¡°Cousin! What a surprise to see you here so early!¡± Isolde said, peeking around the door to the stables. Muffled feminine giggles sounding from behind the door betrayed the fact that she was not alone.
Avery rubbed his ear, annoyed by the dissonant echo in his head that let him know that Isolde was not the least bit surprised. He glared, but didn¡¯t open his mouth, addressing his irritation to his cousin directly mind-to-mind. Did Marcus tell you I was skipping breakfast to go off early on a hunt?
Isolde dimpled shamelessly as she walked forward and hugged her cousin. Yes, Metalface. To be fair, I asked him.
¡°Delightful to see you, Isolde, but I am already late to meet my guests,¡± Avery said, looking over Isolde¡¯s head and at the trio of young women who had followed Isolde into the stables.
¡°Nonsense,¡± Isolde said. ¡°My guests are also your guests, so you¡¯re perfectly on time to meet at least some of your guests this time. We¡¯ll ride with you.¡±
Avery looked over Isolde¡¯s companions for a moment, fighting off a frown.
The first was a woman who wore baggy robes ¨C wizard robes that could have belonged to a man or woman alike, in a drab shade of gray that suggested she was a journeyman whose master was a traditionalist in the old style, demanding displays of humility by junior wizards. She had red hair braided tightly to her head, and gently-pointed ears that spoke of elven blood, and a flat cap nervously gripped between her hands.
The second was Bella, which implied to Avery that Maude had not yet spoken to Isolde on the topic of what constituted a suitable suitor. Bella was smiling brightly, though blinking in the manner of one not accustomed to being awake at such an hour.
Behind Bella, he could see light brown braids topping the head of a woman shyly staring at her feet. She wore what looked like it had been a practical leather hunting vest before being dyed lavender and festooned with lace over a brown skirt. The loops intended for crossbow bolts were unmistakable.
¡°I¡¯m afraid I intend to go deep into the woods for a hunt,¡± Avery said. ¡°We may find dangerous game, and night may fall before we return.¡±
¡°All by yourself?¡± Isolde let out an artful gasp.
Avery flinched involuntarily at the boldly insincere statement that grated in his brain as if accompanied by a pair of recorders out of tune with one another. ¡°No, of course not, I said I was meeting some of my guests. Sir Walter of Leeds ¨C two Sir Walters, actually, an elder and a younger ¨C a Sir Simon who was lately in London, along with the famous Sir Malkin Guy. And Marcus will be riding along with two of his men.¡±
¡°Half a dozen blooded knights and two men-at-arms! Why, us ladies will be perfectly safe with your protective escort.¡± Isolde beamed. Next to her, Bella nodded vigorously, and the red-headed woman fingered the pouches at her belt nervously.
¡°Very well,¡± Avery said. ¡°But saddle your horses quickly.¡±
Not so fast, Isolde¡¯s voice said in Avery¡¯s head, warning him a moment before she spoke. ¡°May I please first introduce Journeyman Fiona, apprentice of Warin? I realize the two of you have not yet met.¡±
What, that one is new? Avery pasted a smile on his face as he bowed to Fiona. ¡°My apologies for my discourtesy, Fiona. I don¡¯t know what came over me. Thank you, Isolde, for your attention to courtesy in the absence of your mother.¡±
¡°You¡¯re welcome!¡± Isolde smiled. If you¡¯ve forgotten, the loud one is Beatrice Taylor and the quiet one is Johanna de Mathieu.
Avery nodded. Thanks, he sent. Now that all of the introductions are out of the way, let¡¯s get moving. I¡¯m sure the rest of them are waiting impatiently in the courtyard.
¡°Your Grace, may I introduce my sister, Gelle,¡± said Sir Simon, waving at a delicate blonde woman in a black dress with yellow ribbons, wearing a sleepy frown as she held the reins of a brown pony.
¡°A pleasure to meet you, Miss Gelle,¡± Avery said, kissing her hand to mask the irritation he felt at the sound of his own lying voice. ¡°Now, shall we mount up and be off?¡± Not waiting for a reply, he turned to follow his own suggestion, lifting foot to stirrup; behind him, he heard the indiscreet whisper of the blonde woman.
¡°You didn¡¯t tell me I would be meeting the duke! But why does he smell like fresh-baked bread?¡±
Simon¡¯s murmured reply was too soft for Avery to hear, especially as he had already kicked his horse into motion and several other members of his hunting party had begun talking to each other at once.
Rude! Isolde¡¯s scolding mental voice reminded him of Aunt Maude. Hoofbeats sounded behind him, a quick trot; then a second set of hoofbeats; Avery smiled, kicking his own mount into a trot.
Eat my dust, he sent back to Isolde, and then turned to tease his cousin for mounting astride in mixed company; then he discovering that it wasn¡¯t Isolde trotting her mare in his wake. It was, instead, the woman with the lavender vest, calmly perched in a properly ladylike sidesaddle in spite of her horse¡¯s bouncing gait.
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Behind her on three other trotting horses were Sir Simon, the younger Sir Walter, and the red-haired woman. The elfblood wizard was riding astride like the men, a choice that might have ruined a proper noble lady¡¯s gown if she had been wearing one instead of her drab journeyman¡¯s robes. As he met her eyes, her pale skin flushed a bright pink all the way from her cheeks to the pointed tips of her ears.
Isolde was further back, next to Bella and the older Sir Walter. Isolde¡¯s face was in a furious frown, her roan mare walking quickly but not trotting as she clung to her saddlehorn, head and upper body twisted forward to look at him. Slow down, she sent angrily. Save your horse¡¯s wind for when you¡¯ve actually found something and gone chasing after it.
The stag has stopped to drink. Four hundred yards. Cross-wind, he can¡¯t smell anything. The hound looked up at Avery.
Avery raised a hand, signaling for silence. He quietly slipped from his saddle, taking an arrow from his quiver. After he stepped past the waiting dog and gave it an affectionate pat to the head, he nocked the arrow to the bow but didn¡¯t yet draw it. The honor of the first shot ¨C of, likely, the first kill ¨C was his; if he merely wounded it, there would be a long chase.
If he missed entirely¡ Avery shook his head, trying to quell the nervous racing of his heart that had arisen at the thought of embarrassing himself in front of the watching noble ladies. Somehow, the thought of disdainful laughter from them was genuinely frightening. He stepped around an oak tree, and could see the stream ¨C but where was the stag?
Avery¡¯s eyes widened as the stag leapt over his head, its eyes wide with panic as it ran past him. He spun, drawing and loosing, the arrow rasping along his silver skin a moment before it splintered on the trunk of a beech tree. As he jogged back towards his party, in the direction the stag had disappeared, he spared a moment to worry about the folly of loosing an arrow nearly blindly at his own hunting party, and slowed as he burst into a clearing.
The woman in the lavender vest was loading a crossbow; the redhead had fallen off her horse; and Sir Simon was holding his own bow, looking away in the direction marked by the divots left by the stag¡¯s hooves. Avery walked towards the redhead, intending to help her stand. Then he heard the noises ¨C a loud sickening crunching noise ahead of him and the snapping of branches behind him.
¡°Wolf!¡± shouted Sir Walter.
Avery spun around, holding up an arm just as a massive gray-furred beast lunged for his throat. Massive jaws clamped around his arm, teeth puncturing the sleeve of his shirt. An arrow flew past Avery¡¯s head, leaving a bloody gash in the wolf¡¯s forehead but failing to pierce its skull.
Then the wolf twitched rapidly, muscles jerking unnaturally as a crackling and sizzling noise sounded. Sparks coursed across the wolf¡¯s fur and into the ground as the beast howled at the redheaded woman boldly grabbing its tail. Electricity continued to course across her hands and through the wolf in a potent display of combat magic that proved that whatever else she was, she had not been prematurely promoted to the status of a journeyman wizard.
Avery silently thanked the woman¡¯s bravery, but had no time to speak his thanks aloud. With his arm momentarily free, he seized the opportunity to shove it underneath the wolf¡¯s jaws and into the beast¡¯s neck, grabbing the wolf before it could finish turning on the journeyman wizard. He pulled the wolf off its feet and rolled, pressing his weight on top of the wolf¡¯s neck. The wolf thrashed underneath him, but Avery didn¡¯t let go. He could hear voices behind him as the wolf slowly stopped twitching; he still didn¡¯t let go.
¡°Your Grace, it¡¯s dead,¡± Bella said, putting her small warm hand against his shoulder. ¡°Could I have the hide? It looks like really nice fur, and it¡¯s not ruined with spear-holes.¡±
¡°Maybe,¡± Avery grunted as he pushed himself to his feet, watching the fallen wolf warily. The wolf¡¯s body began to shrink. He took a step forward, but another hand grabbed his shoulder.
It was Sir Simon. ¡°Werewolf,¡± he said, shaking his head. ¡°Definitely dead, but you shouldn¡¯t touch it more than you have to. Lycanthropy is pretty contagious, there¡¯s been an outbreak in Nottingham lately. Didn¡¯t expect to see them this far north, though. If we hurry up and disinfect the bite on your arm, there¡¯s a chance you can avoid infection.¡±
Avery frowned, pushing his torn sleeves down over his forearm, revealing an expanse of silver skin. Several pairs of dents marked where the beast¡¯s canines had closed over his arm repeatedly. ¡°Do I need to use alcohol, or some kind of cleansing potion?¡±
¡°Oh,¡± Sir Simon said, staring in wonder. ¡°Didn¡¯t even break the skin. Well, it wouldn¡¯t hurt to clean it with alcohol just in case, and you should take precautions during the next full moon.¡±
The redhead cleared her throat. ¡°My master will be able to tell if the curse has taken hold before then and take care of it. Divination is his specialty.¡±
Avery rubbed his forehead. ¡°That¡¯s¡ we¡¯ll talk about it later, then. The full moon isn¡¯t for three weeks anyway.¡± He looked at the dead naked man who had once been a wolf lying in the dirt. ¡°Sorry, Bella, guess you won¡¯t want the hide after all.¡±
¡°Au contraire. The skin of a lycanthrope is supposed to be pretty useful,¡± Beatrice said, smiling as she stared down at the corpse. ¡°So I can have it?¡±
Avery shook his head. ¡°We¡¯ll take him to the morgue. Someone might know who he is. Was.¡±
¡°But how did you kill it?¡± Avery looked at the unmarked stag. There was no blood in evidence, no arrow-holes, no spear-holes. ¡°Did you strangle it?¡± He tried to picture the lumbering Sir Malkin Guy jumping to catch the deer in both arms and failed.
¡°It surprised me coming around the boulder, but I got in a good punch,¡± the knight said. He bent, casually picking the deer up with his left hand; as he did so, the head flopped at an unnaturally boneless angle, pulled by the weight of its antlers. ¡°May I keep the antlers as a trophy, Your Grace?¡±
Avery paused for a moment. ¡°Yes, Sir Malkin, you may keep the antlers as a trophy. You¡¯ve done well on this hunt.¡±
The knight nodded somberly. With his right hand, he took hold of one antler by the base; a quick twist of his wrist, and the antler popped off. The knight frowned, shifting his grip to free his thumb and index finger without letting go of the antler, then grasped the base of the second antler in those two fingers, repeating the motion with a grunt of visible effort. Both antlers clutched awkwardly in his massive right hand, the knight held the deer out to Avery with his left, the head flopping back down to the side.
¡°I am honored to provide for your table, Your Grace,¡± Sir Malkin said.
16. Poor Company
¡°Are we fated for disaster? The York Textile Company, that is?¡± Alric took a polite sip of his tea, waiting for a reply.
