13
If there was one thing that Delia was certain of, it was that Isla was seriously angry with her husband for agreeing to try to save the hostages and the Dolls. Delia could understand her point. These were more complications in a plan that was already far too complicated and dangerous, and it was a complication that was guaranteed to make the Emperor furious with them. At one stroke he’d be deprived of all of his servants and his hostages, and Delia very much doubted that the “who” of the question would be a secret much past the moment when he discovered that Valdemar had been stripped of its most valuable resources and that its Duke and his family had vanished with those resources.
On the other hand . . . if she was in his place, she didn’t think she’d be able to resist trying to save them either.
Well, Isla is like Father was. She’ll be angry, and she’ll give him a very long piece of her mind when they are back together and safe, but for now, what’s done is done, and she’ll change the Plan to adapt to it.
Isla took several long and deep breaths to calm herself, closing her eyes tightly and clenching and unclenching her hands on the tabletop. “My husband,” she said, opening her eyes, “is an idiot. Gallant, chivalrous, and an idiot.” She put the scrying glass flat on the table and stood up. “I need to go tell my maid to take the day off, then we’ll make our way back here by way of the kitchen. The mages are probably gathering by now to go build those Gates.”
Delia just nodded. The one thing that she was certain of was that Kordas wouldn’t intentionally do anything that would put the rest of them in jeopardy. Himself, certainly, but not the rest of them. So no matter what he’d said, he wouldn’t actually do anything until he was sure they were safely out of harm’s way.
Right?
She hurried after Isla, who, mindful of the fact that someone might be watching at this moment, took an intricate route back to her own rooms to wake her maid, who was to all intents and purposes as identical to her mistress as any bundle of bedclothes would be.
“I feel ever so much better, milady—” the girl said, when Isla woke her.
“You might feel better now, but that’s no reason to take chances with your health,” Isla told her sternly—in a voice that made Delia think she really wanted to use some of that attitude on absent Kordas. “You go back down to your bed, and have another sleep. And if you find you are feeling up to it, try laundering some of my underthings and laying them in the sun to bleach, or do some mending. I’m sure I have something that needs mending. That’s work enough for now.”
The maid thanked her, but Isla was already out of the room and heading to the kitchens to talk to the cook and look through the stores.
When they had finished deciding what needed to be brought in from the manor farm to supply meals for the next day or two, Isla left her with a scrap of used parchment to make her list for the farm steward. “I’ll be down in the cellars, checking the beer,” she said aloud. “We’re likely low, and by this time most of it will be strong. It’s just about the time of year when we should start thinking about brewing again.”
That’s a nice touch. What noble in the Capital ever thinks about brewing his own beer?
Isla gestured to her, and they both made their way down into the kitchen cellars . . . and from there, down into the old manor cellars.
From the soft murmur of voices ahead of them, Delia knew her sister was right. The mages were gathering, and she was just a little surprised at their eagerness to get to work on something that was bound to deplete their energy so badly. Not to mention something that was going to force them to camp. She very much doubted that any of them had ever slept out of doors in his life.
—or will it deplete their energies? I could be mistaken. If Jonaton is right, there is that energy source there. And if it self-renews, maybe they can draw on that to do their work.
That might explain the enthusiasm she saw when she and Isla entered the “Preserved Nuts” cellar. The gaggle of mages, all of them dressed for travel and sitting on packs, turned their heads at the sound of footfalls, obviously expecting Jonaton at any moment. They didn’t exactly look disappointed to see Lady Valdemar, but as they turned their heads to resume their conversation it was clear she was not who they wanted.
But a moment later, Jonaton did appear, and for once, wearing something so workmanlike and practical that Delia hardly recognized him, with his hair bound up in a tight knot on the nape of his neck.
Then again, he’s about to go camping in the wilderness. Probably even he recognizes this is not the time for flowing tresses, jewelry, and lace.
He carried two rucksacks, one in each hand, and right behind him were Ivar and Alberdina, also dressed for wilderness travel and geared up. Hakkon trailed behind them. Ivar had a pack so huge it made Delia’s eyes widen. It towered above him, and there were weapons tied all over the sides of it.
“Clear out of the way,” Jonaton said brusquely, and turned to Isla. “My lady? Your assistance?”
“Gladly,” Isla said.
The mages, packs and all, squeezed against the walls of the cellar, as Jonaton’s gaze flickered over to Delia. He pointed at her. “I want you along,” he said. “You’re a good anchor. Go to your room, pack everything you think you’ll need for three or four days. Hakkon?”
“I’ll fix her a bedroll and whatnot. Delia, just bring your personal things, I’ll take care of your camping gear.” The Seneschal turned on his heel and sprinted for whatever entrance he’d come by. Delia obeyed Isla’s silent head-jerk and ran to her room.
As she ran, she decided what she was going to pack; she still had a couple of the saddlebags from when she had first arrived here. They fit neatly in a chest-stool in her bedroom, and hadn’t been in the way, so she’d left them there.
Before her father had died, she’d sometimes gone off on rough, day-long rides with her pony, rides for which dresses and skirts were utterly inappropriate, and she still had a couple of changes of the soft, baggy canvas trews and heavy linen shirts she’d worn for that. Then a heavy woolen short cape in case it was colder there than here, a rain-cape, underthings, twice as many stockings as she thought she’d need, and she planned on sleeping in her clothing unless it got filthy, so no point in taking bedshifts. She got what was needful from her bathing room—she’d probably be cleaning herself sketchily in the lake. Extra boots, just in case the first pair got wet, because there was nothing worse than wet boots. She cast a glance around the room and decided that was enough. It all fit handily in two saddlebags. She changed into an outfit similar to what she’d packed, slung the bags over her shoulder, and ran back down again. She met Hakkon in the cellars and saw he had a pack much smaller than Ivar’s with him.
He handed it to her. “Bedroll and some useful odds and ends,” he said. “I’ll let Grim know that one of the boys is to train your foal for you while you’re gone.”