Chapter Five
I leaned against one of the arching windows, the crisp cold of the glass cutting through the wool of my sweater, my bag heavy with the herbs and medicines people always wanted me to make. Vanity potions , Jens-Kjeld called them. Peppermint chews to sweeten breath, linseed oil to make hair shine, jars of glittery mica that a person could swipe on their cheeks or collarbones. I just needed to convince the steward to pick one or two or ten and promise to stay quiet.
Moonlight ran up and down the hall, casting off coffered ceilings, twinkling through chandeliers, dancing across picture frames and plush settees hand painted with pale green poppies. Outside, the sea shimmered like a pot of ink.
The steward would probably want my tooth whitening powder or cedarwood cologne. Still, I’d lay everything out on the credenza. If he was like everyone else in Karlsborn Castle, then he’d have a hard time choosing.
The door to the bedroom swung open and the steward wandered out. He shucked his jacket and gloves, tugged lose his cravat.
“Hey,” I said, pushing myself off the windowpane.
“Hey.” He didn’t look up. What was his name? Henrik? Anders? He pulled the satin ribbon out of his hair and shook his head, letting the golden locks tumble free.
“Can I—?”
Before I finished, the king’s door opened again and the second steward trotted out, his beard trimmed short, eyes bright as sugar cubes. “I thought you were going to wait for me.”
Shit. I needed to get the first steward alone.
I sidled next to Henrik-Anders. “Can I borrow you?”
He eyed me sidelong. “About this morning?”
“Erm. Maybe?”
A shrug. “Don’t worry about it. Everyone makes mistakes.”
The second steward snorted. “Yeah, I mean, who hasn’t tried to suffocate the king with vinegar?”
Double shit. They’d talked. Well, good thing I’d brought extra. I gripped the strap of my leather bag and hurried after them.
“We’re friends, right? Henrik? Anders?”
“Pehr.”
“I knew that.”
“Did you?”
“I make cosmetics. Maybe you might want something? Because, you know, we’re friends.” The portraits of women in fluffy-dresses glared down at us, red-lipped and cold. I skipped a few steps.
“You’re trying to buy our silence?” Pehr asked.
The other— Loren, maybe? —snorted. “Why would we keep that to ourselves? That’s fantastic gossip. Assistant physician smothers ki—”
I crossed my arms. “Okay. I wouldn’t say ‘smothered.’”
“Mmm, you definitely smothered.”
We were coming to the edge of the hallway. Soon, we’d round the corner, push through the doors that marked the end of the king’s suites, and the odds of running into a third person would increase exponentially. I had enough to buy the silence of two people, but did I have enough to buy the silence of three?
I hooked an arm around their shoulders and pulled them to a stop. “Gentlemen. I think we can reach some sort of agreement.”
I pushed aside a vase of buttercups and the statuette of a swan and laid out my cosmetics—a bottle of ointment to brighten eye circles, salt scrub to buff fingernails, breath chews wrapped in the silver-speckled paper I’d bought from the Merchant’s Market last spring.
“Stefan brings us this sort of stuff all the time,” said maybe-Loren, sniffing a stick of underarm cream.
I caught a whiff of the aroma—blood orange and clary sage, sunny and sweet. One of my favorites.
Pehr picked up a tin of tooth whitening charcoal and flicked it open with his thumb. “He said he’ll provide it to all staff at no cost when he becomes the royal physician.”
A lump lodged at the back of my throat. Is that what everyone thought? It was only a matter of time before Jens-Kjeld chose Stefan? “You must want something.” The words came out smaller than I wanted.
Pehr put the tin back on the credenza. “Not really. At least…not cosmetics.”
Maybe I could trade something else. “I—I make bouquets? From the flowers I pick on the bluffs. I could make one if you…want one for your girlfriend?” There. Something Stefan didn’t do.
Pehr shoved his hands in his pockets and took a step back. “Eh.”
Eh? That was it? That was all he had to say?
Loren rubbed his beard. “What about the boat?”
“The boat,” Pehr repeated. “Huh. Maybe.”
I raked a hand through my hair. No, no, no. How was I supposed to get a boat?
“Gustav said any of us could borrow his fishing boat to impress a girl,” Loren clarified. “Girl. Swimming. Catchfly Cove. Bound to lead to kissing.” He puckered his lips for emphasis. Then to Pehr, “You could have her cover for Elin.”
Pehr rubbed his jaw. “I could have her cover for Elin.”