Archmage Warin shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I¡¯ve looked over the financial accounts you sent me and the projections. The former suggest that unless you can scrounge up at least a thousand pounds from somewhere, you¡¯re likely to run out of operating cash before any revenues materialize. The latter seem to optimistically assume that nobody in Oxford will be able to undercut your paper-bleaching process on costs for at least three years, that your reclusive master alchemist won¡¯t abuse the secrecy of his formula to hike the price of his whitening agent, and don¡¯t seem to include any accounting for costs of necromantic maintenance or replacement skeletons.¡±
¡°It¡¯s true that we¡¯re in need of more cash, and that¡¯s one reason why I¡¯ve approached you as a possible investor.¡± Alric sipped his tea. ¡°I share your concerns about Master Wallace, especially given his reluctance to move to York and work here instead of in his tower. While it¡¯s not on the company¡¯s balance sheets, the local collegium as a group is buying his whitening agent as quickly as he can produce it. It may be dangerous and difficult to store, but we¡¯ve got protected alchemical storage on site at the collegium already. We¡¯ll sell it to the company at the expected price when the time comes. By the time the paper mill is up to full production volume, the collegium should have a reserve large enough to limit Master Wallace¡¯s leverage.¡±
¡°I see. And the necromantic maintenance?¡±
¡°Part of why the collegium has its investment at a two to one advantage is that the other investors expect us to help provide basic magical support.¡± Alric smiled. ¡°We can¡¯t compel our members to work for free, but we¡¯re planning on offering regular practicums utilizing the mill. I anticipate that student tuition for the practicums will effectively fund all the necessary necromantic maintenance.¡±
Warin quirked an eyebrow. ¡°In Cambridge, most necromancy students can easily find well-paying apprenticeships in local industry; there¡¯s little demand for practicums in necromancy, as there is ample demand for basic necromantic services.¡±
¡°Things are quite different in York. After all, there¡¯s little local industry here in York thus far,¡± Alric said. ¡°With the supply of corpses being tight, few people want to entrust valuable necromantic resources to a half-trained apprentice. Employers all want experience, and the only way to get that experience is through employment. I know of a local field necromancer specialized in agricultural work who takes on unpaid assistants regularly.¡±
¡°Interesting.¡± Warin took a final sip of his tea, peering for a brief moment at the bottom of his empty cup. ¡°While I appreciate your prompt responsiveness to my requests, I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m not ready to invest in the York Textile Company just yet.¡±
¡°Are you sure? I¡¯m pretty sure that if you acted now, we could establish your share of investment at the favorable rate the collegium¡¯s investment has received,¡± Alric said. ¡°After all, as you say, we¡¯re in a bit of a tight spot as far as short-term cash flow is concerned, and I appreciate the fact that you are a diviner archmage who could provide exceptionally valuable advice to the company on a continuing basis. You¡¯d get twice the dividend relative to your cash investment as Edward Taylor, who is the main investor. But once we solve those near-term cash flow problems, my partners might not be as amenable to such advantageous terms of investment.¡±
¡°I understand.¡± Warin set his teacup down. ¡°However, most of my attention has been focused on my research, and I will need to reconsider my personal financial accounts and projections after dealing with certain probable near-term expenditures.¡±
¡°Unfortunate, but also understandable.¡± Alric sighed heavily and set down his own teacup as the archmage stood to take his leave. ¡°Will you be interested in giving any further lectures at the collegium?¡±
¡°Perhaps in a few weeks.¡± Warin said, nodding thoughtfully. ¡°Well, I must be off. My ward has seen fit to make a rather expensive purchase at one of the local shops, and I feel obligated to check to make sure the money was well-spent.¡±
Alric waved as the archmage departed the tea shop, then turned back to his half-full teacup. Perhaps some biscuits were in order, and another pot of tea. The diviner had given him several things to think about.
Alric glared at the taller of the two stacks of papers on his desk. And I¡¯m not even halfway done. This is the last time I invite essays from students. The next time one of them says something stupid, I¡¯ll just mock them and move on.
Thus far, three essays had been completely illegible, two had done little more than badly rehearse the first half of his lecture, and two others had echoed the impertinent student¡¯s argument in favor of substituting divination for proper recording and mathematical projection of population figures. The paradox of prophecy had clearly gone right over their heads, blown away by the detailed images that the visiting archmage had conjured of the legendary Pendragon during his lecture on his recent research.
¡°The future changes. History doesn¡¯t,¡± Alric growled under his breath at the blithe ignorance set down on the page in front of him. The words on the page blurred as his eyes unfocused and his thoughts turned inwards.
To be fair to his overawed students, the archmage could easily have ranked as a master illusionist with the vivid images he¡¯d drawn in the air. The golden skin and violet eyes of the Pendragon had sparkled as if in bright sunlight, and the figure of legend looked as alive and real as the Silver Duke. And, unfortunately, in spite of strikingly different coloration, shared the duke¡¯s lanky figure, slit-pupiled eyes, and pointed ears, which explained Archmage Warin¡¯s sudden interest in England¡¯s most backwards duchy.
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The obvious explanation was that the diviner had his head stuck in the past, and was hoping to study the duke in person, using him as a material focus to divine some clue related to the legend of the Pendragon. Meanwhile, Alric was trying to teach his students to look to the future, not the past. History and divination were distractions from more practical studies ¨C necromancy, alchemy, and ¨C last but not least ¨C economics, including the proper mathematical accounting of human-derived resources.
There was a knock on his door and his head jerked up, embarrassed. Had he been loud enough to be heard when he¡¯d spoken aloud in anger? ¡°Come in,¡± he called out.
The figure revealed by the opening door was too youthful to be the archmage, with a face far too familiar to Alric. Master William Taylor was a credentialed necromancer with full membership in the collegium in spite of the fact that his occasional lectures were never well-attended. His cousin Edward had enough money and influence that William¡¯s shortcomings as a teacher could be overlooked.
¡°William, what brings you to my office?¡± Alric set the page full of student idiocy back onto the taller pile, pushing it several inches away in a polite gesture of attention.
¡°A letter addressed to the board of the collegium,¡± William said, nervously running his hands through his wispy hair and uncovering his bald spot. ¡°The Baron de Greystoke has offered to buy out the site for the mill, with the building as it stands, for eight hundred pounds sterling.¡±
¡°That seems insultingly low,¡± Alric said. ¡°It must be a negotiating strategy.¡±
¡°The board of the collegium is nervous, Alric. Our costs have been outrunning projections; the duke has not eased his archaic restrictions; then not just an archmage but a diviner archmage shows up and turns down the opportunity to join the company on advantageous terms. Then, the very next day, this letter. Half the board now suspects our enterprise is destined to fail.¡±
Alric shook his head. ¡°Nothing is truly destined. It¡¯s the basic paradox of prophecy. To the degree that divination of the future can be understood, it is conversely limited in accuracy. To predict something exactly is to know how to prevent it.¡±
William crossed his arms unhappily as Alric spoke. ¡°Well, the board is worried about what the diviner knows that we don¡¯t. And now, what Henry de Greystoke knows that we don¡¯t.¡±
¡°Or what he¡¯s going to do,¡± Alric said, rubbing his nose. ¡°I have a bad feeling about that baron.¡±
Baron Henry de Greystoke lifted his mug high. ¡°To your duke¡¯s health! Long may he live!¡±
A chorus of joyful noise answered him, filling the taproom of the Golden Fleece. Alric joined the toast with a degree of enthusiasm that fell short even of his own lackluster repetition of the phrase. He was dressed in a faded blue and red doublet with matching faded blue hose rather than his usual dignified robes and wearing a face that had once belonged to a lover¡¯s older brother, and ale ¨C even good ale ¨C wasn¡¯t much to his taste. Wine was preferable, wine or brandy.
So far, he¡¯d learned that the Cumbrian baron was staying at the Golden Fleece (York¡¯s newest inn), had an invitation to meet the duke in three days, the day after Isolde¡¯s upcoming ball, was good friends with a knight named Sir Simon, had three daughters, and had a wife who looked to be the same age as one of his daughters. Finally, Henry de Greystoke was not a wizard of any notable capability.
Given that the appearance of youth was entirely achievable by magical if expensive means and the duchy of Cumbria was nowhere near as backwards as York, that suggested to Alric that the baron was wealthy enough to afford to make a real offer on the site of the manufactory. Quite possibly wealthy enough to buy out the York Textile Company honestly.
And yet the man was waiting for Alric and his partners to become desperate enough to sell off its main material asset of the company out of desperation or frustration. The simplest explanation was that the Baron Greystoke had made arrangements with the duke to force the York Textile Company out of business. After buying the property on the cheap, Henry de Greystoke would then bring in his own Cumbrian skeletons and put the facility into operation under sole ownership.
Alric choked down another swallow of ale as the cheerful baron slapped his startled wife¡¯s derriere and squeezed Simon¡¯s shoulder. The crude men around the baron laughed and shouted encouragements to their new favorite buyer of drinks.
¡°Aristocratic blood is wasted on an ale-drinker,¡± Alric grumbled in a low voice.
The man next to him turned, lurching to a vertical position. Chin-length brown and gray hair framed emerald eyes that focused on him with indignation and anger. ¡°If your father kept his purse from you, you¡¯d struggle to find other than ale to drink, baron¡¯s son or no,¡± the man said. ¡°And ale¡¯s a fine thing. Does the job.¡±
¡°Sorry,¡± Alric said. ¡°I wasn¡¯t talking about you. I didn¡¯t mean to insult you, I don¡¯t even know who you are.¡±
¡°Joseph Matthew,¡± the man said, standing up proudly with one hand grasping the bar for stability and the other clapped over his chest. ¡°Like my father the baron. I¡¯ll defend my honor, sir, whoever you are.¡±
¡°Please, no insult was meant,¡± Alric said quickly, holding up his hands as the man behind the bar warily looked in the direction of the angered nobleman. ¡°You deserve a cup, no, a glass of brandy.¡±
¡°Shilling extra for the glass,¡± the innkeeper said. ¡°As I¡¯m not liable to get it back in one piece.¡±
Alric reluctantly fished three shillings out of his pocket and placed them on the bar. ¡°Two glasses of brandy, and I promise I won¡¯t break my glass.¡±
¡°You will if you get in a fight with him,¡± the innkeeper said, crossing his arms over his chest.
¡°A fight, is it?¡± Joseph flexed his right hand into a fist.
Alric hastily added a fourth shilling. ¡°No fight, just buying you a glass of brandy. Because you deserve one.¡± And so do I, he thought to himself, glaring over at the cheerful ale-slurping, butt-slapping, drink-buying public embarrassment of a baron who wanted to destroy Alric¡¯s dreams.
The innkeeper returned with two glasses, measuring three fingers of an amber liquid into each. Having already paid for the glass and settled on a dislike of the atmosphere of York¡¯s newest inn, Alric took the brandy and walked briskly out, ignoring the innkeeper¡¯s shouted objection. He headed downhill and didn¡¯t stop until he reached the bridge over the Ouse; he sipped the brandy as he stared at the dark nighttime waters of the Ouse flowing beneath his feet.
That felt right. The waters were as dark as his thoughts and his mood.
17. Avery at the Ball
Invitations for a private audience with the duke were sent four days before the ball. By that time, Marcus''s list, having been revised with the arrival of more travelers reaching York, was up to eighty-two women from sixty-one different families. Almost half of the families on Marcus''s list would be represented at Isolde''s ball, the invites to which had been sent out to a larger list ¨C as far as he knew, Isolde¡¯s invitations had gone out to nearly a hundred different households. It would, Avery thought to himself, be much simpler if the two invitation lists had more in common.
