Chapter 12

"How is the situation?" Prince Cornelius asked quietly.

Adrian looked up from the map of Erythal, rubbing his eyes tiredly. They had been through an especially long session, and he was ready for a break. "Not good, your Highness. Edward is on the move, and though our scouts have some information as to where his men are located, we don't know what he plans to do next. He is probably gathering strength and waiting for the king, your father, to die before he usurps your authority." Adrian tapped the stack of reports that arrived just a few moments ago. "He is getting closer to the city though."

The crowned prince of Erythal growled, slamming a fist against the wall in frustration. He looked out the window, the peaceful scene mocking his problems. "You know," he mused, "things would be less complicated if my father had never disowned his firstborn."

Adrian leaned back against the back of his chair. He had heard this tale many times. Giving a wry smile, he said, "Well, of course, Cornelius. You could be well on your way to the tropics, or in the Mohana mountains studying parasitic fungi. If you were not the crowned prince."

Pushing away from his position by the window, Cornelius gave a long heartfelt sigh. "The things I give up for my country," he said.

"You know your father gave you the title because he knew Edward would not make a good king," Adrian chided, serious now.

"Yes, I've heard that many times." Cornelius sat down across from Adrian, and with distaste picked up the edge of a ridiculously pink and frilly party invitation. "I wish Edward wasn't such an ass," he grumbled. "I wish my father had another son to take my place. I wish that the people of Erythal weren't so adamant about those archaic rules about the firstborn being crowned prince." He tapped the invitation against his palm. "Mostly, I wish I could wring my brother's neck so that he would stop disturbing the peace that I've worked so hard to create. Easy enough for him to say 'I am Edward the firstborn, the entitled crowned prince' when he never had to work with the Counsel, never had to listen to the First Counselor nag about some tiny detail." He gave Adrian a good-natured grin.

Adrian pretended to huff, but it came out as a snort. Shaking his head, he said, "Well, if you are done complaining, your Highness, perhaps we should return to the business at hand."

"Yes, yes, go on and nag if you must."

He scanned the report, frowning. "It appears that Edward has a spy in the castle."

The prince scowled. Lowering his voice, he said, "Any idea who it might be?"

Adrian flipped through the report, but there was no more. "No, we don't know. Our men intercepted a coded letter, and only cracked the code recently. The letter contained detailed information of the schedule of the king's chamber guards." He laid the report on the table. "Cornelius, it's some of our most carefully kept information."

"Do you think the lady healer..."

"No," Adrian rejected. "The time frame is wrong. We were journeying back to the castle when the letter was intercepted. It can't be Miriam."

"We must make the guard change unpredictable. Do you think my father's closest servants are reliable?"

Adrian searched his mind before finally saying, "They are trustworthy, your Highness. Their family has been loyal to your family for generations, even through the wars. They know Edward's faults better than anyone, and your father treats them well; there is no reason for them to rebel."

"Good. However, notify the lady healer that her mail would be screened by a member of the Security Counsel for now. She must not write about the king's health."

Adrian looked up sharply from his quill. "Should we inform her of the situation? You know, Cornelius, since she is working so closely with the king, perhaps she would be a valuable informant of any suspicious activity around him."

The prince paced around to room restlessly. "No, Adrian. We don't know if she's trustworthy."

"She is, your Highness."

Cornelius stopped, looking at Adrian with mild interest. "You are smitten with her. The little witch only has to reel you in, and you'll go willingly."

Raising a hand to ward off his accusation, Adrian said, "Of course not. From my limited interaction with the girl, I could tell that she is loyal as a dog. She defies tradition — I mean, just look at what she does — and probably thinks those firstborn laws are rubbish. This is what I know based on unbiased observation, you understand."

Propping his forearms against the table, the prince grinned. "Adrian, you're almost like a brother to me. We practically grew up together. There is no shame to admit that you've finally found a woman who has sense."

"Albeit enduring quite a bit of teasing on your part," Adrian muttered.

"Congratulation, First Counselor. I never thought I would see you pine over some girl," Cornelius laughed, thumping Adrian's shoulder so hard that he winced. "Now, First Counselor, we must discuss ways of reinforcing the security of the castle, especially when it pertains to the safety of my father and the lady healer. Knowing Edward, I suspect that he would not wait long before making a move for the throne. To create chaos, he would most likely target my father or the healer. Given the size of his force..."

