Arinel decided not to report to her post at Bishop Riddell's lab. Instead, she slipped into the scullery. Zier's rebellion might have left her reeling, but Arinel's mind was made long before Gretella swept into the scullery for a morning briefing with Head Cook Apollon. Just as she had anticipated.
The Baron had ordered Coris to tend to Meya until she fully recovered. Someone must bring up their breakfast to remind them to stay in their room and procreate.
Seeing her window of opportunity, Arinel made her way to the station near where the two were conversing, signaling with a tilt of her head for the Crossetian maid working there to hurry away and take up her old post.
"Lord Coris will be keeping watch over Lady Arinel this morning. Please prepare their meals separately and have it brought straight to their chambers. The healer recommends light, easy to digest food for the Lady, and lukewarm herbal tea to reduce the pain and swelling."
Head Cook Apollon nodded vigorously, his meaty chin wiggling.
"Very well, madam." He accepted earnestly. With a ghost of a smile on his thin lips, he raised an eyebrow, "Would your Lady prefer rosehip or ginger?"
Even under the dingy light, Arinel could have sworn Gretella was blushing. She stood frozen but for her blinking eyes, then thawed to her old haughty self.
"Which would go best with her main dish?" She asked, her voice oddly hearty. Apollon tilted his head as he thought, but his eyes never left Gretella.
"Lord Coris has his own herb gruel recipe prescribed by the healer. I'm thinking perhaps the Lady could have the same for breakfast. It's very healthy, and it goes marvelously with ginger tea." He clapped his hands enthusiastically, "And I'll send up dessert with the rosehip for mid-morning tea. Works wonders for reluctant newlyweds."
Apollon beckoned Gretella to lean in, whispering behind fingers riddled with cuts and grazes. Arinel strained her ears to catch the gossip,
"Just between you and me. Me and my rosehip brew, we share credit for the night The Baron finally begot Lord Coris. And if it worked for the sire, why not try it with the scion, eh?"
Apollon chuckled deviously, his eyes twinkling with glee. Gretella, however, looked pained,
"I appreciate your humor, Sir Apollon, but would it be for the best if they conceived a babe?"
She argued softly. Apollon shook his head, his empty, playful grin now weighed with sorrow,
"It's not just humor, my good woman." He whispered, the spark in his brown eyes dimming,
"We all know Coris is against having an heir, but duty aside, hope might do more good for poor lad than he realizes."
"Hope?" Gretella mouthed. Apollon sighed, his expression weary,
"Tenorus always said food and herbs can only do so much for the body, if the heart has resigned itself to death. So the Baron pushed for the marriage. To show Coris he hasn't given up, even if Coris has."
Apollon heaved a deep sigh. He clearly knew Coris well, probably having bonded over their pet projects introducing new cuisine to Hadrian.
Gretella's eyes wandered, then caught Arinel staring up at her from where she was crouched, washing a cartload of cabbages in a large wooden tub. She raised a careworn eyebrow, awaiting her command.
Arinel understood Gretella's dilemma, but she'd made her decision. Lies are bound to be exposed someday. It would complicate things if Meya became pregnant with Coris's child by then. They couldn't keep sending her Silfum candles; it wasn't always effective.
And if Zier couldn't find it in him to do right by his family, Arinel must end all this herself.
Arinel nodded. Gretella bit her trembling lips, tortured by the thought of her Lady sacrificing her hard-won freedom for duty. Again.
"I guess I'll leave it to the Lady to decide, then." She glanced at Apollon, blew a soft sigh, then turned to Arinel with a command, "Meya, you're in charge of the Lady's breakfast."
"Yes, ma'am." Arinel stood up and bowed, her wrinkled and peeling hands clasped at her front. After one last sigh, Gretella turned and left the scullery.
⏳
"Do we have to watch my dear old cousin copulating? Again?"
Simon Amplevale groaned as he dragged his feet up the spiral staircase. The young woman at the front of the pack spun around, her brown ponytail swinging in an arc as wide as her mischievous smile, her deep blue eyes sparkling with glee,
"Well, your cousin's a sly, slippery fox, Simon. We must seize all opportunities to ascertain," chirped Lady Fione Cristoria. Her eyes gazing dreamily into the distance, she clasped her hands as if in prayer, "Why, I thought you'd be pouncing at the chance to make sure Coris Hadrian never hears the end of how majestic his manhood is."
Before Simon, Heloise choked on her breath, her face darkening to the same shade as her Hadrian Red dress. At the rear, Christopher rolled his eyes. Simon huffed in frustration as they stepped smartly onto the third-floor landing.
