15. The Soiled Dove
“Ruohttashemm, home of the Cold Fairies and their warlike queen Jittsammes, was reported to be on the far side of the Stallanvolled, a great, dark forest that covered a large area of Old Vutland.”
Feival, dressed in his new popinjay finest, was waving his hands behind the prince’s head, urgently trying to signal something to her.
He’s reminding me to get back to work, Briony realized. “Tell me again of how you led your men back from the south,” she asked Prince Eneas.
“Yes, tell us again!” begged her friend Ivgenia.
“Surely you are bored with that story, ladies.” To his credit, the king’s son looked uncomfortable. “I have told it to you each time I have visited. The ending will still be the same if I tell it again.”
“But it is such a good ending, Highness.” Ivvie clearly would have been happy to listen to Eneas talk about anything, even in a language she didn’t understand.
“But so many stories of fighting!” he protested. “Surely highborn ladies like yourselves would prefer more wholesome tales.”
“Not me,” said Briony with something near to real pride. “I was raised with brothers and trained to fight by Shaso of Tuan, as you may remember.”
Eneas smiled. “I do, and I pray that one day you will let me question you about his tactics and methods of teaching. I envy you such a splendid, famous instructor.”
“Such excellent schooling was wasted on me, I fear. I was never allowed to practice my fighting skills with any men save my brother, and for all my life Southmarch did not taste war, at least not on our soil.”
“But that is no longer true, Princess—the men of Southmarch have just fought several battles against the fairies.”
“Battles that did not end well.” She allowed a hitch into her voice—it was not entirely manufactured. “Battles that took our finest men… and separated my beloved brother from me as well… perhaps forever.” She smiled bravely. “So it is good to hear of happier results, like yours. It gives me hope. Please, Prince Eneas, tell your tale again.”
Still standing behind the prince, Feival vigorously signaled approvaclass="underline" he himself had taught her that brave, tragic smile.
Eneas laughed and gave in with good grace. He was easy to like, this prince: almost any other man would have been only too happy to blow his own fanfare and rehearse his glorious deeds for Briony, her ladies, and Ivgenia. Gailon Tolly, the duke of Summerfield, although he had turned out a better man than Briony had thought him (at least by comparison with his murderous brother) had always been far too willing to speak at length about his own adventures hunting or riding, making it sound as though every ditch he jumped had been a triumph over Kernios the Soul-Taker .
“Our army crossed the border and stopped at the outermost of the Hierosoline garrisons,” the prince said. “Our commander, Marquis Risto of Omaranth, had been sent not so much to fight on Hierosol’s behalf as to see the lay of things and send back a recommendation to my father—that is why father had sent Risto, a shrewd, careful man. But nobody guessed that the autarch would strike so swiftly or with such numbers. At the same time as he brought a great force from the sea and launched his assault on the walls of Hierosol itself, the autarch also sent a second, smaller armada up the Kulloan Strait by night with oars muffled and sails furled. They had been led through the most dangerous part of the rocky strait by a traitor from Hierosol—a sea pilot who betrayed his country for gold.” Eneas shook his head, genuinely puzzled. “How could a man do such a thing?”
“It is impossible to understand,” said Ivvie, nodding vigorously.
“Impossible,” echoed Feival, who was prone to be a little more involved in conversations than was proper for a secretary. “Disgusting!”
“Not all people feel as strongly attached to their countries as you and I do,” Briony told the prince kindly. “Perhaps because their positions in those countries are not so secure and privileged as ours.”
“Or perhaps they are just inclined to treachery by birth or blood,” Ivvie countered. “There are peasants on my father’s land who not only poach from our forests, they withhold taxes and lie to the reeve when the counting-out season comes, claiming they have more children than they do, or less land, anything to avoid paying my father what they owe.”
Some of the other ladies made noises of polite agreement. They shared a general dislike of the people who dug the soil and harvested the crops, although, like their menfolk, they often spoke about them in a way that Briony found sentimental and false. She did not claim to know the life of a peasant herself, but she had experienced enough nights in cold barns or open fields while traveling with the players that she couldn’t believe anyone would choose that life for the pastoral joy of it. Also, Briony had seen enough of the machineries of justice and taxes to know that the ills were by no means all on the side of treacherous peasants.
Still, it would do no good to start an argument: the people in this court already thought of her as odd, and it might also poison the prince’s mood at a time when she was doing her best to make him like her.
Feival was glaring at her again, and she realized that her wandering thoughts had taken her away from Eneas describing how the Xixian invasion had caught the Syannese troops by surprise, forcing them to take refuge in a Hierosolian fortress.
“But if Marquis Risto and the others were under siege, how did you discover their plight?” she asked. “You must have told me, but I’m afraid I’ve forgotten.” She hadn’t, of course, but there was nothing wrong with applying a thin layer of helplessness to her appeal—not overdoing it, as she might have when playing the Miller’s Daughter in a farce like A Country Priest’s Tale, but giving it enough push that Eneas might think of her as a needy younger sister, someone whose interests wanted protecting.
“Because he was on a mission from my father, Risto was carrying pigeons to send messages back to Tessis. He had brought the last set from our frontier fort at Drymusa, and it was just good luck I had seen him there when he passed through. I decided to wait another fortnight with my men before leaving because I was curious to hear his report about the state of things in Hierosol.”
“How clever of you, Highness,” Ivgenia said.
Eneas gave her a look of gentle reproof. “It was luck, my lady, as I said. I had no idea that Risto would walk into a siege. Xis has threatened Hierosol for years, but none of us truly believed it was more than bluff, since it was easier for the Xixian autarchs to snatch prizes among the rich islands on the southern coast. In any case, word came, and I was there with a company of battle-ready men. Good fortune, as I said, was on our side.”
“A blessing from the gods,” murmured Briony.
Eneas nodded. He was known to be devout, and had quietly gifted several temples while his younger siblings were spending their own money on the pleasures of earthly existence. “Yes, a blessing indeed. Are you sure you wish to hear this all again?”
“Please,” Briony told him. “We get so little firsthand news.”
He gave her a wry look. “But I hear you have been out getting a good look at the world, both on your way here and since you have arrived, Princess Briony.”
For a moment she was nonplussed, until she realized he must be referring to her trip out of the palace with Ivgenia. But why would something like that interest Eneas? Unless he was just interested in Briony in a general way, and had been asking about her… She couldn’t afford to be too sure of herself, though: he might be interested in Ivgenia, after all—she was a pretty, vivacious young girl with a good family bloodline.