It was Freyza’s first winter in Massouron and the cold had been a surprising source of agony for him. The first snow had fallen this December, and whatever free time he had, he sat huddled in his furs by the fireplace as he read his correspondences.
There were many correspondences these days that pleased him. He had weaselled himself into the forefront of the minds of courtiers, advisers and businessmen, and the amount of letters he received on a monthly basis rivalled the amount a monarch would. Most notably, however, there was one from his homeland.
Bayezid often sent him letters to catch up on the latest happenings working beneath the sultan. Neither of the men would admit to missing one another, but the truth was that Bayezid had always taken Freyza for a wise elder brother, and Freyza was proud enough of his life and achievements to revel in the glory of Bayezid’s admiration. Bayezid had married the Baradran noblewoman Freyza had spoken well of, Bayezid’s and Freyza’s sons often played together before Freyza’s wife left with the boy, and Bayezid inherited Freyza’s hatred of the red-headed devil-wife Yusra following this event. Even the despair of heartbreak and the shattering of Freyza’s world that made him turn away from Sbaian court, Bayezid gladly wished to emulate. A few months after Freyza left for Massouron, Bayezid wished to leave for the Baradrans or Neuhausen or even Ilworth.
Friend,
I bear the unfortunate announcement that we have not been able to receive the desired amount of tin from our supplier in the Baradran Kingdom, and in fact have heard nothing from the Baradrans at all. Have you any news?
If this situation continues, we are forced to look into a different supplier despite our best trading agreements. His Excellency, the Sultan Selim, wishes to have his residence available to him summer of next year. I wonder if you will be able to help us in this endeavour, given that the current ambassador of the Sbai Empire in the Baradrans has not written us for months.
From where we stand, the seat of power is shifting away from Dos Lunas and into Souchon. You may be able to take advantage of that fact.
Falcona is recovering well — thank you for your concern. Have you taken a Massouric wife yet?
With regards, Yours sincerely,
Bayezid of Amouas
It did not shock him that Bayezid had not received word from the Baradrans. Souchon Palace too had been suddenly cut off. The King of Massouron was especially distraught by the news. Queen Louise had wedded Silouane de Ginefort, uncle of the King of the Baradrans, Ferdinand de Ginefort. Silouane was not just the brother of the old king, but also of Joan de Ginefort, who in turn was Queen Katherine’s mother. All Gineforts had placed themselves well. In other words, all courts had a prominent Ginefort or half-Ginefort.
Silouane had distanced himself from court. He had not heard from his family in the palace in Dos Lunas in weeks. Freyza’s predicament, securing tin, was child’s play considering that this family, which had offshoots within every other notable dynasty on the continent, had not given a sign of life since the harvest.
Who was there to ask? Massouron mined tin, but Freyza considered that, while he was their guest, he could never have the upper hand in negotiations. He simply was too dependent. He had seen an Argentan ambassador walking about, swanning in lush silks and surrounded by a constant clinking of gold in the man’s purse, but Freyza considered Argento’s only export products to be sodomy and theatre.
Then, among the last notables, were the kingdoms of the Courtenay sisters. Ilworth in Katherine’s hands, and Neuhausen de-facto in Eleanor’s. The latter was a small city-state burnished by revolution, with an Ilworthian nobleman placed at its symbolic head to at least give the impression of statehood. Neuhausen was parliamentary in a shocking sense, and the most prestigious part of the Viscount George’s occupation, was his marriage to the younger of the two princesses, Eleanor, who was Katherine’s dear baby sister of two years her junior.
He would have to inquire as to their ores.
He dragged his feet to do so, however, as long as he still had the option of Queen Katherine at his disposal. She was not in Souchon now, but rumours were making the rounds that she was to arrive soon. In their few exchanged words, it appeared from his side that Katherine was the perfect candidate to exalt to the honour of Sbaian supplier. Why precisely was a mixture of easily explained reasons and ones that were mysterious even to the man himself.
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As usual, the oracle of rumours was correct. Katherine was said to arrive in Port Bourrac a few days later, and once that news had reached Souchon Palace, she was only an afternoon away, arriving early in the evening to a banquet under the enjoyment of a crackling fireplace and an early night after days on the road. Many of the Souchon courtiers did not realise that, had they counted Katherine’s advisers, they could have known that the number had swollen by one. Not even Katherine paid him much attention.
He sat on the far corner of the most prestigious table, that hundred-eyed baron, and simply looked for the whole evening. He had been fitted a royal purple uniform which suited his dark, striking colouring well, and the pensive look he had could not be swept off his face neither by food nor drink.
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Harcourt was initially worried that he had attracted a freeloading bastard who had seduced him into offering him a position at court, but to his surprise, Richard seemed truly not to enjoy court life. Meeting Katherine for the first time, he was respectful and interested, but appeared unfazed by her interest in him, and left not even with half a smile. Getting to the truth of matters seemed to be his true motivation.
One thing that Richard immediately noticed was Walter: that young man with his perfect golden curls, his provincial tan, the lanky form of his body. His acquaintance with Prince Henry and Sir Henry both, with the one-eyed jockey, and most importantly, with Lord William. It was almost as though he was reporting.
As to Katherine, he saw nothing of what her many lover saw. To him, the young queen was frivolous, undisciplined, messy, and fickle. There was nothing intriguing about her except the folly of youth, which was destined to sink into a folly that overstayed past her youth. There was no beauty in a folly not of youth. Certainly, she was not the great and magnetic beauty that could ensnare anyone out of their duties.
