Lora of Two Worlds

Linnea's words caught Lora off guard: What happened to Felix? Right! A maid had come to tell her that Felix was waiting for her at the Raindrop Terrace by the lake. She'd been busy with quoits and hadn't bothered. "The Raindrop Terrace... is it a fishing platform?" Leon looked up at her bewildered face, still full of the way she'd defended him, fierce and unyielding. He answered slowly: "At the Palace of the Holy Crown, by the Great Lake, there's also a Raindrop Terrace. A pavilion above, a room below, eight flying eaves. No matter how hard it rains, the water drips in purses from the eaves, never in sheets. Hence 'Raindrop.' It's not for fishing." "Why would Felix want me to go there? ... Oh no! Linnea must have set a trap! Poison? A sleeping draught? A love potion? Stumbling into someone's affair? Wandering into a restricted area? Hearing something you shouldn't? A theft happening at just the wrong moment?" Lora conjured at least ten "Felix in danger" scenarios. "Where do you get all these dark ideas?" Leon, seeing her sheepish expression, softened: "It's not impossible. But if someone in power truly wants you dead, there're only two ways, open murder, or assassination." "Whatever it's, if there's a plot, we've to get to the Raindrop Terrace now!" Leon shook his head: "Linn and the others are already on their way. You find Alvin, Gareth, or Roland, any one of them will know what to do." "Right!" She turned to leave, then ran back to pick up his fan. She pushed his wheelchair: "I'll get you to the pavilion, away from this slope. More people there, too." Watching Lora hurry off, Leon thought of the list of dirty tricks she'd just rattled off: Perhaps he should visit a pulpit sometime. He'd thought the moral tales at the abbey were meant to teach virtue, were they actually teaching people how to do harm? Before long, Gareth came running: "Leon, my sister says you're alone and it's dangerous. I'll push you to the Ripple Pavilion by the lake." "The little cousin too...?" "Yes, couldn't stop her. She's taken Margaret and gone ahead. Don't worry, with Alvin there, no one will touch her." Leon smiled wryly: "You joke. She's the one who touches other people. Who'd dare touch her?" Meanwhile, Lora had raced to the Raindrop Terrace. She didn't see Felix. Alvin was waiting in the lower pavilion, calling for the palace guard. The shutters of the upper room were closed tight. Lora tugged Alvin's sleeve: "What's happening up there? Is Felix inside?" "No, he's fine. Go home. You don't need to see what's up there." That was the wrong thing to say. Now she insisted on going up, especially when she heard Dorothy Dunbar's voice, crying. "Lil " Before Alvin could stop her, Lora was up the stairs, three at a time. She pushed open the half-closed door. Inside: a wide daybed against the north wall. Three side tables, shoved crookedly into a corner. A large empty desk against the south wall, big enough to lay out a full bolt of silk. Light flooded in. The room went silent. When the door closed again, Dorothy, on the daybed, saw who it was and hurled a cushion at her: "Why are you here? Come to laugh at me? Dream on!" Lora caught the cushion easily, tucked it under her arm. She surveyed the room, strolling forward with a grin: "Why am I here? I was just laughing a little too happily and someone threatened me, told me not to gloat, and to come to the Raindrop Terrace to find Felix... So I followed her here. Didn't I, Linnea?" "Lora Odenheim! What nonsense!" "Nonsense? Did you or did you not tell me to come find Felix?" Lora pressed, relentless. Linnea, afraid of what else Lora might blurt out, turned to the palace mistress standing nearby: "Mistress Luce, she loves her jokes. She must have followed me here." "You were joking, all right. My cousin isn't even here. You just happened to mention this place. Mistress Luce, you just happened to be passing by too?" Lora, who'd watched eight reruns of palace intrigue dramas, handled self-panicking women like this with her eyes closed. The way she leaned into the word "happened", twice, made Linnea want to claw her face off. Dorothy, on the daybed, finally understood. She lunged up, seized Linnea by the collar: "It was you! I was 'happened' too. Two maids 'happened' to walk past me and said a lady from the Palace of the Holy Crown was brewing herb tea at the Raindrop Terrace and