He noticed—and was unsure if this was the result of his new state of being—her dress: she wore an unusually demure pale blue day dress with less bustle than usual and understated lace ruffs at the wrists. Also a giant woolly muffler wrapped around her neck and shoulders. Oh, it matched, of course; it was a beautiful, expensive shade of blue and was fringed with the sort of exotic imported feathers that had long skinny shafts and little bouncing dots of color at the top that flashed in gold and iridescence. They obscured most of Vanessa’s face.
More luck, Eric thought.
“Bit of a nasty cold,” she whispered huskily. One delicate gloved hand went to her throat.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, settling down into his own seat. Parched from the dry air in the practice hall, he picked up a carafe and began to pour himself a glass of cava.
Then he stopped. Did he really want to be foggy headed? At all? After this…awakening?
He reached for the crystal decanter of water instead.
Vanessa watched him silently.
The suited and dour captains of the Metalworkers’ Guild stood before them, the symbol of their station gleaming here and there on their persons: silvery cane handles, the shining tips of their boots, simple rings, sashes with obscure buckles on them.
“If we may, Your Highness…” A short and stocky man stepped forward. He had a luxurious, well-trimmed beard, and if it weren’t for his modern tricorn hat, he would have looked exactly like a character out of one of Eric’s fairy tale books, one of the fair folk who actually dug the precious metals out of deep mines. “We don’t want to delay your lunch any further.”
“Very considerate,” Vanessa hissed. Without her normal, lilting tone, it sounded exactly as snarky and sarcastic as she probably meant. The man’s bushy eyebrows shot up, but of course he said nothing about it.
“T-to put it plainly,” he stuttered, “we…of course…support any and all military actions as planned and carried out by you, of course…It does keep us busy, after all. All the musket barrels…and mechanisms…and cannons…No shortage of work!”
Eric frowned. How much work did Tirulia’s metalworkers have, precisely, involved in the crafts of war? The only reason there were fortifications in the city at all were because Roman governors and then medieval kings had liked the surroundings for their vacations by the sea.
“The problem is supplies. Your…strategies have unfortunately angered some of our trading partners. And the pass in the north is now unsafe for shipping, especially cargo that could be seen as military.”
“I thought our mountains had some of the finest mines in the world,” Vanessa whispered, asking the question before Eric could pose it himself. His father had first shown him the location of the mines and quarries on a parchment map when he was a lad. The ink in which mountains were sketched, in little upside-down vees, was a dull black for iron and metallic orange for copper. That had fascinated young Eric—although he had wanted to put a dragon in there as well.
“What, Your Highness?” the man said, leaning closer. “I’m sorry, your voice…”
“MINES,” she croaked. “FINE MINES. WITH COPPER.”
“Absolutely, Princess,” the man said. His eyes had darted briefly, questioningly, to the prince before resettling on her.
Eric started to feel relief at this close call of being noticed, then realized something: no one paid attention to him anymore. No one had in years. And that “relief” that he now seemed to be accustomed to? What was that? Wasn’t he crown prince? Shouldn’t he be dealing with the head of the guild and all his boring business himself? That was his duty!
The man was still talking.
“…And if we didn’t have to make bronze or pewter, or things out of tin, we would be set. Steel has its uses, but there are other things to be made besides weapons, and those other things need other metals.”
“What things are those?” Vanessa hissed. Maybe if she were speaking normally, with her large eyes and eyelashes aimed at the men, it would have come out as Teach me—I’m an innocent young girl who relishes your older-man wisdom. But there was a strange cognitive disconnect because of the husky whisper: almost like she was a much older woman poorly play-acting the role of young ingénue.
While Eric was pondering this, he also was puzzled by what she said. What things are made of metal? Didn’t she have eyes? Didn’t she live in the castle and use the objects within it?