and cinnamon. Next came flaky, tender fish, grilled and delicious. He wolfed his way through roasted kid, served with chunks of onion, pepper, and eggplant. At the finish were flat cakes coated with honey and filled with raisins, a precursor of sorts, he supposed, to baklava. When she brought forth a bowl of figs, dates, tiny yellow plums, and oranges, Noel had to stop. He was too full to continue.
She poured him more wine, although his head was beginning to spin.
“It was a delicious feast,” he said, growing sleepy again. “You are called…?”
“My name is unimportant,” she said, blushing. “And it is customary to serve a feast to a man who-” She broke off, and her dark eyes grew troubled.
Noel felt a coldness stab him deep beneath the well-being brought on by the bath, food, and wine.“-who is condemned?” he finished for her.
Her eyes lifted slowly to his. She nodded. “It is Sir Magnin’s pleasure to treat noble prisoners well.”
“I thought,” said Noel grimly, standing up to pace about the small chamber, “that I was to be ransomed, not executed. Is there a way out of this place?”
“Oh, no. There is only this door, and a guard stands without.” She came to him and placed her hand upon his chest. “There is not much time left before you go before Sir Magnin. All in this room is here for your enjoyment. Even I.”
She stepped back from him, her face aflame, and her slender fingers fumbled determinedly with her headdress, until it came off and her brown hair spilled upon her shoulders.
Without the headdress she looked even younger-hardly more than a child-and deliciously tender, gentle, and appealing. But there was knowledge in her eyes that made them old, and with it lay fear.
Noel frowned at her a long moment, then put his hand upon her cheek. She closed her eyes and nuzzled his palm. For a moment he was tempted, then he jerked back forcefully enough to make her eyes fly open.
“I displease you?”
“No!” he said too vehemently. Anger pushed through him, and he paced about the room, raking his fingers through his hair and making certain he avoided looking directly at her.
“Another can come if you-”
He whirled to face her. “No! What is your name?”
She looked frightened. “I am not permitted to say it.”
“Why not?”
“I do not know why. The seneschal gave strict orders. They will cut out my tongue if I say anything I am not permitted to.”
‘That’s barbaric. They wouldn’t-“ He broke off, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. She was evading his gaze. She fidgeted nervously with the headdress in her hands.
In two steps he reached her and gripped her by the arm. She gave a frightened little cry.
“You’re lying,” he said. “No one has threatened to cut out your tongue. I’m not even certain you were sent here to-”
She fell at his feet and gripped the hem of his tunic. “Oh, please, my lord! Please do not betray me. The guard thinks I was sent in Katrina’s place by the seneschal. Please, my lord, have pity on me.”
Completely bewildered, Noel felt his anger fade. He placed his hand upon her bowed head and realized she was trembling.
“Stand up,” he said softly. “Face me, and tell me the truth.”
She rose to her feet, keeping her head down. He slipped his knuckle beneath her chin and forced her to look at him.
“What the devil are you up to?” he asked.
She glanced at the door as though she expected the guard to burst in at any moment. Then she drew a tiny, much-folded slip of paper from an inside fold of her headdress and pressed it into his hand.
“My name is Cleope, and I serve the Lady Sophia,” she whispered. “She sent me here tonight in Katrina’s place. Now all our lives are in your hands.”
Noel unfolded the scrap of parchment that crackled stiffly against his fingers. A single line of laboriously printed Latin was all it contained. He frowned, struggling to decipher the message. His universal translator worked on audio mode, not visual.
… help you in any way I can…
At least he thought that was pretty much the gist of it. It was signed with the flourishing initial S.
“I guess she couldn’t give me a signal when we met in town tonight.”
“Met you?” said Cleope in bewilderment. “When, pray?”
Noel explained that he had watched her retinue pass by. Cleope shook her head. “My lady mentioned it not. Word was just brought to her that a man impersonating Lord Theodore had been brought to the palace. Then she sent me here to you.”
He frowned.
“I am to ask you what has become of Lord Theodore. Does he live? Is he well? If he has been injured my lady will die of grief.”
“He’s fine,” said Noel shortly. “It was his idea for me to take his place and distract Sir Magnin while a way is found to rescue Lady Sophia. But I’ve been caught by Sir Magnin already.”
“It is not a wonder,” said the girl, “since you are the very image of-”
A pounding on the door startled both of them. She clung to him, her face as white as linen. Noel’s own courage sank. Options were running out.
“Time!” said the guard loudly through the door.
The girl snatched the piece of paper from Noel’s hand and threw it on the fire, where it charred and disintegrated at once in a shower of sparks. She had time only to dash back to Noel’s side and give him one last beseeching look before the door crashed open and a pair of burly guards peered inside.
“Out,” said one to the girl. “Get yourself presentable and help with the serving belowstairs.” He pointed at Noel. “You, come forth.”
Noel’s heart was thudding. There had to be a way out, had to be a way to escape. Sophia would help him, but he didn’t know how he could reach her. The palace complex was an unfamiliar maze. He could remember the way he’d come in, but that was all. There were too many people, too many knights, servants, pages, squires, and God knew what else hanging around. He’d already tried one desperate getaway today and it failed spectacularly. He thought he needed a better plan in mind before he made another attempt.
The stairs themselves were narrow, winding, treacherous things, offering no chance for him to dodge free of his guards and run for it. He had a guard ahead of him and a guard in back. They were armed to the teeth and dressed in a formidable combination of mail and plate armor that protected vulnerable places like throats and kidneys. Even if he managed to take out the man ahead of him, the one behind him remained.
He sighed, his gaze darting everywhere in search of inspiration or a chance, however slim. There wasn’t even a pike hanging on the wall. All the windows in the stairwell were little more than arrow slits, far too narrow to squeeze through. He had no options.
The sound of talk and laughter and a hideous kind of twanging music rose up the stairwell as he neared the bottom. He emerged into a dim, shadow-filled colonnade bordering the long, high-vaulted hall. Bright light and a scene of merriment filled the hall itself. Long trestle tables had been set up for all the knights to dine. Merchants, an abbot in travel clothes and his retinue, and others of unidentifiable trade or occupation sat at the foot of the tables, with the boisterous knights filling the center. They were laughing and jesting, hacking at platters of meat with their daggers, eating with their fingers, hurling morsels at dogs roaming behind the benches, slopping wine from their cups, belching, and in general ignoring the group of three acrobats in motley performing a series of tumbles and cartwheels for the evening’s entertainment.
At the head table, facing the rest of the room, Sir Magnin sat with his own retinue of advisers and favorites. He was too far away for Noel to see him clearly. Just a glimpse of the huge, broad-shouldered man with the long black hair and cruel face was enough to send a shiver through him.
He noticed that Lady Sophia had not joined the company. Before he could decide whether that was a blessing or a hindrance, the guards shoved him on.
“Move! Don’t gander all day.”
They walked behind the columns supporting the vaulted ceiling high above. The torchlight flared bright in the
