Page 43 of Shadows and Roses

Castien intended to walk with the girl, but the noon bell crept up on him. He spoke with the gardeners, falling into discussions about soil variety and trimming frequency. While he had never cultivated roses, he considered himself somewhat of an expert on flowers. Carnations seemed similar. It was when he promised to bring a cutting from his garden that he remembered where he was.

The noon bell sounded.

He joined the gardeners on their way to the courtyard. It was crowded with at least a dozen people. Grabbing a sausage stuffed into a roll, he squeezed out of the crowd and found a seat at the fountain. A large shadow interrupted his attempt to identify the meat.

A tall woman stood in front of him, draped in airy, opaque violet gauze and wearing the largest hat he'd ever seen. It could be called a sunhat, but the sheer amount of feathers suggested it might also fly away.

She bobbed her head, the feathers flapping. "Laureline Comtrei, Duchess of the Western Lowlands."

Duchess? "My lady," he rose to his feet, bowing to hide his surprise. He’d accepted that a few of the Escorts were nobles,but it hadn’t occurred to him how many of the others might be as well.

She waved away his bow. "None of that. You are an Escort— Well, the Queen will get to all that. But you don’t bow to anyone, certainly not another Escort, and absolutely not in here!"

Small smiles and amused glances flicked their way, though they didn’t have the flavor of mocking cruelty he was accustomed to. The duchess insisted they sit.

"My… apologies," Castien said. "I wasn’t aware you were a noble, is all."

She gave him a perplexed look as she tossed a crumb of bread to the fish. "Darling, all the Escorts are, except you. The Queen will probably fix that soon enough."

He scanned the people in the courtyard again. "Would you be so kind as to alleviate me of further surprises?"

She followed his gaze. "Count Vern Terrastran of Castle Redrock. Countess Trishve Nyar of the Riverways. You've met Lord Jerome, second son of Baron Winters, knighted ten years before Anais' mother, Jana, invited him. In fact, Madeline, the Queen’s handmaiden, is the only one of us not born with a title, but rather granted one. Besides us, the Inner Circle has a few barons and knights as well."

His head felt strangely light and fuzzy. "I see."

She tilted her head a bit. "No one here cares that you don't have a title, dear."

"It's not that. The court—the nobles there are… different." More like how they behaved when visiting his House, wearing gloves over their claws and hiding their cruelties.

Her eyes widened and she laughed heartily. "Oh dear, no, they're notdifferent. They're more dangerous than wild beasts and more depraved than thosedark spirits Delia goes on about."

He found himself smiling, almost laughing at that comparison. The nobles did indeed share some unflattering traits with Delia’s malevolent goddess and her dark spirits. In truth, the northern nation was an apt comparison—they worshiped the old ways, the goddess’ servants that stole souls, possessed children, and generally caused havoc. Those myths held little sway in Drantar. No, the people here had little hope and little faith, something the nobles happily nurtured.

Castien didn't mind the lack of faith; Delia's used theirs to suppress all their people with fear and sadism, not just their court.

He inclined his head. "Now, thatisa touch harsh. To the wild beasts—they don't kill for sport."

Her smile became speculative.

"FitzUmbra. The Master of your House… What was his name? He adopted you?"

Castien raised a brow. “The Master of the House of Shadows is Iberius Nishente. No, my lady, the House itself adopted me. Why do you ask?”

"I’m curious about our newest Escort." She turned her smile to the fish, sprinkling crumbs. "So you had no family. No siblings, no relatives."

"My family was the House. I had friends, within and without."

"But not all children of a House end up in service?"

He shrugged. "Yes, children grow up. A few of my friends stayed, but I wouldn't call them family."

"And what about your city friends?"

It was such a casual question as she sprinkled bread into the fountain. Perhaps she was actually interested in him, or it was just idle chatter.

"The House doesn’t like it, but we meet now and then." He was their precious Prince, after all. Exceptions were made.

She blinked slowly, still watching the fish. Something about her questions and demeanor felt different, like an interrogation. And she'd stopped calling himdear.

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