Page 77 of Untempered
But it didn’t. Those children had died to Chay’s sword specifically becauseI’dchosen to be there. I’d wanted to do better than everyone else.
His service, and the strict nature of it, were not my responsibility. That he’d come after me that night to rescue me wasentirelyhis decision. I would’ve been fine, probably.
My skin crawled as I remembered the whirling darkness, nausea, and Mikus’ hands.
All of that was not my fault. But I had to bear the weight of those tiny lives. I had to learn from them, and ensure I never made such a mistake again. But that wasn’t something I could promise to do. It was something I’d have to live.
Which guided me back to today’s itinerary.
Isolde swept in, Thomas behind her, face pale, waiting to one side.
It was early, but the sun was up, and if Steward Daniel’s assistant was abed late today, I’d be shocked.
I didn’t tell Thomas or Chay our goal. Bees buzzed in my head as we set off, Isolde setting a quick pace beside me. Her eyes raked shadows and darted around corners. Her steps never faltered.
One day, I’d be like that. People would look at me and say, “She’s as reliable as the moon.”
I quickly identified the stand-in Master Steward, not because I could see the pins of office, but by the pile of papers in his arms, his frustrated expression, and the two haggard guardsmen in front of him. “Thereareno more Healers,” the makeshift Master Steward was telling them. “So you’ve little choice but to tell your fellows that if they’re unwell, they ought to stay home and try herbal remedies. Just adjust the roster.”
My heart squeezed as the three fell silent, turning to us. The stand-in, whose name I thought might be Romwell or Roswell or Wellross, paled when he saw me.
That didn’t usually happen. Not to me. My father, yes.
And with my father in my mind, I asked, “Are we likely to struggle to fill patrols?”
The two guardsmen shared a grim look. Romrosswell bowed to me. “This is a matter for the guard, my lady. Not the likes of you and I.”
Ah, a problem not belonging to us, a Master Steward specialty. I noticed the look the steely-haired guardsman gave Thomas over my shoulder. It wasn’t a happy look, but it spoke of shared experiences. “How fares the Captain?” I asked, going off-script again in a way I suspect my father would’ve approved.
The makeshift Master Steward’s expression was fixed in lines of calm. “I’ve named Smythesson as Acting Captain until he recovers.”
Or dies. “You did?” I smiled. My hands hung awkwardly beside my body, but I didn’t let them lift to cradle myself. “I’m sorry, Master Steward, what was your name?”
The young guard ducked his head to hide a grin. Behind him, the old guard stood, stone-faced.
“I’m Acting Steward Romwell, my lady. Can I arrange a time to discuss this with you?”
“What’s ‘this?’” I asked. The color in his cheeks rose, and I realized I’d accidentally antagonized him, but I had no regrets. I discarded the line of questioning instantly, though, redirecting to the information I needed. “I understand Smythesson is a loyal La’Angi guardsman. I was hoping to enquire after his qualifications in running such an elaborate organization as the guard.”
“Certainly, my lady,” Romwell said stiffly. “If you’ll step into my office?”
I hesitated, looking between where the assistants had their desks and the Master Steward’s rooms.
Cheeks red, he stepped back and indicated the Master Steward’s rooms. I’d insulted him a second time, and that one Ididregret, though probably not as much as I ought.
The office had space for me to sit, a tray of tea that no longer steamed with browning herbs floating in the water, and a decent view of the city.
I paused on the inside of the door, though. The Acting Steward made as if to turn, but the older guardsman stepped forward. “Romwell, this isn’t tenable. There are no precedents we can draw on?—”
Romwell’s hand snapped out, closing around the older guard’s gambeson. “Send me Smythesson, then. And if you’re so concerned, go and make yourself useful.”
Confident I wasn’t supposed to see that, I eased out of the doorway. The old guard didn’t so much as glance at me. I realized I wasn’t breathing as I let myself into the office.
The guard and the Master Steward worked hand-in-glove. They had to. But they were also overseen directly by my father.
“If I need to explain every decision I make to every person in this castle, we’ll be in a sorry state by the time the Duke gets back,” Acting Steward Romwell said out in the hallway, and there was no mistaking the threat in his words. “I don’t expect he’ll have my patience.”
There came some murmured conversation. I recognized the tone of platitudes and tried to breathe. My father would be gone for years, but more importantly, he couldn’t manage a crisis from afar. These power plays would never have been allowed to draw breath under him.