He was exhausted. He¡¯d met with a constant stream of visitors and tried his hardest to keep up with the correspondence from various functionaries, imperial bureaucrats, and nobles. That correspondence included no small number of alarmed inquiries from relatives of women invited to Isolde¡¯s ball but not present on Marcus¡¯s list ¨C and thus not invited to the great hall on the following day. He¡¯d briefly held out a small hope that the families on Marcus¡¯s expanded list would keep their invitations confidential, but secrecy was impossible to maintain with sixty-one different families involved.
As he¡¯d failed to answer such questions by letter or messenger, there was a fair chance he¡¯d be pressed with them at the ball in person. Briefly, he paused on his way down the steps from the keep into the bailey, tempted to turn around. He was already fashionably late to his cousin¡¯s ball; perhaps they would not miss him if he stayed away entirely. Then he shook his head. It was his duty to press on, show up to Isolde''s ball, and dance until his feet hurt. On the dance floor, obscured by music and motion, he could have conversations that were nearly private. He continued down the steps, reviewing his plans for the evening.
Plans that he¡¯d made with no small amount of trepidation. He''d tried to attend another of Isolde''s salons, but left quickly. Flinching every time a polite lie was told made him feel like a madman; even when he tried smaller engagements. He¡¯d gone out on a day-long hunt, with mercifully fewer opportunities for polite misdirection. He¡¯d led a tour of York''s fortifications at the request of the Earl of Northumbria, who had a sincere and professional interest in siegecraft.
He¡¯d even paid a visit to the wizards'' collegium. Beatrice had been there, and had performed a sort of social ambush that ended up with her clinging to his arm like a limpet while he talked to industrialists, investors, and necromancers. He had mixed feelings about that. She was also on the invitation list to the ball, along with many other prospective suitors that Aunt Maude had deemed explicitly unsuitable.
Avery felt he didn''t have a chance of successfully keeping track of which lists everyone was on while dancing and socializing. Marcus, Isolde, and Maude would all be too busy with the hosting and running of the ball. His solution was to enlist Gregor, the new master of hounds selected by James as his successor. Gregor would sit in a concealed alcove overlooking the great hall with the smaller list of suitable prospective brides who were attending the ball and take notes.
Strictly speaking, while he was not someone Avery knew well, Gregor wasn''t new to ducal service; he''d been working under James for ten years, both with the telepathic wolfhounds bred by the old duke and to a more limited degree with James''s human intelligence network. He was not the skilled spymaster that James was; but he had keen observational skills, the necessary training to be able to speak mind-to-mind with Avery, and the hounds knew to obey him.
Gregor, are you in position? Avery paused by a small door in an outbuilding next to the great hall.
Yes, Your Grace. I don¡¯t see you yet, though. Gregor''s mental voice was far fainter than James¡¯s ¨C fainter than Marcus''s, even, and Marcus¡¯s mental voice was weak enough to justify the man¡¯s dislike of speaking mind-to-mind with his cousins.
I''ll be coming in through the back, Avery said, ducking into the outbuilding and closing the door carefully behind him. A minute later, he was peering into the great hall from behind the dais where the musicians were already playing. Side, actually, I forgot the musicians would be set up here.
After passing through several curtains and one deceptively twisty hallway, he stepped through an inconspicuous side door, nodding to the footman standing next to it, and entered the ball unannounced but not unnoticed. Several clumps of people started moving towards them, though none with more speed than Sabine. The Lancastrian woman somehow managed to disengage from her current dance partner and transport herself across a third of the room without seeming to run. Her purple and gold dress floated smoothly along as if she were gliding across ice without moving her feet at all.
¡°Your Grace,¡± Sabine said, dropping into a deep curtsy. ¡°I am Sabine de Lancaster, and I am pleased to finally meet you.¡±
¡°Delighted. I believe my cousin Isolde has spoken of you.¡± Avery looked down at the glittering woman in front of him, and his eyes briefly locked on a ruby pendant. It seemed, he noted, in danger of being swallowed down the daringly-cut gold-embroidered front of the purple dress.
Hi! Metalface, nice of you to finally show up. Her face is a little higher than that. Don''t drool, it''s unseemly. Isolde''s voice rang in his head like a slap to the face. Tell her to get up and then go dance with her.
Avery blinked, willing his eyes away from the jewel and up towards an ivory face with coral lips framed by golden tresses. ¡°Please rise,¡± he said, noticing she was still holding the curtsy expectantly. ¡°Would you like to dance?¡±
¡°I would be delighted, Your Grace,¡± Sabine said as she stood, a bright smile on her face. ¡°I''ve heard you''re quite good, I am looking forward to dancing with you.¡±
The first half of her second statement was false, and Avery blinked at the sudden converse realization that she really was pleased to meet him and truly wanted to dance with him. Words caught in his throat unspoken, trapped by the surprise of discovering that the beautiful woman in front of him saw him as desirable. Sabine took his frozen hand gently between hers and steered him towards the center of the room, fearlessly lacing her soft fingers around his.
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The music tapered off as the musicians took note of the presence of the duke; then hastily resumed, beginning a new song. Some couples continued dancing; others made their excuses and exited the floor.
As Avery stepped into motion, a voice quietly entered his thoughts. Gregor had found his written notes. Sabine, grand-niece of the Duke of Lancaster. Reputedly a talented young wizard. Her brother Stephen is a junior member of the Order of the Luminous Rose. Maude says her breeding is impeccable. James says he doesn''t trust the Duke of Lancaster any further than he can throw him. She is on the list, though.
¡°So, what brings you here from Lancaster?¡± Avery asked. He wasn''t sure how to ask for that kind of information about Sabine. Was there a polite way to ask a woman if she intended to eventually betray him on the orders of her granduncle?
¡°Searching for an eligible husband.¡± She shrugged lightly at his quizzical look. ¡°It''s not as if I need anything else. My father''s family owns most of Lancaster.¡± She smiled at him brightly again, her teeth flashing white. ¡°You seem surprised.¡±
¡°Well¡ yes.¡± Avery felt himself blushing slightly as they stepped in, pressing their hands against each other and pushing off. ¡°I had expected something like that, but not so directly put.¡±
¡°I wouldn''t be so direct if I thought the other women in the room could hear me,¡± she said quietly, twirling around and then back the other direction before taking his hands again. ¡°I''m afraid they might think less well of me for broaching the topic so bluntly.¡± They moved slowly around the floor.
¡°And would you consider me eligible?¡± Avery asked. ¡°Could you really love, honor, and obey a man with talons?¡±
¡°Not very romantic, are you?¡± Sabine sighed, leaning forward. ¡°I can''t trust the gossip, so all I really know about you is that you''re a handsome duke and that it''s been very hard to get this close to you. As far as the talons go, you''re considerate enough to wear blunt wooden sleeves over them when you go dancing. I''ll count that in your favor.¡±
As the song wound down, Sabine clung to Avery''s arm. ¡°I feel a bit dizzy from all of that,¡± she said, her soft feminine weight leaning into him unsteadily.
¡°No, you don''t,¡± Avery replied without thinking, flinching at the dissonance. She''d been so honest and forthright with him that the lie came as a surprise.
Sabine''s jaw hung slack for a moment. Then she laughed softly, stepping back to a more respectable distance, only one hand lingering. ¡°My apologies, Your Grace. Perhaps we should have danced longer. I''d have an honest excuse for clinging to your arm and begging more of your time. Excuse me.¡± She slipped her hand off his arm and walked quickly away from him.
Avery paused for a moment to consider his options and a pair of older women stepped in front of him, curtsying deeply. One looked familiar, but neither was of an age to be one of his suitors.
Gregor, please note that Sabine likes me, or at least liked me, but I have managed to insult her, Avery sent.
Got it, Gregor replied. If it helps you any, she doesn''t look angry to me, Your Grace.
Avery nodded, making note of Gregor¡¯s assessment without quite fully believing it.
¡°Splendid,¡± one of the older women, the more familiar-looking one, said. ¡°I''ll take you to her.¡±
Avery blinked, realizing that she must have asked him a question while he was distracted with his mental conversation with Gregor. His nod therefore had been taken as commitment to an introduction or possibly a dance. He followed the two women down the hall to one of the punch bowls. The women started looking around, and then one of them pointed at the dance floor.
¡°Oh, she''s dancing already,¡± the matron said. ¡°Over there, the one in the green dress. Maybe you could dance with her later?¡±
¡°I''m sure I''d love to.¡± Avery peered in the indicated direction. A girl with light brown hair in an emerald green gown was facing away from him. Gregor, is she on the list? The one in the green dress?
I''m not sure, did you get a name? Gregor asked. There are at least a dozen girls here in green dresses tonight.
Avery shook his head. I¡¯m afraid I was distracted.
¡°She at least rode very well in the hunt, didn''t she?¡± The matron was talking animatedly, a look of concern on his face.
¡°Um,¡± Avery said, trying and failing to connect the emerald bustle to one of the women who had ridden along with the hunt. ¡°Well, she certainly didn''t fall.¡± The one woman who''d fallen off her horse, Avery recalled, had bright red hair and a name that started with an F. Filona? Filipa? Something like that.
Your Grace, sent Gregor, breaking him out of his reverie. The Earl of Northumbria is approaching. His daughter Elizabeth is one of Maude''s top choices. Orange dress with white ribbons. She''s behind him.
The warning was none too soon; the earl was of sufficient social standing to justify disentangling himself from the two matrons without causing offense.
¡°Your Grace, may I introduce my daughter Elizabeth?¡± The earl¡¯s daughter was surprisingly petite; Earl Ricard and his son were both nearly Avery¡¯s own height and individually looked to be at least twice the weight.
¡°Delighted to meet you, Elizabeth,¡± Avery said, taking the girl¡¯s small soft hand in his own and bowing low. ¡°Would you care to dance?¡±
¡°I would love to,¡± she said, gingerly clasping his large hands in hers. Her fingers ran across the top of his hands; she stepped close and blinked, sniffing curiously, then stepped even closer.
Avery had meant to lead her onto the floor before starting to dance; but with her standing so close, there was nothing to be done but to place his hand between her shoulder blades and dance his way onto the floor before anyone noticed why they were standing entirely too close for casual conversation.
¡°Those ribbons are such a bright white,¡± Avery said. ¡°Are they magically altered?¡±
Elizabeth looked up at him and nodded. ¡°I think so, Your Grace. We bought them at a stall by the collegium. There was a journeyman wizard at the stall, and they were selling sheets of bright paper along with the ribbons. I wanted something new to wear at the ball, and we couldn¡¯t¡ I mean, I already had this dress.¡±
¡°Interesting.¡± Avery lifted his arm to twirl the girl; she took the opportunity of the spin to come even closer. Avery thought he heard another sniff as the girl danced at a potentially scandalous range. When she turned her face back up to meet his gaze again, she had to crane her neck backwards; from that vantage point, he could see how the bodice of her dress had been carefully altered or mended several times. Gregor, I think she might have a cold. Also, make a note to check into the finances of Northumbria more closely.
There was a pause. Noted, Your Grace.
18. Isolde at the Ball
Isolde leaned on the edge of the balcony railing. She¡¯d managed the queue of guests who¡¯d arrived on time or close enough to join the queue before it could be cleared, greeting each of them personally after a stentorian announcement from Aildag, the ducal bellman.
Once the queue cleared, she¡¯d sent the hoarse old man off to bed with a well-earned flask of warmed honeyed wine to rest his throat, deciding that anyone who was more than a quarter of a bell late didn¡¯t deserve the honor of an announcement. Then she ordered the musicians into action, opened up the dance floor by dancing the first dance with Marcus (who was too busy to tie her down in conversation afterward), and quietly slipped away to the balcony to take a minute¡¯s rest.
