Seraphina(61)

The broad valley of the Mews River spread before us, cloaked in morning mist. Thick clouds hid the face of the sky. Kiggs paused, arms akimbo, taking in the vista. “This was a sally port in war times, invisible from below. We saved ourselves a trip through the city, see? There’s a stable at the base of the hill; we’ve horses waiting there.”

The dusty cave floor had been recently disturbed. “Who uses these caves now?”

“Uncle Rufus, rest he in the bosom of Allsaints, used this route to go hunting. I thought it couldn’t hurt to retrace his steps. No one else uses it that I’m aware of.” He looked at me; I gestured toward some discarded clothing behind a rock. “Hm! Shepherds taking shelter from a storm?” He lifted one item, a well-made but simple gown. Every woman in the palace owned a couple like it; I know I did. “Serving girls meeting their lovers? But how would they get through three locked doors, and why would they leave clothing behind?”

“It is peculiar.”

He grinned. “If this is the biggest mystery we encounter today, I’ll call us lucky.” He refolded the gown and placed it back behind the rock. “You’re perceptive. You may wish to keep that skill at the ready: the slope is rocky, and it’s likely to be wet.”

As we picked our way downhill, I found myself breathing easier. The air was clean and empty; the atmosphere of city and court seemed dense by comparison, saturated with troubles and heavy with worries. There were only two of us out here under the weightless, unbounded sky, and I sighed with relief, noticing for the first time how claustrophobic I had been.

Horses were, indeed, waiting for us. Kiggs had apparently sent word that he was riding with a woman, because my horse was fitted with a little sideways basket seat, complete with footrest. This struck me as far more sensible than the usual setup. Kiggs, however, was unhappy with it. “John!” he cried. “This won’t do! We need proper tack!”

The old ostler frowned. “Sharpey told me you was riding out with the princess.”

“No, Sharpey did not tell you that! You assumed that. Maid Dombegh expects to control her own horse, not be led around on a pony!” He turned to me apologetically, but something in my face stopped him short. “You do intend to ride?”

“Oh yes,” I said, resigned to it now. I hoisted the hem of my skirts to show how I was ready with the Porphyrian trousers and all. He blinked at me, and I realized that had been a most unladylike action—but wasn’t he setting me up to ride in an unladylike way? I couldn’t seem to behave properly, no matter what I did.

Maybe that meant I could stop fretting about it so much.

They brought out my refitted horse; I hitched up my skirts and mounted on the first try, not wanting anyone grabbing me around the waist to help me up. The horse turned in a circle. I’d never done this, but I knew the theory, and it wasn’t long before I had her moving in a straight line, in almost the correct direction.

Kiggs caught me up. “Eager to get going? You left without your saddle pack.”


I managed to stop my horse and hold her almost still while he secured my bags, and then we were off. My horse had definite ideas about where we should go; she liked the look of the water meadows ahead and thought we couldn’t get there fast enough. I tried to hold her back and let Kiggs lead, but she was quite determined. “What’s beyond that leat?” I called back to him, as if I had some notion where we were going.

“The fens where Uncle Rufus was found,” he said, craning his neck to look. “We can stop there, although I doubt the Guard missed much.”

My horse slowed as we approached the little canal; she wanted the water meadow, not the brambly bog. I gestured to the prince to take the lead, as if I were slowing on purpose. My horse tried to turn away from the bridge. “No you don’t,” I muttered to her. “Why should you play the coward? You outweigh all of us.”

Kiggs trotted ahead, his dun cloak flapping behind him. He sat lightly in the saddle, and his horse seemed to respond to his very thoughts; there was none of this unseemly yanking of reins that I was forced to do. He led us off the road almost immediately on the other side of the leat. The fen was relatively dry this time of year; what standing water there was had frozen into a glassy crust that crunched underhoof. I still managed to find a muddy patch where my horse’s hooves skidded and sucked. “Steer her toward the grasses,” Kiggs advised, but my horse, smarter than me, was already headed that way.

Kiggs paused beside some barren shrubbery and pointed to the hills north of us, black with winter trees. “They were hunting in the Queenswood, there. His courtiers claim the hounds scattered—”

“And the hunters scattered after them?”

“No, no, that’s not how it works. The hounds are supposed to investigate all leads; they’re bred for independence. They follow a scent to the end, and if it doesn’t lead to anything useful, they return to the pack. That’s what they’re for, so the hunters don’t have to follow every dead end in the forest.”

“But the Earl of Apsig said Prince Rufus had followed his hounds.”

Kiggs stared at me. “You questioned him about that day?”

The earl had required no interrogation; he’d been bragging to the ladies-in-waiting at the Blue Salon. Kiggs had walked in on that conversation, in fact, but apparently he had missed the discussion of hounds. It seemed I had a reputation as a shrewd investigator to uphold, however, so I said, “Of course.”