"Let them wonder," Sofy said shortly. They descended the grand staircase to the royal quarters, Sofy noting that the guard had been doubled. Instead of making her way onward to the great hall, she turned left, back toward Koenyg's quarters. A smaller, service corridor ran along the east palace wall, its windows overlooking Fortress Road and up to Saint Ambellion Temple beyond, all aflurry with commotion and soldiers.
"Highness," Anyse dared to ask, "where are you going?" Ahead, the corridor ended at an open kitchen door. A servant passed through, carrying porcelain plates on a tray. "Highness?" Sofy paused by one door, glanced up and down the corridor, then opened the latch and slid inside, beckoning Anyse to follow. "Those are the servants' stores!"
Sofy grabbed her impatiently by the arm and dragged her inside. She left the door ajar to let in some light, for the room was pitch black and musty.
"Anyse," said Sofy, "do you know where the servants' uniforms are? I want one."
Anyse stared at her. "Highness?"
"You heard me."
"You… you want to dress as a…?" Sofy nodded.
Anyse looked aghast. "Absolutely not!"
"I'm going whether you help me or not," Sofy said firmly. "Do you want me to get caught?"
"I'll go!" Anyse said desperately. "I'll spy for you, I'll listen to what they're…"
"No!
Anyse blinked in astonishment to see such anger in the younger woman's eyes.
"I need to hear myself, there's no telling if you'll understand all that's said. Now can you find me a uniform, I don't know where they're stored."
"Highness, no!" Desperately. "Sofy! It's too dangerous!"
"Do you think Koenyg would execute me?" Sofy said with disbelief.
"He thinks you're Sashandra's friend!"
"I am Sashandra's friend," Sofy said firmly. "And if you truly are mine, you'll help me."
The hem of the brown dress was low enough to obscure the fancy leather boots that were surely too good for any servant girl. No one looked at her as she entered Koenyg's personal kitchen. Cooks tended to pots atop metal ovens, firewood stacked high to one side. Another chopped and sliced on the main bench, while the head cook gave forceful instructions.
At the kitchen's far corner, a staircase wound upward. A servant descended that staircase now, placing empty entree plates and glasses on a bench, picking up the empty water bucket and hurrying out, not sparing Sofy a glance as he passed. Sofy ducked her head, the servant's bonnet feeling most unusual tied beneath her chin and atop the bundled hair that Anyse had helped to arrange.
There was liquor waiting on a tray, arranged with six small glasses, and Sofy went straight to it. Barely had her hands grasped the tray when the head cook saw her.
"You girl! Just what the hells do you think you're doing?"
Sofy's heart skipped a beat. She turned, hands folded demurely, and lowered her gaze in the head cook's direction. "I… I was told to take these up to…
"Where are your wits, girl? The whisky is for later. They've barely finished their tea yet. Take the wine, girl, the wine!" Pointing to a large decanter and glasses upon the central benches.
Sofy arranged the glasses and decanter on a tray, trying to keep her hands from trembling, and made her way up the stairs. No one stopped her. She felt a surge of relief and triumph. It was hardly bravery of Sasha's standard, but it was a bravery all the same. She nearly grinned with excitement.
The staircase spiralled once, then arrived at a curtain pulled across the entrance to Koenyg's quarters… Sofy had seen it before, but never from this side. She paused, excitement giving way to nervous concentration, straining her ears to make out the voices from the rooms beyond. Men's voices, clear and reasonably loud… but not immediately close. Another relief. They were in the main room, adjoining the dining room.
Well… she had to risk it. She backed through the curtain and into the dining room. A long table was set for lunch, six places ready with plates and cutlery. The windows to the right fronted directly onto Saint Ambellion Temple, with a view of Soros Square further to its north.
Sofy walked as quietly as she could to the table, trying desperately to recall how she'd seen the servants themselves do it, so as not to attract attention. She kept her back to the main room, where men stood and talked with cups in hand. She could hear Koenyg's voice as she unloaded the tray, but she was concentrating too hard on not dropping a glass to hear what he said. She heard an answering voice, with a familiar accent-lovely, flowing vowels and soft consonants. The Larosa. Sofy was surprised. Koenyg had just ridden into battle against the representatives of a province of Lenayin, and the first people he talked to were the Larosa?
She walked around the table, setting glasses before each plate… and glanced furtively into the next room. She could see four of the six men, and a servant with a tea tray, hovering inconspicuously. She recognised Koenyg, in formal clothes, his hair wet in the manner of one recently bathed. He appeared utterly unruffled. Another man she recognised was Archbishop Dalryn, black robed and fuzzy headed.
"One greatly doubts the risks to be quite so grave as some would make out," the archbishop was saying, in ponderous, thoughtful tones. "The pagans of Lenayin are truly pagan, yet they are also Lenay, and they obey their king. Obedience to the king is honourable to them and I must admit that, however godless, the pagans are greatly honourable. In their own way."
Sofy took up her tray and moved back toward the curtained exit. Beside that exit, however, the door to Koenyg's bedchambers was similarly curtained. Sofy took a deep breath, risked a glance over her shoulder… and slipped behind the bedchamber curtains. She waited, her heart pounding. She did not know what would happen if she were caught. Certainly it would be difficult to feign innocence.
She strained her ears to hear, but the conversation was mixed and it was difficult to pick out individual strands. Something drew her gaze back to Koenyg's broad bed in the centre of his room. Silver chainmail lay spread across the skin blankets, and heavy, leather gloves with steel knuckles. One had blood on it. Sofy stared.
And nearly jumped as voices came suddenly near, silencing a startled gasp before it could quite escape her lips. "I assure you that this was not entirely unforeseen," came the archbishop's voice. He seemed to be standing by the near end of the table. And he was not speaking so loud as the others. Perhaps this conversation was meant to be private. "The prince is truly a man of steel. Where another man might have faltered before such threats as Lord Krayliss made, Prince Koenyg has endeavoured to turn a difficult situation into an opportunity. And now, it seems, the Taneryn problem has been dealt with once and for all."
"I am most impressed, Your Grace," came Duke Stefhan's voice, silky smooth and ever so gracious. "And yet, one is still disquieted. My king was assured, in forging this alliance, that the clans of Lenayin no longer fought. It is disturbing to us to see our great ally so divided."
"I assure you, Duke Stefhan, these divisions are merely temporary. All bold new directions are accompanied by a temporary tumult, are they not? King Torvaal's mind is decided on the alliance, and he could not have an abler lieutenant than Prince Koenyg. I trust that you are not having second thoughts, my good Duke?"
"But of course not, Your Grace." The duke's footsteps came closer. Sofy stared down at the short gap between the bottom of the dividing curtain and the floor, wondered abruptly if the men might see her boots beneath. She backed up several steps, gingerly.
"Just…" and the duke sighed. "Please, Your Grace." The voice turned away from her. "I know that you are a proud Lenay. I mean no offence. But I also know that you are a true Verenthane, and a man of great culture and knowledge. I tell you only that it is no easy thing, Your Grace, for a proud people like the Larosa, and for the broader alliance of the free Bacosh peoples, to come to a land like… like Lenayin, for assistance."