Okay, this was worse than them asking me to buy a boat. I had to take care of the queen’s feet, help the sick guards, find a cure for the king’s madness. I couldn’t take a day off to do someone else’s work. I wrapped both arms around their shoulders and tucked them close like a mother duckling tucking in her chicks. “Friends.”
Pehr opened his mouth. “We aren’t—”
“I think we can come to an agreement.”
I dug in the bag’s bottom and pulled out a canvas purse. One week of salary—my last resort. “Twenty gyllis.”
“I still want you to cover for her.”
My smile slipped. “With that money, you could hire a scrape.”
He hefted the purse in his hands, then tossed it back. “I think I’d rather have you do it.”
Was this about Stefan? Some sort of ploy to get him named as the royal physician? Did they want to see me fail? Pehr propped his elbow against the credenza, golden hair falling around his shoulders like an angel, like a god. They were going to tell everyone, or I’d be at their mercy. Still, he was only asking for a day…
“Where does Elin work?”
“Laundry.”
Laundry wasn’t bad. Katrina worked in laundry. If she helped, it would go twice as fast. Maybe I could beat them at their own game.
“Just one day?” I clarified.
A golden brow arched. “You willing to trade more?”
“And you promise to forget about the vinegar?”
He smiled, sharp like marran grass. “Like it never happened.”
“Then you have a deal.”
“You picked the wrong day to cover for Elin,” Katrina said. She squatted on a wash stool and scrubbed a curtain panel against a wood board. Cream brocade swirled in sudsy liquid, and soap bubbles fizzed around reddened knuckles. “Or maybe she picked the right day to skip.”
The other laundresses were folding and pressing and stirring, some up to their ankles in water, their cotton smocks hitched to their knees. Three giant pots bubbled over a fire, pumping out thick braids of steam and the scorched-milk scent of washing ash and lye.
I toed a second curtain panel. “What do I need to do?”
“It’s not hard. You’re just changing bedsheets.” Katrina wiped a strand of sweaty hair off her forehead. “But there are a lot of them, and it’ll keep you past dinner.”
“Shit.”
“Exactly. You’ll want to start in the east wing, do the lords and noblemen there. Then the bedrooms in the South Hall, the bedrooms downstairs, the bedrooms looking out over the courtyards, the bedrooms in the Blue Tower and oh—uh, the Volds. They’re in the North Wing, looking out on the beach.”
My heart kicked. “I thought the Volds set up camp on the beach.”
Katrina dunked her curtain panel into the washbasin a few more times, churning a white froth. “The important ones are here. Queen Margarethe insisted.”
“She can’t even get out of bed.”
“She insisted from her bed.”
“You’re coming with me, right?”
“Can’t. It’s curtain week.” Katrina hefted the curtain panel out of the wash bucket and carried it, dripping, to the line. The steam had fogged the windows, beads of water trickling down them. “If you’re worried about the Volds, you shouldn’t have agreed to cover for Elin.”
“Pehr and Loren didn’t tell me that.”
“Just don’t make eye contact with them.”
“With Pehr and Loren?”
She snorted. “With the Volds . I hear it melts your eyeballs.”
I remembered the handsome Vold, the way he’d caught my eye when the king had lapped his drink like a dog. At least that rumor was false.
I pushed aside the curtain panel. “Wait. Is everyone worried about the Volds?”
From behind us, someone coughed.
We both glanced to see Sofie, her pale hands clasped in front of her, hair falling in a thick braid down her back. “Excuse me,” she said. “Where’s the washing ash?”
The tips of Katrina’s cheeks turned strawberry pink, and she ducked her head. “It’s, uh…in the cabinet.”
“You know,” I said when Sofie was out of earshot, “you could ask her to go dancing.”
Katrina shook her head, her eyes fixed on her hands. “She wouldn’t say yes.”
“You never know.” Truthfully, I liked Sofie better than Oskar.
“Well…” Katrina chewed her bottom lip. She stole another glance at Sofie, who was now perched on a stool and riffling through a cabinet, moving aside waxed packages of soaps and linens, threads and dyes. A few strands of hair had slipped loose from her braid.
“Well?”
Katrina’s eyes snapped back to her work. “Never mind.”
“Tell me.”
“I saw her flirting with a stable hand.”
“So?”
“A male stable hand.”
“She might like everyone. A lot of people like everyone. I mean, you. You like everyone.”
Katrina dunked the entire curtain panel under the water. “The bedsheets and the basket are in the closet at the end of the hall. If you take the biggest basket, you can minimize the number of trips. You’re welcome.”
