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Affable as ever, my stepfather makes his way downstairs from the second floor, ahead of his grim butler.
He's dressed in a formal red and gold velvet cloak, though the city is still hot at the end of the summer. “What a surprise. I do hope you'll stay for dinner."
Not on my life. “I have to get back to the library. Too many tests coming up." It's a weak excuse, but he doesn't expect a different answer.
"Well, what can I do for you?"
Save my skin.
I do stick to the truth, though I don't bother to spell out the nitty gritty. “The king has summoned me to court. I'd much rather not travel that far this weekend.” Or ever. “You know. Tests.”
I need to write down a list of better excuses, but in the meantime, that’s all I have.
His eyes widen. "The king himself?"
I shrug both shoulders, to convey some of my indifference and a degree of confusion.
“Helyn, Helyn… Well, I’m aware you’re not familiar with court protocol, so let’s play this out. I could write to inform him that you're otherwise engaged—”
“Great!” I say before he can add another word. There’s definitely a “but” coming, and I'd rather not hear it. "So, that's sorted."
“Hardly.” Reaching the bottom of the stairs, the duke shakes his head. “As I said, I could, but it's not an advisable course of action. For you or me.”
I want to scream. “This weekend is really not a good time.”
He’s undeterred. “If the herald of the crown had extended an invitation and you had declined, you'd have to give a very compelling reason, as well as a thousand apologies, excuses, and plenty of gold to make sure he's not offended.” The duke gestures to an open door, and I follow him.
Inside, the dark wood and red leather creates an atmosphere that is surprisingly homey. He moves to a large bar and pours two glasses of a dark amber liquid.
I accept the one he offers, though I’m not too fond of liquor. By the sound of it, I’m going to need it.
“The herald would be offended regardless. Which means more taxes, more appearances required during the dullest of events for at least a decade."
I'm not certain my increasingly acute headache is solely due to my use of the e-stone.
"And you were invited by the king, not a pompous glorified secretary. Should you decline, not only will the herald take it as a deadly affront—condemning you to a lifetime of tedious attendance—but the rest of the court will also give you the cold shoulder. Even if you had compelling reasons. There's nothing you are not be expected to reschedule to accommodate the king's courtesy."
His courtesy. That's rich.
I guess I'm right back to breaking my own bones to justify my absence. Though by the sound of it, Salvar Rhodes would simply push me around in a wheelchair.
I down the drink in one go and my throat burns in protest. “Ew.”
“That was a two-thousand-mark usquebaugh. You’re supposed to savor it.”
“Savor what?” I grimace as he chuckles.
“You should come back for a drink more often, refine your palate. I’ll make a connoisseur out of you.”
He’s warm as ever, and I’m still entirely uncomfortable because I have no idea what he wants. There must be more to this story than him needing an heir and randomly accepting a street urchin.
I won’t find out today, and the longer I stay here, the more I risk take of running into Neleda. Time for a strategic retreat. “I’d better get back to my books.”
The duke nods and accompanies me back to the entry hall. “Your mother will be sorry to have missed you."
Perhaps she might, but missing her is the first stroke of luck I’ve had in a while.
"Helyn?" the duke calls just as I reach the front doors, already open by one of the footmen.
