I did what I had to do at the time.
My hands pressed against the cool of the wall behind me.
What was done was done.
I couldn’t think about it anymore.
* * *
Early the next morning, I raided Berdi’s wardrobe and found only part of what I required.
“Natiya, are you good with a needle?”
“Very,” she answered. I’d suspected as much. To rip out a hem, conceal a knife in a cloak, and then sew it up again in a few precious minutes required a skill that I certainly didn’t have—much to my aunt Cloris’s chagrin.
I asked Enzo for coin. I had used all the money Rafe had packed in my bag for messengers in Turquoi Tra. Enzo didn’t hesitate, and pulled a sack from the potato barrel in the pantry. He threw me the whole thing. It wasn’t much, but I gladly took it and shoved it into my pack, nodding my thanks. “I’ll tell Berdi you’re doing a fine job here. She’ll be pleased.”
“You mean amazed,” he added sheepishly.
I shrugged, unable to deny it. “That too. And remember, Enzo, you’ve never laid eyes on me.”
He nodded, an understanding passing through his eyes, and I wondered at his transformation. Rafe’s threats had no doubt gotten his attention, but I was certain it was the magic of Berdi’s trust that had changed him. I just had to pray that the change was lasting.
We snuck out, quiet as night, careful not to wake any boarders.
* * *
The clerk at the mercantile was happy to see us. We were her first customers of the day—and the only ones. I saw her squinting, trying to peer through the gauzy cover of the white scarf draped over my face. I asked if she had any red satin, and she didn’t try to hide her surprise. Most widows would be asking for more somber, respectful fabrics.
Natiya surprised me with her quick explanation. “My aunt wishes to make a tapestry honoring her departed husband. Red was his favorite color.”
I added a quick sob and nod for effect.
In minutes we were on our way, with an extra yard thrown in by the sympathetic clerk.
We had one more stop. What I needed there couldn’t be bought with the usual kind of currency. I only hoped I had the kind I needed.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
RAFE
My transition from soldier to king had been abrupt, and it seemed every baron in the assembly wanted a piece of my hide. I knew their bravado was posturing to secure my ear and attention, which I assured them they had. The eight officers of the cabinet were the most demanding, but then they were the ones who had worked the most closely with my father.
I was welcomed of course, but behind every welcome came an admonishment—Where were you? And a warning—The upheaval is widespread. It will take time to heal.
The court physician offered me the most painful reminder. Both of your parents asked for you on their deathbeds. I promised them you were on your way. I wasn’t the only one who offered false hope and expedient lies, but I had little time to dwell on my guilt.
If I wasn’t in sessions separately with the assembly, cabinet, or the court of generals, I was with them all at once. General Draeger spoke up often, and being the governing general of the capital, his voice held sway. He made his opinions known—a message to me as much as to everyone else that he was keeping a close watch. His hand was still in this, ready. He was going to make me pay for my absence.
They all felt the need to test this untried king, but as Sven had advised, I listened, I weighed, I acted. But I would not be pushed. It was a dance of give and take, and when they pushed too far, I cut them short. I was reminded of my dance with Lia when she would not step back, her foot stamping down and staying put.
It was during that dance that I had known she wouldn’t be pushed any further. I was losing her. No, Rafe, not losing. Lost. She’s gone for good. It’s for the best, I reminded myself. I had a troubled kingdom that needed my undivided attention.
When the court of generals balked at my first order as king, I held my position and let them know this decision was not under advisement. Reinforcements were to be sent to all northern border outposts and the vulnerable cities in between, and troops at southern outposts