Riou pushed his spectacles further up. “We don’t have room to house one hundred horses here. Two dozen at most. That beast your emissary rides nearly takes up two stalls. I hope you’re not expecting breeds of that caliber, either.” Riou took a puff from his long pipe. “If I might speak freely?”
Lilac sauntered over to John’s chair, reading the document over his shoulder. “You may.”
“Maximilian must be crossbreeding like hell down there. I’ve never seen a Freisian or Andalusian quite that tall.”
“Shires?” guessed John.
“Likely not,” Piper quipped. She was perched on the far end of the table, finishing one of the buttered croissants from the plate Isabel had brought. “From what I’d seen out the window, anyway. Huge, magnificent thing, he is.”
Riou tilted his head, squinting appreciatively. “Do I know you, lass?”
“I’ve got distant family in farming and breeding,” replied Piper, dusting the crumbs off her front. “It’s how my parents know the Trécessons. I’m sure our paths have crossed at some point.”
“You might agree, then. In my years of expertise, I’ve never seen anything quite like him. It’s not an unrecognizable breed, but rather, one with distinctive features of many of them at once.” Riou’s dark brows furrowed, his olive complexion blanching then reddening as he rubbed his eyes. “There were rumors, less than a month ago, of a smaller fleet of similar horses. Twenty in approximation, marching behind a hooded leader north of Rennes. A shepherd saw them on a fogged morning from quite a distance and mentioned it at the Stag’s Head, but by the time the local guard went to investigate, no one could find them.”
“Intriguing.” Garin hadn’t mentioned where Loïg came from. Too distracted to orchestrate a full lie, she busied herself with examining her nails. “Perhaps they were Maximilian’s, for his court. They were headed southeast, I presume?”
“No, the shepherd said he saw them travelling west. There was no movement of weapons or anything else, just the horses. It wasn’t enough to pursue further.”
“They were probably for breeding or show,” said Piper quickly. “I’ve heard Krenn Farm has some availability in their stables.”
“Perfect.” Lilac’s eyes widened. “We’ll store them to capacity between Rennes and the castle. Any overflow will be housed at Krenn Farm. If necessary, I’ll see that our treasury funds a stable extension for them.”
Riou had nothing more to refute. He stared at the queen, his thin lips pulling into a ghost of an approving smile.
John stuck his nib between his lips, staining them. He licked the ink away. “Your language is standard, erring on the side of extreme politeness. There’s still no promise their king will agree.”
“We stood beside him for decades. We are known, public allies.” Lilac pointed at the short shelf nearest them. “Any number of those tomes, will tell you when, and how. Which battles. How many won, and how many lost.”
“Understood. He might not send destriers like the one outside, or those seen mobilized out west. He’ll likely send his smaller stock. Coursers, or Rouncey. Even if he does have the horses to spare and is willing to help, he and his court will have to consider what the implication of perception might be. They can only keep a fleet of two hundred horses sailing across the channel so secret.” John’s eyes flitted across the parchment again. “I’m only advising that we do not count on it.”
He was right. What Riou had said last week about England’s direct involvement bringing unnecessary consequences—the possibility of France considering it an act of aggression—remained true. They’d have to be careful. She’d have to prepare for denial.
“Send the request. Two hundred as soon as England can provide them. It is my order.” Her chest grew tight as she stared her duty in the eye for what felt like the first time. The possibility of entering war and the uncertainty that laid in their dependence on sole ally protection. The rising tensions, both in the east and in her heart. The pressure of Garin’s teeth and fingers upon her throat. It was paralyzing.
But it wasthrilling.
By the looks on her court’s faces, they felt it too. There was nothing more to object.
John stood and slid the parchment across the table to Riou, along with his quill and inkpot. Riou said nothing, mouth tight as he scribbled his signatureon the first line. Then he slid it to Lilac and handed her the quill.
She lifted the parchment, reading it over once more.
To the Most Excellent Lord Henry,
With great reverence and utmost faith in our longstanding friendship, I, Eleanor Trécesson of Brittany, send this letter requesting the purchase of two hundred warhorses. My plea for your assistance comes after reassessing our inventory upon inheriting my father’s monarchy. It is of utmost importance we remain prepared for any annexation attempt by neighboring realms. Please respond at your earliest convenience. My treasury will await your correspondence. Your most generous aid will only strengthen our favorable bond, one I hope to maintain in the years to come.
Given at the Château de Trécesson on the Eighteenth Day of the month of May in the year of our Lord, one thousand five hundred thirty-two.
There. Nothing too specific, in case of interception. Nothing inflammatory.
Lilac nodded, placing the nib onto the parchment and moving her fingers, her signature marred by her trembling hand.
Fare thee well as I fare,
Eleanor Trécesson.
She slid it to her left in front of John, who signed the very bottom in his tight scrawl, notarizing it just next to his elaborate stamp.
