* * *
“Thatcan’tbe your real name.”
The words were out before Vasily could stop them. He clapped a hand over his mouth and the tall, lean man in front of him, the one who went by the unusual moniker of Mother Jones, pursed his lips. “It’s what I’ve answered to my whole life, lad.”
“No, I didn’t mean…hells, I’ve been rude, haven’t I? Oh, I’msosorry. I just meant it’s not exactly a common name, that’s all, not that there’s anything wrong with it. Hundreds of people are called Mother—no, thousands. More than that, even.” Vasily flushed when he realized how stupid that sounded. “And now I’m babbling, and you probably think I’m a simpleton, but I promise I’m not. I’m just…nervous,” he said with a sigh, his gaze dropping as he inwardly berated himself. He’d barely been here five minutes, and he was already making a mess of this.
The silence stretched out and when he dared lift his head, Mother was regarding him, his face set.
Well, that wouldn’t do. Vasily might only be a fourth son and he might be terrible at formalities, but one thing he’d gotten very good at over the years was apologising. He took a deep breath, lifted his head, and squared his shoulders. “Can we please disregard everything I just said and start again? Hello, I’m Vasily, and I’m here to start work as the king’s new groom. You must be Mother Jones. I’m so looking forward to working with you.”
Mother tilted his head, considering, before the crease in his forehead disappeared. “It’s fine, lad. You aren’t the first to raise a brow at the name, and you won’t be the last. Truth is, my mum had trouble filling in the birth certificate, and nobody checked before the christening, so here I am.” His mouth quirked up in a crooked smile. “Mother Jones, at your service.”
He extended a hand and Vasily stared for a second before he remembered that he was meant to shake it. For all that Mother wasn’t visibly muscular, Vasily could sense the underlying strength beneath his solid grasp, and something about it made his heart beat faster. The heat of Mother’s touch lingered against his palm long after the man took his hand away, and Vasily found himself clenching and unclenching his fist in an effort to keep hold of the sensation as they walked along a rough stone pathway to a row of cottages.
Mother stopped at a door. “Here you go, lad. I cleaned it out personally, and there’s a new bed and all, by order of the king.”
Vasily stepped inside and looked around. The cottage was…tiny. Smaller than anywhere Vasily had ever stayed. It barely took five steps to cross the room to the wooden table, where he dropped his pack as he took in more of his surroundings. There was a bed and next to it a small table holding a lamp. There was another table and two wooden chairs, a small dresser that held a set of crockery, a wash basin, and a water jug. The stone floor was covered in a handmade rag rug, and there was another cushioned seat next to the hearth, which had been laid ready to light. It occurred to Vasily that he should probably learn to start a fire since he doubted anyone would be coming down from the castle to do it for him.
“It’s…” Vasily looked around again. As small as the space was, it was clean and welcoming. Mother was watching him expectantly—and Vasily had been raised to be polite. “It’s the nicest cottage I’ve ever stayed in,” he declared. It wasn’t a lie exactly.
Mother’s face broke into a wide smile, exposing one crooked eyetooth, which Vasily found oddly endearing for reasons he couldn’t quite parse. “It’s a good position, the king’s groom. I’ll take you to meet Blackbird and Shadow, and then we’ll go up to the kitchens and see what we can find for lunch.”
Vasily nodded, excited at the prospect of getting to meet the horses. That was what he was here for, after all. Mother led him out of the cottage and along another path that went to the main stables. Vasily only got to glance inside as they passed, but he caught a glimpse of clean stalls and well-tended horses, the air redolent with the sweet scent of fresh hay. Mother was obviously good at his job, and it settled something in Vasily, knowing that he was working for someone who knew their business. He followed Mother, scurrying to catch up to his long strides, and they rounded a corner into a fenced yard that housed a smaller set of stables.
Mother paused outside the stable doors, picked up a nearby basket, and said, “Pick out a treat to introduce yourself with. The fastest way to Blackbird’s heart is through her stomach.”
