Flametouched Page 20

  “And Lady Hightower,” he said, “I wondered if you might see the Queen today.”

  “I believe I will, though I have no fixed engagement, as yet. Is there something I can bring to her attention for you?”

  He grabbed the walking stick, probing it to see if the paint had dried. Satisfied, he picked it up and started to stand. Arianne, realizing what he was doing, shot up first. “Sit down, Mr. Harper!” she scolded. “For pity’s sake. You must not move so much or you’ll reopen the wound!”

  “I don’t mean to be troublesome. I apologize.”

  “And quit acting like we think you’re an annoyance!” she continued, emotions getting the better of her. Why am I so overwrought?

  “Yes, well,” he stammered, “this is for the Queen, if you wouldn’t mind giving it to her for me. I know that it’s hardly feminine, but that is what the wood…well, that’s it.”

  Arianne took it, trying to settle herself. Another masterpiece. For eyes he had placed two pieces of jade that seemed to glow in the sunlight. The scales were all carved to overlap perfectly, something that should have taken him weeks, not days. If news of his gift ever got out, he would be one of the most sought after artisans in Bittermarch. She had been severely tempted to show off her pendant and bracelet to everyone, but refrained, fearing it would bring him unwanted attention.

  “I wonder if she’ll be able to make it slither about?” Elaine said excitedly, commandeering the carving as Arianne returned to the couch.

  “Warn her to be careful, if you would, Lady Hightower,” he cautioned. “That is an Arrow Asp, and they are deadly poisonous. Of course, sabercats are dangerous, too, so I hope she can control it in a similar fashion as Emile does hers. You’re the Queen’s friend, Lady Hightower. Do you think she’ll like it or is it a bit strange? She doesn’t use a walking stick now, so I hope she can find some use for it.”

  “I’m sure she will be as amazed and thankful as we all have been.”

  He nodded and stifled a yawn, seeming to tire before them. “I am sorry. I am poor company today, especially for two such fine ladies as yourselves. Not that clerks are well known for their conversation anyway. I wanted to thank you both for your kindness to me. It is likely our paths will cross little in the future, so before you leave I want to say that it has been an honor to know you both, and I wish you the best. If I have caused either of you any pain or offense, I regret it.”

  Arianne, not sure what she was feeling, stood suddenly. “I told you, Mr. Harper, quit acting like you have ever been an annoyance!” Something powerful was rising within her and she couldn’t suppress it. Embarrassed, she crossed to the door, pulled it open, and rushed into the hallway, completely unsure of herself and finding her eyes stinging. The door opened and closed again, Elaine rushing to catch up to her. Arianne choked down the urge to cry—for what, she couldn’t guess—and tried to steady herself.

  “Arianne?” Elaine asked, face troubled. “Are you angry with Mr. Harper?”

  “I am not angry with him,” she explained. “I don’t know what I am today. The last week has been so draining. I don’t know. This whole business has me out of sorts.”

  Elaine’s mouth dropped open. “You’re going to miss him!”

  “Yes, Elaine, I will miss him. You won’t?”

  “Of course not. I’m going to marry him. I plan on visiting him every day until he asks me.”

  Arianne stopped mid-stride. “Miss Elaine Brighton, what a notion!” She wanted to be angry, but the insanely bold statement pulled her up short. “You’re the daughter of a Viscount, Elaine! Mother and Father are hardly going to let you marry a clerk, or even a knight! Besides, he’s at least ten years older than you and hardly has the income to support someone with your fine tastes.”

  Now she had offended Elaine.

  Her sister frowned and put her hands on her hips. “Prescilla Danton married a man nearly twice her age!”

  “Yes, but she was twenty-five!”

  “So? When I’m twenty, he’ll be what? Thirty? Does that sound so awful?”

  Arianne shook her head. There was clearly no point in trying to reason with her. “You discuss it with Mother and Father and tell me what they say.”

  “We’ll elope.”