There she had found Gregor. The new master of hounds had set himself up in the balcony of the great hall, watching the festivities from above.
¡°Is Avery coming yet?¡±
Gregor shrugged. ¡°His Grace is still in the inner keep. I think he¡¯s worried about his appearance.¡±
Isolde rolled her eyes. ¡°At times, it is as if he still thinks himself twelve years old, with little silver pimples and constantly surrounded by the smell of burnt toast.¡±
Gregor made a noncommittal noise.
Isolde settled in to watch the dancers, taking mental notes on who seemed to be a good partner and who she would prefer to avoid. Not for the first time, she wished she¡¯d inherited her mother¡¯s elven ears instead of her father¡¯s normal round human ears; supposedly, elven hearing was keener, and Isolde felt like she could almost parse out some of the conversations drifting up from below.
The upper gallery of the great hall hadn¡¯t been closed off to the guests, so a few other people slowly trickled up to the balcony, some with more interest in watching than dancing, some with an interest in avoiding someone in particular.
Then there was a sudden stir of the dancers of the floor, and a woman wearing a purple gown with rich gold threading spun out of her partner¡¯s arms, dress rippling behind her from the speed with which she bolted across the dance floor. Sabine, grandniece of the Duke of Lancaster, seventh in line for a ducal throne and breathtakingly beautiful.
¡°His Grace has arrived,¡± Gregor said.
¡°I see.¡± Isolde watched as her foster brother stepped into view. Sabine bent into a deep curtsy at his feet; Avery simply stood there, blatantly gawking down at the woman¡¯s bosom.
Hi! Metalface, nice of you to finally show up. Her face is a little higher than that. Don''t drool, it''s unseemly. Isolde crossed her arms in annoyance as she stared down at her tall silver cousin. Tell her to get up and then go dance with her.
A few minutes later, she and Gregor watched Sabine walk away from Avery with an exaggerated sway to her hips and a smile pulling up the corners of her lips. Avery walked underneath the balcony.
¡°Excuse me,¡± Isolde said. ¡°I should get back down there and dance.¡±
¡°So she¡¯s the daughter of an earl?¡± Ivette swallowed nervously, watching the petite woman in the bright orange dress dancing with the duke. ¡°My stepmother will be furious if I don¡¯t get at least three dances with eligible titled men tonight. But the duke¡ he¡¯s so¡ maybe you could introduce me to one of your other cousins?¡±
¡°Don¡¯t be intimidated,¡± Isolde said. ¡°Look, I know she ranks you, but you¡¯re the daughter of a prosperous baron. And your dress puts hers to shame.¡± She watched Elizabeth twirl close to Avery, groaning as her foster brother¡¯s gaze turned downward, catching only briefly on the petite woman¡¯s face before lodging lower on a neckline decorated with white ribbons.
Then she glanced over at Ivette, looking down at the daringly cut feeder neckline edged in goldwork and the crescent of cleavage revealed therein. ¡°I think you¡¯d do just fine at catching the duke¡¯s attention on your own, you look delectable,¡± Isolde said, patting Ivette¡¯s arm in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. ¡°But I¡¯ll introduce you to him and make him ask you to dance. Then you¡¯ll have danced with the duke ¨C surely every other titled man here will be lining up for your attention.¡±
Ivette smiled shyly. ¡°I hope so,¡± she said.
The couple danced partly out of view, the top of Avery¡¯s head visible among the crowd. Then there was a feminine shriek, and the music suddenly stopped. Avery¡¯s head bobbed down out of view. Isolde opened her mental connection to her foster brother. What¡¯s going on?
Uh, just a little accident, nothing to be worried about. Avery¡¯s mental voice sounded embarrassed. I tripped near the edge of the dance floor.
With a frown and a sense of urgency, Isolde pushed her way through the confused couples stopped in the middle of the dance floor, Ivette trailing slowly in her wake. Halfway across, she passed Beatrice carrying an empty goblet in the other direction. A blonde woman wearing a dark maroon dress edged with black embroidery, cut very similarly to Ivette¡¯s dress if slightly more conservatively, was dabbing at Avery¡¯s arm with a handkerchief ¨C Gelle. Off the side, a woman in a sea-green gown with long flowing red hair and gently-pointed ears was talking with Elizabeth, tugging at the white ribbons on her dress.
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¡°Right. You¡¯re Sir Simon¡¯s sister, then? Do I remember that correctly?¡± Avery asked. The girl nodded.
Isolde pushed forward gamely. ¡°Is everything alright?¡±
Avery nodded. ¡°No harm, no foul. Except maybe to Elizabeth¡¯s dress, but that wizard girl was here.¡±
Isolde looked back over at the redhead. ¡°Fiona,¡± she said automatically. The journeyman wizard looked completely different in a dress with her hair down.
¡°Right, that¡¯s her name,¡± Avery said. He cocked his head, listening to an unseen voice. ¡°I should ask her to dance next,¡± he said, then turned to wave at the musicians.
¡°Wait,¡± Isolde said, giving her own signal to the musicians as two of them started playing. ¡°I have someone to introduce to you. This is Ivette.¡±
¡°Delighted to meet you, Ivette,¡± Avery said. He paused, eyes unfocusing for a moment. ¡°We should dance later, Ivette,¡± he said, then looked down at the blonde woman holding his arm. ¡°But Gelle is waiting, and I think so are other couples.¡±
As the music started up and the couple danced, Ivette turned to Isolde with concern. ¡°She¡¯s from mere landed gentry,¡± Ivette said, a sense of vague offense creeping into her voice. ¡°A knight¡¯s daughter. Her father is going to be one of my father¡¯s junior business partners, I think.¡±
¡°If he¡¯s danced with a knight¡¯s daughter and an earl¡¯s daughter, surely he has no objection to dancing with a baron¡¯s daughter,¡± Isolde said. ¡°But you¡¯ll have to catch him again later. Let¡¯s try Sir Giles. He¡¯s the son and heir of the Earl of Northumbria ¨C the big lunk trying to fade into the stonework on the pillar over there. Just watch your feet when you dance with him, he¡¯s not quite sure of his steps.¡±
¡°Son and heir¡ that should be good enough for my stepmother.¡± Ivette unconsciously lifted a hand to her cheek, rubbing it thoughtfully.
Isolde held her hand out. ¡°I would be delighted to dance, Sir Osric.¡±
The very pale man with hair so blonde it was nearly white offered a closed smile that didn¡¯t reveal his teeth. ¡°Thank you,¡± he said quietly as they stepped together to the music. ¡°Neither Laudine nor Emeline have managed to catch the eye of your illustrious cousin. Could you perhaps assist?¡±
¡°I¡¯ll see what I can do,¡± Isolde said, then closed her eyes to focus as she spun in place. Metalface, you haven¡¯t danced with either of the d¡¯Ivry sisters yet? That¡¯s one of the wealthiest families in the duchy!
¡°Thank you,¡± Osric said, pulling her into a side-by-side promenade. ¡°You are a lovely woman both inside and out.¡±
Avery¡¯s voice sounded in her skull. They¡¯re not on the list.
What list? Isolde smiled at Osric brightly before he twirled her away.
List of suitable suitors. Avery¡¯s voice sounded embarrassed. Look, can we talk about this another time? It¡¯s complicated.
¡°I should warn you,¡± Isolde said aloud to Osric. ¡°He doesn¡¯t always listen to me.¡± What can possibly be wrong with the d¡¯Ivry sisters? They¡¯re rich, beautiful, and granddaughters of one of your most important barons.
Ask your mother, Avery sent curtly.
Osric rolled Isolde in close, holding her tightly, and then dipped her, showing her the ceiling for a brief exhilarating moment. Her heart pounded with excitement as the two of them stepped apart.
¡°All I ask is that you try,¡± Osric said with a shrug. ¡°I understand. Laudine barely listens to me at all.¡±
¡°Isolde! You would know!¡± Fiona¡¯s eyes lit up as she spotted Isolde. ¡°During my last dance, I kept smelling bread or pastries or something, fresh out of the oven. But where are they?¡±
Isolde rubbed her nose in thought. ¡°Were you just dancing with Avery?¡±
¡°Yes,¡± Fiona said. Self-consciously, she felt at the pointed tip of her left ear. ¡°Did you see us together? Is that alright? Was I dancing the wrong way?¡±
Isolde shook her head. ¡°No, no, no¡ well, I wouldn¡¯t know if you were dancing wrong or not, I was stuck in conversation with Earl Ricard and couldn¡¯t see the dance floor past him at all. But nobody is going to tell a ruling duke he can¡¯t dance with a cute elfblood of humble breeding in his own duchy at his cousin¡¯s ball. Especially not me. My mother is half-blooded, I just didn¡¯t get the ears.¡±
¡°Oh! Lady Maude is your mother!¡± Fiona covered her mouth and smiled sheepishly. ¡°I guess I should have known that already, sorry. Master Warin didn¡¯t tell me. All I knew when I wrote you is that you were the one who sent the invitation to the ball, and that you were some kind of cousin of his.¡±
Isolde shrugged. ¡°You¡¯re not the first,¡± she said.
Fiona¡¯s stomach growled. The journeyman wizard shifted from foot to foot. ¡°Um. So, is there a basket of rolls around here or something? I do feel hungry.¡±
¡°No,¡± Isolde said. Conscientiously, she signaled a servant. She was about to say more, but stopped herself, smirking instead. Metalface, she sent. Are you booked for your next dance?
No, not yet. A pause. Did you find someone?
Dance with Fiona again, then. Isolde¡¯s smirk broke into a grin.
I thought I wasn¡¯t supposed to dance with anyone more than once. Avery¡¯s mental voice sounded distracted and confused.
Usually, yes, but this is for me, Isolde sent back.
Fiona glared. ¡°What¡¯s so funny? I could smell the food, and you¡¯re telling me there isn¡¯t any.¡±
Isolde schooled her expression. ¡°My apologies. I didn¡¯t mean there wasn¡¯t any food at all, just that it wasn¡¯t what you were smelling. I¡¯ll have a servant bring something for you after the next dance.¡±
¡°The next dance?¡± Fiona¡¯s eyebrows furrowed. The music slowed, and after a moment Avery approached, a heavily-breathing Ivette trailing behind.
¡°Journeyman Fiona, may I have this dance?¡± Avery extended his hand, the wooden caps over his talons clicking together as he uncurled his fingers.
