The story so far: Adon Santinetta and Crown Prince Lorens, accompanied by Princess Carena and Lord Bardonnel, make a state visit to Satele, where they encounter a mob at the dock. After reaching the palace, they attend a welcoming luncheon that quickly turns political, and later that night, during a ball in their honor, an assassin strikes, barely missing his target. The next morning, during trade negotiations, Lord Marinacci makes an unwelcome proposal, which Lorens rejects. Later, a shaken Princess Grania confides a stolen secret to Adon.
One // Two // Three // Four // Five // Six // Seven // Eight
Drinking tea and eating light snacks, Adon had remained with Princess Grania for another hour as they discussed the forms that Lord Marinacci’s play for the Satelen throne could take. Grania pressed him not to take the Satelen nobleman lightly. Though his manner seemed casual, even careless, his plan would not be. The princess related how she had watched him work within the court, patiently gathering his allies and plotting his rise over several years, awaiting the opportune moment to put his scheme into motion.
When the captain left her, he urged her to be prepared for the worst, stressing that she could depend on Prince Lorens for help. As he walked away with Private Sora, he glanced back over his shoulder, seeing that she had returned to planting bulbs in her flowerbed. She’s still in a quandary about what to do. For that matter, so am I.
Arriving at his rooms, a guard informed him that the prince wished to speak with him as soon as he returned, so he made directly for the prince’s suite. Lord Bardonnel was already there, wearing out a path in the expensive carpet in front of the fireplace. Lorens, sitting in a fine leather chair nearby, had availed himself of the whiskey decanter on the sideboard and languidly swirled the amber liquor in the bottom of his glass.
Greeting the men, Adon followed his cousin’s example and soon sat, one leg crossed over the other, in a companion chair, a drink in his hand. “The gloom in this room tells me that the talks did not go well,” he said into the silence.
“The understatement of the new century,” the prince replied laconically. “Lord Corado Marinacci chose to attend and, against all propriety, make the first proposal. May I just say for the record and without understatement that it was an unmitigated disaster of titanic proportions.”
“That bad?” Adon said, raising an eyebrow.
“The prince speaks true, captain,” Petron Bardonnel said, stopping his pacing long enough to cross his arms and harrumph. “Marinacci—who, as you know, has no official standing in the Valleroi government—had the temerity to propose an even lower rate than the old tariff in exchange for the hand of Princess Carena!”
Adon whistled. “The gall of the man! I know we joked about it aboard Crane, but then, it was funny because none of us, except Carena, ever dreamed it would happen! But he actually proposed it!”
“Just so!” Petron said. “But the prince handled it beautifully and without drawing his sword. So, we are to reconvene tomorrow—hopefully without Lord Marinacci in attendance.”
The captain took a thoughtful sip of his whiskey. “You know, from what Princess Grania told me over the last hour—we had tea in the garden—Marinacci’s proposal may not have been as reckless as it appears.” He related to his companions the princess’ intelligence and her analysis of it, that Lord Marinacci would stage his insurrection on the day of the Spring Feast. “Could he have been trying to provoke you, Lorens, to leave before he acted? We are a complication.”
“And if we had instead treated with him on the matter,” Petron said almost admiringly before Lorens could reply, “he may have come away with a beautiful royal bride. Either way, he receives something of value.”
The prince grunted, glaring at the thought. “By the Shepherd! I hate being played!” He tossed back the last of his whiskey and set the tumbler down hard enough that Adon thought the crystal might shatter. Rising, he walked to the nearest window and stared out toward the ocean. He remained there, unmoving, long enough for Adon to finish his drink and begin thinking about another. Finally, he asked, speaking toward the window, “Uncle, in your estimation, how likely is it that Marinacci will strike on the equinox, as Grania suspects?”
Adon rubbed his close-shaved beard with his knuckles, grimacing. “Tough to say with any certainty, my lord, but she is correct in thinking his move will be soon. We have seen signs of his rising confidence ourselves in the last few days. But I fear her guess about when may be too optimistic.”