  Arianne ignored her as they went to their rooms. A message awaited her there. As she had hoped, the Queen agreed to take mid-morning tea with her. Arianne used the intervening hour to rein in her emotions. She still couldn’t understand what had triggered the outburst in the first place. She would miss Mr. Harper, of course, but she determined that it was the stress that had turned her emotions so erratic. Her confrontation with her steward, the invasion of her home, the mystery of the ledgers, Baron Carver expressly going against her orders and acting like she thought he was a fly she needed to swat. All of it was adding up. Once her head was clear she would go see Baron Carver again and be as controlled and pleasant as ever.

  When Arianne arrived at the Queen’s drawing room, the servant told her she was in the infirmary and that she should meet her there. Arianne wondered if she had gone to visit Baron Carver and perhaps issue further orders to force him to comply with the doctor’s instructions. Upon arriving, however, she was surprised to find the Queen stretched out on the bed, a grimace on her face, as the Flametouched hands of Doctor Otis nimbly wrapped her ankle.

  Arianne bowed quickly. “Your Grace! What has happened?”

  The Queen winced as the doctor pulled the bandage snug. “Nothing out of the ordinary for an old woman who doesn’t lift her feet as far up as she used to. I caught the edge of a rug and twisted my ankle. What is that you have there?”

  Arianne again wondered at Baron Carver’s strange prescience. “It is a gift from Mr. Harper. A walking stick.”

  Doctor Otis looked up. “Ah yes, I saw him working on it. A nice piece of work. And timely.” The doctor finished his wrapping and gave the Queen a drink of a red tonic. “Rest here for an hour, Your Grace,” he ordered. “I’ll check on you then and we’ll get you up to your chambers.”

  The doctor bowed to them both and left. Arianne sat at the foot of the bed, letting Filippa examine the gift.

  “An Arrow Asp,” the old monarch said, turning it over. “Very cleverly done, too. I was bitten by one of these when I was younger. Almost killed me. A timely gift, indeed.”

  Arianne lowered her voice. “And there is more. Look here.” She drew the Queen’s attention to her rosebud and bracelet, willing them to bloom and close.

  The Queen smiled. “So that is his gift, then. You do know he is Flametouched?”

  “Yes.”

  “I recommended him to Lord Ember just after you left for Hightower. So how does it work? How do you command them?” she asked, inspecting the serpent’s head.

  “With a thought, though he wished me to convey to you that you should exercise caution. He has given two sabercats to Emile, and they seem quite docile and protective, but he couldn’t be sure about the asp.”

  The Queen concentrated for a moment and the walking stick wiggled to life. Arianne gasped and darted away from the bed as the snake slithered about. The Queen laughed, pleased, and then returned the snake to its more comfortable form.

  “Excellent. I don’t recall that the Flame has ever gifted anyone with this kind of animism before. There are tribal tales among the Aua’Catan of such things, but those come from long before Creetis was formed. I shall have to talk to Lord Ember about it. But let’s turn to more urgent matters. Now that you’ve spent a few days with Mr. Harper, how do you find him?”

  Arianne returned to the bedside, finding herself struggling with uncomfortable emotions. “He is too self-effacing. He is stubborn and independent and doesn’t respect the peerage. He flat out disobeyed me when I told him not to ride off with the ledgers! And I hate his beard. It’s an awful thing.”

  The Queen grinned. “You liked him, then?”

  “He was very tolerable.”

  “Tolerable?” the Queen asked, eyebrows ra
ised. “Well, I suppose that is a respectable quality. You do seem a little sad today. Perhaps it will cheer you up to know that the Earl of Longford, the Hero of Harrickshire, should be here this evening to rescue you from these sad reflections caused by this intractable, tolerable clerk. The Earl will certainly be pleased by your divine looks today. I do hold you some ill will for not informing me that you are betrothed.”

  Arianne bolted upright. “What?”

  “Yes. The Earl is coming to announce it at the Day of Burning Ball. That is why the two of you went off alone into the Elder Wood together, was it not? Did he not drop the knee?”

  “He did, but he never finished!” Arianne explained. “The shooting interrupted his proposal! He never formally gave it and I never formally accepted. How dare he be so presumptuous!”

  The Queen’s continued humor at her expense was starting to grate on her. “Calm down, Arianne. Everyone has been quite enamored with the Earl since his heroics. He probably calculated that there was simply no way you could refuse him now. He has become quite the celebrity. Why, there’s even talk of a statue.”

