Should I be listening to Gailon more carefully about this? But Barrick did not trust his cousin at all. Everyone knew that Gailon was ambitious, although he was by no means the worst of his family: his brothers, sly Caradon and the dangerously reckless Hendon, made the Duke of Sum-merfield seem almost maiden-shy by comparison. In fact, Barrick did not trust any of the Southmarch nobles, not Brone, not Tyne Aldritch of Blueshore, not even the old castellan, Nynor, no matter how valuable a servant any of them had been to his father. He trusted nobody but his sister, and now Gailon’s words had begun to eat away at that bond, too. Barrick stood up, so full of rage and unhappiness that even the dog shied away. His two pages waited, solemn-faced, watching him as small animals watch a larger one who might be hungry. He had shouted at them more than a few times since dragging himself out of his fever-bed, and had struck both of them at least once.
“I must dress now,” he said, trying to keep his voice level.
The council was meeting in an hour. Perhaps he should ask Briony straight out what her business was with the dark man, the envoy. The memory of Dawet’s lean brown face and superior smile sent a little shudder of unease up Barrick’s spine. It was so much like something from the fever dreams, those shadowy, heartless creatures that pursued him. But waking life had also been nightmarish since then. It was all he could do to remind himself that he was awake, that the walls were solid, that eyes did not watch him from every corner.
I almost told Briony about Father, he realized. That was one thing he must never do. It could be the end of any happiness either of them would ever have together. “I am waiting, curse it!”
The pages had been lifting his dark, fur-trimmed gown out of the chest; now they hurried toward him, awkward beneath the weight, bearing the heavy thing like the body of a dead foe.
What did Briony want with that envoy? And more importantly, why hadn’t she told him, her brother? He couldn’t help remembering that she had seemed quite prepared to take the regency without him, to leave him alone in his bed of pain.
No. He forced the thoughts away but they did not go far: like starving beggars rebuffed, they moved only out of immediate reach. No, not Briony. If there is anyone I can trust, it is Briony.
His knees were shaking as the two young pages stood on their toes to drape the gown across his shoulders. He did not need to see these boys’ faces. He knew they were looking at each other. He knew they thought something was wrong with him.
Am I still fevered? he wondered. Or is this the thing that Father spoke of? Is this the true beginning of it?
For a moment he was back in the shadowed passages of his illness, looking down a great distance into red-shot darkness. He could see no way out.
Sister Utta’s long face showed amusement, but concern as well, and she spoke carefully. “I think it is a very bold idea, Highness.”
“But not a good one, is that what you’re saying?” Briony fidgeted. So many things were moving inside her these days, a torrent of feeling and need and sometimes even . . well, it felt like strength, the kind that she had been asked to hide over and over again. All of these competing forces yanked at her limbs and thoughts as though she were on puppet strings. “You think I am asking for trouble. You want me not to do it.”
“You are the princess regent now,” said Utta. “You will do as you see fit. But this is a disturbed time—the waters are roiled and muddy. Is it really the time for the mistress of the nation to wear what everyone will think of as a man’s garments?”
“Is it the time?” Briony clapped her hands together in frustration. “If not now, when? Everything is changing. Only a week ago, Kendrick was about to send me to marry the Bandit of Hierosol. Now I rule in Southmarch.”
“With your brother.”
“With my brother, yes. My twin. We can do whatever we want to do, whatever we think is right.” “First,” said Utta, “remember that Barrick is your twin, but he is not you.”
“Are you saying he will be angry with me? For dressing as I want to, wearing sensible, sturdy clothes instead of the frills of an empty-headed creature who is meant only to be pleasing to the eye?”
“I am saying nothing except that your brother, too, has seen the world he knows turned upside down. And so have all the people of the country. It has not been just a few days of change, Princess Briony. A year ago at the autumn harvest your father was on the throne and the gods seemed happy. Now all has changed. Remember that! There is a dark, cold winter coming—there is already snow in the high hills. People will huddle around their fires and listen to the wind whistling in the thatch and wonder what is coming next. Their king is imprisoned. The king’s heir is dead—murdered, and no one can say why. Do you think during those dark, cold nights they will be saying, ‘Thanks to the gods that we have two children on the throne now who are not afraid to turn all the old ways upside down!’.”
Briony stared at the Zorian Sister’s beautiful, austere face What I would not give to look like her, Briony thought Wise, so wise and calm —no one would doubt me then! Instead I look like a milkmaid most of the time, red-faced and sweaty. “I came to you for advice, didn’t I?” she said.
Utta made a graceful little shrug. “You came for your lesson.” “Thank you, Sister. I will think about what you’ve said.”
They had scarcely gone back to reading Clemon’s. The History of Eion and Its Nations when someone knocked quietly at the door.
“Princess Briony?” called Rose Trelling from the corridor. “Highness? It is nearly time for you to see your council.”
Briony got up and gave Utta a kiss on her cool cheek before going out to her waiting maids. There wasn’t room for them to walk three abreast in the narrow passageway so Rose and Moina dropped behind her, Briony could hear the sides of their skirts brushing the walls.
Moina Hartsbrook cleared her throat. “That man… says he would be honored if he could find you in the garden again tomorrow.”
Briony couldn’t help but smile at the girl’s disapproving tone. “By ‘that man’ you mean Lord Dawet?"
“Yes, Highness.” They all walked on in silence for a while, but Briony could sense Moina trying to work up the courage to speak again. “Princess,” she said at last, “forgive me, but why do you see him? He is an enemy of the kingdom.”
“And so are many foreign envoys. Count Evander of Syan and the old wheezing fellow from Sessio who smells like horse dung—you don’t think those are our friends, do you? Surely you remember that fat pig Angelos, the envoy from Jellon, who smiled at me every day and fawned over Kendrick, until we woke up one morning and found that his master King Hesper had sold Father to Hierosol. I would have killed Angelos myself if he hadn’t already made the excuse of a hunting trip and slipped away back to Jellon. But until we catch them doing something wrong, we put up with them.That’s called statecraft.”
“But… but is that really why you talk to him?” Moina was being stubborn; she ignored Rose’s elbow bumping her ribs. “Just for… statecraft?”