the toiletries near the tub. Not so bad as she expected, but certainly nothing like the luxuries of the SilverAvenue Market. On her own, Mionet wouldn’t be let through the doors of those exclusive shops, but with Duchess Andelin…
She hummed.
“There is an alchemist I know that makes these lovely, scented crystals,” she began, but when she glanced back at the tub, it was clear that the duchess wasn’t listening. As a matter of fact, the lady was curled up so tightly, Emi and Peri were having difficulty finding anything to scrub.
“…big as apples,” Mionet finished, without a flicker of reaction. Well, she had suspected something like this. It would be useful knowledge if she intended some harm, but Duchess Andelin could hardly visit the baths of Segoile if she was going to curl up like a snail.
The duchess flinched at Emi’s hand, and Mionet’s eyes went flinty.
“Emi. Peri. Please mind your hands,” she said, as iftheywere at fault. “Her Grace is very fine boned. I assure you I will note the least scratch. My lady, I hope you will speak if there is any discomfort. Perhaps Emi and Peri are too used to scrubbing floors.”
Emi stiffened with outrage, and Peri’s mouth dropped open.
“Oh, no,” Duchess Andelin said, sitting up at once. “They’re not, it’s not—it’s fine.”
Over her head, Peri met Mionet’s gaze for a long moment, and then there was a flash of understanding. She had always been the more quick-witted of the two maids.
“It’s all right, my lady, please say if you don’t like it,” she said, and the rest of the bath went much more smoothly.
How was Mionet ever going to sell Duchess Andelin on the delights and luxuries of Segoile when she knew less about these things than her servants? It was a tricky prospect already, managing access to Princess Ophele with only a few months’notice, but it would come to nothing if she spent all that time acquainting the lady with basic cosmetic alchemy.
And if that wasn’t bad enough,that manwas showing up in the solar even in the morning, and apparently not one other person in Tresingale had the sense to know that the absolute last thing the young Duchess of Andelin needed was a connection withSir Miche of Harnost.
“You almost had it, Ophele, or would if Davi weren’t such a clod,” Miche said during one of her dance lessons, depositing his quill into an ink pot. “Here, Tounot, give us that bit again. My lady,” he said to Ophele with a bow, and she laughed as he took her hands and led her through a difficult part of the dance, to demonstrate for Davi where he had gone wrong.
There was something there, but Mionet still couldn’t put her finger on it. It did not seem anything as obvious and vulgar as an affair; the stars knew she had seen ample evidence that there was a great deal of love between the Duke and Duchess of Andelin. The duchess would no more betray him than she would fly.
But this was Miche of Harnost. He looked every inch the libertine with that long blond hair: dangerously beautiful, heartlessly charming, and absolutely nothing but trouble.
“Right foot, right foot,” Miche was saying, and the duchess moved with more speed than grace to follow, her face glowing as she successfully executed the tricky maneuver.
“Oh, I did it!” she exclaimed, and then burst out laughing as he took her through it again. “No, you can’t switch feet that fast, I can’t keep up!”
