Starcrossed by Elizabeth C. Bunce Read Free Book Online Page B

into the hallway. Some said it was risky to go working by Tiboran’s new moon, when the god’s back was turned and his eyes looking elsewhere, but that was probably just something somebody made up to discourage thieves.
    Castles keep their secrets in the kitchens and the bedrooms, but their valuables can be anywhere. The Favom Court valuables, however, were elusive. I knew this was a working farm, not a palace, but the Decath seemed to live as spare and frugal a life here as any monk.
    Not that I ever saw a poor monk.
    I did find one silver button beneath a bed, and a pretty glass inkwell that I just liked and was small enough to slip inside my sleeve. With a defeated sigh, I finally decided to have a go at the kitchens. In the absence of trea sure, food is a worthy alternative. Besides, I’d liked that kitchen woman, Morva. She might tell me more about this place and its people — and maybe the Decath trusted her with their household accounting.
    I headed down a wide corridor hung with tapestries of fruit and birds, trying to look purposeful and deliberate and like I belonged here. Near the end, I heard someone coming up the stairs — Raffin’s voice, turned curt and sullen, and the low, harsh tones of his father. Pox. I popped the nearest door and slipped inside, just as the argument carried past me down the hall.
    When the corridor was clear again, I launched myself toward the stairs and followed the yeasty scent of tomorrow’s bread and brewing down to the kitchens. Shoving my way in ahead of my plan, I found myself face-to-face with Morva once more.
    “Ah, pet, you’ve not gotten lost?” She grabbed my shoulders with floury hands and held me steady for her examination. “You’re shivering! Come sit down and I’ll fix you a posset.”
    “I don’t know what that is.”
    She gave me a surprised look. “Hot wine and curdled cream. It never fails to soothe Lady Meri.”
    It sounded horrifying, but milk was a luxury in the city; I had rarely had it before it became cheese. I followed Morva to a long, wiped-down table near the fire, where the statue of Mend-kaal leaning on his hammer guarded the hearth. The roomy kitchen was snug and warm, and the Favom farm seemed prosperous; Mend-kaal certainly seemed to be doing well by the Decath. Well enough that they could afford whatever bribes or fines let them keep such a statue on display.
    “Here. Drink up. You look half starved.”
    I tried to drink it slowly, savor the warmth of the clay cup in my hands, the warm wine, the thick rich milk. It
was
horrifying, but it was also hot and strangely fortifying, and all the while Morva clucked at me sympathetically, nursing a heavy mug of her own.
    “I’m no friend to Sarists, mind you, but I could teach those holy daughters a thing or two about caring for wee girls.”
    I almost smiled. I could believe her.
    “Is Du — Lord Durrel in trouble?” I asked instead.
    Morva threw up her hands, apron and all. “Ach, aye, that one. No more than usual. We got their rooms ready when we heard the news of the betrothal. Figured the young lord would turn up at Favom sooner or later, probably with Merista in tow. Those two always come here when there’s trouble.”
    “How long have you been with the Decath?”
    “Five years, ever since their lordships have been abroad. I was Lady Meri’s nurse, before Lady Amalle decided she was too old for one, and Lady Lyllace’s too, before her.”
    This was fascinating, but ultimately unhelpful. “Favom seems like a busy place,” I said. “There must be a lot of traffic in and out.”
    “You should have been here last month, pet, during the harvest! Barges stopping at our docks for grain, an army of wains rolling out for the city.”
    “How often do the barges stop?” That question was bordering on suspicious, but Morva seemed happy to talk about anything. Unfortunately all my questions about river traffic and how much travel the Decath did and how often anyone left here for