Lorens spun around at that. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve been pondering the phrase about the moon’s rising,” Adon answered, sitting forward, elbows on his knees. “It could suggest something else. What if, rather than Moonday, it refers to today’s moonrise or the first sight of the new moon? As a seaman, I’ve watched the moon rise countless times from the deck of a ship, but one moon I always watched out for was the new moon. It is the darkest night of the month. To keep time, I looked for the first sliver of moonlight, and I would mark it in my log. As I mentioned earlier, today is the new moon, the dark of the moon, and it will set in the west not long after sunset. The moon is so new that we won’t be able to see a waxing crescent.”
“But does that fit the clue?” Petron objected. “The minor lord mentioned the rising of the moon, not its setting.”
“Yes, you’re right,” Adon said, nodding. “That is what makes all this confusing. But recall that Grania’s spider heard him say this phrase when he broke his fast, which I assume was around dawn. Today, though we couldn’t see it, the moon rose with the sun. In that case, saying, ‘I can hardly wait for the moon to rise,’ refers to today, which, if I am correct, means Marinacci’s plan is already in progress.”
“And perhaps one of the first items on his agenda was to get us out of the way,” Lorens grumbled.
“I won’t press my argument too far,” Adon said, “because you could understand ‘moonrise’ to refer to the first visible crescent, which will occur tomorrow, less than an hour after sunrise.”
“Either way, it presses us to urgency,” Lorens said, stepping toward them. “It has already begun, or it will begin tomorrow or in the next few days. We must make plans—and quickly.”
As the sun set that evening, Adon once again donned his dress uniform. For many weeks, the evening had been reserved for the official state dinner, celebrating the opening of trade negotiations between the two kingdoms. It would be an elaborate, many-course affair, with courtiers, the local nobility, and foreign ambassadors in attendance. They could expect an orchestra, entertainment, and speeches, extending the event well past midnight.
The delegation from Margonne arrived at the Grand Ballroom together, accompanied by their guards, the four Marines, who took positions by the wall as close to their charges as they could. As at the welcoming luncheon, the four delegates were seated at the high table in the same positions. King Mirando once again delivered a few welcoming remarks, proclaiming his desire for open and productive meetings between the trade ministers to prolong the long-standing good relations between Satele and Margonne. In turn, Crown Prince Lorens thanked King Mirando for his gracious hospitality, wishing him long life and prosperity and promising continued Margonnian support for his kingdom.
After waiters poured wine, others served the first course, a light, creamy fish soup with fresh bread and soft cheese. Sitting beside Adon, Princess Grania said little beyond the pleasantries, her drawn brows betraying that her spider’s revelations still troubled her. The captain decided not to press her into conversation or engage in feigned gaiety. She appeared to appreciate his restraint, for as the course ended and plates and bowls were being removed, she offered him a smile and apologized for being so morose.
“Think nothing of it, my lady,” he said with a dip of his head. “I am anxious, too. Eating and socializing are the last things I want to do at the moment.”
The waiters soon returned with another course: various slices of fowl, covered in a spicy sauce, served over chopped root vegetables baked with sugar, nutmeg, and butter. Out of the corner of his eye, Adon noticed that Grania’s server, a handsome young man with a dancer’s grace, dropped a slip of paper into the princess’ lap as he placed a plate in front of her. With practiced ease, Grania covered it with her hand. Turning in her seat, pretending to cough into her hand, she read the note at a glance and tucked it into a hidden pocket of her dress.
When she looked up, she met Adon’s eyes. “You saw that?” she asked, her face showing no sign of guilt at being caught.
He nodded. “I doubt anyone else did,” he answered, taking a bite of the root vegetables. “It was risky but well done.”
“The message is worth the risk.” Grania cut a small piece of the fowl and seemed to savor the bite of the sauce. “The note says, ‘Soldiers massing.’ I was wrong. The play is tonight, not Moonday.”
