Piper Prince Page 18

  “My late husband’s decorating taste aside,” Iniya said, “I do not allow carcasses inside the game room. Kindly remove them before I remove you from my staff!”

  Pursing her lips, which didn’t quite close over her teeth, Tinsy took the meat from the table and from Larkin.

  Iniya started toward a chair and then noted a bloody imprint on her rug. “Oh, the forest take me and all mine. Girl, get a bucket of soapy water!”

  Iniya finished her drink, unlocked the cabinet, and poured herself some more. After locking it, she sat in one of the chairs, her feet flat on the floor and her back ramrod straight. “Now, what must I do to be rid of you?”

  Larkin set her jaw. She didn’t know what to expect from the woman who’d turned her back on her own son, but perhaps remorse. “I come with an offer from the pipers to help you regain your throne.”

  Iniya waved her hand. “As if the pipers could do anything except get me hanged for sedition.” She sipped and tipped her glass toward her son. “Are there any other banished relatives you’d like to yank from the mud and set on my door. Perhaps another barmaid turned mistress? I’m not running an orphanage or a brothel!”

  The barmaid—that would be Harben’s mistress, who had given birth shortly after Brenna was born.

  “She’s my wife,” Harben ground out.

  So he had married the woman, then. Larkin could almost feel sorry for her, if she didn’t hate her so much.

  “I’m not an orphan,” Larkin said through gritted teeth. “I’m your granddaughter.”

  Iniya leaned back in her chair. “You have your mother’s eyes—traitorous and conniving wretch that she was. She tricked my son into marrying her—the Master Druid’s daughter! Of course I disowned Harben. Told him never to step foot inside my door until he was rid of her.”

  Harben dropped into the chair opposite hers. “Or until I gave you a grandson.”

  That’s why Harben had been so eager for a son, why he had finally abandoned them?

  “Queens can’t rule in the Idelmarch.” Iniya took another sip. “A convenient little law the druids enacted before I came of age. I needed an heir if the nobility was to support me.”

  Harben mumbled something. Iniya glared at him. “Don’t mutter, boy. And sit up straight. You have to command presence if you are ever to inspire an army to put you upon the throne!”

  Her father on a throne? She’d once found him sleeping in a pigsty for warmth because he’d been too drunk to find his way home.

  Harben sank deeper into his chair, a mulish expression on his face.

  Iniya rounded on Larkin. “I’d offer to have Tinsy pack you a lunch to see you on your way, but I’m afraid it might attract more strays.” She made a shooing motion.

  Larkin came around the other side of the couch. Iniya stiffened, her grip tightening on her cane. Larkin simply fluffed out her fine cloak—which was soaked and filthy from two days of travel—and sat on the felt couch. From the corner where he’d taken residence beside a lunging gilgad, Tam grinned.

  Iniya’s mouth fell open in horror. “How dare you!”

  Staring right in the older woman’s eyes, Larkin folded her muddy boots under her. Harben nodded in approval. As if she would ever need or want anything from him. Tam’s grin widened to show his teeth.

  Iniya stamped her cane in outrage. “Tinsy! Fetch Oben from the stables. Tell him to bring the whip!”

  Running steps and a slamming door announced the maid’s obedience. Larkin wasn’t afraid. With her magic, a man with a whip couldn’t even touch her.

  Harben leaned toward Larkin. “How did you escape the pipers?”

  Iniya turned toward her son. “You will have nothing to do with this wild whelp of yours.”

  Harben folded his arms across his chest. “I have my monthly allowance—more than enough to provide for my daughter.”

  Now he wanted to provide? Where was his providing when her belly had cramped with hunger? Where was it when she wore her shirt through so badly it had gone transparent? When Nesha had gotten so sick that her mother had been forced to beg Lord Daydon for the money to pay for her medicine?

  Larkin’s sigils vibrated with anger. “I do not need you providing for me.”

  It was as if Iniya and Harben hadn’t heard her. Iniya’s face went white with rage. “I will not allow my money to be—”

  “My money,” Harben interrupted. “It’s in the contract you signed in exchange for my cooperation.”

  “There are stipulations!”