It seemed as though Richard missed something; there was something that made him doubt himself. William was well-placed and in a high position already, and his correspondences — which, as spymaster, he allowed himself to read — highlighted nothing out of the ordinary save for a semi-secret affair with Harcourt’s wife. Moreover, after consulting Harcourt, it appeared that William mostly left the queen alone. So why did it all appear so fishy to him? What was the crook up to that was hiding in plain sight?
Certainly, Katherine’s fondness for William’s servant was baffling. Despite the obvious lack of any attractive characteristics to Richard himself, even he knew that it was far below the queen’s usual diet of princes, knights and high-placed courtiers to be found in bed with a retired footman, even if he bore a striking resemblance to Prince Henry’s noble plaything, and had a certain charm to him. The boy did not strike him as particularly bright, and handsome young lads were a dime a dozen. After the banquet, Richard slipped out to see him in the great hall, where he sat entranced by a lute player’s sweet melodies as he sipped his ale.
Only a few steps away from the boy did the spell break, and did he look up to Richard.
‘My lord,’ he said, and ducked his head as if to bow.
Richard noticed the clothes he was wearing: a full silk suit of light blue, with elaborately slashed and puffed sleeves, and delicate shoes of which he saw the bottoms had not been walked on much at all. One of the soles was staring at him as its owner was sitting tailor-wise. His chin-length hair lay flat beneath a velvet bonnet.
‘Sir Walter,’ he said. ‘I don’t believe we had the honour of meeting.’
He extended a hand and a jovial expression.
Walter took it hesitantly. ‘No, my lord. But I’ve heard of you. Richard Dauncey, was it not?’
‘Yes,’ he said, and sat down besides the swain. ‘I was wondering if you hail from Gartham, Walter.’
There was no use in pleasantries anymore. Walter’s tone was hostile in its simplicity. The fact he had heard of Richard was not received with thanks.
‘No,’ he said, and blinked sheepishly. ‘I’m from a town you haven’t heard of.’
‘I was once guildmaster of the Innkeepers’ Guild, I’ve heard of every town,’ he said calmly with not an ounce of sarcasm. ‘That’s what they test you on.’
‘Is that so?’ Walter asked.
Richard nodded.
Both men fell silent against the backdrop of lute-playing. It was not that Richard had already grown hopeless of the idea of entering the mind of his would-be adversary through his footman, but promise was seeping from the cracks of the plan like it was an aged wineskin. Walter knew what he was not supposed to say.
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That night, he arrived at Harcourt’s cabinet to the side of his room, and was greeted by a goblet of mulled wine that sat on his side of the table. The secretary of state looked up at him expectantly as Richard sat down.
‘Well?’ Harcourt asked.
Richard clicked his tongue. ‘Little news. Likely it’ll come to show through correspondences, but…’
‘But, what?’ asked Harcourt.
‘There are a few things I learned but none are relevant issues of the state,’ he said. ‘Though some may be of particular interest to yourself, if I may be so bold as to make assumptions.’
Harcourt raised his brows. ‘Like what?’
Richard pursed his lips in that characteristic way he had done a dozen times in his short career so far, the symbol of being unable to keep his mouth for much longer, against better judgement: ‘Are you aware that William is sleeping with your wife?’
Harcourt’s eyes cast downward, and he chuckled softly. ‘Why do you think I brought that devil down here in the first place? I may not seem partisan, Richard, but I did not employ you because I fear the day William Lennard’s good name is disgraced — in fact, I welcome it.’
‘And the Sbaian ambassador is begging to speak to you,’ Richard added. ‘More begging to speak to Lady Katherine, if I think about it.’
Harcourt exhaled sharply. ‘You learned from William’s antics?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ve been stopped in the halls to this place by some dwarf that the ambassador… owns? Employs? Who is to say? He asked me to give Lady Katherine this…’
Richard fiddled with the voluminous space in his breeches, and fished out a tiny velvet pouch. ‘Told me not to open it under any circumstances, lest the surprise be spoiled.’
‘That’s a shame,’ Harcourt said.
‘Why?’ he said, plucking at the opened end of it, and extracting a ruby pendant on a delicate silver chain. ‘You don’t gather that I listen to Sbaians, right? Or anyone, for that matter — there could have been a vial of poison in there.’
His eyes laser-focused to the pendant. A faceted ruby, surrounded by tiny diamonds set elegantly in the white-gold or silver. ‘Actually…’ he hummed.
As he gazed deeper into the blood-red abyss, he swore he could saw a shiver in the surface. He tilted it, and an air bubble danced shyly across its front.
‘Fuck,’ he murmured. ‘It is a vial of poison.’
Harcourt paid him a disturbed look, and in an instant, Richard swung the pendant by the length of its chain and bashed it against the wall, where the vial shattered into glimmering splinters, and red liquid splattered on the wall, though quickly turned transparent.
The air was tense and heavy, and suddenly filled with the scent of jasmine.
The two advisers looked at the absent stain, the diamonds tossed from their setting, the shards of crystal glass, and the chain covered in destroyed glittery sand.
‘Would you say this counts as a spoiled surprise, Lord Richard?’ Harcourt asked, visibly amused from the boyish grin on his lips and his mischievous look. ‘Though I appreciate the thorough perfuming of my cabinet.’
‘Better safe than sorry, no?’ Richard asked. ‘I’ll have to apologise to Master Freyza…’