“Yoube careful,” she said, and I knew she’d be okay.
Sometime in the night I felt Wren shift and rise, then move to the window. Servants didn’t rate glass, and the shutter was open for the breeze; the two of us packed together in the tiny room created a lot of heat.
She stared into the darkness, eyes alert and body tense. Her right hand was at her side, and I knew she’d slipped her small knife into her palm, just in case. I also knew better than to speak; she needed to watch and listen. But my heart knocked against my chest like a war drum.
After a moment, she pulled the shutters closed and flipped over the small wooden peg that kept them in place.
“What?” I asked quietly as she walked back to the bed in perfect silence.
“I felt like someone was watching. I didn’t see anything, but I’ll feel better with the window closed.”
I nodded. “We’ll check the grounds tomorrow in the light.”
For a long time, I stared at the ceiling and listened, wondering who might be waiting in the shadows.
Four
The world was still dark when I woke. Only the stars were out, pushing their light through the darkness because they refused to give in to it. I respected that kind of stubbornness.
Wren was already gone. We rarely had a morning off, and she apparently intended to make good use of it. I cleaned up and changed and emerged into the milky sunlight of spring dawn. Nheve and the kitchen servants were already at work in the courtyard washing and chopping and mixing.
“Wren?” I asked.
“Went to the early market. Said she needed something for an ointment.”
Wren had a good hand with plants. She’d long ago convinced Nheve to give her a small bit of the garden for things she could make into tinctures and tisanes. She must have needed something that grew wild.
Nheve handed me a bowl of porridge, and I tucked into it with a wooden spoon dark from age. The grains had been cooked in milk today, and she’d scraped in a bit of dark sugar and a curl of butter, which was melting into a deeply yellow pool.
She put her hands on her hips, frowned down at me. “What in the smiling faces of the gods did ye think ye were doing? Messing about with royals?”
“If I hadn’t, the prince would be dead.”
“And what business would that be of ours? Royals don’t care if our kind live or die. Should have minded your own affairs.”
I chewed, swallowed. “I don’t have any affairs to mind. That’s why I’m nosy.”
She huffed as Wren slipped in through the side gate, a crescent-shaped bag across her chest. Nheve had sewn it from an old tunic.
“Where were you?” I asked when she joined me at the table.
“Around. I remembered some remedies. A poultice for wounds. A balm for fever. I thought I’d take them to Innis.”
“How do you know where he lives?”
“I heard Ferren tell you. And I know where the stables are.”
“We all know where the stables are.” We occasionally snuck in to see the horses. “I thought you didn’t want to get involved. The guard said they’d be visiting today to ask more questions.”
“Helping someone from the district isn’t the same as helping a Lys’Careth. And that’s why I’m going now—so I’ll be gone when they show up.”
“Did you find any footprints outside the window?”
“No. But I know someone was out there.”
“I believe you. Maybe the Lady pissed someone off. She’s good at that.”
“Or maybe the prince’s people were checking on us.”
