City of Lies - Lian Tanner [57]
“Harmut doesn’t think anyone else should go,” said Frisia nastily. “He wants to beat von Nagel all by himself and come home a big hero.”
“That’s not what I said,” muttered Harmut. “I just thought—” He closed his eyes. “My head hurts.”
The first maidservant bustled to his bedside. “The young margrave should try to sleep a little more,” she said, straightening the covers.
Frisia pulled a face and walked out of the room. Uschi followed, saying, “What are you doing now? Where are you going? Can I come with you?”
“You’ll have to get dressed first.”
“Wait here,” said Uschi. “Don’t go without me.” And she disappeared into her bedchamber.
Frisia leaned against the wall, kicking at the heavy tapestry with the heel of her shoe. How dare Harmut say such things to her? What could possibly stop her from going to Halt-Bern? It was her destiny.…
The word echoed in her mind—almost as if she had been in this position before, in another time and place. Knowing that she had been born for something important. Only the last time—was it possible?—she had turned her back on it.
She was glad when Uschi came out, dressed in tunic and hose, with a dagger in her belt. Frisia took the scrap of paper from her pocket and flattened it out. “Look at this. Someone pushed it under my door a little while ago.”
Uschi wrinkled her forehead. “It looks like mouse scratchings. What’s it supposed to be?”
“It’s a drawing of the dungeons, I think. See, that’s the passage, and there are the cells. Shall we go and find out what it’s about?”
The two girls hurried down the main staircase to the Memorial Hall of Frisia’s great grandfather, Ferdrek III. From there, they slipped through the concealed door that led to the kitchens and saucing rooms. The lower floors of the castle had been awake for some time, and the smell of bacon and pickled herring wafted out to meet them.
As they passed from the saucing rooms into the cellars, Frisia loosened her sword in its scabbard. Immediately, deep inside her, she felt the rising snarl of the royal wolf-sark—the battle madness that flared up whenever a king or queen or princess of Merne unsheathed a weapon.
She pushed it back down. She did not think there was any real danger here. The sword was just for caution.
“Do Kord and Smutz know you’re down here?” whispered Uschi. “Did you show them the note?”
“Of course not. They’d just say it was a ruse to get me out of my room. They’d want to come with me.”
“Well, I suppose that’s what bodyguards are for.”
Frisia pulled a face in the darkness. “I can look after myself.”
“And besides, you’ve got me,” whispered Uschi.
In the far wall of the cellar, the iron door that led to the dungeon stood ajar. Frisia could see a faint glow through the gap. “Who’s there?” she called softly. “Show yourself.”
No one appeared, but she heard a whisper, “Don’t you go. What if she’s not alone? What if she’s brought them with her?”
“We’ll go, we’ll tell her,” said another voice.
“He’s not listening,” said a third voice. “Wilm, dearie, why won’t you listen to us?”
Frisia grinned at Uschi and the two girls stepped through the door into the middle of a crowd of small, plump women. When they saw the princess, the women made quick curtsies. The hems of their aprons whispered against the floor. Their white linen caps bobbed up and down like daisies in a field.
Beyond the women stood a slim young man of about twenty years old, dressed in the overtunic of a knight of Merne and holding a wax taper. He had blond hair and blue eyes, and he was bowing deeply.
“Ser Wilm,” said Frisia. “Was it you who sent the drawing?”
She did not expect him to answer. He had taken a vow of silence, and his servants, who had raised him from childhood and loved him dearly, always spoke for him.
“Your Highness,” said one of them. “We did not know if you would come.”
“We thought you might bring nasty Kord,” said another. “Or Smutz, the big lump.”
Uschi laughed. Frisia said, “It is just me and the young margravine,