Chapter 6

Jane’s POV

The stewardess came in before the washing water had begun to steam.

The winter hunt was returning that morning, she told us. There would be a tribute ceremony in the afternoon, and the dress rooms needed help carrying soiled clothes down and clean ones back up.

Two of us would go. We were to carry the baskets and leave the clothes alone. No lifting hems to examine the stitching, no unfolding anything to see who it belonged to.

She chose the older woman with rope marks around her wrists, then pointed to another girl. The girl was getting up when the under-steward appeared at the door. The infirmary linen had arrived, he said, and he needed someone who could stomach blood.

The girl went with him. I watched her leave, wondering why she looked so relieved. The stewardess looked down the benches and stopped at me.

"Finley. You'll do. You've had little enough to say this morning."

Once her back was turned, Ina leaned toward me.

"Don't look so pleased. You'll stand in a corner for three hours while they push past you. If anything gets creased, they'll blame you."

I hadn't realized I looked pleased. I bent to pick up the basket.

"Keep your head down," she added. "And stay out of the way."

At the drying line, I helped count the clothes as they were folded. Sixteen pieces: nine plain grey wool garments, four with pale winter linings, and three with deep cuffs sewn by hand. The woman folding them named the rooms they were to go back to. Six belonged to the Queen's rooms, including the four with pale linings.

I listened and checked each pile before it went into the basket. One cuff had been turned, and another garment had been let out at the left side of the waist. By the time I lifted the basket onto my hip, I could remember which was which without unfolding them.

The stairs were colder than the yard at first, then warmer as we climbed. There was less soot on the walls with each landing. Halfway up, I began to smell beeswax and hot irons instead of washing water. My shoes sounded loud on the clean stone, and I tried to walk more quietly.

At the last stair, the stewardess caught my sleeve. She was close enough for me to see the split in her lower lip.

"I haven't forgotten what you said at that basin. Answer what's asked of you up here, and nothing else. If you start again, you'll be washing till the thaw."

She released me. I adjusted the basket and followed the older woman.

At the dress-room door, a woman took our clean clothes and gave us baskets of soiled ones. A chamberlain was waiting behind her.

"How many came back from the Queen's rooms?" she asked.

"Six. Four with pale linings, one with a turned cuff, and one let out on the left side of the waist."

She looked from me to the clothes and checked them. I waited, hoping I hadn't given more of an answer than she wanted. Then she nodded and waved us out.

We had barely stepped into the corridor when the people ahead of us began moving aside.

A clerk held his folio against his chest and backed into a doorway. Two women carrying linen pressed close to the panels. A boy moved his stool behind a curtain. I followed their example and stepped behind the third pillar on the left, lifting the basket clear of the passage.

The stewardess stopped beside us. I looked at the floor, then raised my eyes far enough to see who was coming.

The King and Queen walked together, with a chamberlain at the Queen's other side and attendants behind them. Everyone had made enough room for them to pass without coming close to anyone else. I had been squeezing around people all morning; now I stood against the wall and watched them use the whole corridor.

"The west stair, not the long gallery," the Queen told the chamberlain. "And tell the household steward to keep the hounds out of the hall until the tables are cleared."

He answered too quietly for me to hear.

"No, tomorrow morning will do. He can have it then."

She spoke without slowing, and the chamberlain kept pace. As she passed a server by the wall, she straightened his turned-under cuff with a quick touch.

One of the girls behind her stepped on her hem and stumbled. The Queen's skirt pulled tight, and the girl stopped, her face pale.

I waited for the reprimand.

The Queen glanced back. "Are those shoes too loose? Have them changed before the ceremony."

The girl murmured an answer and stepped clear of the hem. The Queen went on. The King leaned toward her and said something I couldn't hear; she gave him a small smile before turning back to the chamberlain.

I lowered my basket once they were past. My arms were stiff. I'd held it too high, afraid of letting it brush her skirt, and I was annoyed with myself for being frightened when she hadn't even looked at me.

She hadn't scolded the girl. I was glad of that, though it told me little about what she would do if a servant brought her a real complaint. I watched the attendants follow her around the corner until the stewardess told us to move.

We were sent through a side passage because a carriage was coming through the middle gate. We stopped at the entrance to let it pass under the arch. It was grey, with a low step and dull metal fittings.

A guard opened the door and lowered the step.

"Your Highness," he said as an older woman descended. "Prince Rowan."

I looked at the woman again. This must be Dowager Sabine, with her son. She took the rail without looking toward us. Rowan followed, glancing across the passage. His gaze passed over the older laundry woman and me without stopping.

Light reflected from the wet paving onto the carriage panel. For a moment I could see the silver-grey branches worked into a ring, the thorns facing outward and a knot where the ends met.

I gripped the basket. I'd looked at the broken seal on Claire's record again before leaving home. I hadn't known whose mark it was, but I remembered the ring and those outward thorns.

I wanted another look. Before I could get one, the stewardess stepped between me and the carriage.

"Forward. You're blocking the gate."

I followed her with my head down. Beneath the basket, my finger traced the shape against the wicker. I tried to remember where the branches crossed and how the ring closed, but each time I reached that part I wanted to turn around.

"What's wrong with you?" the older woman asked once we were back in the cold.

"The basket's heavy."

It was. I shifted it to my other hip and kept walking. For the rest of the afternoon, I answered only what I was asked.

That night, I lay on my back while the others settled into bed. The lamp had been turned low. I ran a finger over the wooden bed frame beside my hip, trying to trace the mark I'd seen on the carriage.

The first attempt didn't look right in my mind. On the second, I remembered the thorns but closed the ring on the wrong side. I tried once more, slowly, until I could picture the branches meeting. Then I laid my hand flat on the wood.

I took the two halves of the horn button from under my pillow and sat up. At my box, I lifted the folded grey dress and pushed them down beside Claire's things. The hinge creaked as I lowered the lid. I waited for someone to stir, then fastened the catch.

I'd been keeping the button where anyone could find it by moving my pillow. Now I wanted it put away with the rest of her belongings, where I could at least close a lid over them.

I'd seen that mark on a royal carriage this afternoon. I still didn't know how to ask about it without explaining why I wanted to know.