Claudia patted the bench beside her, indicating that Jelena should sit. Her clothes were still damp from the moist air of the laundry, and a few stray wisps of wet, gray hair straggled from beneath her linen cap. She had a slightly quizzical expression on her face as if she were trying to make sense of something puzzling. “Saw yer uncle the duke just now, afore I came t’get my breakfast. He told me to tell you to come to his study straightaway. I told ‘im you’d still be eating, so he says oh well, then, have her come when she be finished. Now, what d’you suppose he wants with you this mornin’?”
“ I have no idea,” Jelena replied. Her uncle rarely paid any attention to her at all, much less summoned her into his presence. He seemed to prefer that she stay away from him. A vague sense of unease sent tiny prickles down her spine, like spiders skittering over her skin. What on earth could he possibly want with her on this particular morning? She found that her appetite had deserted her, and the food that she had already consumed had turned to rocks in her stomach.
“ I’d better go now,” she murmured, pushing her dishes aside.
She stood up and removed her apron. Claudia took the garment from her and draped it across her shoulder. She reached out and squeezed Jelena’s hand in reassurance. “Nought to worry ‘bout, my girl. He prob’ly just wants to invite you to eat with the family this year, is all.”
“ After all this time?” Jelena shook her head in disbelief. “I think it must be something else.” She gulped down the remainder of her tea and left the kitchen by a side door. In order to reach the castle keep where the duke had his private quarters, Jelena had to first negotiate a maze of tables that had been set up in the yard for the public feast.
Jelena rarely entered the keep. Since she had no official place in the ducal family, and her duties did not involve chambermaid’s work, she had almost no reason to cross over its massive stone threshold. The few occasions when she had been inside, it had almost always been at the invitation of Magnes. Despite their long and close friendship, she had only ever been to his private quarters once, and that had been several years ago when they were still children. Both she and her cousin recognized the impropriety of her coming to his chambers now that they were grown.
Jelena remembered the way to her uncle’s study from the last time she had been there, a little over three years ago. The day of her fifteenth birthday, the duke had summoned her to tell her she had officially come of age now, and could choose to stay at Amsara Castle to live and work, or she could leave. If she chose to stay, she would remain his ward until he could arrange some sort of match for her, if possible. At the time, she felt as if she’d had no other choice. She had chosen to stay, for where else could she go? As difficult as her life was at Amsara, she knew no other home.
The keep’s massive, iron-banded oak door stood open. Jelena stepped through and stood a moment, blinking owlishly while her eyes adjusted to the dimness.
Dust motes swirled and danced in the shafts of sunlight spilling down from slit windows set high up in the walls. Ancient banners hung from wooden poles set at regular intervals into the stone. The grunts of horses and the good-natured shouts of men-at-arms at their morning exercises drifted through the open door. An elderly wolfhound lay in a patch of sun near the great hearth, soaking up the double warmth of fire and solar heat. His tail thumping rhythmically upon the stone floor, the dog’s liquid amber eyes tracked Jelena as she moved farther into the room.
“ Come here, Ghost,” Jelena called softly to the dog, and the old beast climbed laboriously to his feet and ambled over to her. He pushed his massive, grizzled head into her hands and stared up adoringly into her eyes.
In his prime, Ghost had been Magnes’s favorite hunting dog and his constant companion. Despite his ferocity in the field, he had always been patient and gentle with people. Now, stiff and slow with age, he spent most of his days either lying before a fire or sleeping in the sun.
Jelena bent to press her cheek against the wiry fur atop Ghost’s head, breathing in his musky aroma. She had always loved this dog for his sweet nature and because he belonged to Magnes.
With a final scratch behind the ears, she left Ghost at the foot of the stairs leading up to the second floor of the keep. Climbing took too much out of him now, so after uttering a soft
Jelena made her way up the stairs and down a short corridor to the polished oak door of her uncle’s study. Before knocking, she smoothed her skirts and made sure that the tips of her ears were hidden beneath her hair; concealment of the most elven of her features had become automatic. This simple act of protective camouflage somehow always made her feel a little safer and stronger. She drew in a deep, shaky breath, and rapped firmly.
“ Come!” a deep voice called out from within.
Jelena pushed the door open just wide enough to slide her slim body through, closing it carefully behind her. She paused, her quick, hazel eyes taking in the scene before her. Dark, heavy wood and shadowy corners made up her uncle’s study. A small fire burned in the stone hearth to her left. Tapestries hung against the walls, depicting various scenes from the Stories of the Gods. Numerous cases and tables were scattered about the room, all serving as display areas for an extraordinary collection of scale models. There were models of ships, siege engines-even a complete replica of Amsara Castle itself. All had been lovingly constructed out of wood and metal by the duke’s own hands. The smells of dust and wood smoke infused the air, and a telltale tickle in Jelena’s nose heralded a sneeze, which she quickly stifled.
“ Come here, girl. I can’t speak to you when you’re across the room,” her uncle commanded.
“ Yes, Uncle,” Jelena answered, and quickly crossed the expanse of Sermatian carpeting to stand before the duke, who sat at a small writing table. The
Duke Teodorus Preseren looked much like his castle’s keep-squarely built, imposing, and strong. He had a broad, plain face, with a heavy jaw and beetling brows, which at first glance could give the false impression of brutish stupidity. However, one would only have to look into his eyes, which gleamed with a shrewd intelligence, to realize that underestimating the Duke of Amsara would be a serious mistake. He was a man completely devoid of any sentimentality, an able administrator, hard and extremely demanding with his people, yet well respected for his fairness and judgment. Jelena knew that he took very good care of the folk of Amsara, and because of this, she had never borne her uncle any ill will.
“ I’ll get straight to the point, so you can get on with your work,” the duke said, never one to waste time on trivial things like greetings and pleasantries. “Tonight, you’ll be allowed to feast in the great hall with the family and our guests.”
Jelena gasped, uncertain that she should believe what she had just heard. “Uncle! I…” she began, but the duke cut her off.
“ You can thank me later, after the feast. Go see Fania.” Fania was the castle’s seamstress. “She has some old gowns of Thessalina’s that my daughter doesn’t wear anymore. You can choose one. You’ll know where she is, I trust.”
“ I know where Fania works, Uncle,” Jelena answered, trying hard to keep the excitement from her voice.
Her uncle scowled, as if irritated by Jelena’s interruption. “Have Claudia help you with your hair. Here, take this. It may help to keep that thatch of yours in its place.” He held out a circlet.
Jelena’s embarrassment turned to wonder as she took the circlet from her uncle’s large, callused hand. Finely crafted of pure silver and beautiful in its simplicity, the circlet gleamed softly in the natural light streaming in from the window behind the duke’s desk. Jelena turned it over in her hands, admiring the tracery of leaves and flowers engraved on its surface.
“ I can’t believe you’re allowing me to wear this, Uncle. It…it’s much too fine…” Jelena’s voice trailed off. At the back of her mind, a little bell of alarm began to chime. She shivered.
“ That circlet belonged to my sister, Drucilla… your mother. I reckon you’re entitled to wear it, at least tonight, anyway. It should fit. Your head is about the same size as hers… same hair, too.”
“ Thank you, Uncle. I’ll wear it proudly,” Jelena replied.
“ You can go now,” the duke said by way of dismissal. He picked up his pen and resumed writing, as if Jelena had suddenly vanished from the room.
Just then, the door swung open and Thessalina entered. “Father!” she cried. “You can’t be serious!” She