Adon nodded again, leaning forward and looking down the long table. By luck, he caught Lorens’ eye as the prince listened to the king, and tugged his left ear, the prearranged signal to verify Marinacci’s move as occurring.
He turned back to Grania. “These sweet potatoes and turnips are excellent! We must eat for what’s coming.”
Grania nodded, playing along. “The duck is quite tasty, too. I doubt anything will happen during the meal.”
“Our assumption, as well.” Adon took a drink of his wine, saying in a low voice, “Carena will complain of illness as the dessert course is being served. Will you offer to escort her back to her room? My men will protect you as best they can.”
The princess did not answer for a few minutes, eating mechanically as she thought. Finally, she picked up her wineglass and spoke from behind it. “We will make for my rooms. It is easier to get her to safety from there.”
In turn, he took some time to think. “You know this place from stem to stern, far better than any of us,” he said finally. “When you see him, tell Lieutenant Archeta that the jester’s son told you to go to your suite.”
“Thank you for trusting me,” she said, giving him a broad smile, touching his arm playfully. “She won’t come to harm.”
“Make sure you get to safety, too.”
“I plan to.” She laughed as if she had just delivered an amusing punchline, pushing her plate away and taking a sip of wine. “If you must flee, make for the wine cellar. Two levels down under the kitchen pantry. My spider’s name is Februsto. He is my server. Trust him.”
Moments later, the servers returned to collect the second course, and Grania took the opportunity to whisper instructions to Februsto, as he screened her from most of the room. Well-disciplined, he made no reaction to what she said, not even nodding in acknowledgment. He swept away with the dishes and returned a minute later with the third course, a miniature steak topped with mushrooms and onions beside a pile of garden vegetables cooked in butter.
After their glasses were refilled, a fish course with a small maize muffin was served, then a shellfish course with fried dough balls, and finally a bowl of newly sprouted greens with tomatoes and cucumbers, splashed with a vinaigrette dressing. As the servers stepped away, Princess Carena pushed her chair back loudly, one hand clutching her stomach, while the other went to her mouth.
“Please excuse me, Your Majesty,” she said in a strangled voice, her face convincingly drawn. “I must go to my room! I’m not feeling well.”
“Of course, my dear!” the king said, drawing back.
Grania stood, stepping to the Margonnian princess’ side. “I will help her, Father,” she said with concern. “She’s in good hands with me. Enjoy the rest of the evening!” Carena’s Marine escort hurried to the princess’ left, and between them, they hurried her out the nearby servers’ door.
Once the door closed behind them, Carena straightened and gave Grania a grin. “That was fun.”
Grania flashed a quick smile. “We’re not safe yet, Carena. We’re going to my suite. Where is the lieutenant?”
The Marine answered. “He’s in the main corridor, milady. We couldn’t get him and his men back here.”
“Well, take us to him, sir! But as soon as we find him, we must take the back ways. I’ll guide you.”
“Yes, milady.” He trotted down the hall away from the kitchen and soon came to a heavy door. “The Palace Guard troops should be just through here.”
He twisted the doorknob and swung the door open for the princesses. As they passed through, a half-dozen armed men stepped out of the dim light a few yards to their right.
From their midst, a smooth Satelen voice rumbled, “Where do you three think you’re going?”
A note:
These multi-course banquets, with a variety of dishes served one after the other, made for very long evenings. As such, they occurred less frequently than the alternative, where the courses—or at least most of them—were served all at once on several enormous platters or in huge tureens. Some hosts extended the former meals even further by inserting short musical, dance, acrobatic, or comedy acts between courses. Making them even worse, the hosts usually arranged the diners according to their own fancies, greatly elevating the odds that an attendee would be forced to spend hours in the company of a bore, a lecher, or a total stranger rather than his or her spouse and friends.
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I shall henceforth be referring to any inconvenience—large or small—as "an unmitigated disaster of titanic proportions." It's my new favourite phrase.
That's an unexpected twist! How's Princess Grania going to get them out of this situation?!