The Gypsy King Read Online Free Page B

sister by his father’s third wife—his half-sister, really—knew a man who mucked the royal stables at the palace in the imperial capital. And he said that the Regent often descended into the dungeon to take care of business himself. This man even saw children delivered to the dungeon—delivered but never released. And Cookie always said it was surely no coincidence that old King Malthusius died within weeks of appointing Mordecai Regent of the unborn prince—now our young King Finnius. Nor did she think it a coincidence that the queen died within days of delivering her child and that all who attended the birth later disappeared. All but the Regent, that is.…”
    Mrs. Foster shifted restlessly, as though, dead monarchs and mysterious disappearances notwithstanding, she’d begun to find Persephone’s chatter a bit of a bore.
    Admonishing the cow for her ill-bred, ignorantbehaviour, Persephone stripped the last of the creamy milk from Mrs. Foster’s teats, slipped the rope from around her neck and gave her a push in the direction of the barnyard.
    â€œYou, too,” she said to the goats, shooing them out of the barn.
    As she followed them to the threshold of the open barn door, Persephone let her mind drift back to life at the merchant’s manor house. To the long, hard days spent scrubbing floors and scouring pots; to the long, cold nights spent serving the merchant and his companions as they gambled and drank. To the sound of them shouting about how fine it was to see the lowborn rabble finally being put to good use and the Gypsies being put in their place; to the sight of them laughing at tales of Khan warriors fighting to the death to save their beloved sheep and ugly little Gorgishmen trying to wheedle their way out of imprisonment in the mines that once belonged to them. Closing her eyes, Persephone saw the gentle smile of the sad, old Marinese artisan who’d taught her to swim and throw a knife, and she felt Cookie’s warm, plump arms holding her close. And she remembered how she’d believed that life at the manor would go on forever, how she’d never dreamt that one day her world would be torn apart by a toss of the dice—
    A shrill, horsey squeal jolted her out of her reverie. Opening her eyes, Persephone saw a broken-down old nag by the name of Fleet careening across the yard toward her, whinnying with heartfelt joy and rudely bashing other creatures aside in his haste to reach her. She laughed aloud and was just about to turn her pockets inside outto prove to Fleet that she was not hiding a treat within when a shadow passed over the yard, sending the chickens running in all directions, squawking and flapping their wings in panic.
    The hawk circled the yard once before swooping down to settle on Persephone’s shoulder.
    â€œIvan,” she smiled.
    The hawk looked down at her with a haughty expression on his proud face, as though thoroughly offended by the fact that his lowly perch had had the temerity to address him.
    â€œI’ve asked you before not to scare the chickens,” Persephone reminded.
    If hawks could sniff and roll their eyes, Ivan would have done both. As it was, he had to settle for gently digging his talons into Persephone’s shoulder and pointedly looking away from her.
    â€œWell, anyway, it’s nice to see you,” she said.
    At this, Ivan screamed and took flight once more.
    â€œTroublemaker!” she called after him, as she watched a thoroughly terrified chicken run headfirst into a fence post.
    Like Cur, Ivan had found her a couple of years back. He’d obviously been trained for the hunt by some young lord—though not trained well enough to return to his master on command, apparently.
    Smiling at the thought that Ivan had broken free from those who’d thought to master him, Persephone tossed a handful of grain to the traumatized chickens, scrounged a piece of cut turnip for Fleet (who noisily