Queensmen

Chapter 20

~Mikeal Returns~

Oris only let herself let out a breath of relief when all the officials' carriages were tucked behind the palace walls and out of sight.

She was glad that Hermes had yet to appoint all his ministers, or she would have been greeting till noon. As it was now, thirty-five was still a bit too many "Pleasant morning's" and smiles but the first phase of the plan had finally been executed.

The officials were now aware of her existence and what they were aware of, they would privately discourse amongst themselves.

Now, all that was left were the people.

"My Lady."

When Faeradaigh's voice rose above the one in Oris' head, she was forced to look back out the window.

"Yes?" She tried not to sound tired but she was. She couldn't even muster the strength to sound cheerful. Faeradaigh would just have to make do with her droning.

"The things you requested, where should I put them?"

"Here in the carriage would be okay." Oris said then shifted away from the door to the other side of the seat. "How much were you able to get?"

"Quite a lot, My Lady," Faeradaigh took a step back as a servants walked up to the carriage with sacks on their shoulders. "But not enough to risk unwanted attention."

"What was your excuse?" Oris asked curiously as the seat opposite her was slowly stacked with the hemp bags. The quantity of bread and dried rations he had amassed was more than what she had imagined.

"Told the sellers that a royal was throwing a large feast to talk about how conditions were on the battlefield," he started. "Something of those sorts, My Lady."

"Thank you, Faeradaigh." Oris said honestly. The eunuch, regardless of  how raunchy his thoughts may get at times had been quite helpful, friendly—if not overly—and truthful. She supposed if that was what Hermes had looked for when selecting his personal assistant, he had gotten it.

"Ah, My Lady?" He tilted his head up to look at her, the folds of fat trapped beneath his chin and neck quivering. "May I ask what you need all this food and medicine for?"

Here it is. Oris didn't let the emotions she felt cloud her expression. This was the crux of the plan where everything could either go to Death or soar to paradise. Her answer now would determine how Hermes would perceive the events that were about to happen. It was best if no one but she and her maids knew of her scheme for it to work successfully.

"I am preparing," she started, letting her gaze fall.

"Preparing for what, My Lady?"

Purposefully, Oris didn't reply immediately or directly. "When I was little, a rich merchant was passing through a town to get to a big city. He had soldiers with him and plenty servants, so of course he thought he was safe. . ."

"What happened?" Faeradaigh gulped and wiped his forehead, only remembering after the action was done that his handkerchief still sat in his chest pocket.

"His convoy got raided."

"Raided?" Faeradaigh nearly squeaked the word, squeezing the damp cloth in his had so tightly that Oris could almost hear the peach blossoms embroidered on it scream out in pain. "But the soldiers!"

"The merchant did not know that the town had gotten an influx of refugees. The people were starving," she said lightly, then sighed. "They begged the merchant for food but he gave none knowing if he did his convoy would not have enough to eat for the rest of the journey. So the refugees attacked, and against their overwhelming numbers the soldiers were no match."