Penny bit her lip. “I—I’m sure you’re really busy. And I have no right to ask. But maybe—do you think you could help me sew some baby linens? I haven’t started and I only have a couple months now, before…” She smiled. “You know. Hamish said I could have some of these shirts, they’ve worn out at the tails and the collars.”
Impulsively, I hugged her, dodging the growing bump under her apron. “Of course, Penny. You set me to work.”
“Should we have a slate?” she asked with a laugh. “You could write up the orders, make assignments. Tabulate numbers of tiny little shifts and gowns and caps and clouts.”
I returned her joke with a rueful smile. “I think we’re pretty far past that, now. I miss Alice and Emmi and everyone. I—” I stopped. Were they all right? Was winter already gnawing at the supplies Niko had hoarded in the city? What would happen if the city fell? I shook my head. “Let’s start sewing those baby linens, Penny. I’ll get my housewife; we’ll sit in the family parlor like a couple of proper ladies.”
46
IT WAS ONLY AFTER WE HAD PRODUCED A STACK OF TINY, CAREFULLY sewn shifts and petticoats of soft white linen and little gowns of red-and-gray wool that I comprehended that Penny’s way of diverting me from the pit of grief I was tiptoeing toward was work—hopeful, familiar, and absorbing work. Work that went on regardless of a war raging around us. Work that was pointed and necessary because life, whether we won or lost, whether Galitha progressed or fell back into oppression, would go on.
“Are you planning on him being a mascot for the Republic of Galitha?” Kristos joked as he held up a baby gown of gray wool with red cuffs and facings at the hem.
“Him?” Penny asked with a laugh. “No, she is going to be the Republic of Galitha’s first woman governor.” The new charter replaced kings and even a single elected leader with a trio of three governors, nominated and elected by the council.
“Not so fast,” a familiar voice lilted from the hall. “I’m not so sure that some other enterprising lady might not beat her to it.”
“Viola!” I cried. She laughed as I nearly plowed into her. “I thought you were holed up in Pellia, counting… something.”
She laughed again, crisp and clear like the bright early winter sunshine outside. “I was moving funds from the relative safety of a Pellian countinghouse. I didn’t have to do most of the actual counting myself, though.”
Gregory darted into the room. “I was passing and I swore I heard—I did.”
Viola assessed Gregory. “Greg, well met. You look like a gnome wearing something he found on the laundry line.”
“Thanks, Vi.” He made a face.
“It’s just so… grown-up,” she hedged, but I knew what she meant—at sixteen, Gregory was short and slender, his frame still more boy than man, and even tailored, the charmed Reformist uniform he wore was awkwardly proportioned.
“Greg, we’re expected in an officers’ meeting.” Kristos met my eyes. Sianh had spent the weeks after our resounding defeat running numbers, tabulating losses, seeing how we could make the campaign for Galitha City work. The news was not good. There was no way we could do anything but overwinter in Rock’s Ford and push—hard—for recruits. Kristos and Gregory, sobered by that disappointment, walked silently down the hall.
“But you—how did you get here?” I asked Viola.
“Boat. Then another boat. Then another—well, you get the idea.” She shrugged. “I should have persuaded Annette to send one of her fleet for me, but I understand she’s otherwise occupied.”
“Bit of an understatement,” I said, then bit back my words as worry creased Viola’s face. “We need supplies, and she delivers them. She’s been invaluable,” I added, “and she’s exceptionally cautious and sensible about our little navy.”
Viola nodded, but the wrinkles drawing a taut line between her eyes remained. “I arrived in Hazelwhite first—last I had heard, you all were still there. I understand I’m woefully behind on the news—well done taking Rock’s Ford.”
“Not so fast—we had a rather large setback when it comes to taking Galitha City. I’m sure Theodor will tell you all about it.” I swallowed, hard. Then we’ll all hang together—his words to my brother echoed in my thoughts, frequently. “But you! Why did you come now?” I asked.
“That,” she said with half a wry smile, “is a very interesting story. I’ve a traveling companion who prompted me to leave Pellia in the first place. She’s eager to talk to you.”
“She? Who is this mystery guest?”
“Oh, let me have my fun! I deserve it after however many days of seasickness, don’t I? On that, Annette and I will never agree—sea travel is wretched, no matter what the purpose. But my traveling companion rather wanted to surprise you.”
I narrowed my eyes, not sure if Viola was teasing or in earnest, and decided it was all in jest for her. Still, the mystery envoy she had brought with her wanted to meet me with no preparation on my part. I had seen enough of the dance of diplomacy and negotiation at the Five-Year Summit that I knew surprise and lack of expectations could be, in the right hands, useful tactics.
I had developed a keener sense for politics, schemes, and betrayal in a few short months, every installment in the war from Isildi to Rock’s Ford providing opportunity for instruction. Before I could decide if I would press her or not, Sianh strode into the parlor. The floorboards creaked beneath the heavy fall of his boots.
“Lady Viola, do you wish to explain the presence of Dira Mbtai-Joro? Has she any reason to be here? Despite certain mutual interests drawing us together, or her help in Isildi—”
“You ruined my surprise!” Viola cried with a half-joking pout drawing her roses-on-porcelain face into a frown.
“Dira?” I asked. “Dira Mbtai-Joro?” I hadn’t thought about the Equatorial woman since Alba had penned and I had signed an unanswered letter asking for assistance. I hadn’t expected aid from the Equatorials—though they were strong allies of a united Galitha, and their formidable military would have stood by any foreign invasion, they had little interest in dabbling in our civil strife. At least, until now.
“One and the same.”
“I shall summon Theodor and Kristos, then, if—”
“Not so fast,” Viola said. “Dira wished to speak with Sophie first.”
“Alone? Viola, that sounds—” I bit back my suspicions before they could tumble out. Viola knew the dangers of intrigue and politics, perhaps, in an academic sense, but no one had tried to assassinate her recently, either.
“Equatorial conventions. Women on social or business calls meet with the ladies of the house first.” Viola’s smile crooked into a grin. “You should see what she thought appropriate to wear to Galitha in winter.” I followed her to the formal receiving parlor, where our guests waited.
Dira arranged her skirts around her ankles, the voluminous cotton poorly suited to the cold parlor. The man beside her, a Pellian in outdated Galatine clothing, inched closer toward the fireplace, where a weak fire played on a few half-burned logs.