The door flew open, and a haggard Second Counselor, Lord William of Ravenshire, strode into the counsel chamber.

"What did I miss?" he asked, running a hand through his tousled hair.

"National security. We were just speculating the identity of the spy that Edward has in the castle."

The Second Counselor frowned at the news. "Can it be Counselman Richard Wellesly? That man is spiteful enough to do something like this."

Prince Cornelius snorted. Waving a casually elegant hand, he dismissed the accusation. "It is entirely too convenient. I am well aware of your animosity towards Richard, William, but although his character is distasteful, he doesn't have the cunningness or the resources to obtain the information."

"I have to agree," Adrian said, a pained expression on his face. "Although there's nothing we want to do more than getting rid of Richard, he is a legitimate counselmember and ought to be treated as such, regardless of his character flaws."

"By the way," he said after a short pause, "Why were you late, Count Ravenshire? Did you go hunting with the Third Counselor perhaps?".

"What? I thought Charles was here."

"He isn't well today. I suspect we will need a Third Counselor before long." Cornelius answered. Clearing his throat, he looked at William expectantly.

"Oh, I do apologize, your Highness. Phillip came down with an illness so suddenly this morning. Healer Miriam tended him, and he is sleeping now."

Frowning, the prince asked, "It is not the plague, is it?"

Settling beside Adrian, William helped himself to a scone sitting on the silver tea tray. "Oh no, your Highness. Lady Miriam said it was nothing to be concerned about, just a minor fever."

The prince nodded, satisfied. "Good, we have enough to worry about."

Miriam took a deep breath. She loved summer mornings when the air was still clear of dust, and the leaves and the water sparkling. Humming to herself, she slipped into an old pair of trousers, leaving her tunic loose. She twisted her hair into a messy bun before tying a cotton cloth over it. Snatching a straw bonnet from the table, she fairly skipped out of her chamber, despite the fussing Fanny's objection to her scandalous outfit.

Pestering Jordan into going into the garden with her was not as difficult as she had imagined. The man obviously took his duties seriously, for he was never more than two handspans away from her until she pointed out that she would hardly disappear if he stood a bit farther away. Then, content, she sought out the groundskeepers.

They were reluctant at first about lending their tools, especially to a lady of the court. One snickered to another that the lady probably could not tell a weed from a pansy. At Jordan's insistence, however, the groundskeepers delegated Miriam to the herb garden, a relatively harmless patch of vegetation should she prove inept.

Miriam was eager to earn her place in the garden, more eager to prove her worth to these groundskeepers than to the ladies of the court. She gleefully pushed her sleeves up her elbows and dug into the soil. Inhaling the earthy dampness with relish, she yanked the weeds out, mercilessly leaving them to dry in the sun. For a good hour she wrestled and attacked the garden, sending a flurry of dirt, rocks, and leaves flying until every plant lined up neatly like soldiers. The groundskeepers eyed her suspiciously at first, but soon recognized an able herbist. Incorporating this new and interesting piece of information, they whispered amongst themselves with renewed speculation, but left Miriam in peace.

She was clipping off sprigs of thyme as requested by the cook when she felt someone else's stare. No, not the groundskeepers, for they said they were working in the orchard. It wasn't Adrian either, for his presence was as distinctive as the fragrance of maiden's heart during summer nights, a scent as bold as the crimson color of the bloom. Miriam brushed her hair out of her face before looking around her.

She found little Isabel peeking shyly from a bush, her round eyes blinking owlishly. Grinning at the child, she brushed off her skirt before extending an inviting hand. Isabel toddled toward Miriam, an angelic smile upon her face.

"I guess you don't have anyone else to play with now that Phillip is sick," Miriam mused.

Isabel bent over to inspect the trowel, curiously balancing the weight of it in her small fist and whacking the ground with it. She laughed, driving the trowel in circles, pushing loose dirt around. Her eyes suddenly caught on the pair of scissors lying next to the sage. Dropping the trowel, she reached for them with a delighted coo. Miriam snatched them away from her grasp before she could injure herself, tucking them safely in her apron pocket. Isabel pouted, her lips quivering and her eyes immediately swimming with tears.