Fiona hastily smoothed her sea-green gown, taken off-guard. Then she extended her hand. ¡°Yes?¡±
Ivette gave the pair an alarmed look as she dabbed at her forehead with her sleeve, then turned to Isolde. ¡°That¡¯s not the Lady Maude, is it?¡±
¡°No, no, Maude is a lot older,¡± Isolde said, gesturing at the woman with the flowing red hair. ¡°Gray hair and everything, elf blood or not.¡±
¡°Her gown looks a little old-fashioned, but it suits her figure well,¡± Ivette said, self-consciously adjusting her crimson dress. ¡°It¡¯s a nice color, too, sea green matches her eyes and complements her hair. No wonder he favors her with a second dance. I must have looked like a gaudy strumpet next to her.¡±
¡°Ivette, don¡¯t be so hard on yourself,¡± Isolde said. ¡°Him dancing twice with her means nothing. It¡¯s just a dance. And while your dress is daring, you don¡¯t look the least bit cheap in it. It¡¯s glorious, and with that deep feeder neckline, you look downright edible.¡±
Ivette sighed heavily. ¡°Thanks.¡± She paused thoughtfully for a moment and adjusted her bodice. ¡°Do you know where Sir Giles went?¡±
19. Keeping Secrets
Back in the sitting room on the second floor of the inner keep, Avery propped his feet up on a low cushioned stool with a sigh. ¡°So. Where do we stand after the ball?¡±
Maude chuckled, taking a sip of tea in a well-worn beige chair that conformed perfectly to her proportions. ¡°You''re supposed to be telling us that. Have you made up your mind yet and picked a bride?¡±
Avery shook his head. ¡°Not really. I decided to scratch half a dozen or so names off the list now that I''ve talked to them, but I wanted your insight on some of the others. Marcus will send those families a note in the morning saying that their audience has been¡ canceled or rescheduled or something. I left it up to him to figure out how to word it without causing bad blood.¡±
¡°Have you decided to strike Sabine off the list? There''s been bad blood between us and Lancaster recently,¡± Maude said. ¡°They backed Richard. And all those little disputes over land boundaries and hunting rights between some of our border barons and theirs.¡±
¡°That''s one of the things that has me hesitating. Now that I''ve talked with her, I think I can trust her personally. But I still don''t think marrying her will make her immediate family into our allies,¡± Avery said. ¡°Much less the Duke of Lancaster himself.¡±
Maude sipped from her cup again. ¡°Then why didn¡¯t you just tell her that she should give up and leave?¡±
Avery frowned down into his own teacup. ¡°Because I could be wrong about that,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s a complicated decision, and I would be a fool to put her out of the running just because I hadn¡¯t asked her father if he would be willing to stand with us. I''ve been thinking about all of this lately. The old duke''s¡ perhaps I should say Duchess Jennifer''s¡ unconventional arrangement. Chancy childbirth. Heirs that might look like me or not. Gaining allies. Testing for loyalty. Trying to account for the families that come attached to the women. So my plan for tomorrow is that I will give all of them a chance ¨C put them all to the test.¡±
Maude raised an eyebrow. ¡°That sounds cryptic, but I trust your judgement,¡± she said. Avery winced at the lie; she didn¡¯t notice and continued. ¡°Tell me what sort of contest you have in mind.¡±
¡°You know the old duke''s crystal sword? His special truth sword?¡± Avery asked.
Maude nodded. ¡°My father said he made that out of a perfectly ordinary metal sword. Dad always said he didn''t think the sword really did anything even after the old duke worked on it, it was just his way of deflecting blame. If the old duke disintegrated someone for lying, it was murder. If the sacred Sword of Truth did it, well, that was just a natural force acting in the world.¡±
Avery frowned. ¡°Maybe so,¡± he said. ¡°I plan to ask for an oath of loyalty right there in front of the sword. For the woman who marries me and for the head of her family. The heir, too.¡±
¡°What if the sword doesn''t work?¡± Maude asked.
¡°I can hear lies. Like the old duke.¡± Avery looked at Maude. ¡°Like when you said you trusted my judgement.¡±
Maude flushed. ¡°I''m sorry,¡± she said. ¡°I didn''t realize. But what if more than one woman is willing? Are you just going to go down the list in order of rank?¡±
Avery shrugged. ¡°Why not marry all of them?¡±
Maude¡¯s hand froze with surprise, and the delicate handle of her teacup slipped through her fingers. It shattered loudly on the floor, splashing hot liquid across her skirt. Her eyes went wide, but she kept the rest of her face calm. She blinked once, twice, then three times, then spoke very carefully.
¡°I suppose there''s some political sense in it. It''s not customary, but the old duke didn''t explicitly disallow it and imperial law doesn''t touch the subject. It certainly makes it easier to get multiple heirs in a short time without worrying about the health of the mother.¡± She absently rubbed her abdomen, and then continued.
¡°If you can swear multiple families to yourself in the bargain¡ I can see what you''re thinking about from the political side. But it hardly seems a fair arrangement, and it dilutes what you have to offer. I think the best women will want a loving husband all to themselves, too. I doubt someone like Sabine would be willing to be merely one out of several duchesses.¡±
Avery sighed. ¡°I thought of that. It''s why I''m not sure. I worry that the more I try to grasp, the more will slip through my fingers. Maybe I''ll just ask for the oath by itself and use that to get down to a shorter list.¡±
¡°An oath of direct fealty merely for the chance to marry your daughter to the duke?¡± Maude sighed. ¡°You¡¯ll have to offer something in the bargain, though I suppose the old style of direct fealty does cut both ways. You¡¯re taking on responsibilities when you accept fealty. Have you talked to anyone else about your plan?¡±
¡°Not yet,¡± Avery said. ¡°Partly because I¡¯m still not sure of it myself, partly because I don¡¯t want word to leak out. I think it will work better if the offer reaches everyone at once, and while I¡¯m confident you can keep a secret¡¡± Avery shook his head. ¡°I¡¯ve only told you. James might know anyway. He has his ways.¡±
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Maude smiled. ¡°I never suspected you of learning subtlety. Will you talk to Isolde about this idea? A young woman¡¯s perspective might be useful in general, and she¡¯s friends with many of your prospective brides in particular.¡±
¡°I might ask why you didn¡¯t give her the list,¡± Avery said, looking expectantly at Maude.
¡°Because I left some of her best friends off it,¡± Maude said. The gray-haired half-elven woman frowned, lines of worry appearing on her inhumanly youthful face as she considered her daughter. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to have that argument with her.¡±
Avery nodded. ¡°Exactly. I don¡¯t, either. She was upset enough that I snubbed the d¡¯Ivry sisters tonight. I¡¯m also worried about her discretion.¡±
¡°Isolde wouldn¡¯t betray your secrets,¡± Maude argued. ¡°She loves you like a brother. She wants the best for you, just as I do. We¡¯re family.¡±
¡°She loves her friends, too,¡± Avery said. ¡°Even if she didn¡¯t mean to, she might let something slip.¡±
The door to the sitting room creaked open. ¡°I can keep a secret,¡± Isolde said, hands on her hips. ¡°So, tell me about this list. Avery already let slip that it exists, I may as well know what¡¯s on it.¡±
Avery and Maude exchanged coded glances, and an awkward silence hung over the room for a moment as the two of them tried to wordlessly communicate. Unfortunately, Maude had long proven impervious to telepathic communication, and Avery had no choice but to speak aloud and hope that his aunt would follow his lead.
¡°Maude, she¡¯s right, we may as well tell her about the list,¡± Avery said. ¡°The list of suitable suitors. The one that you, Marcus, and James have talked about.¡±
¡°Yes,¡± Maude said, then proceeded to tell a series of lies that made Avery flinch involuntarily. ¡°That¡¯s the secret we were talking about. We should trust you with the list, I¡¯m sure you can keep such matters in close confidence.¡±
Isolde¡¯s eyes narrowed in suspicion. After closing the door, she walked carefully around the broken shards of ceramic next to her mother¡¯s chair and over a couch. She flopped onto the couch, kicking off her slippers and propping them up on an armrest. ¡°Fine. Let¡¯s go through who is and isn¡¯t on this list.¡±
Maude hesitated, looking over at her foster son. ¡°Avery and I were talking about the dance, and there are maybe half a dozen women he danced with that he decided to cross off the list, though he hasn¡¯t told me which ones. Perhaps he should go through those first.¡±
¡°Ivette? Are you crossing off Ivette?¡± Isolde turned to Avery. ¡°I know she probably wasn¡¯t much of a conversationalist, but she was really nervous.¡± Turning her head to face her mother, Isolde continued. ¡°And if it¡¯s that you think her dress was too risque, that dress was picked out by her stepmother, don¡¯t punish her just because of her stepmother¡¯s fashion sense.¡±
Avery cleared his throat. ¡°We¡¯re not crossing Ivette off the list,¡± he said. ¡°Or your new friend Fiona.¡±
¡°Fiona¡¯s on the list?¡± Isolde pulled her feet off the arm of the couch and sat up. ¡°I¡¯d hardly count her a friend yet, she¡¯s barely an acquaintance. And she¡¯s not got any noble blood in her at all. Her real parents abandoned her and her master adopted her out of a garrison barracks somewhere in Cheshire.¡± She glared at her mother. ¡°You told me I couldn¡¯t be seen dancing with Jonathan Taylor because his breeding wasn¡¯t good enough. He¡¯s third-generation wizard gentry and his mother was the daughter of a landed knight. Fiona is a foundling. She grew up with foundlings and orphans, and whatever her master has taught her since, it hasn¡¯t been proper noble etiquette. She even rode astride on the hunt!¡±
Maude¡¯s eyes had widened several times during her daughter¡¯s description. ¡°Avery, maybe-¡±
Avery made a curt gesture. ¡°Adopted or not, her father is an archmage. There isn¡¯t a single wizard living in York who ranks him on that scale. She¡¯s a skilled wizard herself, brave enough to grab a werewolf by the tail, and¡¡± He hesitated. ¡°She¡¯s neither uncomely in appearance nor unpleasant in personality. I danced with her twice last night, and after that, I¡¯m confident¡ that I would enjoy her continued company.¡±
¡°Well, if she¡¯s your favorite, maybe she should be your decision, humbly-born or not,¡± Maude said, raising her hands in a placating manner. ¡°I told you not to dance with any woman twice at tonight¡¯s ball, but I¡¯m sure you must have found her quite appealing if you ignored my advice on the subject.¡±
Isolde cleared her throat. ¡°I, um, asked him to dance with her a second time.¡±
¡°Really? You told him to do that? Were you trying to stir up jealousy?¡± Maude rubbed her temples, exasperation entering her voice.
¡°No, and stop trying to change the topic. This list and who¡¯s on it. I want to know what¡¯s wrong with the d¡¯Ivry sisters.¡± Isolde frowned. ¡°I think Laudine would rate as a journeyman if she were a working wizard, I¡¯m pretty sure of that. How is some common-born journeyman wizard more suitable than the equally skilled granddaughter of one of York¡¯s wealthiest barons?¡±
¡°The breeding of the d¡¯Ivry sisters isn¡¯t in question,¡± Maude said. ¡°Their future fertility is what I would question. The aristocratic disease has riddled the d¡¯Ivry bloodline and may yet conclude it in another generation or two. It¡¯s too much of a risk.¡±
Avery raised a finger, trying to politely inject himself back into the conversation.
¡°Oh, not this again,¡± Isolde said. ¡°I don¡¯t think Laudine or Emeline have vampirism.¡±
¡°Maybe not yet, but it¡¯s likely in their futures. Their brother Osric hasn¡¯t been seen in daylight for three months. And you can¡¯t dispute that vampires rarely if ever bear children once they start shunning the daylight.¡± Maude crossed her arms. ¡°A duke needs heirs, and there are plenty of suitable women from families that have stayed clean of the aristocratic disease.¡±
Avery cleared his throat loudly.
¡°But Osric is good enough for me to dance with?¡± Isolde flopped back down on the couch, staring up at the ceiling and putting her feet back on the arm of the couch. ¡°Should I be glad that you haven¡¯t banned me from dancing with anyone suspected of carrying the aristocratic disease, or angry that my own mother cares more about my cousin than me?¡±
¡°What an insolent mouth you wear!¡± Maude stood up from the chair. ¡°I-¡±
¡°Enough!¡± Avery¡¯s deep shout filled the room. After a moment of silence, he continued at a more normal volume. ¡°I can see the two of you have a great deal to discuss between yourselves, but it is quite late and I find I am tired. Gregor will be here shortly. He can fill you in on my changes to the list and my notes from the ball while I go up to my chambers and try to get some sleep before the morrow.¡±
20. Rolling Away from the Ball
Rose folded the blanket on top of itself, and then she and Anna sat down again. The slate shingles of the roof still made for an uncomfortable seat in spite of the doubled layer of cloth, but it was better. Anna took a pull from the wine bottle and then passed it to Rose.