  “But they were not his heroics!” Arianne corrected, keeping her voice low.

  “Ah, but he thinks that you think that they are. What a wonderful secret to carry into a marriage! Now, I am sorry, Arianne. One day you may find these little vexations as amusing as I do. Please sit down and tell me about these ledgers and the attack. Do not leave out any details. I need everything, including how and when Mr. Harper gifted you and your sister these carvings.”

  Arianne’s mind spun. She took several moments to push out thoughts of Baron Carver and the Earl—with whom she was now furious—and the Queen seemed content to let her take her time. When she finally related the tale in full, she fought to control her voice, memories dredging up the same indescribable emotion that had been threatening to drown her. When she finished, she felt better, though a little exhausted.

  The Queen appeared troubled. “This is bigger than I thought. I will send the Lord High Sheriff to collect the ledgers immediately. It sounds like our Mr. Harper is deserving of a knighthood, though I wonder if he would accept.”

  “I think he fears noble society more than bullets and brigands.” Arianne sighed. “Elaine hopes you will knight him. She is intent on marrying him and has threatened to visit him every day until he proposes. Silly, silly, girl.”

  “Yes, how ridiculous to pursue the thing one loves,” the Queen returned sarcastically. “I need to rest now, Arianne, and you should prepare for the arrival of your parents and the Earl. Convey my regards to them all.”

  “I will. Thank you, Filippa.”

  Regards! Uticus will get a piece of my mind.

  Chapter 22

  “This is outrageous! It must be some sort of a joke at our expense!” Mr. Lambert exclaimed, invitation in hand. Davon looked up from his ledger, finding the older man standing rigid with a white knuckled grip on a message recently brought in by one of the Queen’s messengers. “This must have something to do with you, Mr. Harper. This office hardly ever attracted the Queen’s notice before you arrived. Whatever will I wear?”

  “What is it this time, Mr. Lambert?” Davon asked, trying to keep from smiling. Mr. Lambert took the unexpected so poorly that he thought it best not to make light of his indisposition.

  “We’ve been invited, Mr. Harper!”

  “To what, exactly?” Davon hoped it was another outdoor excursion to Harrickshire. There were so many places there he wanted to explore.

  “The Day of Burning Ball! And I mean the Ball with all the nobles! We’ll look like pair of fools! What does Queen Filippa think we’re supposed to do?”

  Davon joined Mr. Lambert in surprise. The Day of Burning celebrated the discovery of the Eternal Flame after the Creetisian Council had ordered Joris’s house burned. The midsummer celebration packed the streets and taverns, and any noble of note was invited to Bellshire for a day of sport, entertainment, and a ball so ornate and expensive that not to go was considered sheer idiocy. Emile had begged him to go every year, and he had only obliged once. It was at that ball he first realized he could never satisfy her expectations of a nobleman.

  “Are you sure?” Davon asked, eyebrows scrunched. As a member of the House of Light, he was expected to attend a more somber ceremony in the Ember Chapel that consisted of singing, speeches, and mingling with fellow members. The Queen’s invitation superseded that of the House of Light, but it was an oddity to have been invited at all.

  “Just because I’m a man of numbers doesn’t mean I can’t read, Mr. Harper. See for yourself. I think I’m going to be sick.”

  Mr. Lambert tossed the letter on Davon’s desk, sat down, and put his head on his arms in what Davon supposed was an attempt to fend off a headache. Davon opened the invitation, and it was indeed specific. They were invited to the festivities by special request of the Queen, which meant they couldn’t refuse without incurring her displeasure. He could understand Mr. Lambert’s indisposition. Fools, indeed. They would end up serving punch or spending hours alone gawking at the fine lords and ladies just as puzzled by the attendance of two clerks as they were. Even worse, it was absolutely guaranteed that his recently betrothed wife and the Earl of Tahbor would be in attendance.

  He had to find a way out. He had planned to spend his day carving. The stack of stray wood piled in his humble domicile in the Crooks was taking the place over. The need to carve had grown, occupying almost every moment of his dwindling free time. He had decided to send his gifts anonymously to avoid attracting attention to himself. By his own count he had gifted only six. He had twice that many nearly finished and nearly twenty sticks, boards, and logs all piled up in a corner and changing shapes before his eyes the moment he came home.

