“Rosalina? Truly?” Isabel’s brow was furrowed in surprise and confusion. “I suppose she would be as ambitious as any princep or princeppa, but—what does she stand to gain from my death?”
Leona rubbed her forehead in annoyance. How naive can someone be? She wondered. I’m stupid when it comes to this stuff, and it even makes sense to me!
They had waited until they were alone to voice their concerns with the princeppa. The three of them were around small table in Isabel’s chambers — Agrippa sat with her, while Leona stood beside them on guard. Garibaldi men protected the door outside. The windows were shuttered. It was the most privacy they could get in the estate, but Leona kept eyeing the door and windows anyway. Too many ways in and out, she noted.
“Rosalina is betrothed to Juan,” Agrippa said. “Yes?”
“Yes,” Isabel said hesitantly. “Yes, of course. But… so what? She doesn’t know about Juan and I. Nobody does.”
“False,” Agrippa said. He waved a hand, gesturing to himself and Leona. “We know. I doubt we are alone. You met in a public place. How many times have you done so before?”
Isabel frowned. “A—a few.”
“Then others will know as well,” Agrippa said. “Or at least we must assume such.”
“Agrippa’s right,” Leona said. “Besides, it’s our job to protect you. The way Rosalina was looking at you —a hunter stalking prey, or a soldier sizing up an enemy.”
“The Segura family has not been friendly with mine for two generations,” Isabel said. “By all accounts, Rosalina is ambitious. I am a rival.”
“A rival that’s been getting poked by her husband-to-be,” Leona said. “Uh — no offense.”
From Isabel’s expression, she was probably offended. How are you supposed to talk to nobles? Hubey would know. He’s better at this sort of thing. And Agrippa can get away with any amount of rudeness, because they all respect his medical skills.
Not so with Leona. She was a good fighter, of course. She knew it. Everyone who fought with or against her learned it soon enough. But that wasn’t enough for nobility. They still had all sorts of expectations. Expectations Leona struggled to remember. And even those she remembered were so hard to care about.
“We need to keep a close eye on her,” Leona said, giving up on the apology. “Just in case.”
“Yes, I suppose so. Thank you,” Isabel said.
“Sergius Anthimus, too,” Agrippa said.
“I didn’t like him,” Leona said, wrinkling her nose.
“Few do,” Isabel said with a laugh. “He’s got a — reputation. Up and down the Red River, noble women either avoid him or seek him out. Depending on their… predilections.”
“Don’t know about that… I like fucking as much as anybody, and I’m not always too picky about who,” Leona said. As soon as she spoke, she saw Isabel’s cheeks color slightly.
Damn it. Leona realized, too late, how uncouth the admission was. Nobles always had to pretend to be such prudes.
Hubert said that people in the Midlands were even more prudish. To hear him talk you’d almost wonder how anyone in the Midlands has any babies at all. But of course Leona knew that most of it was just talk. An act, for both the Spatalian nobles and the Middish alike. Propriety for the sake of keeping up appearances. Isabel was getting plowed by Juan a few days before her wedding. She’s got no room to act shocked by me.
“What I mean is: even if I got falling-down drunk first, not even I would want to spend a night with Sergius. Slimy smug bastard.”
That got a genuine smile from the princeppa. “I see,” she said. “Yes, that’s fair. I agree. But either way, I don’t know why he would want me dead. He’s asked my father for my hand on a half dozen occasions.”
“And been denied each time,” Agrippa said.
Leona nodded. “Jealousy. Pretty obvious, really. Could be him.”
“I suppose it could,” Isabel agreed, though she looked reluctant.
“How many other guests are coming to the wedding? Important guests: dukes and princeps, lords and nobles. Foreign diplomats. Anyone that might somehow profit from the strife,” Agrippa said.
“Not too many,” Isabel said. “We sent invitations all along the river, but Trivento and Taurianove declined. They might send small delegations, diplomats only, but none of their lords or princeps.”
“A diplomatic delegation could easily conceal an assassin,” Agrippa quickly pointed out.
He kept talking, but Leona didn’t hear what he said. She felt herself stiffen where she stood. Her eyes locked forward, staring at the wall. Staring at nothing.
Delegations from Trivento and Taurianove.
It was stupid of her to react at all. She had left Trivento years ago. First she left the farm, to join the armies of Trivento as they went to war with Taurianove.
And then…
The air was filled with screams. The stench of blood and bowels was everywhere. A heavy weight crushing down her. She was running. A medico… she had to find a medico.
And then she left the army, too. She had not returned to Trivento or Taurianove since. It had been some three years. She was nobody. A delegation would not remember her. Not know… what she had done.
Leona tried to steady her breathing, and her heart. Deep breaths, in and out, as Agrippa had advised her.
She focused her gaze on one part of the wall, the fraying corner of a small tapestry. She counted the threads she could make out. Hubey said it helped to find—what had he called it? An anchor.
She felt the loud thrumming in her ears subside. Agrippa was still talking to Isabel about the possible threats that might be coming. They had moved past Trivento and Taurianove already. Leona was fairly sure neither of them had noticed her silence.
“Duke Diaz,” Isabel said. “He is the last one, but — he is no danger to me.”
“Why’s that?” Agrippa asked.
“Because!” Isabel said. “He is Duke Diaz! Rodrigo Diaz, Duke of Septimania.”
Agrippa shrugged. “This means nothing to me,” he said. “I do not normally pay much heed to politics.”
“Sounds familiar,” Leona said. “Septimania. That’s… north?”
“Upriver,” Isabel said, nodding. “A mountain region. Duke Diaz has ruled Septimania well for my whole life. And Andalus, too. He conquered Andalus a few years ago.”