¡°I wish I had gotten an invitation to Isolde¡¯s ball,¡± Anna said, sighing heavily. ¡°I tried. It would have been a great chance to meet him.¡±
Rose took a small sip, leaning back against the warm chimney behind her. ¡°He hasn¡¯t announced his engagement to anybody else. Unless that¡¯s what the audience tomorrow is about.¡±
Anna shook her head. ¡°It has to be about fighting matters. Our fathers and your brother, they fought on the duke¡¯s side when Richard attacked. Remember, they specifically wanted both Walters.¡± She sighed, holding out her hand for the wine bottle.
Rose took another sip, then passed the bottle over. ¡°Maybe you¡¯ll have a chance to meet the duke anyway,¡± Rose said.
¡°The fortune teller said my future husband would ask me to marry him the very day he met me.¡± Anna took a long swallow from the bottle. ¡°All my life, I could only imagine that ever happening at a ball. He asks me to dance, we talk, he falls madly in love, he leans forward and whispers to me that he wants to marry me. Only on a dance floor could an eligible maiden gain private conversation with someone like Duke Avery on the very day they met without risking great scandal. Tomorrow¡ I should stay home tomorrow. Maybe there will be another ball.¡±
Anna took another long swallow; then Rose grabbed the bottle. ¡°Share fairly,¡± Rose said with a frown. ¡°The logic is simple. If you believe the fortune teller and destiny has set a path for you to wed Duke Avery, then the Silver Duke will be so overcome by meeting you tomorrow that he will propose publicly, right in front of your parents. If you don¡¯t believe the fortune teller, then our audience with the Silver Duke is no more and no less than a chance for you to catch his eye.¡±
¡°You really think so?¡± Anna frowned.
¡°What I know is¡ if you plan to marry the duke, you can¡¯t run away from him,¡± Rose said, taking a larger gulp. ¡°That¡¯s why you¡¯ve been trying to get into the castle as often as you can. Tonight, he¡¯s busy learning that every other woman in the duchy falls short of the standards you meet. Tomorrow, you¡¯ll show him what he¡¯s wanted all along.¡±
Then Rose let out an unladylike belch. ¡°Excuse me,¡± she said, flushing with embarrassment.
Anna giggled, grabbing the bottle back from Rose. ¡°Yes, standards like knowing how to swig great gulps of wine without sounding like a frog after.¡± Anne tipped the bottle back, swallowing deeply. ¡°Like this!¡± She let out a tiny muffled burp.
Rose snickered, taking back the bottle. ¡°Good thing I¡¯m not trying to marry the duke, then!¡±
¡°I''m amazed your ribbons stayed clean, sis,¡± Giles rumbled. ¡°They''re still bright white. I expected someone would have spilled something on them.¡±
¡°Someone did,¡± Elizabeth said. ¡°I was lucky that red-headed woman was there when it happened ¨C she had a spell that pushed the punch right back out before it set. I think she¡¯s the apprentice of an important wizard.¡±
¡°Good. So what did you think of the duke?¡± Giles asked.
Elizabeth smiled dreamily. ¡°He''s wonderful. I thought his skin would feel cold or slimy, but it''s just¡ smooth and warm and dry. And he''s polite and he''s tall and he smells nice. Like fresh bread. I could just dance with him forever.¡±
Giles looked over at their father, who nodded approvingly. The two of them had been cautiously negotiating with Lady Maude for a while about possible terms of a match. The half-elf had warned them she didn''t have authority to speak for her former ward, but was eager to make what arrangements she could.
Back at the Golden Fleece, Simon and his sister Gelle huddled together in the corner of the taproom over cups of hot chamomile tea.
¡°So, how was dancing with the duke?¡± Simon leaned forward eagerly.
¡°It was fine. Up close, he seemed even taller. He had daubed himself with some unusual scent, he smelled like a bakery in the morning. He dances well. But after I danced with him, I sat out most of the rest of the night.¡± Gelle yawned. ¡°I¡¯m barely tired, only sleepy.¡±
Simon chuckled. ¡°Most men doubt their ability to compete with a duke,¡± he said.
¡°You and Sir Giles both danced with Ivette after the duke.¡± Gelle¡¯s voice sounded accusatory.
¡°I¡¯m not easily scared away,¡± Simon said with a smile. Then his sister¡¯s tone penetrated. ¡°Are you jealous? I thought you liked Ivette.¡±
¡°I do! I did. But half the men I danced with, she danced with after, and¡ her dress was more daring, and she ranks me.¡± Gelle pouted. ¡°She¡¯s charmed even you!¡±
¡°Well, you said I¡¯m overdue to find a wife,¡± Simon said. ¡°I¡¯m considering her for the role. Besides, if she¡¯s become your rival in the courting of noblemen, you should be glad I¡¯m trying to take her off the board. I¡¯d appreciate it if you speak well of me to her.¡±
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The door to the taproom opened, and a man rushed through. As he approached their corner table, Simon recognized the man as Zephyr.
¡°Sir Simon! I was hoping to find you here, but worried I would have to bribe the innkeeper to wake you. There is-¡± The man cut himself off, looking at Gelle. ¡°I need your aid urgently. It will be but a short span of days ¨C two, perhaps three.¡±
Simon looked over at Gelle. ¡°Father will understand. Tell him I am away helping Zephyr, and will return when I can.¡± He leaned forward to whisper. ¡°When you speak well of me to her, please do not tell Ivette I intend to court her; I must get her father¡¯s permission before I can promise her anything.¡±
Alric stared at the glowing names floating on the wall in his study. He''d obtained a list of every eligible maiden of marriageable age in attendance at Isolde''s ball, and the magical display of the wall would help him organize the information. He waved his hand, and a dozen names dimmed and disappeared. Avery''s cousins ¨C not technically ineligible, but he felt safe ruling them out. Who had the duke actually danced with? Another gesture and seventeen names brightened with silvery highlights.
He frowned, noticing the name ¡°Beatrice Taylor¡± still floating in plain white. She''d been in attendance, but the duke hadn''t deigned to dance with her. The same with the d''Ivry girls. He separated the seventeen highlighted names from the rest. Then he leaned back in his chair, staring for a while at the glowing names. None of the girls the duke had danced with came from the families he counted as reliable allies, a fact which perturbed him. The closest was Matilda de Borer; he had cordial business dealings with her maternal uncle, but not the Baron Hugh de Borer, unfortunately.
Still, there were at least a few wizards and children of wizards in that list, suggesting that Avery didn¡¯t share his ancestor¡¯s irrational dislike of wizards. Sabine de Lancaster, grandniece to the duke of Lancaster, reputedly was every bit as talented in the art as her granduncle had been at that age. Fiona the Red, a qualified journeyman wizard in her own right, still traveling with her master and adopted father Archmage Warin. Not a single drop of English noble blood in Fiona¡¯s veins, either; not with that hair and those ears. Angela d''Aubigny, the younger sister of Sir Malvin d''Aubigny, also known as Master Malvin the Tattooed. Lucia and Talia de Clare both were earnest students of magic; their father was an enthusiast who attended some public lectures at the collegium. He grouped those four names together with that of Matilda de Borer and moved the group up and to the right.
Just below those five, he slid a dozen dimmer names, including Beatrice and the d''Ivry sisters. Women from sensible families, many well-educated and proficient in at least the most basic magics. He stared at that cluster for a moment, then turned back to the other dozen names that were highlighted with silver. He considered it, then tapped four of the names. Not all of the nobility welcomed innovation and technology. Baron Henry de Greystoke and his various business partners were proving very annoying. He moved those four names all the way to the left with an annoyed swipe. Searching through the dimmer names, he added another half dozen names he recognized from their families'' efforts to oppose the construction of new manufactories in York.
Then he stepped back and looked at the other eight silver-highlighted names. The idea of an alliance tying York to another of England''s less-industrialized counties was unappealing, he thought to himself. If the Earl of Northumberland was poor and his county was underdeveloped, it was because he was not willing to embrace necroindustry and wizardry. He slid the earl''s daughter''s name to the left. Shropshire''s granddaughter was probably no better, he decided, sliding that name over as well. The other six silver-highlighted names he left in the middle with the rest of the dimmer names. Then he stepped back to take in the larger picture.
I know too little, he thought to himself. He could see a pattern starting to emerge, though. It was a pity that Beatrice seemed to have fallen from the duke''s favor, but it fit with a more general pattern: The duke seemed to favor older families, particularly less prosperous ones. He¡¯d even snubbed a few eligible young women from old noble families with substantial wealth, like Johanna Matthew; her grandfather, Baron Joseph Matthew, was likely the second or third wealthiest baron in York behind Baron d¡¯Ivry and possibly the halfling who had inherited Richard¡¯s barony.
After all, Baron James had been an important courtier in the old duke¡¯s court, with substantial business connections of some kind outside of the duchy before he¡¯d gained the main part of Richard¡¯s generous lands and rents. It wasn¡¯t clear to Alric how those different pieces added up, or how much money had been left in Richard¡¯s treasury at the time of his death.
Alric couldn¡¯t find a reason why Avery would avoid courting a wealthy bride. Surely a wealthier bride would come with a greater dowry. Except¡ there was one major exception to the pattern. Ivette de Greystoke. Alric wasn¡¯t sure of the scale or prosperity of the Baron Greystoke¡¯s holdings, but Cumberland had a more highly developed economy than York, and Henry de Greystoke had enough cash on hand that he was interested in making a substantial investment in an industrial project in York.
The master wizard paused. ¡°I¡¯m looking at this backwards,¡± he said aloud. ¡°Backwards and upside-down.¡± If Avery was already secretly engaged to Ivette de Greystoke with a promise of a substantial dowry in exchange for dissolving the York Textile Company by ducal decree, how could he reassure Henry de Greystoke that his deal was secure?
By avoiding any dance partners from any family wealthy enough to offer a substantial bribe for a competing business favor. Which included nearly every new-money family who hadn¡¯t yet married their way up the ranks of the aristocracy; securing an invitation into high society required either breeding or money. It included most of the families with greater magical talents, as well.
The exceptions now made sense. The de Clare sisters ¨C John de Clare was a rank enthusiast with no head for pragmatic business. Angela d¡¯Aubigny ¨C her brother Malvin was a master wizard, but his talents were destructive in nature rather than being productive in the manner of necromancy or alchemy. Fiona the Red ¨C she was outside of the normal order of York, present only because her master was making some kind of study of the abnormal physiology of the old and new Silver Dukes.
Alric paused, considering Archmage Warin¡¯s goals a second time. The archmage had probably compelled Duke Avery magically in order to allow his assistant to inspect the duke¡¯s unusual physiology at close range. That even explained why the duke danced with her twice; at a ball when all eyes were focused on the most eligible bachelor in England, that had drawn considerable attention.
No, it all made perfect sense once he put Ivette de Greystoke at the center of his chart. The network of Avery¡¯s dance partners revolved around the machinations of Baron Henry de Greystoke ¨C a wealthy Cumbrian baron who intended the total destruction of the York Textile Company.
21. The Duke Decides
Rose sat next to Anna, the two of them exchanging smiles. They whispered together as they waited, exchanging sympathies on having to wake bright and early after their late-night rooftop adventure.
Silence settled on the great hall as the duke prepared to speak. Duke Avery was taller than his seneschal, who in turn was taller than the greater part of the assembled knights and nobles. His skin gleamed silver, and his eyes had no whites, only oceans of gold surrounding vertically-slit pupils. The lines of his face were inhuman but beautiful.