"Soon, little one. When you grow bigger, you can use the scissors."

To distract Isabel, Miriam plucked a piece of grass, stretching it taut across her hands, and blew. The squeak drew the little girl's attention. She clapped joyously, reaching out to open Miriam's hands to look inside. She frowned when she couldn't put them back the right way again. Laughingly disengaging her hands from Isabel's twisting, Miriam slowly demonstrated once more. Soon, Isabel was tearing up any piece of grass she could find. Surreptitiously scanning around, Miriam let out a sigh of relief when no groundskeeper was in sight.

Wary of the damage Isabel could wreck, Miriam stirred her away from the fragile herbs and toward a shaded corner of the lawn that would not be missed if a chunk were missing. Kneeling, as she sat back on her heels, threads of an idea began to form. It may be just the thing to keep the girl— and herself— from landing in the bad graces of the ever-vigilant groundskeepers.

Briskly dusting off the bits of plant matter that had succumbed to Isabel's vigor, Miriam stood up. "Come Isabel. Let's badger the groundskeepers for some seeds."

The badgering, as it turned out, was well worth the effort. Though they shuffled on their feet nervously at the sight of Isabel, they directed Miriam to the shed where most of the tools and supplies were stored. Squinting into the cool darkness, sunspots in her eyes, she groped around the walls until her eyes adjusted to the darkness. The surface beneath her hand turned out to be a work bench with the smaller tools hung on the wall. Rakes, hoes, and other assorted long tools were stacked against each other on one corner. Pots of all sizes and shapes were stored out of the way, some big enough to hold a small tree. The muted red of the terra cotta contrasted against the sharp blue of the porcelain vases. Bending down for a closer look, Miriam smiled at the elegant line of the neck of a goose with an opening on its back for potting soil.

They browsed the collection together, awed at the cleverness of the craftsmen who made these. A gray stone caught Miriam's eye. It was tall, coming up to her waist when she stood next to it, with irregular holes that formed from an ocean's constant batting. She's heard of such stones, and knew that it could only come from the rocky shores of Ravenshire, the home of William and Lucia.

Taking Isabel's hand, they traced the smooth edges of the holes together. "Have you seen many stones like this?" Miriam asked Isabel, not expecting an answer. "I've read that the sea shores at your home is made of rocky and incredibly steep cliffs. Rocks like this jut out of the ocean, sinking many ships. To harvest these rocks is dangerous, performed only by the most skilled stonesmith. They would have to go when the tide is low, working while perched on the rocks if they can get a foothold."

She laughed, unable to explain why she wanted to explain such things to a muted child. But it seemed important to break the silence, so she continued. "Perhaps you've seen it before. Did you know I've never seen an ocean? I would love to see one some day. Perhaps you can show me."

She smiled at the girl's questioning eyes and ruffled her hair. "Let's make your mother a present."

Selecting a couple of plain, but durable ceramic pots from the pile, she handed them to Jordan. "Would you like to join us as well?" she asked him, no longer resenting his unobtrusive presence.

"If you wish," he replied, looking at the pots as if they had fallen from the sky. If you asked him, flowers and plants are for womenfolks to fiddle around, not swordmasters with more on their hands. But the ennuis was beginning to wear out his patience, and Isabel was tugging him so hard that his arm felt like it was yanked out of his socket.

Meanwhile, Miriam was already rummaging through a wall of drawers on the other side, squinting her eyes to see their labels. She pulled out small packages of seeds wrapped neatly in paper, each carefully marked with the name of the plant, the color of the flower, and the date of harvest. She tucked them into her apron pocket.

Miriam had noticed a table before entering the shed that was perfect for potting. Indeed, the scuffed wooden surface and the severed foliage scattered around the bottom of the table indicated that it was used exactly for that purpose. She dumped the tools and supplies on the table, pausing to lay the packets in order.

Shaking out the content of the first one, she said to Isabel, "These are marigold seeds. When they grow up and bloom, the flowers are red and yellow. It is very pretty, but we can also use the plants for making medicine."

Squeezing her hand into a funnel, she poured the seeds back. "These are pansies, in different colors. We have purple, blue, yellow, and scarlet to choose from. I think any of the colors would mix well with the marigold."