Yseult felt her teeth begin to chatter and clenched her jaw. I won’t be weak! She sipped, nearly coughed at the fiery-sweet taste of the herbed apricot brandy in the flask and looked up, her sight clearing. Romarec’s concerned eyes met hers. She nodded and sipped again.

“My mother endangered the Princess?” she whispered, incredulous. “That would be treason, and not petty treason either! Why are any of us still alive?” Her mind made a leap. “Odard! Odard fought for her. She must have begged his life of the Lady Regent.”

Then she waved her hand as Romarec glanced to either side again. “No! No, you are right. Not now. Some other day. Now, I should do what Mama says.”

A frisson of fear ran down her back, a physical sensation like the edge of nausea, and she shuddered. Her appalled understanding of her mother’s idiocy made her stomach twist as if she’d eaten green apples, a knowledge as much of the gut as the brain. Fear for herself warred with fear for the whole family; high treason could see them all executed and the lands attainted. And treason was tried before the Court of Star-Chamber, not a jury of your peers. The Lady Regent was not known for being forgiving about anything, much less the life of her only child and heir. Having that child and heir run off—the rumors were plain it had been without permission, and there had been a rare public loss of temper by the Lady Regent—wouldn’t have made her any sweeter about it.

Goodwife Romarec nodded and straightened up, speaking in a normal voice: “Well, my little Mistress, seeing that you have been assigned to sew with me, I’ll tell you that I can really use the help. These are five new maids, each as clumsy as a cow with her needle and each one worse than the last, but they’re all I have, now the maids-in-waiting are gone, to sew all the clothes that we must provide for the castle. We need to make sure the Christmas distribution is done, and we only have a few months to get through the tasks.”

Yseult smiled. She wished she could hug so lowly a person as the housekeeper. But Lady Mary frowned on what she called Yseult’s familiarity with the lower classes. That was old-fashioned thinking, of course. Nowadays nobles knew who they were. Instead she nodded.

“Yes, Romarec, I think that will help me become more disciplined. What times do you think I should work for you?”

“I . . .” Romarec studied the altar cloth, running it through her hands. “What are these symbols?” she asked.