¡°Today, I have brought you here to make an important announcement,¡± the duke said. ¡°I will hold a wedding two weeks hence.¡±
Rose¡¯s mouth fell open in surprise. Silence deepened until it became unbearable. Then Anna broke the silence, blurting out the word ¡°No!¡± with a combination of disbelief and disappointment.
¡°Anna, is it?¡± The duke focused his attention on the taller woman next to Rose, and Anna shrank back in her seat, nodding. Her lips were sealed tight over her rebellious tongue. Rose quietly held Anna¡¯s hand to reassure her.
¡°It remains to be seen whom I marry in two weeks, Anna.¡± The new Silver Duke fixed his golden gaze on them. Rose shivered, feeling suddenly chilled. She could feel herself getting goosebumps.
¡°Great and terrible things are afoot in York. And England. And the Empire of Britain. His Imperial Majesty has designated no heir and increasingly leaves the helm of the state to turn itself. The bureaucracy encroaches on the power of the nobility. Rebels have cut the railway in Nottingham. The nobility drinks the blood of peasants and calls it high fashion. Just this past month, elven ships have landed raiding parties in both Cornwall and Wales. As your sworn duke, it is my duty to secure this duchy against its foreign and domestic enemies. I have already paid a price in blood thanks to those of my cousins who thought they had a better claim to my inheritance. Today, I am offering another price in blood to secure the future of York. I will give my heart for York.¡±
Rose¡¯s heart was pounding, and she could feel Anna¡¯s hand tremble. The silver-skinned man at the front of the room ¨C the new Silver Duke ¨C was looking straight at them.
¡°York needs allies whose loyalty is first and foremost to me. Whether they are country knights like your father, Anna, or earls who govern a whole county on behalf of the Emperor. I have decided that I will marry any ¨C and all ¨C of you who can swear your families¡¯ loyalty directly to me.¡±
Anna¡¯s hand went suddenly limp in Rose¡¯s grasp as surprised murmurs rippled across the room. Such an antiquated feudal practice was thoroughly out of fashion in the modern imperial era ¨C and the implications of the demand were alarming. Was the duke preparing for the empire to fall on its own, or did he mean to try to accelerate its demise?
The duke held up a taloned hand. At his gesture, a gust of cold air suddenly chilled the room, leaving silence in its wake. His golden eyes swept across the room like a scythe, commanding silence from those attending.
¡°For those of you who are willing to step forward to swear to me above all others: I am ready to take those oaths of fealty here and now, in front of witnesses and upon the sword of my predecessor. However, if you need time to confer with your family, you have it ¨C but do not take too long. The wedding is in two weeks.¡±
The duke took a step back, clasping his hands behind his back; and as if that was the signal that they were allowed to speak, which it surely was, the hall erupted with a hundred urgent whispers at once. Anna breathed in and out rapidly. Rose leaned forward, hugging the taller woman.
¡°The fortune teller said my future husband would ask me to marry him the very day I first met him,¡± Anna whispered under her breath. ¡°The fortune teller said it. I never imagined this. The very day. The fortune teller said. The fortune teller. Fortune teller.¡±
¡°Shh,¡± Rose whispered, stroking Anna¡¯s hair and back with one of her hands. ¡°Take a long deep breath, Anna.¡±
A susurrus of whispers echoed through the great hall. Avery¡¯s talons pressed against his skin; if the tips had not been trimmed to bluntness, or if his skin had been ordinary, they would have drawn blood as the young duke forced himself to stand perfectly still, trying to convince himself that he had not just alienated a hall full of potential allies. That there was at least one woman who would respond to his proposal in the affirmative.
A figure stood, taking deliberate steps forward to the dais. It was the nervous girl in the emerald green dress, clutching her hands tightly together behind her back as though they were cold or shaking with fright, her eyes locked on her feet as she mounted the three steps up to the level of the dais. When she reached the top step, she stopped and looked up, her eyes glistening with emotion. Avery looked down at her, raised an eyebrow, and waited until her trembling had calmed down slightly. Then, without changing expression, he turned back to the rest of the room, waiting as the elderly baron who had been sitting next to the girl followed.
When the girl had composed herself, Avery glanced at Marcus. Who are they? I don¡¯t remember her name.
The girl is Johanna. You¡¯ve met her several times and talked with her mother at the ball, though you didn¡¯t dance with her. Her grandfather is named Joseph Matthew, as is his heir, who isn''t here. Marcus shrugged, then cocked his head. James says the heir ¨C her father ¨C is out with a hangover after a long night in the taproom of the Golden Fleece, so she doesn¡¯t qualify by the terms you gave.
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Gregor can follow up with the younger Joseph Matthew later, Avery sent back. She¡¯s close enough, and the only one to come forward. He forced himself to smile and unclasp his own hands from behind his back. ¡°Thank you, Johanna. You look lovely. I will need you and Baron Joseph Matthew to each touch the old duke''s sword as you swear this oath.¡± Avery looked both of them in the eye carefully. ¡°If you swear with a false heart, you will die.¡±
Whispers echoed through the great hall as he looked back at her. Everyone who had been to the old duke''s court had heard stories of liars disintegrated by the duke¡¯s sword. Avery pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded a piece of paper, then held it out to her. She looked back with wide frightened eyes but didn''t move.
¡°Johanna?¡±
She looked over at him, swallowing hard and reading the piece of paper. ¡°Yes, m''lord. I can swear that oath.¡± She looked over at her grandfather, then back down at her feet, nerves failing her.
¡°Are you ready to take this oath?¡± He looked from her to her grandfather. Neither met his gaze, but both stood their ground and nodded, staring at the stone floor nervously. ¡°Good.¡±
Her voice trembled as she repeated the words from the page, hand placed on the clear crystal sword that lay on top of the altar. ¡°My allegiance is to Duke Avery of York, and after him to the heirs of his choice, be they of my blood or another''s. I will honor no other lord above him except through him.¡±
After a long hesitant moment, the baron''s wrinkled hand joined hers on top of the sword, and his voice echoed hers. To Avery''s relief, their words rang true in his ears. The sword stayed quiescent on the altar ¨C seemingly an inert hunk of crystal. He still didn''t know if the sword truly had the power to destroy the dishonest; he hoped he wouldn''t learn today.
The oath he had just administered quietly put loyalty to him above loyalty to Emperor and country, and most of the older men and women in the room could recognize that fact. Feudal oaths to an intermediary lord weren''t explicitly illegal, but had no place in an empire that was increasingly administered by a centralized and standardized bureaucracy. Baron Joseph Matthew and his granddaughter had effectively pledged to join him in any treason he might commit against the empire that ruled the isle of Britain.
Avery frowned, and waved a guard over. ¡°Johanna, you and your grandfather are welcome to stay here in the castle until the wedding,¡± he told them quietly, pointing towards a small side door in the great hall. ¡°That might be best.¡± Marcus, I need you to keep track of who takes the oath, who doesn''t, and who''s on the fence. I also want some rooms prepared in the tower.
To his surprise, a short line had formed while he had taken the oaths of Johanna and the baron. At its head was Earl Ricard of Northumbria and his son Giles, their daughter Elizabeth squeezed between the two hulking men. Sabine and her party were already making their way towards the exit, passing the attractive dark-haired woman joining the end of the line on unsteady feet ¨C Anna, Avery reminded himself. An alliance with Lancaster would have been useful to Avery''s plans, but he had not expected Sabine or her father to be willing to swear loyalty to him over her ducal granduncle. This would have been seen as putting Lancaster subordinate to York.
Anna, however, was a different matter entirely. By marrying the daughter of one of these lesser nobles, he would, in a certain symbolic sense, be putting himself on equal footing with them. If the marriages were accepted as legitimate by his peers, Anna''s father and his house would gain prestige from having a ducal son-in-law.
Of course, how much might depend on how many women married Avery. Was the status gained as a duke¡¯s wife the same if there were many of them? And even if it was lesser, was it still greater than the status of the wife of a baron or landed knight? Avery could see many of the nobles in the room struggling with that complex calculation, some out loud and some silently. Many were edging back towards the exits but unwilling to leave until they saw who had accepted Avery¡¯s proposal.
Earl Ricard of Northumbria stepped forward. ¡°I am prepared to swear the exact same oath,¡± he announced.
There was another flurry of whispers, not as loud as the one that had followed Avery¡¯s speech, but significant nonetheless. Baron Joseph Matthew¡¯s barony existed within the duchy of York, governed by its laws and subject to the duke¡¯s justice; the county of Northumbria did not. Earls held the right of high justice on their own, and generally answered only to imperial law.
Avery leaned forward, speaking very quietly. ¡°That will not forswear you?¡±
The earl shook his head. ¡°Not in my view,¡± he said, equally quietly.
Avery could hear the truth in that statement, and wondered at its implications. He had been ready to offer a slightly modified oath for the earl himself, one that acknowledged the potential conflict with the earl¡¯s already-sworn oath to Emperor Ivar the Fleshless.
Alric, the uninvited master wizard, flitted from group to group; Avery imagined that Alric was probably advising them against tying themselves to the new duke on general principles. He suspected it was likely the wizards of the collegium would have preferred that someone else inherited the ducal throne. But then the archmage finished his conversation with Alric with a genial slap on the shoulder and joined the queue with his apprentice, who fingered her drab journeyman¡¯s robes nervously as she waited.
By the end of the afternoon, twenty-five people had sworn fealty directly to him; nine brides-to-be and sixteen of their close relatives. Most of the others had lingered to see the final oath was administered. Once that happened, they talked quietly amongst each other for only a brief while before leaving. Among those who swore fealty to him were three minor lords with lands bordering Lincoln, two ladies distantly related to the duke of Warwick, and two other barons of smaller houses.
Ducking out a side exit of the great hall, Avery watched the crowd slowly filter out through the gatehouse and across the River Foss. He turned a quizzical look at Marcus. ¡°That went well,¡± he said conversationally. ¡°I''m surprised nobody ended up disintegrated. They all spoke truth when they gave their oaths, though.¡±
¡°Not surprising at all, milord. I think you have made a good start at building alliances. But remember, milord¡ the oath may be given honestly and then still not kept.¡± Marcus gave Avery a meaningful look. ¡°As I understand it, they spoke truly, but people change."
¡°Of course.¡± Avery nodded grimly. ¡°But it is better than nothing.¡±
22. Backlash
¡°Yes, but I would have married him anyway if it were just that!¡± Sabine said, whirling to face her brother. ¡°Look. I am seventh in line for the throne of England¡¯s third-largest duchy. None of those other women rank me. Which means?¡±
Stephen paused, remembering their earlier conversation. ¡°Which means that they wouldn''t get to tell you what to do. You''d still answer only to the duke, and you''d be first among duchesses. You''d probably have as much access to him as you wanted, maybe?¡± He shook his head, thinking for a long moment. ¡°Okay. If it''s that important to you, we could go back and take the stupid oath and get you married to that¡ greedy pig.¡±
¡°No, we can''t, because you wouldn''t mean it. Never mind that you can¡¯t detect any magic from that sword, he himself can smell lies, just like the old duke.¡± Sabine crossed her arms over her chest, shifting her weight to her left leg as she glared at her brother.
