“We don’t know for certain that’swhyhe’s coming.” Everyone—including Lilac—turned to Piper, who shifted in her seat. Her lady-in-waiting nudged the fruit around her plate with her fork. “We won’t know until he’s here.”
What was she doing?Lilac glared warningly, deciding this was the time to bite into her salmon baguette in order to hold her tongue.
“Where did we find her again?” asked Marguerite, staring down upon Piper in disdain.
“She is the second daughter of some baron.” Lilac waved a dismissive hand, intentionally choosing a junior rank, already put off by the morning.
Marguerite straightened, almost falling out of Lilac’s throne. “A baron, you say? Which baron?”
“One from the coastal towns,” Piper answered. “Our village is small. Insignificant.” She took a sudden interest in the wedge of Camembert on her plate and happily bit straight into it, eliciting an eye roll from Marguerite.
“Perhaps it is better Idon’tknow this baron. No matter. The emissary is late.” Marguerite grabbed the bowl of grapes Yanna had brought her. “We were told to expect him in the morning, just past the first bells.”
“Anything could have happened to slow him,” Lilac replied. “Weather. Busy roads. Animals. Thieves.”
Marguerite let out a disgruntled snort. “If we’re launched into war and our kingdom is not tightly aligned with Maximilian or anyone else, I will strangle you and place you at the front of the army myself.”
“That is where I would march, regardless.” There was no doubt she should have shared the same concerns her mother had—and she did, all things considered—but Lilac could not help being distracted by the fear that Piper would burst into flames at any second.
Why was she not affected by the sun?How?Was it because Garin could now daywalk, as he’d called it at the brothel? This didn’t seem likely, considering he’d turned Piper into a vampire days before Adelaide’s magic allowed him to exist in the sun. Made apparent by Piper’s reaction, it was something she was shocked by as well.
Her newly immortal friend had picked her way through a plate and a half for the last three hours, and didn’t seem to show any signs of sickness the way Garin would have by now.
“It is a possibility,” John said from the seat opposite Piper, “that he ran into some sort of obstacle. Anything is possible.” He fidgeted with the quill hovering over the scroll before him, refocusing upon the law she’d spent the earlier part of the morning drafting—not the full set of Accords, to avoid breaking the seemingly vague rules of Kestrel’s deal preemptively, but a single law ensuring the basic safety of Daemons to begin with.
Byroyal decree of Queen Eleanor Trécesson, no person within the Kingdom of Brittany may inflict unjust injury, assault, or murder upon a Daemon. Each case will be elevated to the King’s Bench. Those found guilty will face charges most serious and potential consequences most fatal,John’s notes read.
They’d stopped their decree drafting when Marguerite had earlier returned from overseeing preparations for the elaborate display in the garden ahead of Lilac’s coronation, wondering where the emissary might be. It was nowhere near doneenough to go to the town criers, but with Garin’s sobering opinion on Daemon alliances and Artus’s visit, it was crucial she start somewhere—beginning with the very right to protection against targeted violence from those like Artus’s family.
Sinclair’s grandfather was no madman. They’d played it that way, but he was a mastermind. She’d relieved her glamor before him last night, in partial hysterics, in hopes he would react in a way to get him and his men jailed. He knew she couldn’t imprison him for running the hunting troupe out of the Jaunty Hog, because revealing so would let everyone know she’d been involved in the near-altercation that took place there.
Lilac couldn’t possibly focus on further lawmaking, not now with her mother’s fretting. Plus, her own worry Piper would burst into flames at any second. Still, Marguerite’s concerns were valid—and Piper had no right to antagonize her just because of her reluctant loyalty to Garin. The emissarywaslate. By three hours. Garin had said he was recovering, and she could only assume he’d meant at the inn. Had he changed his mind? Was he having trouble entrancing the fellow?
Had Albrecht woken in a fright and decided that he would report her to the emperor?
Lilac looked down at her nightgown and simple leather turn shoes, wondering if not excusing herself and Piper to get changed into their finery was a mistake, when the courtyard door banged open. It was Henri with an open envelope and a piece of unfolded parchment in his hands. He’d been absent all morning after drinking his anxieties away following Artus’s departure—and who knew if he’d actually paid Kemble that visit—but Lilac had assumed he’d stayed in bed.
He said nothing as his glare landed on her and Piper, marching straight for her end of the table. Henri’s ruddy face and pursed lips under his mustache said it all.
“Can Ihelp you, Father? Do we require another shipment of ale?”
“The courier came by. You wonder why your emissary isn’t here?” He slammed the parchment and envelope at her setting. There was a dark red blob on the envelope—a wax seal stamped with a tiny design that resembled a coiled serpent framed in flowers.
She picked the letter up and unfurled it.
Greetings,
I am requesting funds in the amount of 200 gros to repair the hearth, floor, armoire, and bed for one corner room and balcony following an isolated fire last night.
Signed,Madame Pearl Toranaga, The Fool's Folly.
Brief and to the point, no pandering or flowered wording the way most would write a personal request for funds to the monarchy. No blame. Still, Lilac’s mouth went dry.
Henri stood over her shoulder, rereading the letter, the muscle under his eye twitching. He snatched it from her before she could fold it again.
“A brothel, Lilac?” he growled as Piper locked eyes with her. She flinched when Henri raised his voice. “A fire!”
“What’s the problem?” Lilac frowned in feigned confusion. “They need our help, and straight away.”