I found the baskets where Katrina said they would be, took the biggest one, a round wicker hamper, and loaded it with throws and sheets. When it was full, I ventured back into the hallway, tugging the laundry door closed with my boot.
Hans shoved a letter and writing stick into his pocket and scrambled from the floor. “Isy.” He fell into step beside me.
My traitorous heart kicked, but I shoved it down and hurried past him with clipped steps. “Can’t talk today. Covering for Elin.”
Hans trotted after me. “She has you changing sheets?”
“Something like that.” I shouldered my way into the first bedroom.
Peonies and blue crabs patterned the walls and a vase of sweet peas sat on the inlaid table, their feather-pink petals curling inward, browning at the edges. A salty breeze riffled the curtains like a pair of lazy hands.
I stripped off the duster, the duvet, lemon organza, the sheets, turned the fringed pillowcases inside out. Hans lingered in the doorway, a ghost twisting the paper in his hands.
“Want help?” he asked.
Yes. I shoved the pillow into the case. “No.”
“You sure? I thought—”
I gave him a hard look—the type of look that said, Please don’t get into trouble for me. “Go train your pigeons or sort letters or whatever you’re supposed to be doing.”
Dappled sun highlighted the arches in his cheekbones, softened his jaw, played through his hair. “I’m supposed to be cleaning the dovecote today.”
“The inside or the outside?”
He grimaced and ran two fingers along the door handle. “Both.” His gaze softened. “But I’d help you first.”
The words snagged something inside my heart, a loose thread on a sweater. I swallowed, folded the duster in half. “Both, huh? Better get to it.”
He opened his mouth, closed it. His charcoal-dusted thumb traced the fold of the paper, blackening the edge. “Actually, can we talk? I want to read you something.”
I wadded the dirty sheets and tossed them into the basket. “Can’t.”
“Tonight?” His eyes caught mine and there was that same cautious expression in them.
“This is supposed to take all day.”
He rubbed his palm. “You know, you probably shouldn’t be doing this alone.”
“Why?”
“The Volds. They’re dangerous.”
My mind flashed back to that moment in the hallway, when the oldest Vold stormed out. The snarl. The sneer. I shook my head. “I’ll be fine.”
“Isy…”
“I’m staff. They probably won’t even notice I’m there. It’s not worth the trouble.” Go . Please .
He shoved the paper into his pocket and caught the other end of the sheets, pulling them taut across the bed. “I don’t care about trouble. You’re worth the trouble.”
The words were another snag, another tug on that loose thread in the back of my heart. And I knew, knew if he kept tugging…
Hans leaned over the mattress and reached for one of the pillow shams, a decorative one embroidered with buttery blackberries.
I snatched it away. “Go help Katrina. It’s curtain week.”
“I’ll find you later?” Again, that hopeful note. “I don’t mind staying up.”
If he kept tugging…
If he kept tugging…
I’d unravel.
“Maybe.” I shooed him away. “Now go.”
He nodded, leaving me alone with my mottled heart and mountain of laundry.
I spent the rest of the day stripping bedsheets in rooms that smelled like dust and rose petals, rooms with cold fireplaces and plush armchairs and with beds draped with heavy canopies. Sometimes the nobles were there, reading books or changing clothes or playing with puppies and a string. Their eyes would slide right past me as if I was nothing—no more than a shadow or a piece of wallpaper or a beam of light banding the floor.
Why wouldn’t they? I was staff.
The sun peeled across the sky, casting white spears, then soft yellows, then fiery orange and tender violet, before it slipped off the horizon all together.
Lamps were lit, chandeliers hoisted. Women donned their fluffy gowns and powdered their noses. The hallways filled with the sour bite of pickled herring and the sweet scent of macerated berries.
Room after room, sheet after sheet. More rooms, more sheets, more trips to laundry, where the air steamed with lye. I stripped and swept, tucked and folded, the South Hall, the Blue Tower, the bedrooms downstairs, all of it done until I had one more set of rooms, one more set of beds. The rooms in the North Wing, the rooms overlooking the silver-black sea.
The rooms Queen Margarethe had given to the Volds.
Moonlight pooled on the polished floors, winked off the wrought gold sconces. Spiders spun webs in deadened corners.
I swallowed a shiver.
Three more rooms. Three more rooms, and I’d fulfilled my end of this cursed bargain. Three more rooms, and I wouldn’t have to worry about the stewards or the s?ven mix up or anything else, just taking care of the queen and the guards and finding a cure for the king’s madness.
Three more rooms.
I adjusted my grip on the basket of linens, pushed opened the first door…
And walked straight into a forest.