  “None of which disallow donations for charities!” Harben turned back to Larkin. “If you don’t need money, what do you need?”

  Larkin looked at this man—the father who had beaten his family and stolen their money meant for food and wasted it on cheap beer, the man who had thrown her in the river and nearly drowned her. How could she let that man help her?

  Harben must have seen some of this in her gaze. He leaned back. “Just because you use me doesn’t mean you forgive me.”

  Use him. She could use him. “I need to get into the palace.”

  “My palace,” Iniya said with a stamp of her cane. She did that a lot.

  Surprise crossed Harben’s face. “Why?”

  “There’s a book of lullabies in the library,” Tam said.

  “And I need to see Queen Eiryss’s tomb,” Larkin said.

  “Eiryss’s tomb?” Iniya’s voice turned speculative.

  Harben cocked an eyebrow. “Why?”

  Somewhere a door shut, and heavy footsteps thundered toward them. The servant with the whip was coming.

  Larkin half shook her head. “I won’t tell you that.”

  An enormous man came in, whip in hand. His forehead loomed over deep-set eyes. “Mistress?” Despite his monstrous appearance, his voice was as high as a girl’s.

  Iniya jabbed her cane in Larkin’s direction. “See that this fiend is removed from my property.”

  The man unwound his whip as he stalked toward her. Tam moved to intercept. Larkin motioned for him to stay put. When Oben reached for her, she formed her shield and sword and let out a carefully controlled pulse, knocking the man on his backside and blowing over a vase with fresh flowers. Feathers from a grouse fluttered down from where they’d been blown up to the ceiling. The entire right side of the bird was bald, the eye glaring indignantly at Larkin.

  Glorying in their shocked expressions, Larkin assumed a fighting stance. “Want to try that again?”

  Oben scrambled to stand between her and Iniya. He might be shocked, but Larkin could admire that he was also well trained and loyal.

  “She has magic,” Iniya breathed. She glared at her son. “You never told me she had magic!”

  Harben gaped at Larkin in shock. Outside the pipers, only her mother, sisters, and a handful of druids knew.

  “I need a way into the palace,” Larkin repeated to Harben.

  Iniya set the rest of her drink on a side table. “It’s well known that my granddaughter is a traitor to the Idelmarch. The druids would know who you were.”

  “Not if you make me look like Nesha,” Larkin said. “Dye my hair. Cover my freckles.” Larkin couldn’t do much to imitate Nesha’s eyes—a startling shade of violet—but only someone who had seen her sister would know that.

  “Unlike you, Nesha would be welcome in the palace.” Iniya considered her. “What could you possibly want from Eiryss’s tomb?”

  Larkin ignored her. “Can you get me in or not?” she asked Harben.

  “He can’t,” Iniya said. “But I can.” The woman nodded to her servants. “I pay well for your discretion. Neither of you breathes a word of this to anyone.” The old woman gestured with her cane. “Out.”

  They backed from the room.

  Tam watched them go, his hand on his sword. “Money is a poor motivator, especially when the druids likely have more.”

  Iniya leveled him with a flat look. “I took them from the streets as children, and I’ve tested their loyalty many times. They’ve
always passed.”

  Iniya motioned her son to the door. “You too.”

  “I—” he began.

  “Now!” Iniya commanded. “Make sure that barmaid of yours stays out of my jewelry.”

  Harben ground his teeth and left.

  Iniya sat back, a speculative look in her eyes. “You mentioned a bargain.”

  Larkin let her weapons fade back inside her sigils. “You weren’t interested before.”

  “That was before I knew the pipers had anything I wanted.”

  Larkin fought the urge to run from the woman’s hungry look. “Prince Denan has pledged soldiers to support your bid for the throne. After you become queen, the Idelmarch will join with the pipers to defeat the wraiths.”

  Iniya rose to her feet and trembled with eagerness. “Give me magic—the magic of the ancients—and I will give you whatever you want.”

  Sela could remove the curse. Denan could find a way to take the woman to the White Tree. But Iniya’s eagerness made her uneasy.

  “You won’t have magic,” Tam said. “But soldiers.”

