stare in a haughty, challenging manner at Stephano, who stared back at them just as haughtily.
Stephano gave his name and presented the countess’ note to the footman, who bowed and took it to a young man seated at a desk before the door to the countess’ audience room. The young man-the countess’ secretary- looked at the note, looked at Stephano, and said crisply, “Lord Captain de Guichen, please be seated. I will let you know when the countess is at liberty to receive you.”
With a gesture, the young man indicated one of the divans. Stephano noticed that, at the sound of his name, the two lordlings in the corner inclined their heads together and started whispering. Stephano guessed that the countess’ bastard son was the subject of their conversation, and his face burned. He put his hand on the hilt of his rapier and took a step toward them. Rodrigo plucked his sleeve.
“They’re nobodies, my friend,” he said. “Hoping for a favorable glance from your mother, which they won’t get, no matter how many hours they wait here. Don’t waste your time.”
Stephano was annoyed. “I will not wait here with my mother’s flunkies and ass-lickers for hours until she deigns to receive me. She stated our appointment was for nine. It is now nine. I’m going inside.”
“If you try to barge through the door, the secretary will summon the footmen, who will throw you out. You see that one footman-the big brute with the shoulders whose velvet coat is starting to split at the seams? He was once a professional bear-wrestler. We can’t afford to make your mother angry by starting a row in her chambers.”
“Then I won’t stay-”
“Yes, you will. Leave it to Rigo. I deal with the secretary. You slip inside.”
Rodrigo walked up to the secretary’s desk and perched his rump familiarly on one corner. The secretary had been writing down numbers in a ledger. Shocked at such rude behavior, he looked up.
“Do you want something, sir?” the secretary said in a frozen tone.
“I have a wager I’m hoping you can settle, sir,” said Rodrigo in loud and affable tones.
He had by now attracted the attention of everyone in the room, footmen included. Stephano sidled closer to the door and rested his hand, covered by the lace on his sleeves, on the door handle and jiggled it. The handle gave slightly. The door was not locked.
“I have wagered that you are a fourth son,” Rodrigo went on. He shook his head. “Not even a church appointment for you, eh? Not worth the family spending the money on, I suppose. The most you can hope for is to do menial work for a great lord or lady.”
The young man flushed and rose irately to his feet.
“I will have you know I am the son of Viscount Telorind-”
“Fourth son?”
“Well, yes,” the young man admitted.
“And you’re new to court?”
“I have been here a month-”
“Ah!” said Rodrigo with a knowing look. “That explains a lot. You think you were sent here to learn the ways of court. In truth, you are here as a guarantee for your father’s good behavior, so that His Majesty can keep his eye on him.”
Rodrigo leaned forward, as if in confidence. “I’ll make another wager. All your correspondence to and from home is being intercepted and read-”
The young man gasped and began to sputter. Everyone in the antechamber was chuckling. No one was paying attention to Stephano, who pressed on the handle, opened the door, and slid inside. He shut the door on the rising voices behind him and advanced into his mother’s audience room, which was like her: quiet, refined, cool, and elegant.
A woman sat behind a desk containing a number of leather-bound ledgers and other papers. She was holding a lorgnette in front of her eyes to peruse one of the papers, a slight frown creasing her forehead. Opposite her, on the other side of the desk, Dargent sat, taking notes in a small book. The countess must have heard the door, but she did not look up. Dargent glanced around and, seeing Stephano, said something to her in a low voice.
The countess continued to read a moment longer, then she lowered the paper and the lorgnette and, without a glance at Stephano, proceeded to give instructions to Dargent, who noted them down in his book. Unlike many women in her position, who gave over control of their wealth to male relatives or trusted advisers, the countess managed her estate and business concerns. The instructions she was giving Dargent had something to do with the felling and sale of timber on her land. Stephano was angry and embarrassed at being ignored and he had difficulty hearing what she said through the blood pounding in his ears.
At last, her business concluded, the countess handed Dargent the paper and nodded her head in dismissal. Dargent rose to his feet, bowed to the countess and inclined his head to Stephano, then exited the room through another doorway. The countess turned her gaze upon Stephano.
“You were not summoned,” she said in mild reproof. “What have you done to my secretary? Sliced him into bits?”
The door flew open and the flustered young man burst inside. “Madame, I am sorry! I did not see the captain enter. Here, you, sir-”
The secretary reached out his hand to grab hold of the interloper and drag him out. Stephano stopped the man with a look.
The countess glanced past the secretary’s shoulder and saw Rodrigo smiling from the antechamber. He placed his hand on his heart, bowed low. The countess gave a deep sigh.
“Thank you, Emil,” she said to her secretary. “Remind me to teach you how not to be an idiot. That will be all.”
Blushing, the young man cast a furious glance at Stephano, then withdrew. Rodrigo gave a wave to Stephano and mouthed the words, “Pays well!” Emil shut the door and Stephano and his mother were alone.
Stephano gave a mocking, servile bow. “I am here, Madame, your indentured servant, come to work off my debt.”
“Don’t be more of an ass than you can help, my son,” said the countess. “I find it so tiresome.”
She made a commanding gesture. “Fetch my scarf. We are going to take a turn about the garden.”
“Fetch your own damn scarf. I am not your lady’s maid,” said Stephano angrily. “And we will talk about this here and now-”
The countess fixed her lustrous blue-gray eyes upon her son. “I said we will take a turn in the garden. Now hand me my scarf.”
Stephano swallowed his wrath. He snatched up the lace scarf-made of lamb’s wool, delicate as cobweb-and flung it over his mother’s shoulders.
“If I refuse to undertake this job, will you really send me to debtor’s prison, Mother?”
The countess raised a delicate eyebrow, gave a delicate shrug, and said coolly, “Don’t ask stupid questions, my son.”
Chapter Three
The king is the absolute authority in the land, but he requires the support of the great families and they require him. They feed off each other. He sees to it that they are constantly vying for his favor. Alliances and ties between the Peers of the Realm run together like the notes in a symphony. The person conducting the orchestra is not the king, but the Countess de Marjolaine.
Only the noble and ancient Dragon families of Rosia remain aloof from the politics of the royal court. Since the disbanding of the Dragon Brigade, the offended dragons have shunned court altogether. His Majesty does not appear much bothered by their absence. Perhaps because he no longer requires the dragons in his new, modern navy.
