A Dress Code of Stolen Jewels
By the time I noticed, the meal was already finished, and Henrik rested his chin lightly on his hand. I did not avert my gaze from his, not even a little.
"I'll start with the jewelry shops in the busy districts—or rather, with the ones tucked away in remote corners. You'll have already set things in motion, of course, Your Highness."
"Just as you say. I've already sent knights out, though they've found nothing yet."
"Then that would mean it hasn't been sold."
If the people Henrik commanded were already combing through every jeweler near the palace, it wasn't hard to imagine what other options lay open to him.
I was certain his question carried some other purpose beyond merely testing me. When I stared at him steadily, he went on with his explanation.
"Warsza is soon to be married. It calls for discretion."
I understood at once. Reputation and honor mattered to Warsza as well.
The servants working in the royal household had, in the end, been placed there with the influence of noble families behind them. Someone—no matter who—had dared to steal a princess's jewels. To commit an act so damaging to one's own house, there had to be a clear purpose behind it.
To my eye, discovering *why* mattered far more than discovering *who*.
It was too large an affair for simple greed—large enough that Henrik himself would intervene. Perhaps someone had political reasons for wanting to replace the princess's maids. Or perhaps they meant to sully her name.
And yet if mishandling people could wound a reputation, then handling them well could just as easily restore one.
"Your Highness, please deliver this message to Her Highness the Princess. Tell her to hold a special banquet in her own name. The dress code is that jewel. Everyone attending—nobles, servants and maids alike, the princess and her attendants—every last one of them is to wear it."
"A banquet?"
"Yes, and the grander and more lavish, the better. Beyond the ring you gave me, surely there are more treasures left behind by Lady Bwendia. Display those splendid, beautiful treasures as well. You might even hold an auction to show off the royal collection, with all proceeds donated to the temple."
I kept my voice calm and even. Henrik's eyes remained fixed on me.
"In the Prince's name, or in the Princess's. Though the two of you together would be even better."
Naturally, the thief would want to hide the jewel I had taken—assuming it hadn't been sold yet.
But if there were political reasons at play, if the culprit still needed to pose as the princess's loyal servant, then that family would have no choice but to put its name forward and attend the banquet. Having considered this, I offered one more suggestion.
"When you announce the dress code, I'd recommend adding one more thing, Your Highness."
"Tell me."
Henrik's brow shifted almost imperceptibly. Gauging what he might be feeling—he showed not a hint of displeasure—I continued.
"Since the banquet has a worthy cause, let the dress code be generous and forgiving. Allow imitations, even. Spread the word through the thoroughfares and shopping streets the nobility frequent, and that will be more than enough."
"Only the wealthy will be able to bring the genuine article."
"Yes. Doesn't Her Highness keep her own people? It would be wise to bring that gem appraiser in ahead of time."
A faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth, Henrik spoke like a thoroughly sly man.
"So it's to be a banquet for flaunting wealth."
"Precisely as you say."
"Do you intend to exercise your talents?"
"If that is what you desire, Your Highness."
"You've conceived of something rather grand."
"You didn't come to me seeking simple methods, my lord. Not when you could have found them anywhere."
Henrik's scarlet lips curved upward beyond any room for misunderstanding. He drew one smooth fingertip across that elegant mouth.
I understood what that smile meant. He knew it too—that the way I looked at him bore no resemblance to the way one looks at a master.
But from where he stood, how easily wasn't I broken? However grand a magic I might wield, I had nothing to set against the authority he enjoyed in this kingdom.
And so he might well be laughing, inwardly, at my audacity. The boldness I displayed before him was, in truth, no different from reckless bravado.
"Whoever covets the royal jewels does so because they lack the means to buy them honestly, and because they need somewhere to boast and show off. Perhaps desperation was entangled with politics. But if the thief merely intended to keep it safe, why the princess's jewel of all things? There were far easier ways. All the more so for someone working within the palace itself."
Henrik gave a slight nod, as if in agreement.
Looking back on it, nothing I said was wrong. Jewels carry no nameplates, after all. A princess's jewels would be rare, but anyone employed in the royal household drew a respectable salary. With time and money, they could simply have purchased one.
If it had been nothing more than simple greed.
"If it hasn't been sold, then it's still being kept somewhere."
"If the person we expect to bring a counterfeit arrives with the real thing—now that would be entertaining."
Henrik seemed to mean it; both his voice and his expression were laced with genuine amusement.
But I did not relax into his smile, thinking, *so I've passed his test again, smoothly enough this time.*
My proposal was a single move on the board—no more. Whoever had stolen Princess Warsza's jewels might already have sold them in secret. They might simply never bring them to the banquet at all.
For all that Henrik's knights had swept the fashionable jewelry districts, their net of surveillance might not yet reach the back alleys and black markets.
And so, to lure whatever lurked in that darkness out into the light, a very brilliant light would be needed.
"If they bring it, their motive is either vanity or politics. If they don't, then their aim is to disgrace the princess's honor. Which is all the more reason to hold the banquet in full splendor. Spread the rumor far and wide—so that certain people can feel their own worth."
"Done that way, it will be simple enough to take the measure of the noble houses' finances—and of everyone entangled in this affair."
I made a show of glancing out the window, where snowflakes were drifting down. The black walls of Bwendowska, washed pale with snow, reminded me anew of exactly where in the world I now stood.
"Yes. It matters that you confirm whether the people under your command are governing their territories properly, doesn't it? Winter has truly arrived, after all. And it matters for Princess Warsza as well."
"If nothing else, it will tell me who the fool is. That alone would be enough."
I inclined my head slightly. Given Henrik's ambitions, this was also a chance to take a thorough accounting of the people he kept at his side.
"You speak truly, Your Highness."
Henrik smiled again, looking satisfied.
It felt unfamiliar to me, and faintly awkward.
I ought to have grown used to it by now—a man with such a cold face wearing so bright a smile.
And yet it still felt strange. Henrik was the sort of man who seemed capable of sentencing someone to ruin without ever changing his expression. The rumors about him were hardly ordinary. That first impression I'd formed of him was lingering in me far longer than it should.
Like a vassal meekly receiving her lord's praise, I bowed my head before him with perfect courtesy. There was no need to show that man any unnecessary emotion.
"Very well. I'll go speak with Warsza first."
Henrik stood on the second-floor balcony, idly surveying the hall below.
Chandeliers glittered as if studded with jewels, and golden candelabras, burning without restraint, lit the banquet hall in a blaze of brilliance.
The music drifting to his ears came from the royal orchestra, and it was elegance and grandeur itself.
Seated on a plush sofa with a wine glass in hand, Henrik looked, at a glance, like an idle noble savoring the festivities.
In truth, he was scrutinizing and evaluating every noble who had come to the ball—measuring them one by one.
The nobles dancing and drinking across the hall were dressed in their finest, adorned with their choicest ornaments, but what occupied his attention was which circles they gathered in, and with whom they spoke.
"Brother. There you are."
When the knight guarding the balcony door opened it, Warsza entered with a bright, bouncing step. As always, she cradled Marie, the cat who accompanied her wherever she went.
"And why aren't you dancing? Plenty of people are looking for you."
"Watching is half the fun of a ball, Warsza."
Warsza smiled sweetly and let out a light laugh. She glanced down lovingly at the cat in her arms and stroked the sleek grey fur.
"Hehe, that's true enough. Brother—my Marie caught a mouse, you know."