  Iniya turned her back on them. “Then we have no bargain.”

  Larkin bit her lip. “Why magic?”

  Iniya studied Larkin. “The people would never stand for a queen who used the thieves of their daughters to put her on the throne.”

  Larkin hadn’t considered that, but the old woman was right.

  Iniya stared into the cold hearth. “If I have magic, I won’t need to be gifted my kingdom by those who will hold it in trust depending on my obedience. I will win it and bear it with my own power.”

  Tam pulled Larkin aside and whispered, “It’s not a good idea to have women’s magic in the Idelmarch.”

  “Even if the woman wielding that magic is our ally?” Larkin asked.

  Tam pursed his lips. “People like her only have one ally. If we give her an advantage, she may end up a problem we’ll have to deal with later.”

  “What do you suggest?” Larkin asked.

  He faced Iniya. “We can pledge troops. Nothing more.”

  Iniya’s eyes glittered. “You mean to keep the magic for yourself.”

  “We—”

  “The very reason the war began all those years ago,” Iniya interrupted. “Over who could and could not have magic.”

  Tam stilled.

  Had it? Larkin didn’t actually know. How had Iniya learned so much about the history the curse was intent on erasing? “What do you know of it?” Larkin asked.

  “Enough,” Iniya said bitterly.

  Larkin knew loss when she saw it. What had the curse cost Iniya? “How can we trust you?” Larkin asked.

  “Or know that you can deliver what you promise?” Tam said.

  Iniya huffed. “Trust? This had nothing to do with trust. It’s a business arrangement. I need your magic. You need me to get you into the palace.” At Tam’s doubtful look, she went on, “My influence may not be what it should, but I hold the loyalty of the nobility. We are still a force to be reckoned with.”

  “And what’s to hold you to your bargain?” Tam asked. “To form an alliance with the Alamant after the Idelmarch is yours.”

  She eyed the piper with distaste. “What other options do you have, piper?”

  Tam shot Larkin an uneasy look. “We don’t have to agree to anything.”

  They could still run away, slip into the forest. She shook her head. “We can’t.” They needed the ahlea amulet and the journal. But there was another reason Larkin had come. “If we give you this, you must agree to have the Idelmarchians’ curses lifted.” They could figure out the logistics of bringing people to Sela later. “The practice of keeping the people in ignorance must cease.”

  “Done,” Iniya said.

  “Even if we take you to the White Tree and give you a thorn,” Larkin said, surprised that the curse let her say as much. How had Iniya gained so much knowledge? “There’s no guarantee it will work.”

  “Then our agreement is for one sigil,” Iniya said. “If not for me, then for someone of my choosing.”

  Reluctantly, Larkin nodded.

  Iniya turned on her heel and clicked from the room. “Tinsy!” she shrilled. “Find a lice comb.”

  A lice comb? Why did they need a— “Lice comb!” Larkin stormed after her. “I do not have lice!”

  “I’ll not take any chances with the linens.” Iniya opened the door to a wide back porch hemmed in by ivy. Beyond was a courtyard vegetable garden and pots of herbs. “Tinsy!”

  The maid opened a door under the porch and hurried up, a tray of tea in hand.

  “Never mind that,” Iniya said. “Send one of the linen girls to scrub out the game room from top to bottom.” The maid took off. “Oben!”

  A beat later, the huge servant stepped from a long house on the other side of the yard. “Start a fire under the tub.” She looked over Larkin’s clothes. “We’ve some things to burn.”

  “What gives you the right—” Larkin began.

  Iniya stepped nose to nose with Larkin. “If you want my help, you will not spend one more moment in my house in those filthy rags.”

  Larkin looked down at the stolen dress in disbelief. “This is a fine dress!”

  Iniya snorted. “For a country wife, perhaps.”

  Larkin gripped the full skirt in her fists. “I’m not going another step until you tell me what you’re planning.”

  Iniya opened her mouth to argue before seeming to decide against it. “The equinox celebrations begin tonight with Black Rites. I will be expected to make an appearance with my family. It will give everyone a chance to see you and speculate on who you are—better that they come to their own conclusions than be told outright. They’ll have less reason to question me. Plus, there’s someone I need to speak with, and I need to do it in person.

