The Maid's War(15)
“What do you think, Cousin?” Chatriyon asked Alensson, his expression alive with curiosity. He was not a weak-willed man, Alensson knew, but the prince tended to listen to advice endlessly before making a decision. He was very cautious. His inheritance had been reduced to cinders and ash, leaving only a few smoking coals behind. He breathed lightly on them, not wanting the flames to extinguish utterly.
Alensson turned to the deconeus. “Have you tested her, Deconeus?”
The man looked affronted. “What? You think I’d waste my time on a mere peasant girl? I’m no fool, my lord duke.”
“You act like one,” Alensson said, a little hotly. Then he turned to the prince. “I spoke to the girl in a tavern this morning—”
“A tavern!” Doone scoffed.
“Where else would she be welcome if not there?” Alensson said. “My lord, listen to her. I tell you, the girl is Fountain-blessed. The Fountain speaks to her.”
The look the prince gave him had changed. There was a slow budding of hope, but it was clouded over with heavy doubts. “Cousin . . .” he said, shaking his head.
Alensson pressed his cause. “Just meet her, my lord. You will know, as I did. The Fountain has sent her to save Occitania. To save you.”
Perhaps they were just the words a drowning man needed to hear.
Doone would not give ground easily. “How many drinks did you have before you spoke to her, Alensson? How deep in your cups are you already?”
“Not a one,” Alensson said, offended. “How many have you had?” he asked, nodding to the goblet in the earl’s hand. The prince smirked at the gesture.
The deconeus shook his head. “I’ve had none myself either, my prince, so I hope you’ll heed my counsel. There are many who parade themselves as Fountain-blessed to dupe believers into giving them money. They come and stand on the edge of the fountains and prophesy some doom or another. Then people come and toss their coins into the water. Before you know it, rogues harvest the coins in the night and make off with the wealth. This girl wants money. And so does this young duke. He’s a pauper himself. Be wary, my lord. Be wary!”
If the man weren’t a deconeus, Alensson would have struck him for that. He had impoverished himself to the dust to win his freedom, and he’d not be addressed in such a way by a man living in splendor in a sanctuary he’d not built himself. A threat blossomed on his lips, but before he could utter it, the prince abruptly put his arm around his shoulder and directed him away from the other two.
“You can see my dilemma, can’t you, Cousin?” the prince said. “Word of this girl reached me months ago. I’ve not sent for her, yet she continues to beg for an audience. Should a peasant—a girl, no less!—be on the same footing as a prince? What if she’s deceived you? Don’t be offended. I’m not saying that she has, but after all I’ve lost, after all you’ve lost, don’t you think caution would be the more prudent course? I’m grateful you’ve met her, Alensson. That is helpful to me. You think she’s Fountain-blessed. What convinced you? You know I value your judgment more than those old fools.”
Alensson turned to face the prince. “I don’t know how to describe it, my lord. Her words ring true, like . . . like a bell in your heart. The conviction in her eyes. She’s not mad. She’s an innocent who’s been called to greatness. I know about camp followers, my lord. I’ve been in war. She’s not like those haughty girls. Just meet her. That is all I ask of you.”
The prince’s wince was telling. “But if I do, then I risk offending men like Jerson and the deconeus. Men whose money I need to keep court at Shynom. I can’t risk offending them, Cousin. Can’t you see that?”
He saw it all too well. “Yes, my prince. They’ve given you enough to keep you under their thumb. But not enough to relieve the siege at Lionn. What happens when Deford breaks through it? He’ll flood this valley with soldiers, and then you’ll find yourself defending Shynom. Or will you flee again?”
He’d meant to provoke his cousin and it worked. The prince’s eyes darkened. “Lionn has held firm for several years, Cousin. You’ve been in prison too long to understand—”
Alensson shook his head. “What surprised me, my lord, was how little has changed since Vernay. My wife’s father is the Duke of Lionn. She has given me as much information about the siege as one can get from those still loyal to her family.”
“I’m sure her father’s plight is very concerning to her,” Chatriyon said. The prince was always trying to soothe the feelings of others without committing himself. He was wonderful at empathy. He was terrible at action.