The king's chancellor, Morton, met Merrigan at the gates of the palace. He bowed to her, offered his arm to help her down from the carriage, and carried her bag for her. He asked her about her voyage and remarked on the great respect the throne had for Captain Quincy, as he guided her through the reception room and down the long passageway to the royal family's living quarters. He took her all the way into the dining room, where Queen Adele and Princess Dulcibella waited, announced her presence, handed the bag to a servant, and bowed to everyone as he left.
Merrigan had the oddest feeling that when he said he looked forward to speaking with her again, it had meaning beyond mere politeness.
Then she had no time to think about anything but designing dresses and discussing the fashions of larger kingdoms on both sides of the ocean. Queen Adele and her daughter were cut from the same cloth—or more accurately, pressed into the same spun sugar candy mold. Enormous green-blue eyes, high cheekbones, cascades of honey-colored curls. Fortunately, their broad hips ruined the picture of too-good-to-be-true, and they had a genteel sort of horsey laughter rather than the insipid little twitters Merrigan loathed from other princesses.
They weren't quite as flighty as Merrigan expected, and they asked intelligent questions about clothes and fashions and the cost of the new wardrobes. They showed some restraint, wondering if there was enough in the personal budget to cover all the new clothes they wanted. Merrigan was hard put to keep from pointing out that the "enormous pile of clothes" they ordered was a mere pittance, compared to the vast wardrobe she had owned, and changed regularly with the seasons. Two new public outfits each for Adele and Dulcibella, three for wearing at home in private, and three new sets of clothes for King Devon and Chancellor Morton. Plus underclothes and nightshirts, and perhaps when spring came, sturdier clothes for a planned voyage along the coast to confer with the neighboring kingdoms.
Merrigan was there for most of the afternoon. She examined the current wardrobes of the royal family, giving advice on alterations to make them more fashionable and last another year or two. Then she sketched designs for new clothes and examined cloth that all three weavers in Windward brought for consideration. Adele and Dulcibella made sure she wasn't overtaxed, that they weren't taking up too much of her time, and insisted she should say what she really thought and not hold back for fear of royal anger.
She was convinced the two of them couldn't come up with a temper tantrum to save their lives. That odd, wistful, hungry sort of feeling flittered through her several times during what really was a pleasant afternoon. What was it like, she wondered, to grow up in a place where she knew people really did like her because they liked her, and not because it was their duty? A place where she didn't have to constantly weigh everyone's words and expressions and try to guess their thoughts, the games they played, and what cruel things people said about her behind her back.
She felt a little regret when the afternoon came to an end. Chancellor Morton appeared in the doorway of the sitting room, to escort her back through the palace to the carriage. He rested his hand on hers, tucked into the crook of his elbow, and Merrigan didn't think anything of it, busy answering his questions about the decisions the women had made.
She didn't think anything of the oddness of a chancellor bothering his head about clothes or escorting a seamstress to the carriage, until Chancellor Morton climbed into the carriage with her. Even stranger, he sat down next to her, instead of facing her. The driver flicked his whip and the carriage jolted forward, and turned left out of the palace gates instead of turning right.
"We need to have a discussion, Mistress Mara," Morton said. "The view from the cliffs is lovely at this time of the year. Some people don't like the wind, but I find it bracing. You will enjoy it with me, won't you?"
"The sound of the wind will ensure a private conversation, won't it?" Merrigan fluttered her eyelashes, and he laughed. Not an evil sound, but strangely comforting.
Here was the man who truly ran the kingdom, she decided. He made it possible for King Devon to be so effective and well-liked.
"I would very much like to know where you found that lovely little light spell that you use," Morton said, once the carriage reached the long road that ran alongside the seaside cliffs.
Sitting next to her, he didn't have to raise his voice, despite the whining of the wind around them. Merrigan reminded herself she was an old woman and her gray hair wouldn't look any worse for being battered by the wind. She loosened the strings of her hood rather than fighting to keep it on her head the whole time.
"Ah ... so you're the one who has made the light flicker, I presume?"
"Only until I added a ring of silence and stealth to the invisibility cloak. What are you looking for, and what does it have to do with that soldier and his magical dogs who kidnap the princess every night?" His smile widened and he paused a moment to rake his tangled white hair off his forehead. "A man who can teach Dulcibella to play checkers as well as she does now, well ... I have high hopes he can counteract the stupidity spell. King Devon has done an amazing job of it, but the poor man is growing old and weary. It's time for him to retire."
"So you're not going to throw Warden
