Firebrand

HIS COLD EYES

An inconspicuous presence, Mistress Evans had told Anna, was the hallmark of a dutiful servant, especially of one who tended the royal quarters. Anna already knew how servants were disregarded in the castle by more important folk going about their daily business, but there was an art, Mistress Evans had insisted, to making the life of a royal function as if without effort, for instance, bringing the king or queen tea before they’d even voiced the desire, and doing so unmarked.

It was not easy to be quiet and inconspicuous, Anna thought, with her clunky metal ash buckets, but she took Mistress Evans’ words to heart as she crept through the servants’ entrance into the queen’s apartments. The big Weapon with the deep voice, Donal, she thought his name was, had let her in. She’d never get used to the king and queen’s black-clad guardians. They unnerved her, but she tried to tell herself that they were supposed to be unnerving.

She let herself through another door from the utilitarian servants’ passage into the queen’s apartments. She passed pantries, and a nursery that was in the process of being renovated, and then the queen’s dressing room. She entered the queen’s bed chamber to clean the hearth and lay a fire down. As she swept ashes, she reflected how fortunate she was. Who would have ever imagined she would be working in the queen’s own bed chamber with its great canopied bed and velvet upholstered furnishings? Queen Estora’s dressing table contained brushes and a comb, and tiny crystal bottles that must contain fragrances. There were ornate silver boxes in a line that perhaps contained jewelry. She did not dare look too closely. It would not go well for her if she were caught going through the queen’s things. Not that she would, but she was sure that just laying her eyes on them would be enough to get her in enormous trouble.

It was as she had told Sir Karigan earlier, that her new situation was better than the old. Even the servants of the royal wing were easier to get along with, and she thought that had to do with Mistress Evans, who was demanding of those she supervised but fair. It had not been that way with Master Scrum, who yelled at the slightest mishap and who took some amusement in pitting servants one against the other. She smiled to herself remembering the shock on the faces of those who had tormented her when they learned of her new duty station. Yes, everything was an improvement in the royal household, and yet . . .

She began to lay down a fire, for the queen was due to retire soon, and it would not do for her to have a cold room. She struck flint until the kindling caught, and she watched as the fire grew from a solitary flame. She blew on it to encourage it.

She did not wish to be ungrateful for her new position, but a part of her yearned to ride out into the world like Sir Karigan to see new places and people, to experience adventures. Seeing that she could do something different from what she had been doing only fed the fire, so to speak, of her desires. Another part of her, however, quailed in fear at the whole idea of riding off into the world, and she did not think she had the courage to face what the Green Riders faced. She saw their scars and heard some of their stories of dealing with thugs along the road, or braving the terrible weather with no shelter in sight, or facing terrible monsters of Mornhavon the Black’s making.

I am not strong enough.

She added a log to the fire, and when that caught, she added a second, and a third. Master Scrum and those she used to work with had called her “Mousie,” and she guessed it was apt. With a great sigh, she collected her buckets and tools and departed the queen’s bed chamber, and headed for the sitting room.

She paused when she heard the voices of both the king and queen coming from there. It was intimidating enough to do her duty in the presence of the queen, who was kindly, but the king? Although he had been kind to her the day of the attack of the ice creatures, he terrified her. He was the king, the most important person in all of Sacoridia.

Anna took a deep breath. She could not turn around for it was time to tend the queen’s fire. She’d a duty to do. She stepped lightly as she walked toward the sitting room, determined to make Mistress Evans proud of how inconspicuous she could be.

As she approached the sofa from behind, she paused. It appeared that both king and queen sat together, she leaning against his chest and giggling. There were times when she was to leave if her presence intruded on the intimacy of the royal couple. This did not appear to be quite that moment, for the queen started reading some verse aloud.

Anna gathered herself, and keeping close to the wall, made her way to the hearth. A furtive glance revealed the queen indeed snugged up against her husband’s chest, he with one arm around her, his other hand stroking her hair. He appeared fascinated by it.

Anna set her buckets down and started shoveling the spent ashes. Her shovel dinged against an andiron.

“Who’s that?” the king demanded.

Anna froze in panic. Then, taking a deep breath, she turned around and curtsied. “My pardon, Your Majesty.”

“Zachary,” the queen said, “you remember Anna. She now tends my fire.”

Anna dared gaze up. The king had gone rigid and glared at her. After a moment, he relaxed and smiled, and once more made a pillow of himself for his queen.

“Of course, I remember,” he said. “Mind, do not build the fire too . . . large.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Anna bobbed and turned back to her work with trembling hands, sweat flowing down her temples, and not just from the heat of the fire. She worked extra carefully to make no sound with her tools, and when she’d cleaned the ashes, she put a log over the coals. Normally she’d place two or three, but the king had told her not to build the fire too big.