“You’ll see, soon enough,” she said. He hadn’t answered her, so she wasn’t going to answer him. Fair enough, so they rode on as the sun rose, hung overhead, then began its descent once again.
What they were about to do had been niggling at him for the better part of the day. The workers were on strike. Caroline had tried to set a fair wage range for the different manual trades, but he suspected many landowners skirted the requirement. How else would it explain the protestors they passed lined up in the streets of the bustling village nearest the estate and the sprawling lands surrounding it?
He’d been shocked when she freed them several years back around the time she’d taken Felix as a lover. The act was some sort of ploy to make herself appear more palatable to a restless people. None of it would have been necessary if they treated the servants like family how they did in Veetula.
Caroline surveyed the gathering crowd. “The harvest is coming. Will you work?” she called out to them.
A resoundingNOalong with a lot of other grumbling bounced across the buildings and through the alleys back to the determined queen.
She swept her hand out toward them, many flinching and lowering themselves in response. “There you have it, the answer to your question. Simple enough.”
That didn’t ease Johnneth’s worry.
Caroline picked up the pace, galloping away from the town towards the arching iron gates of the estate. Her saddle weary guard kept pace until they were safely inside the stone walls and a squat, elderly man was loping out to meet her, followed by a menagerie of servants.
The queen was a blur of legs and skirts as she dismounted, handing off the mount. Fabric billowed behind her as she strode toward the man. “Dominique, my friend,” she called. “How are my grapes?”
“It’s divine, as always.” Caroline had her eyes closed as she took another sip of the swirling red liquid in her glass. She didn’t partake often, but when she did, she’d have nothing less. The winery was, to her mind, one of the highlights of her kingdom. The centuries-old stone home was surrounded by undulating fields of vineyard. This time of year, the sun set at its latest point in the day and the view from atop the hill Dominique’s ancestors built the estate upon was dreamlike. Red, orange, and magenta danced in a lightshow across the rolling green hills and glassy blue ponds as the sun stole its color behind the horizon.
They served dinner in a long open-air hall at a banquet table which comfortably seated all twelve of her party, Dominique, and several of his protégé. The members of the queen’s party sat around enjoying the bounty served to them, including selections from the vineyard. When Caroline came here to visit, Johnneth learned that the soldiers who made up her normal escorts would draw straws for who was lucky enough to accompany her. And the regular patrol she’d assigned to the estate meant they were allowed to partake as well.
Each course Dominique’s team of chefs served had been planted, selected, harvested, or hunted at the precise time of ripeness or age. The man was one of the few masters left in the world and she’d send a selection of trainees to him annually. The man had no children of his own and Caroline would ensure his life’s work would not die with him.
“We passed protestors. They were angry,” Caroline said between bites.
Dominique let out an exaggerated sigh. “You know how it is. Every few years, the same ideas circulate. Now we pay them, and they still want more. Sometimes I think I ought to fire them all and train a whole new crew in the off-season who’d be grateful for their wage.”
“You know what I think. You are far too lenient. You always have been.”
Dominique tipped his head to the side, grumbling. “Some of these workers have been on this vineyard since my parents’ time. Or their children have. This is as much their home as it is mine. They need to see your parents avenged, Caroline. You need to give them a cause to direct their energy at. You make substantial changes which have a far-reaching impact, but the people talk of vengeance. They think you mean to distract them.”
“Never mind all that. They’ll have their vengeance soon enough. How about you stick to making wine and I’ll deal with my people?” When Dominique only frowned at her rebuke, she continued. “How long do we have?” Caroline swirled her glass, studying the garnet liquid.
“I’m sampling the vineyard every hour. I predict we’ll harvest on the full moon, three days’ time. Possibly two.”
“And if they don’t acquiesce?” she asked.
Dominique averted his gaze. Caroline knew what his lack of eye contact meant. He wouldn’t allow her to force them. He would need almost fifty individuals to work the fields, then attend to the weeks-long refining and barreling process afterward.
“Fine. We’ll get a sense tomorrow. See who’s willing. You have us twelve here. I can have more come from Roskide.”
“Caroline,” Dominique said, voice cautioning. “You know this is a delicate process.”
It was clear what the old man was saying, and she didn’t want to hear it. “You can’t have it both ways. Besides, if the queen takes part in harvesting your grapes, you can charge twice the price per bottle. You can even sell to Veetula, and they can drink it as they curse my name.” She raised the glass in his direction as an attendant came in with a basket of this hour’s sampling, offering the first taste to the queen, naturally.
Dutiful Johnneth, who’d been reluctant to join them at the table, chuckled. “They’d be more likely to pour it out.”
“Sacrilege!” Dominique mashed the grape between his teeth, allowing the juices to play across his tongue. “Two days, Your Majesty. Two days.”
Johnneth followed the queen up to her room, inspecting it first for anything amiss. She padded in behind him, removed the gauze skirt and was tugging at the laces at the back of her neck. They’d been ravenous, so she’d kept the scales on, claiming they weren’t so cumbersome and would take too long to remove and re-dress. He suspected it was out of respect for the old man, who had the feast waiting. None of the other soldiers pressed her so he assumed it was a battle they’d lost many times before and he followed their lead.
“Just a minute. Let me get a servant,” he said, watching her struggle.
“Attendant,” Caroline corrected, with a slight slur.
“Yes, a servant—”
“Attendant,” she said more forcefully.
