Rulers of the Darkness

The woman from Forthweg nodded. She'd come to understand Valmieran well enough, even if she still spoke much more classical Kaunian. She hurried off to get her husband.

"We'll need to take the wagon," Skarnu said to Merkela. "You can't get far on foot." He too cursed Amatu with all the venom he had in him. That did no good.

"It'll make us easy to spot, easy to catch," Merkela protested.

"So would having you die by the roadside," Skarnu growled, and she subsided. They didn't run into a squad of Algarvians rushing to seize them as they rattled away from the farm. As far as Skarnu was concerned, that put them ahead of the game right there.

Sixteen

Count Lurcanio bowed to Krasta. "By your leave, milady, I should like to invite a guest to supper with us tonight," he said. "A nobleman- a Valmieran nobleman, to be perfectly plain."

He was scrupulous about remembering that the mansion and the serving staff were in fact Krasta's. He was more scrupulous about such things than a good many of his countrymen; had he chosen to commandeer rather than ask, what could she have done about it? Nothing, as she knew all too well. That was the essence of being occupied. And so she said, "Well, of course. Who is it?" She did hope she wouldn't have to endure one of the savage backwoods boors who seemed so fond of Algarve's cause. The idea of Valmierans fighting under Mezentio's banner still left her queasy.

But Lurcanio answered, "A count by the name of Amatu- affable fellow, I find, if a bit full of himself."

"Oh. Amatu. I know him, aye." Krasta didn't sigh in relief, but she felt like it. "He's from right here in Priekule. But…" Her voice trailed away. She frowned a little. "I haven't seen him- or I don't recall seeing him- in a very long time."

That held an unspoken question, something on the order of, If he hasn't come to any of the functions that have gone on since Algarve occupied Valmiera, what's he doing here now? Some nobles in the capital still stubbornly kept themselves aloof from Mezentio's men. Krasta wondered how Lurcanio would have gone about inviting one of them for supper.

"He's been away from the capital for some time," Lurcanio replied. "He's very glad to be home again, though, I will say."

"I should certainly hope so," Krasta exclaimed. "Why would anyone who could live in Priekule care to go anywhere else?"

Lurcanio didn't answer, from which she concluded he agreed with her. Though nothing else in Valmiera seemed to, her sense of superiority remained invincible. She went off to browbeat the cook into outdoing himself for a noble guest.

"Aye, milady, nothing but the best," the cook promised, his head bobbing up and down with a show of eagerness to please. "I've got a couple of fine beef tongues in the rest crate, if those would suit you for the main dish."

"The very thing!" Krasta's smile was not without a certain small malice. Algarvians had a way of looking down their noses at robust Valmieran cooking. Lurcanio could eat tongue tonight and like it- or at least pretend. She made sure the rest of the menu was along the same lines: fried parsnips with butter, sour cabbage, and a rhubarb pie for dessert. "Nothing spare and Algarvian tonight," she told the cook. "Tonight the guest is a countryman."

"Just as you say, milady, so it'll be," he replied.

"Well, of course," Krasta said. As long as she wasn't dealing with Lurcanio, her word remained law on her estate.

Having made sure of the cook, she went up to her bedchamber, shouting for Bauska as she went. The maidservant never got there fast enough to suit her. "I'm sorry, milady," she said when Krasta shouted at her rather than for her. "My little girl had soiled herself, and I was cleaning her off."

Krasta wrinkled her nose. "Is that what I smell?" she said, which was unfair: Bauska took good care of her bastard by an Algarvian officer, and the baby was not only cheerful and happy but gave promise of good looks. Krasta, however, worried very little about fairness. She went on, "Count Amatu is coming to supper tonight, and I want to impress him. What shall I wear?"

"How do you want to impress him?" Bauska asked. Krasta rolled her eyes. As far as she was concerned, only one way mattered. Bauska set out a gold silk tunic that looked transparent but wasn't quite and a pair of dark blue trousers in slashed velvet with side laces to get them to fit as tightly as possible. She added, "You might wear the black shoes with the heels, milady. They give your walk a certain something it wouldn't have otherwise."

"My walk already has everything it needs," Krasta said. But she did wear the shoes. They were even more uncomfortable than the trousers, which Bauska took savage pleasure in lacing till Krasta could hardly breathe. The serving woman looked disappointed when Krasta condescended to thank her for her help.