The Jack of Hearts (House of Cards Book 1)

Chapter 13 | Breaking Suit

Fort Khadi, The Lands of the Cluvani

The jaquelle did not emerge from her rooms nor receive anyone but her servants for five days.

If her lord-betrothed did not see fit to honour her with his presence, neither would she. And if the Iibhere could not give her the courtesy of the truth, well, farewell courtesy.

Rosalyne took the self-imposed isolation to properly mourn in accordance with their custom.

Fort staff with invitations to meals were turned away at the door. Dys and Clovis begged the pardon of servants, Cousin Kena, M'alak, and finally Jhak O'rian (admittedly only Clovis spoke to the jhak — Dys all but slammed the door in his face).

"My mistress begs one more day for her grief, my Lord," said Clovis with a bow after Dys had practically spat in Jhak O'rian's face.

The jhak peered over the manservant into the dark room. Cool grey light pooled underneath the drawn curtains but the rest of the rooms remained submerged in inky shadows.

"Please," Clovis insisted, "it is a private matter. Their majesties can hardly expect her Highness to wear her heart out in company. His royal highness must give her leave to mourn in her own time."

"She isn't grieving. She is pouting," Jhak O'rian said pointedly into the room.

The jhak shook his shoulders. "It feels like death in here — stars."

Dys brought her shoulders to her ears, fisting the blanched skirts of her mourning gown. «Do not presume to know my mistress' heart. She cares more deeply than his highness could ever understand.»

Jhak O'rian snorted at Dys' quivering indignation. «I think your mistress is angry someone took her toys. You might as well be a horse or a dress for all she thinks of you as a person.»

Dys' voice dropped low and careful. «Better to be a tool to a benevolent mistress than a woman to a cruel master.»

Jhak O'rian brushed the statement aside after a moment and continued on to his purpose: «I need to speak with the jaquelle. Every warrior I've posted at this door is suffering Aerti-sickness; melancholia like I've never seen. Yared spent the whole day in his bunk yesterday, and Nath is still vomiting. No servants will approach the door. They're drawing straws to see who has to bring up your food trays. How does your mistress account for this? Who is to be held responsible?»

Clovis crossed his good arm over his thin chest. «Her Highness is not receiving, and no Ibhere may violate the privacy of their guest in the space which had been afforded to them.»

Lucas moved from his position against the wall to stand behind Dys and Clovis. "He means piss off."

Anger roiled the jhak's temper and he yelled over their heads toward the doorway of the sleeping chamber. "I know you can hear me, Bramble. You cannot continue making people sick."

Lucas shoved the larger man from the door and Clovis slammed it shut.

Dys spat at the door. «Praise Terus, she doesn't have to marry him. Liar and a brute.»

Clovis ran a hand over his face. «He's still the future king, her ladyship.»

Lucas resumed his post against the wall. «Perhaps the gods chose best for our mistress.»

There was another knock at the door but all three servants ignored it.

When the same patient knock sounded again, Rosalyne rose from her chair in the sleeping quarters called out to her servants. «Shall I answer it?»