  But his plan was coming to naught. Only severe illness or injury could honorably excuse him from what seemed more like a summons than an invitation. Mr. Lambert’s nerves would likely throw him into sufficiently poor health to earn a pass; as for himself, Davon figured he would just have to find some other way to get himself shot or beaten. Getting thrown in jail would also do the trick, but he certainly didn’t want to sacrifice his comfortable position in the Queen’s household.

  Davon returned the letter to a nearly indisposed Mr. Lambert. “Take courage,” he intoned comfortingly. “We’ll both go find a book we’ve never read and if we stand still enough, we might be mistaken for statues.”

  “What a stupid thing to say,” Mr. Lambert moaned. “Who has ever chiseled a statue of a clerk?”

  The room felt a bit stuffy, so Davon stood and decided to walk about a bit to refresh himself and let Mr. Lambert recover—if he ever did. Davon rarely ventured around the palace now, fearing an encounter with Emile or Lady Hightower. He was sure his wife would pick him out in an instant, and his last encounter with Lady Hightower ended on an odd key. He apparently had frustrated her to the point of tears, and he thought it best to avoid her to not cause her further distress. He found her intruding on his thoughts a little more regularly that was entirely appropriate for an underclerk.

  Still, he wondered how she fared. What the lady’s ledgers contained and what the Boot and Wheel Caravan had been hauling had still not been revealed, at least not to him, and the Lord High Sheriff was keeping the investigation close to his chest.

  Davon turned the corner to leave the offices and found himself face to face with Queen Filippa, who carried an envelope in one hand and the Arrow Asp walking stick in the other. A pair of her personal bodyguards flanked her. He removed his hat and bowed.

  “Your Grace. It is an honor to see you,” he said. “How may I serve?”

  “Thank you, Mr. Harper, and I am happy to see you. I wanted to stop by to thank you for the timely gift of the walking stick. As you may have heard, I turned my ankle not an hour before Lady Hightower brought me this from you. How are your wounds coming along?”

  “Quite well. This is the first day I’ve tried to work my full shift, and I feel fit
enough.”

  “Very well. I have a favor to ask of you,” she said, extending the envelope. “Will you deliver this to Lady Hightower for me?”

  Davon’s forehead creased. “I think it might be better if someone else delivered it, your Eminence. I’m not sure the Lady Hightower would appreciate—”

  “Do be quiet, Mr. Harper. Lady Hightower has been unwell and unseen for three days, and I am ordering you to do it because you are familiar with her difficulties. Deliver it to her personally; do not give it to a servant. Inform her its contents are of a sensitive nature and that she should read it alone.”

  News of the ledgers, perhaps. Davon took the proffered envelope. “I did not know that she was ill. Is the case serious?”

  The Queen shrugged. “A bit of melancholy over some distressing news, I fear. More than that, I cannot say.”

  Davon opened his mouth to inquire further, but the Queen shushed him and sent him on his way with a swat of her stick. He turned the envelope over in his hands and walked in the direction of Lady Hightower’s chambers. Whatever the Queen had written for her, it was short, probably only a single sheet of paper. Curiosity sped him along. The Lady Hightower surely wanted the matter of her estate’s finances kept as secret as possible, but he hoped she would feel to confide him if something serious had occurred.

  After straightening his jacket, he knocked softly at the door, Missa answering. “Thank the Flame!” she whispered, stepping aside. “Come in, Mr. Harper, please.”

  The spacious apartment’s living area appeared empty save for the two of them, and the whole place was deadly quiet. “Is Lady Hightower resting?” he asked, taken aback by the Lady’s Maid’s desperate tone. “The Queen asked me to deliver a message to her Ladyship personally.”

  “No, she is not resting,” Missa answered, wringing her hands and lowering her voice to a whisper. “She’s been in her room staring out the window for three days. Her parents came three nights back and there was an awful argument. They sent Miss Hale home that evening. I’ve never seen her like this, Mr. Harper. I am worried.”