Pierce, Tamora - Daughter of the Lioness 02 by Pierce Tamora

Author:Pierce, Tamora [Pierce, Tamora]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-08-15T16:19:35+00:00

Early the next morning, a herald came with the announcement that people could leave their homes. The family had just finished their breakfast when the news came. Rihani and Gian, Elsren's manservant—

now a spy recruit—had to scurry to prepare Elsren for his daily visit to the palace. They were still dressing the boy when the squad of ten King's Guards arrived. As they waited, their sergeant was happy to talk to Quedanga. He'd noticed on earlier visits that the housekeeper was a handsome woman always willing to give a soldier a cup of tea and a bite to eat. He assured her that things were almost normal.

There were more checkpoints on the streets, and folk wouldn't want to idle as they went about their day's business, but the regents had the city well in hand.

“He's not bad, for a luarin,” Quedanga told Aly as the duchess and Dove waved goodbye to Elsren.

“Let him know,” Aly said. “He might be useful.” She trudged upstairs.

Despite permission to leave home, Nuritin advised the duchess not to allow Sarai or Dove to go out and about just yet. “The regents have to let people buy food and do business unless there is an army at our gates,” Nuritin told both girls. “That does not mean we have no dangerous criminals running about. We should answer all those invitations that have collected on Winnamine's desk. It is more personal when one of the ladies of the house replies.” Aly, Pembery, Boulaj, and Dorilize rolled their eyes at one another. For them, this meant a morning of needlework.

The morning was advanced when a sound made Aly look up. Wayan, a house message runner, peered at her around the doorframe with eyes as wide as saucers. As soon as Aly saw her, she fled. A few moments later, a footman did the same thing. Like Wayan, he stared only at Aly. A pair of kitchen maids followed him. Their whispers roused Nuritin from her concentration on the letter she wrote. She turned on her chair and scowled.

“Have you business here?” she demanded.

The maids shook their heads.

“Then get back to your work!” As the maids fled, Nuritin shook her head. “Silly young creatures, no more sense than finches. When I was a girl . . .”

This time Winnamine, as well as the other women, rolled her eyes.

It was almost time for lunch when Ulasim rapped on the doorframe. “Your Grace? My ladies?” he asked, his face locked in formal, senior-servant blankness. “I bring important news.”

Winnamine beckoned him forward as everyone but Aly looked at him. Aly, sensing what news he bore, kept her attention on her needle.

Ulasim bowed. “Your Grace, my ladies, I . . .” He paused for a moment, so oddly for him that the ladies looked worried. Ulasim was the ideal manservant and never fumbled. “It's Topabaw,” he said at last.

“He's— They made an Example of him. By the harbor mouth.”

Nuritin jerked, dumping a bottle of ink on her desk and herself. As the maids rushed to stop the ink's spread and to save the old woman's dress, the duchess stared at him.

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