respectful.
“Attend, all of you.”
He pulled a leather tube from his belt, twisted off the cap that closed it and shook out a roll of heavy paper, the kind used for official documents. It was sealed with a blob of red wax and ribbon; he held it up, then showed it to his own second-in-command.
“Fulk, witness that this is the Lady Regent’s personal seal, and unbroken.”
“I witness it, Sir Garrick.”
The man went on in a loud official voice: “I am Sir Garrick Betancourt, belted knight and second son of the Baron of Bethany, Captain of Lancers in the Protector’s Guard under the Grand Constable of the Association, Baroness d’Ath. I will now break the seal and read this warrant.”
He flicked off the wax with a thumbnail, undid the ribbon, and opened it.
“ The bearer has done what has been done by my authority, and for the good of the State. Signed, Sandra Arminger, Lady Regent of the Portland Protective Association, holder of the Crown’s rights in ward for the Princess Mathilda Arminger.”
Yseult’s breath caught again. He could have them all killed, right now, with that backing him up. With a warrant like that you could do anything.
“Fulk, witness that this is the Lady Regent’s signature.”
“I witness it, Sir Garrick.”
“By this warrant I am empowered to take possession of Gervais and arrest the Liu family as instructed.”
He turned to Romarec. “Pack for her ladyship: two sets of underclothes, two dresses, two surcoats, a cloak. They should be old clothes, linen and wool only, shoes and warm boots, socks. Bed linen, a blanket, the silly things a woman needs to primp with and whatever sewing project she has in hand. My squire Kai will accompany you. Make sure you put nothing dangerous in the bundles.”
“Scissors, sir?”
“Bring them to me. They will be delivered to Fen House.”
Romarec bobbed again, turned and turned back. “Fen House? Where is that?”
“That is none of your concern. Mary Liu is being arrested for treason. She will be kept under wraps there until such a time as the Lady Regent believes she can move forward in this matter.”
“Is House Liu proscribed or attaindered?” she asked.
“That is none of your concern either,” answered the captain.
Romarec drew herself up. “I have served House Liu for more than twenty years, my lord. I believe it is my concern.”
He gave her a nod of grudging respect. “No. For now the demesne is going to be under my guardianship until the Lady Regent has tried the Dowager Baroness. All her children need to be present for that. At the very least you can expect her to be kept under arrest in Fen House until Lord Odard returns.”
Tears leaked down Yseult’s cheeks at the thought of her brother, stinging in the burns.
He’s so far away! He’s our lord but he can’t protect us now!
Then she remembered Huon, her other brother, waiting for battle in Pendleton. What has happened to him? she wondered. Chaka likes Huon; he should be protected, but the Lady Regent… How could Mama put us at such a risk!
Romarec left and returned after a time with three large duffel bags; the kind soldiers used to cart their kit to battle. Not the fine wooden trunks that opened into a traveling wardrobe her mother used to travel and visit in Association territories or to visit Court. Romarec picked a pair of tiny scissors-thread nippers-out of the work box and tied the basket up in a large napkin and stuffed it into the third duffel. The scissors she handed to Sir Garrick.
“Good,” said the captain. “Now, attend. Do you know Alex Vinton?”
The housekeeper bobbed a curtsy for a: “Yes, my lord Odar’s valet and manservant.”
“Have you seen him in the last month or so, or even since he left?”
The housekeeper shook her head, but Yseult gasped and burst out, “S-s-s-so tha-tha-that’s who tha-that was!”
Sir Garrick turned and swiftly knelt by her. “Who, when?” he asked urgently.
The hand was still pressing her down and her teeth were chattering as she said: “The man, I, I, I-I-”
Sir Garrick frowned and said, “Let her up, soldier. A glass of water, please, Adolphus.”
The chirurgeon brought the water as Sir Garrick helped her sit. She was trembling now, huge shudders traveling up and down her body as if powerful hands were shaking her. Her teeth chattered against the glass. Adolphus frowned and tilted her head, pulled at her eyelids and pressed her fingernails.
“Shock,” he said. “It’s hot in here, but is there a blanket?”
Romarec pulled one out of the cupboard and brought it over.
“Open the windows. I want air in here, as long as we don’t shock her further with a sudden temperature drop.”
The men silently moved aside and allowed the housekeeper to wrap up Yseult in the blanket. The windows all banged open. Yseult saw relief on the faces of many of the men crowding the stuffy room. The brisk evening air stirred bringing a medley of scents; cook fires, jasmine from the garden, the stables, and an odd thick iron smell.
She saw Sir Garrick nod to an unspoken question from Romarec. The woman settled behind Yseult and hugged her.
Adolphus put the glass to her mouth. “Sips,” he ordered. “Very, very small sips. You are in shock. If you try to gulp, you will choke.”
Yseult sipped, and sipped again. Slowly the shudders settled down. But her tears still ran, stinging her left cheek as they slid over the burns. She saw Sir Garrick’s face, annoyed, but resigned.
“Let her cry,” he said to the medic. “I’ll get nothing out of her until that’s over.”
He knelt with a clank and put his hand under Yseult’s chin, the harsh calluses on his fingers like human sandpaper. It felt like her father’s hand or Odard’s.
“I need the information, soonest, daughter of Gervais! Control yourself like a noblewoman. Quickly!”
Yseult nodded and gulped… which started hiccups. Romarec chaffed her hands and rubbed her back. More handkerchiefs appeared at her gesture and Yseult breathed deeply. Her breath kept catching on her hiccups, but they faded away as she kept breathing and sipping from the glass Romarec held.
Twice today, some distant part of her thought wryly. It’s turning out to be a real black letter day.
Romarec gave her the glass, but her left hand wasn’t working and Adolphus had to catch it. “Saints Cosmas and Damien! What happened? How did you injure your wrist?” he asked probing.
“Doo… doo… door… hit me…”
“Where?”
“Back.”
Quick competent hands probed up and down her spine and shoulder blades. She twisted away as he touched where the door had hit her. He took her face again and tilted it.
“Burns, rug and embers. Ah! From your mother’s gown. You must stop crying, you’ve washed them with enough salt water to clean them, that’s for sure, but it’s getting inflamed. I think you’ll have a few scars.
He turned to Romarec: “Goodwife, get some soft cloths, soak them in water as cold as you can get it and dab at her face. Get the swelling under control. No arnica or witch hazel; this one’s too close to her eye. Just cool water.”
Adolphus wrapped her wrist in a tight bandage and pinned it to the front of her riding jacket. She concentrated on sipping, holding the glass in her right hand.
“I… I can talk, Sir, Sir Garrick,” she said.
“Good girl! Ten minutes to control a hysterical fit, all on your own. You’ve got steel somewhere, Gervais.”
She shook her head, tears still trickling down her cheeks. The left one stung and throbbed.
“I-I went riding over the east bridle path today. I left the castle about five, five thirty. Master Johannsen might know exactly when.”
“Were you just getting back when we saw you?” asked Garrick.