Vasily peered into the basket. Inside was an assortment of fruits and vegetables—apples, carrots, quartered cabbages—and one lone potato. He bit his lip and picked it up, holding it out on his palm towards Mother. “No.”
“No?” Mother raised his eyebrows.
Vasily hesitated. Perhaps they did things differently here. But then he shook off his uncertainty and squared his shoulders. “I don’t know about you, but I was always taught never to feed a potato to a horse. Am I wrong?”
There was a stretch of tense silence, long enough for Vasily to second-guess himself and wonder if he’d offended Mother badly enough to get the sack before he’d even started. Then Mother’s face split into a wide grin and he slapped Vasily on the back so hard that he staggered forward several inches. “Excellent! I told his Highness you’d know your onions! Or rather, your potatoes!”
“What?”
Mother laughed, a warm, rich sound. “The prince consort wanted to make sure you knew what you’re about, since you were hired by the ex-chancellor—who’s also a prince consort now, by the by. A man can’t turn around without tripping over royalty these days. Anyway, Felix planted the potato in the basket to see if you’d notice.”
Vasily had a feeling he should be offended. In all honesty, though, he was more pleased to hear that the prince consort cared so much about his horses. Although, given that he’d been their groom at one time, it only made sense that he’d want to make sure his replacement was up to scratch. He grinned at Mother and tossed the potato to him. “So I passed the test, then?”
“You passed.” Mother gave him another crooked grin, and it sparked warmth in Vasily’s chest.
The horses were gorgeous, and it was obvious they were well cared for just from their glossy coats and bright eyes. Vasily fed Shadow, the grey one, a chunk of carrot and rubbed his hands down his cheeks making soothing noises. Shadow echoed him with soft sounds of his own.
He moved on to Blackbird, who was breathtakingly beautiful. She nuzzled at his palm when he fed her an apple, and she didn’t shy away at all when he ran his hands over her, getting a feel for her size. “That’s my best girl,” he murmured, standing in front of her and placing his palm on the side of her cheek. “Shall we be friends?”
Blackbird rewarded him by nuzzling at his face, startling a laugh out of him. He stepped back, wiping a sleeve over his face to get rid of the drool, and he was still grinning when Mother took him up to the kitchens.
“You can cook your own meals if you like, but there’s always plenty of food in the kitchens if you’d rather not,” Mother said as they approached the castle. Vasily thought of his one attempt to make porridge and the half-grey, half-black smouldering mess that had resulted and decided that he’d be making use of the kitchens.
Vasily stopped when the building came into view. The castle was an impressive sight, even to someone who’d grown up in a palace of his own, and he took a second to take in the wide gates and cobbled courtyard. Unlike his parents’ palace, which was a long, low building of dark stone with little to no adornment, this castle towered high above him. The walls were the colour of bleached stone, and the castle boasted large windows and multiple balconies, with turrets rising up at intervals along the walls as if whoever designed it was just waiting for a fairy-tale princess to prick her finger on a spinning wheel somewhere. “Impressive, isn’t it?” Mother said, the pride in his voice unmistakable.
“It’s lovely,” Vasily agreed. He followed Mother along the road that led away from the front castle gates and around to a smaller, well-worn track that ran up the side of the castle. Vasily took the opportunity to study Mother as he strode alongside him. The man wasn’t classically handsome, but he wasinterestinglooking, and when he smiled, his features transformed into something warm and appealing.
Mother led him through a doorway and across a laundry room, and Vasily followed him through several long corridors until finally they stepped into the kitchens. It was a hive of activity and Vasily stood for a moment just soaking in the sounds and smells. It was exactly like the kitchens at home where Vasily liked to escape to sometimes. It was comforting in its familiarity, with people moving about in a well-choreographed dance as they ducked around each other carrying trays and jugs and slabs of meat and loaves of bread. His stomach grumbled, and Mother patted him on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s find a seat.”
Vasily nodded, following Mother to a series of long trestle tables and sitting in an empty spot. He stared around and Mother patted his shoulder again. “I’ll be right back. Stay there.”