“So he is expanding,” Agrippa pointed out. “How is he no danger?”
“He would never use assassins,” Isabel said. “He is too honorable for that. A man of God.”
Agrippa glanced at Leona, and he made a skeptical face. Leona returned it. Neither of them believed in the Middish god that had swept so strongly across much of Spatalia in the last few generations.
“That reputation would serve an ambitious man well,” Agrippa pointed out.
Isabel shook her head. “It is warranted. He was open and forthright in his conquest of Andalus. He treated the deposed nobles well, and has ruled the lands justly ever since. And he had cause — he took most of his armies to join the Serpentes in a holy war against Al Hassad, and while he was gone the Andalusians raided his people and seized his lands. It was a retaliation, a just war to settle the dispute without letting it drag out into a feud.”
“Fine,” Leona interjected. “We won’t worry about Duke Diaz.”
Any more than the rest of them, she added silently.
Isabel nodded. “He is an old friend of my father, as well. He is a good man.”
“Very well,” Agrippa said. It was obvious—to Leona, at least—that he did not necessarily believe Isabel, but rather he had lost interest in the discussion.
“What about your future husband?” Leona asked.
Isabel turned to look at her in shock. “Aistulf? Why would he want me killed?”
Leona shrugged. “You were with Juan, right? Agrippa already said. Word of your affair might have gotten out. So maybe he wants Juan dead, and out of the way. Maybe he’s jealous or his honor is offended and he wants revenge. Could be anything.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Isabel said. “Aistulf is known as a cautious man. A good one, but—as you said, Agrippa, that would be a valuable reputation to cultivate. I can’t rule it out.”
It still seemed absurd to Leona that Isabel was marrying a man she’d never met before. She had heard of nobles doing stupid stuff like that before, but seeing someone do it in real life was different. Isabel was a bit out of touch, a bit foolish, but she seemed like a basically decent girl. What her father was doing to her—what she is doing to herself—was ridiculous.
“If he is behind it, at least once we catch him you’ll be free to marry Juan,” Leona pointed out.
Isabel frowned. “Oh,” she said. “I suppose… that is one way to look at it. Though I’m not sure it would be so simple.”
Of course not. You’re nobles. You make everything more complicated than it needs to be.
“Do you want to marry Juan?” she asked.
Isabel sighed. “I don’t know,” she said. She sounded uncomfortable, like the admission was one she didn’t want to make. “I do love him. But—we’ve always known that we would be wed to other heirs. Our cities do not need the political reinforcement. So I suppose I’ve never allowed myself to commit to him. Not fully, in my heart.”
Hubey would say that’s fucking depressing, Leona thought. Which is true, but he’s too nice. It’s not just depressing.
“That’s stupid,” she said.
Isabel gave her a sharp look of disapproval. Leona might have cowed at a noble’s disapproval once, but if so, she’d lost that a few years ago. The day she abandoned Trivento, and knew she would never see her kin again. Her distaste for that sort of thing had only increased after spending time with Agrippa and Hubey, two men that never let their supposed social betters actually get the better of them.
So she just met Isabel’s look with the blank stoic face she used on bodyguard duty. It worked. Isabel cracked first, softening. “Why do you say that?” she asked.
“Because it’s stupid!” Leona said. “It’s like…” she searched for a good explanation. It was so obvious. Hubey would know the right words. “Tell her, Agrippa,” she finally said.
Agrippa just arched his eyebrows at them both. “You wish for me to tell her why you think something is stupid? No, thank you.”
Leona sighed. “It’s just stupid,” she said. “You're not even giving Juan a real chance that way. You aren’t being, um, open? Hubey says relationships are about trust and… what’s the word?”
It seemed unfair that Hubey knew Spatalian and Middish and Cassaline and Loranette and probably other languages too, while Leona only knew Spatalian and some passable Middish, and yet somehow he still knew more Spatalian words than she did. He’d know what she was trying to say. She was certain of it.
“Vulnerable!” she said suddenly. “Hubey says you have to be vulnerable. You put yourself into it, and you trust the person you love. If you and Juan never did that, you never gave yourselves a chance. That’s why it’s stupid.”
It felt good to articulate her argument so clearly. Hubey would’ve agreed. But Agrippa was barely even paying attention, and Isabel still looked skeptical. Her enthusiasm leaked out like wine from a broken pitcher.
“Nevermind,“ she said. “When’s he getting here anyway?” she asked. “Aistulf, I mean.”
“He should arrive tomorrow,” Isabel said. “The first official festivities begin then. He will be expected to attend the masque.”
Leona blinked. She looked at Isabel, doubting her own ears. No fucking way. All she managed to say aloud was a helpful “Uh…”
Agrippa, for his part, seemed to have finally started paying attention. “You must be joking,” he said.
“How so?” Isabel asked.
“A masque?” said Leona. “As in, a party where everyone dances wearing masks?”
“Yes,” the princeppa said. “It’s tradition, before a wedding. A chance for the bride and groom to mingle freely, unfettered by the burdens of expectation that will color the festivities to come.”
“And you did not think to mention this sooner?” Agrippa asked, incredulous.
“I suppose not. Does that matter?” Isabel asked.
She can’t be this dumb. Leona stared at the princeppa. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, it matters. Our job is to protect you. From assassins.”
“Yes, of course. And—”
“And the assassins are probably hired by one of your guests.”
“Of course. But—”
“And now you and all of your guests are going to be in one big hall. Wearing masks.”
Leona let the words hang in the air. She looked at Agrippa, and he met her eyes. Unspoken understanding passed between them. Apparently, she is that dumb. They all are.
Isabel was silent for a long moment. Finally, she sighed.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “I see.”