“This is henna and indigo, to dye your hair,” Jemson said. “You should get a red-brown color out of that. Hopefully that will make you harder to spot. There’s also some money and clan clothing in there.” He smiled wryly at Han in his dedicate robes. “Assuming you don’t want to stay and take vows.”

C H A P T E R  T W E L V E

BREAD
AND ROSES

Raisa discovered that the palace laundry was a good place to troll for disguises. Everyone’s clothes, save those too fancy to submit to washing, came through there. And just now she had no need of fancy clothes.

She hoped to pass for a ladies’maid or somebody’s governess, but it wasn’t easy to find such clothes to fit her slight figure. After digging through the freshly washed laundry, she settled on a long skirt and white linen blouse with a snug-fitting bodice layered over. She had to lace the sleeves tight to keep them from sliding over her hands, and the skirts dragged on the ground. Even after she bundled her long hair into a lacy snood, she still felt utterly recognizable. She was princess heir of the realm. Everyone knew her. How could she possibly carry it off?

Hanalea hadn’t been afraid, she told herself. The legendary queen with the common touch had often walked anonymously among her subjects. If she could do it, well…

Raisa practiced a timid shuffling gait, trying not to trip over her long skirts, dipping curtsies every few feet. She kept her eyes downcast, murmuring, “Yes, ma’am,” and “No, sir.” She hid her disguise in the secret chamber at the foot of the garden stairs.

As luck would have it, Magret took to her bed at midday with one of her blinding headaches. Raisa saw that as a sign from the Maker, and sent word to her mother that she’d be having supper in her rooms. Then, in late afternoon, Raisa ventured into the Room of Romantic Entanglements.

That was Raisa’s name for it. It was a small locked closet off her bed chamber where Magret stored the gifts sent by Raisa’s would-be suitors after recording the particulars in a ledger Raisa called the Great Book of Bribes.

The presents ostensibly honored Raisa’s sixteenth name day, her official entry into adulthood and, coincidentally, the marriage market.

Jewelry spilled out of a silver casket sent by Henri Montaigne, recently assassinated heir to the throne of Arden. At least he wouldn’t be expecting a return on his investment. The other Montaigne brothers had contributed their own gifts, each no doubt hoping that a marriage to the princess heir of the Fells would prop up their claims or provide a reliable source of revenue for the festering war.