wanted company. You must have known I'm going to Augustburg in a few days. You found a lout to ruin me, not just my reputation, but my family's name!" The truth was: after Felix had rejected her outright, Dorothy had raged at home for days. When Hugo came bearing gifts and pleasantries, she knew, Felix was truly out of reach. In a fury, the hot-tempered young lady had agreed to her father's plan: the Dowager Lady Elena would present her at court as a lady-in-waiting. The King's warrant was still in Elena's hands. Her entry to court was secret. But in truth, she already belonged to the King. And now she'd been schemed against, violated... Her hands shook on Linnea's collar. Her cloak slipped to the floor. Lora saw, with a jolt: Dorothy's gown was in disarray, the collar torn open. Lora felt like she'd swallowed ten live flies. "I did nothing. I only know that several young ladies from good houses are going to Augustburg soon." Linnea said, forcing calm: "Don't pin your shameful business with a man on me." "Lady Dorothy, please don't distress. Someone's already questioning the maids. The young maid you described, fourteen or fifteen, there're fewer than ten in this palace. We'll have answers soon." Mistress Luce said. She'd heard Lora's words and was half-suspicious herself. Dorothy's story about "a lady from the Palace of the Holy Crown" was pure invention. But Linnea was the Lord Regent's granddaughter. Appearances had to be kept. Since the old reign, the eastern palace had been sacked again and again. The great hall the Empress had built lay in ruins, a wound in the Crown Keep that never healed. The crown had appropriated funds for repairs more than once. Of every hundred thousand florins, less than ten or twenty thousand reached the palace. The Royal Council, the Exchequer, the canal transport office, the minister in charge of works, the chamberlains, the palace steward, every layer took its cut. The Count of Odenheim had served in Lohenheim for years. From his first posting as garrison commander, he'd been sidelined for refusing to join the graft. Only Prince Jasper's word at court, and his own string of military victories, had kept him standing. In the end, only the outer walls and the Crown Granary, still in use, had been repaired. One bold thief had climbed over the wall of the Radiant Palace. He'd gone in once, and never dared again: The vast, luxurious Radiant Palace was nothing but eerie ruins, broken tiles and crumbling columns. The garden palaces were smaller and no one lived in them long-term, so they'd been spared. Even the maids and stewards preferred to live out here, commuting daily, rather than dwell in the lifeless the Crown Keep. With their monthly pay barely enough for thin gruel, the palace staff relied on festival banquets to skim a little extra, a practice the Lord Regent tolerated because it maintained Lohenheim's threadbare dignity. Lohenheim had face. The Lord Regent had face. The great palace walls, in the sunset, had nothing left but face. Mistress Luce wanted this whole business smoothed over. Lord Dunbar and the Lord Regent were people she couldn't afford to offend. A maid had bumped into her, panicked, saying something indecent was happening at the Raindrop Terrace. She'd rushed over with her women. By the time she arrived: Dorothy, disheveled on the daybed. The lingering smell of love-philtre in the air. This sort of thing, in the women's quarters, a mistress heard tell of it, even if she hadn't seen it. They'd opened the shutters, aired the room, brought smelling salts. That had brought Dorothy back from the haze of tearing off her own clothes. Dorothy only knew someone had come in. Who, she'd been too far gone to remember. Then Linnea and her sisters had arrived. Then Alvin had called the palace guard to search the gardens. A mess. A young lady violated. The rake, gone. Lora breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Whatever had or hadn't happened, Felix wasn't exposed. Her jab at Linnea had planted suspicion. Whether Linnea feared Dorothy or Mistress Luce, she wouldn't "happen" to bring up Felix now. Lora looked at Dorothy, fury spent, lost and helpless. She tucked the cushion into Dorothy's arms, covering her disarray, and whispered: "Dry your tears and smile. That's the last thing the person who did this wants to see."

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