"But it's him, Fione!" He protested, his hands strangling air as if he imagined Coris's neck between them, "I can't live my life having Coris Hadrian and copulating in one thought. How am I supposed to look at myself in the mirror when I've got his smug little face plastered on my skull?"
Fione threw her head back with laughter. Simon cursed under his breath as he trudged toward Coris's bedchambers.
"And why am I even needed?" grumbled Heloise, as sullen as Simon. Christopher mustered a smile.
"Lord Crosset demands more trustworthy witnesses." He explained patiently as he drew level with her, "Meriton is Hadrian's overlord. Amplevale is an ally. Cristoria is a vassal and former enemy. Westrell is neutral. If our testimonies all correlate, then it's likely the truth."
Heloise nodded vigorously, her annoyance fading. Christopher beamed her a warm smile and allowed her to overtake him, falling behind to Simon's side.
"He's struggling, Simon." He whispered, solemn now, "I'm sure he'd rather his parents hear it from you, and vice versa."
Simon closed his eyes with a sigh. Only he, Christopher, The Baron and Baroness knew the truth of how the newlyweds spent their First Night. Coris had collapsed halfway through pleasuring his wife. But of course, the Baron couldn't let it be known that his heir was weak and dying, so Hadrian was abuzz with rumors of Coris's prowess and potency.
Simon's heart pained for his cousin, but not enough to drown out the ancient pain he was born with. He shrugged and dislodged it from his mind,
"Of course, it's my duty to become him reincarnate."
"That's not what I meant!"
Christopher protested wearily, but they had reached Coris's door. Heloise still wrung her hands nearby, whereas Fione had flattened her ear against the wood, but her giddy excitement was soon replaced with confusion.
"What's wrong?" whispered Christopher. Fione frowned deeper as she rubbed her ear closer to the door,
"They're talking...He calls her Meya...What sort of name is that? There it is again! Meya! And they're talking about Agnes? Baron Graye? What is he up to?"
Heloise went pale as parchment. Christopher turned to Simon, eyebrows just as tied. Simon ushered his friend to the door, pointing blindly as he pelted down the hallway,
"Keep your ear glued to that door, I'll find Zier!"
⏳
Head Cook Apollon assembled the newlyweds' tray himself. Arinel fetched him a heavy clay bowl, into which he slopped ladlefulls of thick, sluggishly simmering oat gruel. He topped it with chopped squash, halves of a boiled egg, shredded cheese, sprinkled on pepper, chopped parsley and chives, and added a final pinch of salt.
While Arinel filled a small jug with honey and dug the pit out of lemon slices, Apollon plied a tea sieve with chopped ginger, lowered it gently into a pot filled to the brim with boiling water, then flipped the sand-clock.
He set the tray atop a wheeled cart for Arinel and Haselle. They trundled it to a delivery shaft at the foot of the spiral staircase, where Arinel left Haselle. By the time she climbed up to the third floor of the Keep, the tray was already there, hoisted up by Haselle working the pulley.
Arinel fetched a low table from the nearby cupboard. Hands trembling under the weight and pressure, she slid the tray out of the shaft onto the table. After a deep breath, she gritted her teeth and lifted the table as she straightened. The carved wooden curlicues on the edge dug welts into her flabby, waterlogged fingers. Slowly, she spun towards Coris's door. She found herself face-to-face with one Simon of Amplevale, approaching at full speed.
"SIMON, HALT!" Lady Fione screamed from Coris's door, whereas Lady Heloise clutched at the chest of her dress.
"AAAARGH!" Simon yelled, arms flailing over his head, hoping air resistance would slow him down.
"EEEEK!" Arinel shrieked, gripping the table so tight her fingers went numb. Simon screeched to a halt half a foot away from Arinel. Coris's door fell back. Unfortunately, Christopher was standing with an arm propped against it, staring horrified at Simon. He tumbled into the emerging Meya, who swore at the top of her lungs,
"CHIONE'S FLOPPY LEFT—EEK!"
Firm hands slammed into Meya from behind, pitching her to her feet and sending poor Christopher rolling out to the hallway.
Coris poked his head around the doorframe. His sharp gray eyes traveled from the profusely cursing Meya to the groaning Christopher, the grinning Fione and the fidgeting Heloise, then settled on Simon and Arinel, frozen awkwardly at the end of the hallway.
The air cooled as comprehension came over Coris. He narrowed his eyes at Simon, then at Christopher, who was picking himself up. He asked, his voice slow and bitingly cold as a glacier in Icemeet.
"What in the three lands are you doing at my door?"
