Something about her always puts me in mind of a stork, though I’ve never put my finger on why. She’s pale-skinned like much of the Blessed Empire, with middling brown hair and angular features—aha. That’s it. Ezbeta has a habit of pointing with her chin, and with her long neck and a tendency to cock her head, it gives the impression that she’s scouring the area for a frog to snap up.
She’s dressed to impress, at least, her wrists and throat gleaming with a small fortune in gold and emeralds. It’s almost certainly the most expensive jewelry she owns. My fingers fairly itch: It’s another opportunity, perhaps.
“Oh,MarkgräfinGisele, how good it is of you to come!” Her voice carries like a trumpet, and I hear a fleeting hush of anticipation dart through the crowd inside as the countess sweeps her forest-green samite gown into a curtsy.
“It was ever so kind of you to invite me,” I reply, extending a hand to Gustav.
He mashes his lips to my doeskin-gloved knuckles. “We’re absolutely delighted.”
KomteGustav is a withered ghoul of a man in a tunic pricey enough to feed Eisendorf Village through Winterfast, and yetincrediblyit does nothing to help the piss-puddle where his personality should be. Nor does the wet smudge he leaves on my glove.
I pull free and bounce a teasing finger against the tip of Ezbeta’s nose. “I’m not themarkgräfinyet, you know. Not until my darling Adalbrecht returns and makes me the happiest woman in the Blessed Empire.”
Mydarlingbetrothed, Adalbrecht von Reigenbach, margrave of the sprawling march of Bóern, has spent the entirety of our year-long betrothal at his share of the southern and eastern borders of the Blessed Empire of Almandy. He’s been instigating skirmishes like your garden-varietyinvade-a-kingdom-because-Papi-didn’t-love-me-bestnobleman, all while I wait in his castle. And for all I care, he can stay there.
“Well, you’re already the most generous,”KomtessinEzbeta simpers as a servant takes my cloak and gloves. “The cushions you sent are positively divine!”
“I could hardly let such an occasion go by without gifts. I’m just glad they arrived safely.” It isn’t even a lie, Iamglad. Just not for the reason they expect. “Was the spiced mead also to your liking?”
Gustav clears his throat. “Indeed,” he says with a faintly strained air. “I thought to serve it tonight, but my wife took a . . . significant liking to it, in fact.”
“I can’t help it if Princess Gisele has impeccable taste.” Ezbeta winks. Saints and martyrs, if she’s already soused enough to be winking at me, she might just hand me that absurd necklace herself before the party’s over. “Come, come! Everyone’s waiting for you!”
I let her lead me into the manor’s main parlor, which is overflowing with minor nobility. Much of the crowd are knights and landed gentry who serve the counts, but the von Eisendorfs have also managed to attract a handful of Adalbrecht’s vassals equal to their own rank. I seeKomteErhard von Kirchstadtler and his husband, and Lady Anna von Morz in a plum satin atrocity that could charitably be called a gown. Even Minister Philippa Holbein has traveled into Boérn from the nearby Free Imperial State of Okzberg.
I scan for one particular face and find it thankfully missing. Godmother Fortune may have tilted the odds in my favor, or maybe Irmgard von Hirsching thinks she’s too good to get drunk with the von Eisendorfs. Either way, that’s one less problem to deal with tonight.
“I hope the guards didn’t give you too much trouble,Prinzessin,” Lady von Morz cackles, sauntering up to me with a goblet ofglohweinin each hand. She tries to pass one off to me and fumbles a bit until I steady her grip. “Really, Gustav, even the margrave doesn’t post this many soldiers at his front door.”
Gustav gives a disgruntled wheeze. “No such thing as too cautious these days. They say the von Holtzburgs lost nearly fiftygildento the Penny Phantom.”
We all gasp. That’s no trifling sum; a skilled tradesman would be lucky to amass fiftygildenover one season. “I’d no idea thePfennigeiststruck them too,” I say, wide-eyed.
Ezbeta nods, leaning in closer. “Oh,yes. Holtzburg Manor was robbed back in January, but they didn’t know what the red penny meant until Dowager von Folkenstein said they’d found one aftertheirburglary. We think the von Holtzburgs may have been the first
victims.”
“How dreadful,” I murmur. “And their bailiff never found anything?”
“No. He swears only a ghost or agrimlingcould have broken in without a trace.” The delight-tinged pity on the countess’s face congeals into syrupy comfort. “But never fear, Princess Gisele. We’ve taken every precaution, just as we promised you. ThePfennigeistwon’t get so much as a button off your gown.”
Lady von Morz snorts into herglohwein. No one has ever caught the Penny Phantom. No one has evenseenthe Penny Phantom. Not even my betrothed could keep the devil from Castle Reigenbach, where Marthe the maid found my jewelry box cleaned out, with a single red penny left behind as a calling card.
And if even the margrave’s walls can be breached, what chance do the von Eisendorfs have against such a creature?
I make my rounds through the crowd, clasping hands and admiring outfits, discreetly emptying my goblet into a vase when the coast is clear, only to make sure everyone sees me flagging down servants for many, many refills.Komtevon Kirchstadtler wants to know when the wedding will be (not until Adalbrecht returns), newlywed Sieglinde von Folkenstein natters my ear off about how poorly she’s felt in the mornings (I make a note to commission a baby rattle), and Minister Philippa Holbein offers apologies for her husband’s absence.
“Kalsang fell behind on paperwork over the sabbath,” she sighs, absently thumbing the tassels of a pair of white silk cords twisted together and draped over her shoulders. Congregants of the House of the High typically just wear the cords for their sabbath prayers, but those among the public officials tend to keep theirs on day and night.
I suspect it’s for the same reason her husband, a soft-spoken Gharese tea merchant who’s much happier at home with their two littleapsohounds, is avoiding this party. Dealing with a bunch of red-faced, competitively self-important Almanic aristocrats would make anyone pray for divine intervention.
His absence is fine by me. I like Kalsang and Philippa. I know exactly what’s about to befall Eisendorf Manor, and I’d rather their part in it be minimal.
I spend the rest of the hour making small talk and seemingly chuggingglohweinlike it’ll cure boils. (Not that Princess Gisele ever gets blemishes. The pearls see to that.) All the while, I keep an eye onKomtessinEzbeta.
At last, I see my opportunity and start moving toward the parlor door.
“Nooo, Gisele!” A hand latches on to my brocade sleeve: Ezbeta has taken the bait. By now, she has had at least one glass ofglohweinfor every glittering emerald in her heavy necklace. That would be roughly seven more than I’ve had and, judging by her flaming face, about five too many.
