The Prince's Bargain - K.M. Shea Page 0,85
way toward her.
She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, feeling like a fish out of water as the translators swarmed her and Chairwoman Errim. “But…why?” she finally asked.
The closest person, a senior translator, gave Myth a curious look. “What do you mean why?”
“Why would you put everything aside to help? I didn’t get a chance to warn you, but I didn’t ask His Majesty King Petyrr for his approval—”
Once again Chairwoman Errim held up her hand, and Myth fell silent. “You don’t seem to understand, Apprentice Mythlan,” she said. “But we’re translators. We work together—not as mere coworkers, but companions. And you, our little Trade Darling, are the pride and joy of our section. Of course we’re going to help you—particularly since you never request aid in any shape.”
“I am?” By this point Myth had heard so many unexpected things, she was starting to wonder if something was wrong with her hearing.
Chairwoman Errim rolled her eyes, but the senior translator laughed. “Obviously! You’re the best translator to pass through the Circle in decades. Chairman Farthyndil of the governmental translators almost challenged Chairwoman Errim to a duel when you selected us as your translation path.”
Translator Krim, who had served as one of Myth’s instructors, added, “All apprentices are beloved, Mythlan, because it takes great intellect, perseverance, and love to continue the pursuit of languages. We get many applications, but it is usually only a handful who manage to make it to apprentice. And yet you were not satisfied with merely making that position, but you picked up additional languages and continued to work with diligence, never acting prideful even when your fellow apprentices requested your help.”
It seemed to Myth that whole chunks of the Translators’ Circle that she hadn’t even known of were falling into place. “You know I’ve studied other languages?”
Now all the translators who were gathered around her laughed.
“Of course we knew, dear,” Chairwoman Errim said dryly. “You’re our Mythlan. Now, where are these ledgers of yours?”
Myth fumbled momentarily with the satchel and pulled the two ledger books out. “Here.”
Chairwoman Errim took them with another snappy nod. “Excellent. Translators—let us begin!”
Myth shifted into a new position on the blue settee she was perched upon and made a valiant effort to scoot a strawberry across her plate.
“They should be done soon, Lady Mythlan,” Wilford assured her.
“And there’s no possible way King Petyrr found those scoundrels anything less than guilty as sin,” Grygg added.
Myth smiled. “It is to be hoped that is true.”
Wilford shook his head. “I imagine you and your Circle ruined many of Fultons’ schemes with your swift translations. I don’t think Lord Julyan even bothered to put together a defense, he was so sure they were getting away with it.”
Grygg sighed happily. “I still can’t believe my lucky stars that I got to be the one to escort Lord Julyan to the palace. He was so shocked the case was still on, he puffed up like an angry cat and yowled something fierce. I even got to threaten violence against him!”
Myth cracked a smile at the thought and finally ate her strawberry.
Thanks to the majority of all trade translators working on recreating Myth’s and Arvel’s findings, the translators finished everything by dawn the day of the judgment against the Fultons. Myth—leaving an extra copy of everything in the Translators’ Circle, because she wasn’t going to risk losing their research again—had rushed to King Petyrr and King Celrin’s private study and submitted the paperwork with enough time for the proceedings to still take place.
And they had, to Lord Julyan’s shock.
She’d seen the enraged nobleman when Grygg and his men bodily escorted him into the courtroom—he was white with fury.
It makes me glad my presence isn’t required.
Chairwoman Errim had offered to stand testimony and answer any trade-related questions King Petyrr might have, and, given the setting, Arvel required a governmental translator, not a trade or social translator. So, she was free to sit in the private parlor Arvel had reserved for her, which was conveniently in the same hallway as the court room, with Wilford and Grygg for company.
Myth sipped her tea and nudged the plate of tea sandwiches closer to Wilford, who was longingly watching them.
“Thank you, Lady Mythlan!” Wilford grinned sheepishly as he took two of the small sandwiches.
“Indeed. But I do have a question for you.” She set her teacup down and scrutinized Wilford. “Why have you suddenly taken to calling me Lady Mythlan, when you insist I shouldn’t use your titles as captains?”
Wilford