  “Tomorrow is the festival in the city—it’s more for the peasants, so we needn’t attend. And the final day …” She paused and drew a deep breath. “The final day is the feast in the keep. You will either find the things you need or you won’t—there won’t be another opportunity until the next equinox.” Iniya eyed Larkin. “If you want to pass as Nesha, you’ll need your ridiculous hair and freckles tamed.”

  “How do you know what Nesha looks like?” Had the old woman kept an eye on them all these years?

  Iniya turned on her heel and started down the stairs.

  Tam shot Larkin a frustrated look before trotting after her. “You’re a political adversary,” Tam said. “I don’t understand why the druids let you live, let alone participate.”

  Iniya’s gaze was sharp enough to cut. “You seem a strapping boy. You can help Oben.”

  Tam lifted an eyebrow. “I’ll stick with Larkin.”

  “That will be awkward,” Iniya said. “As she’s about to be naked, and you are not her husband.”

  Tam turned a brilliant shade of red.

  Iniya’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you to her?”

  “I’m her guard,” Tam said.

  Iniya hummed low in her throat. She scrutinized Larkin before rounding back on him. “Well, if you’re going to stay here, you’ll have to endure the lice comb as well. In the meantime, stay out of my house.” She brushed past him to the yard. “Errand boy!”

  “Mistress?” a voice called from above. A boy of no more than twelve peered down at them from the roof. His hands were filthy.

  “Whatever are you—oh, never mind,” Iniya said. “Fetch me a basket full of walnut shells. Quickly now!”

  He scampered down the side of the house like a squirrel, bounded over the low wall, and took off.

  Iniya reached the garden and turned to a heavy door behind the stairs. Beyond was a huge space divided into five crude rooms, two along each side and the fifth, center room taken up by the enormous cistern. To the right were the kitchens and the laundry rooms. To the left was a long room filled with pallets and some sort of bathing room with a long copper tub partially in a fireplace. A couple of spigots
protruded from one wall.

  As this was all mostly underground, it should have been cool, but the fires in the kitchen and laundry made everything humid and hot. Oben built a third fire beneath the tub filled with water from the cistern.

  Iniya circled the cistern, peering in at the women kneading bread and tending the stove. Two more women stirred what looked like sheets in a huge tub. Iniya hmphed in approval.

  “Not one nit left,” she said to Tinsy before clicking back outside and shutting the door behind her.

  “This way, miss,” Tinsy said. She motioned to a battered wooden chair before a vanity. Above it lorded a fancy silver mirror corroded black around the edges. Her own hair covered with a tight rag, Tinsy retrieved a comb and started on Larkin’s scalp, parting and combing, parting and combing.

  “I’m not finding anything,” the maid said.

  “I already told you that,” Larkin huffed.

  “I had to check, miss.” Tinsy attacked Larkin’s ends with a comb.

  After only a few strokes, Larkin’s scalp stung, and her hair had exploded into a wild bush. Tinsy jerked and tugged and grumbled until the comb snapped in half. Tinsy blew a tendril of her own hair out of her face and glared at Larkin’s hair, which stuck out like a head full of dandelion seeds—or a pissed-off tabby cat.

  “When was the last time you combed this?” Tinsy asked.

  Larkin frowned at the maid’s silky-smooth locks. “I don’t.”

  Cook brought in a pot filled with a paste made from boiled walnut husks. They made Larkin soak her hair, eyelashes, and eyebrows in it for nearly an hour before rinsing it out over the drain in the floor. Her hair had shifted from vibrant red to a rich auburn. Larkin had always hated her hair, but it was as much a part of her as her fingers and toes. Seeing it in a different color felt like a lie.

  Huffing, Tinsy motioned for Larkin to undress.

  “I can bathe without you here,” Larkin said.

  “Mistress insists I make sure it’s done properly. Besides, I can massage your scalp.”

  Grudgingly, Larkin slipped out of the stolen dress. Tinsy immediately threw it in the fire. Larkin snatched it out of the coals. Thankfully, it was still damp, so it wasn’t singed.