⏳
"We're here on your parents' orders, Coris! You have no right to punish us! We're protected by Hadrian law!"
Brave young Simon of Amplevale objected to what he considered cruel and unfair punishment from his cousin. A pile of linen paper lay unsullied before him on the low letter-writing table beside a freshly whetted charcoal pencil. Coris did not deem his costly Hadrian Rose ink, and hawk-feather quill collection fit to be wasted on disciplining unruly squires.
"Simon, in the absence of the Baron, his son is the law."
Christopher reminded him, his voice overflowing with resignation. Wincing at the dull pain radiating from his ears, folded in place by wooden clothespins, he forced his jittery fingers to be staid as he scribbled his lines:
Thou shalt not eavesdrop on thine liege and lady.
Thou shalt not eavesdrop on thine liege and lady.
Meanwhile, Lady Fione scrunched her face as if she was experiencing intestinal blockage in the loo. She tried wiggling her ears (a feat she was immensely proud of) and failed.
"No! I can no longer feel my ears! Will they fall off?" She wailed, pale with horror.
"Will you all stop talking!? I keep writing down what everyone is saying! Argh!"
Lady Heloise balled up a ruined paper and chucked it on the floor, then snatched a fresh one from her pile and started at the top. A smirk formed on the corner of Fione's lips as she chanted under her breath, too low for Coris to catch but loud enough for Meya's keen ears and the nearby Heloise to comprehend in full.
"Coris Hadrian is a dong-head, and a fine ding-dong has he. His lady swears by Chione it's as straight as a coconut tree..."
"Fione!" Heloise slammed her fists on the table, her bracelet colliding with the wood with a dull clang. White fangs bared and emerald eyes flaring, she glowered at Fione. Meya almost spurted out her mouthful of ginger tea. Sighing in frustration at her paper (which now read "Thou shalt not eavesdrop on thine liege's dong."), Heloise balled it up and whined at Coris instead,
"How long do we have to keep these on?" She pointed at the clothespins on her ears.
"Until Meya finishes reading her letter," Coris replied, arms folded and face blank. His four friends glared at Meya, sitting behind Coris's study desk with Arinel hovering beside her, then rounded on him with a barrage of protests.
"You're a tyrant, you are!" Heloise cried.
"Devind the Demented reincarnate!" Fione drawled.
"Why must our fates depend on her literacy?" Simon pointed at poor Meya, who grimaced.
"Coris, the Baron promotes setting concrete, quantitative milestones." Christopher decided to go full smart-and-big-words.
Coris shrugged, unruffled.
"Antagonizing me will not hasten the learning process." He said coolly, then narrowed his eyes, "I'm channeling your combined common senses here. Let Meya read her letter in peace."
"Yeah. Chuck the heat on the Greeneye. It's not like we already have a surplus." Meya muttered darkly behind Jezia's letter, eyes glowering over the edge at her erstwhile husband.
Coris pretended not to have heard. Straightening his crimson cloak over his nightclothes, he strode towards the door.
"Now, excuse me while I hunt down my treacherous little brother."
The door had barely swung shut behind Coris when a sharp voice pierced the airy late morning silence.
"Where do you think you're going, my lad?"
Coris resisted the instinct to jump; he recognized that voice. He composed himself and decided on a course of action in what little time it took to turn and face his assailant.
"Nowhere, Mother. What brings you all the way up here? Aren't you supposed to be sending off the guests? Since you and Father sidelined Arinel and I and set your attendants to spy on us copulating?"
Sylvia Hadrian raised her eyebrows at her eldest son's seemingly innocent silver eyes and deadpan expression. She clenched her fists, enunciating coolly,
"Corien Alexis Hadrian. You may be understandably frustrated, but I'm your mother, and you will not answer a mother's worry with such viperous diatribe!"
She snapped. Coris stiffened at the glimpse of pain in those eyes like moonbeam he'd inherited. Bowing, he sighed in surrender,
"I'm sorry, Mother." Sylvia visibly calmed. Coris mustered his courage again and faced her, "I must find Zier. I have a serious matter to discuss with him. Have you seen him, Mother?"
Sylvia blinked, suddenly sheepish. She toyed with a lock of hair that had escaped her pinned braid, her eyes darting restlessly.
"Coincidentally, that answers your first question." Coris frowned, alarmed. His mother appeared careworn, "He's with your father in the study. And your father is why I'm here."
Oh, Freda, no. Zier. What have you done? Please no.
"He's with Father?" Coris rasped hoarsely. Sylvia reluctantly nodded, her fingers tearing at the golden knots on her Hadrian Red bodice.
"He wants to talk to you. About this latest heist. Now."
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