Fate must have been on her side that day, for instead of going straight to the palace as she had planned, she stopped off at her father's offices, where she was told that he was at his townhouse. She found the house all closed up, but a back door was open and inside her father was supervising the transferral of paintings and other small furnishings to the cellar.
'What's going on, Father?'
He dusted off his hands and waved the servants away.
'We live in uncertain times, my dear,' he said. 'With both you and your brother away and my duties to the Crown taking up all my time, it seemed wise to protect my property from possible...hazards.'
'You mean war?'
He shrugged.
'Freid has been conquered. Who knows where Zaibach will strike next? So, have you seen Dryden lately?'
'He...he's gone to the Mystic Valley, father.'
'What kind of damnfool wild goose chase is he on now? No, don't tell me. This is something to do with Leon Schezar...his son is trying to trace his last journey, am I right?'
She nodded. Her father's guesses were alarmingly astute.
'And Millerna?'
'Um, yes, she's with them.'
'I suppose the young king of Fanelia is there too, and that girl...?'
'I don't know, I didn't see them,' she said truthfully.
'Hmm, well, this does put us in a tight spot.'
'Why so?'
'King Aston has taken his daughter's disappearance very badly. He blames himself, of course, for not standing up to Zaibach, though how he could have done so without losing his own kingdom, I can't imagine.'
Oh god, please don't let him mention Folken...
'So, is there anything needs doing to prepare for Dryden and Millerna's wedding?' she asked.
He shook his head.
'I think it would be best to wait until they return safely. If the king finds out that you or your brother played any part, however small, in helping Millerna run away, he'll have us roasting over hot coals before you can say "high treason".'
Carenza went pale.
'H-he wouldn't, would he?'
'If I were you, my girl, I'd start praying to all the seadragons of Asturia that they not only come home safe and sound, but that the king is so relieved to see them back he doesn't question Dryden's part in all this.'
Carenza spent that night in her old room. It felt very strange, for she had not slept here since she first went to be a lady-in-waiting, nearly thirteen years ago. Exactly half her life. It felt like an eternity.
Next morning she took a carriage down the coast to the village where Alessandro was renting a villa. It was such a relief to get out of the capital; every time she saw a palace guard ride by, her heart skipped a beat. At last they were out in open countryside, rattling along the coast road. The air was honey-sweet with lime blossom, the corn was ripening to greenish-gold in the summer sun, and little boys ran along the side of the road, waving at the carriages as a respite from their task of frightening away the pigeons. Carenza threw a handful of coppers to a particularly hungry-looking pair, to stern looks from her fellow passengers. She grinned at them, in too ebullient a mood to be cowed by anyone, and they looked away.
Alessandro was almost pathetically pleased to see her. She noticed that he was looking rather thin, and there seemed to be very few servants for such a large villa.
'Come in, come in, signorina. What brings you out here to see a humble artist? I don't suppose you've brought that divine brother of yours to see me?'
'Not exactly,' she said, and allowed herself to be shown through into a shabbily-furnished parlour.
'I'm afraid this isn't the sort of place you're used to,' Alessandro said. He shooed a fat elderly lapdog off a threadbare chaise and sent a servant off to make tea.
'Really, it's...charming,' she said.
She sat down on the chaise. Its former occupant growled at her.
'Now, Duchess.' He patted his own chair arm, and the dog waddled over to flop at his feet. 'Came with the property, I'm afraid. Used to belong to an old lady; left the house but nothing else in her will, now it's rented out for a pittance to cover the cost of dog food and vet's bills.'
Carenza nodded politely. They sat in silence until the tea arrived; Alessandro seemed too embarrassed at being found living in such a place to be his usual talkative self.
'So,' he said, pouring them both a cup of tea, 'how have you been?'
'Not so good,' she admitted. She told him about Folken, or as much as she felt able to, and he patted her hand.
'Men, huh?' He poured a little of his tea into his saucer and put it down for the dog. She sniffed at it then began to lap daintily. Carenza picked up her own cup.
'And you? How did the fresco go?'
'Never finished,' he said. 'The muse deserted me, and so I had to give my regrets to my patron.'
'I'm so sorry.'
'The worst part is, he paid me for what I had done so far, which was no more than a charcoal outline and part of the landscape. As far as I know, it's still there, with big holes in the painting where the Atlanteans should be. He said he'd rather have an unfinished di Luca than a complete fresco by anyone else. I haven't had a major commission since...'
'So how have you been managing?'
'Oh, I still have my bread-and-butter jobs; prize cattle, fat ugly merchants and their uglier wives...'
'How about a handsome young merchant and his beautiful bride?'
Alessandro's head lifted.
'Dryden's getting married?'
'Uh-huh. And he wants you to paint the wedding portrait.'
Alessandro leapt out of his chair and hugged her, then burst into tears.
Carenza sat in her room in Alessandro's villa, going through a tailor's catalogue. Dryden is not going to like this, she thought. There is no way the king is going to let his daughter walk down the aisle with a man wearing a baggy shirt and habayah. What would the court say? She leafed through the pages, trying to find a style that didn't look too stuffy or overblown. For a moment she tried to imagine Dryden in puffy sleeves like Allen. No, no, it was too ridiculous. On the other hand Allen's overskirt wasn't so many miles from a habayah in general appearance. Maybe a compromise would be possible after all.
She put down the catalogue and walked over to the window. Alessandro was puttering about his garden in a jaunty striped apron, snipping dead heads off the early roses and humming to himself.
'I hope you're not getting any foolish ideas into your head regarding my brother,' she said to him at dinner. There, it's out in the open now.
'No, of course not.' He put down his knife and fork and looked into her eyes. 'You still don't trust me, do you, Carenza sweetie?'
'Well, I just don't know what to make of you, going into raptures about seeing him again.'
'It's not just about him.' He sighed. 'My patron in Daedalus may have been understanding about the fresco, but word got out. A commission to paint the next Queen of Asturia and her Prince Consort, on the other hand...with that to my name, I shall be able to pick and choose my work.'
'And your muse...?'
'I'll find another one. It's about time I got off my arse and stopped feeling sorry for myself.' He smiled broadly and raised his glass.
'To new beginnings!'
'New beginnings...' she murmured.
For two months there was no good news to be had. No word, of course, from Dryden. And there were rumours from the capital that King Aston was seriously ill. Millerna had not been seen since the conquest of Freid, and the thought that she might be dead had broken the old man's heart. At least there was no mention of Dryden in connection with this; he had been away so long that she doubted most people even remembered the name of Millerna's fiance. Then, as summer was turning to autumn, the news was flashed from hilltop to hilltop - Princess Millerna was home, and she and Mr Dryden Fassa would be married immediately. Carenza and Alessandro hurriedly packed their bags and headed for the capital to meet them.