Fool's Errand by Maureen Fergus Page B

contents of a cracked egg, the men, women and boys of the escort could not contain their hilarity. Rachel bowed her head to hide the mirth in her eyes, and Mateo laughed aloud for the first time since being rescued.
    Somewhere nearby, Cur started barking.
    â€œAzriel, if it is any comfort at all, I believe that deep down inside, Ivan is filled with remorse for what he just did,” confided Persephone.
    â€œEven if that were true, it would be no comfort at all!” huffed Azriel, grimacing as he accidentally smeared his fingers while trying to clean off his hood.
    Taking a step backward so that he would not accidentally smear her , Persephone said, “Well, at least we’ll always be able to cherish the thought that whatever befalls these brave soldiers in my service, we parted in merry spirits.”
    â€œHumph!” was the only reply.

ELEVEN

    M ORDECAI LAY BACK in the finely upholstered leather chair and closed his eyes.
    â€œProceed,” he ordered.
    â€œYes, Your Grace,” whispered the terrified barber.
    With infinite care, the stoop-shouldered man leaned forward and laid the straight blade against Mordecai’s well-soaped cheek. He was the third member of his craft to tend to Mordecai in recent months, the first two having lost fingers as punishment for having allowed the blade to slip and mar the Regent’s perfect complexion.
    As he listened to the rasping sound the blade made as it scraped his cheek clean, Mordecai sighed deeply. Yesterday, after bidding the princess farewell, he’d ridden back to the imperial palace to await the return of the king that he might explain to him the way things now stood. Unfortunately, some interfering servant reached the fool first with the news that no one had seen his nursemaid Moira since the night before last. This had greatly alarmed the king, for he’d been under the impression that she’d been absent from her duties because of illness. After publicly berating himself for not having visited her sickbed personally—even though any imbecile could have told him that it would have been irresponsible for him, a sickly king without a named heir, to knowingly expose himself to sickness—he’d immediately cancelled or postponed all business and festivities, and ordered that a search be undertaken.
    Eager to tell the peasant-hearted fool what fate had really befallen the woman who’d ever treated Mordecai with such an appalling lack of respect, the Regent had proceeded to the king’s chambers. He’d arrived only to find his way barred by one of the few guards in the imperial palace who’d been personally appointed by the king. Nervously, the young man had informed Mordecai that Lord Bartok had been put in charge of the search for the nursemaid and that the king had left orders that he wished to see no one unless the visitor had news of her whereabouts.
    Mordecai’s initial reaction had been to have the guard cut down where he stood, but as he’d opened his mouth to bark the order to the other guard—one of the many New Men who’d been appointed by Mordecai and were loyal to him alone—it suddenly occurred to him that perhaps the agony of knowing what had happened to his nursemaid could be surpassed only by the agony of not knowing what had happened to her.
    Indeed, if King Finnius had not sent word late the previous evening that he intended to proceed this day with the ceremony that would see the power to rule the realm officially transferred to him, Mordecai might have been content to let the ingrate stew in his own juices for some time to come.
    But alas, he had sent word and so—regrettably—Mordecai was going to have to put an end to the sweet torture of not knowing.
    As Mordecai mentally rehearsed how he planned to break the news to the king, the trembling barber wiped Mordecai’s face with a lavender-scented towel, gingerly massaged a small dollop of reddish salve into his skin