¡°Impossible,¡± Stephen said. ¡°First, charms intrude upon the mind, but every one I¡¯ve ever heard of only goes in the one direction. Even imperial interrogators don¡¯t detect lies, they compel the prisoner into speaking truth. And second, as I said before, I divined a total absence of enchantments upon him or his accoutrements. While I am no great diviner, I am quite good with enchantments.¡±
¡°I don''t know how he does it. I told him I was dizzy at the dance and he knew I was lying. He didn''t mean to let me know, but he knew. If you lie, he knows, and then he kills you and says the crystal sword did it.¡± Sabine exhaled sharply through her teeth, shaking her head. ¡°And our father would have to swear, too. You don''t think our father could honestly swear an oath to the Duke of York over all other lords? Over the Duke of Lancaster?¡±
She was now pacing furiously around the room, circling around both her brother and the harpsichord. ¡°I never suspected him of being this conniving and ambitious. Or that he had the old duke''s powers. Not until last night. Being able to smell lies is probably just the tip of the iceberg. I thought I was dealing with a handsome inbred dolt with all the magical talent of a doorstop. Instead, I''m dealing with the Silver Duke reborn. This is much more dangerous.¡±
Stephen stared at Sabine. "You¡ sound like you want him more now."
Sabine sat down heavily on the bench in front of the harpsichord. "Yes." She shook her head. "I do. Especially now that I can''t have him." She let out a frustrated groan, closing her eyes. "Someone will fetch the red lacquered box from my luggage. Then everyone just¡ leave me alone. I''ll ring for you when I need you."
The maidservant standing discreetly in the corner of the room curtsied hastily and ran off into the corridor.
Stephen didn¡¯t have anything more to say, so he went to his own room, leaning out the window overlooking the river. A cool breeze blew through the open casement as he looked out over the dark waters of the Ouse. His thoughts drifted as he gazed absently over the waterway, wondering where he might find another potential husband for his little sister. Not in this town, certainly. In truth, Sabine''s chances of finding another nobleman with enough power or wealth to satisfy her ambitions of independence were slim indeed; the vast majority of nobles of suitable rank were wed or betrothed.
He sighed as his mind wandered further afield. What about that man she¡¯d met at court? Viscount Grey? No, the man didn¡¯t have a proper estate ¨C he had pull within the imperial bureaucracy, but that was a fleeting sort of power, one dependent on continued good favor from either an increasingly detached and inattentive emperor or his ministers. He''d be an even worse match than that silver-skinned freak, Stephen thought to himself, shaking his head.
A soft knock at his door brought his attention back to reality in a hurry. Twisting away from the view out his chamber''s windows, he opened the door to admit one of his sister''s maidservants. The girl handed him something small and wrapped up in cloth. It smelled faintly floral and sweet. As he took it from her hands and unwrapped it, his eyes widened slightly and he almost dropped his end of the parcel.
Inside there lay a small jewelry case made from some strange white wood. Its top had been carved into an intricate design depicting vines and flowers intertwined together. The rest was lined with velvet that was dyed deep blue in color. Her expression was cold and unreadable as she stood patiently waiting for his response. Finally, he nodded in understanding. ¡°Thank you,¡± he said, meeting the maid¡¯s eyes directly. ¡°You may go.¡±
The maidservant had startled with wide eyes at being addressed directly; at his command to depart, she dipped her head low in a hasty bow, leaving with a relieved smile on her lips. Turning to the sideboard, he poured himself a glass of wine. Perhaps I should have asked the maidservant to stay, he thought to himself, but I¡¯m not in the mood for that sort of fun. Not now, and especially not when I have work to do. He cautiously opened the jewelry case, and the floral scent grew stronger. Inside was a row of six small crystal bottles, and a note from his sister.
He read it. Twice. The request was a tricky one. How could a perfume be enhanced to magically befuddle the target, but not the person wearing it? Her idea was unconventional, almost nonsensical. But it could work. Possibly. He jotted down a reply on the same piece of paper, drained his glass of wine, and then rang for a maidservant. The same one returned.
¡°Give my sister this,¡± he said, handing her the folded piece of paper.
¡°I''m sorry!¡± Rose said. ¡°What was I supposed to tell my father? That you''d called dibs, and so he shouldn''t jump at the chance to maybe become Lord Walter instead of Sir Walter? You know how much he''s wanted me to make a good match. You know he and my brother have dreams of bigger things.¡±
Anna didn''t say anything. She just finished working the stopper out of the wine jug, and tossed it to the floor. Then she took a deep drink, still facing the wall.
¡°You don''t need to be so angry,¡± Rose continued. ¡°It''s not like you knew. It''s not like you didn''t have a choice, either.¡±
Anna stared at the wall.
¡°You know I don''t even really want to get married, Anna,¡± Rose told the back of Anna''s head. ¡°Not that I want to never marry, but¡ you know what I mean.¡±
Anna took another deep draft, and coughed a little. ¡°The fortune teller was right,¡± she said to the wall. ¡°He asked me to marry him the first time he met me. Only it wasn''t romantic at all.¡±
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Rose placed her hands on her hips. ¡°Look at me, Anna, darn it,¡± she said. ¡°You''re the one who wanted to marry the duke. I''m just doing what seems right for my family.¡±
Anna held the jug over her shoulder. ¡°I know. I''m sorry. But I can''t look at you right now,¡± she said. ¡°I just don''t know what to feel anymore. Happy, sad, angry, disappointed, I just don''t know. I''ve dreamed about it so long and the dreams were always¡ different.¡±
Rose took the jug in both hands and turned it upside-down, taking a big gulp. She coughed, splattering harsh young wine on her dress. ¡°This is raw.¡± She shook her head. ¡°But I''ll drink it with you,¡± she added, taking another determined gulp. ¡°You were my friend yesterday and you''ll be my friend tomorrow.¡± She leaned forward, and kissed Anna on the cheek. ¡°If you let me, I''ll be your best friend forever.¡±
Anna turned her head away.
¡°How could you agree with this?¡± Elizabeth said mournfully. ¡°Poppa, how am I supposed to put up with being one ninth of a duchess?¡±
Ricard sighed. ¡°Maybe I shouldn''t have agreed. And maybe you shouldn¡¯t marry him if he¡¯s truly taking eight other wives. It was only the one when we stood up. But if we swear to look up to him ¨C and we have, now, that¡¯s done ¨C he has to look after us. Things are looking grim. The Emperor didn''t intervene when York broke out into civil war. He may not intervene the next time war rocks the north. He may abdicate, or even die again, perhaps permanently this time. And there are unsettling rumors¡ we need this alliance for our own security.¡±
¡°Well,¡± said Elizabeth sadly. ¡°If we truly need his help¡¡±
¡°We do,¡± Ricard said firmly. ¡°I don¡¯t like to say it, but we do.¡±
¡°I can do it, I guess, but I¡¯m scared,¡± Elizabeth said.
¡°So am I.¡± Ricard slumped in his chair. ¡°I am terrified by what''s happening in this country. The rich are eating the poor, and Northumbria is a poor county. You don''t have many peers who are as human as Avery. As odd as he may look, he doesn''t drink blood and he doesn''t eat human flesh. Unlike most London socialites.¡±
¡°Giles, what do you think?¡± Elizabeth poked her hulking brother in the ribs. ¡°You swore right beside him.¡±
¡°I think being the duchess of one ninth of York is better than being a countess to a vampire,¡± Giles said. ¡°For that matter, one ninth of York is as large as some counties. But our father has a point about the times. You''ve come onto the marriage market a generation too late to find many living peers. Marianne''s father was a baronet and you don''t see me complaining about it. With the kind of dowry Poppa can come up with, we''d be lucky to be able to marry you to a baron that''s still breathing, much less a young healthy one that smells nice. Also, I love you dearly, sis, but having you and Marianne under the same roof is like shaking two cats in a burlap sack.¡±
Elizabeth snorted softly and turned back towards her father. ¡°Do you really think Avery smells nice?¡±
Ricard rolled his eyes. ¡°You told us he smells nice. Remember the ball the other night?¡± He raised his voice to a falsetto, imitating his daughter. ¡°He smells like fresh bread, Poppa, and his skin is so smooth!¡±
¡°That was before I knew he was a lecherous womanizer!¡± Elizabeth rolled her eyes. ¡°Fine. I''m the one that said that. Wait, go back. What did you say about my dowry?¡±
¡°Uh¡¡± Ricard glanced at Giles. ¡°Sweetheart, you remember how we had a moonapple blight last year, and we had to bring in a horticultural necromancer to target the blight with a specialized death spell?¡±
Elizabeth nodded.
¡°We''re still in debt from that,¡± Ricard said succinctly. ¡°Your mother sold some of her jewelry to help cover the interest. She''s waiting to see if she needs to sell more. Your dowry is going to be whatever you packed away in your dower chest over the years.¡±
¡°Oh.¡± Elizabeth frowned deeply, and sank back into her seat. She tried to imagine herself wedding that horrible man who had smiled and danced and flirted with her. The horrible man who had the temerity to smell, feel, look, and sound nice when he only ever intended to offer her a tiny slice of his heart.
¡°I''m sorry. I know you were dreaming about something more romantic.¡± Ricard folded his arms around his daughter, hugging her firmly. ¡°But this is the best choice we can make, for you and for Northumbria. And we won''t let anyone treat you as less than a full duchess. If anyone else calls you a ninth of a duchess, they''ll have to answer to me for it.¡±
¡°Or me, more like it,¡± Giles said, giving his father a stern look. ¡°You agreed you''d let me stand for you in matters of honor.¡±
¡°Hmph. So I did.¡± Ricard sighed wearily. ¡°You two finish packing. I''ll be down seeing if I can get the innkeeper to refund us for the rest of the month on the room.¡±
Stephen held up his empty goblet, staring at his sister and waiting while the maidservant scurried to the sideboard, unsealed and unstopped a bottle of wine, rushed back to Stephen''s side, and finally filled the goblet with dark wine. Stephen took a sip and lowered his glass.
"Someone shall go down to the wine shop on the corner and fetch a new bottle," he said, waving his finger in the air.
The maidservant obediently scurried off at his implied order, leaving the two of them alone in the room. Stephen looked around carefully, and then placed the white wooden case on the table. The delicate flower inlays glimmered.
Stephen tapped his goblet with a finger. ¡°This wine is actually quite good, but we don''t want the secret of how your new perfumes work bruited about. Phantasm.¡± He took a sip of wine. ¡°It''s very clever, if I say so myself.¡±
Sabine waited patiently. Her brother would explain; he loved feeling clever.
¡°If you don''t believe in a phantasm, you can see through it. Higher study in the art of illusion is mocked for this, sometimes. But that''s what will make it work for you. I''ve enchanted your perfumes to create phantasms of pleasure, desire, and arousal of varying strengths and combinations,¡± Stephen said. ¡°I tested this on myself. You will feel something, at first, but knowing it to be a phantasm, it will not muddle your mind. But that¡¯s also why it must stay absolutely secret.¡±
Sabine nodded. ¡°That makes sense,¡± she said. ¡°And how do I know it will work at all?¡±
¡°I tested them on one of your maidservants,¡± Stephen said, tapping his goblet. ¡°She was very enthusiastic. And very confused afterwards.¡± He opened the case, and started pointing. ¡°This one is arousal alone. Desire alone. Pleasure alone. I enspelled those three first. This one is all three together. This one is enspelled with just arousal and desire, which proved more effective at inducing action. The sixth is for after, enspelled for desire and pleasure without arousal. Daubing on a new one will wipe out the old phantasm.¡±
¡°Very thorough, Stephen. An impressive piece of work,¡± Sabine said, taking the small white case. ¡°If I can secure a private audience with the duke, I''m sure he''ll find me ravishing. And if he ravishes me, he will most certainly have to marry me. For now, I have managed to secure an invitation to dinner tomorrow night from the Lady Maude, which should be helpful even if it doesn''t provide me with an opportunity to get the duke alone.¡±
¡°Have fun,¡± Stephen said drily.
¡°You''re coming,¡± Sabine said. ¡°In fact, as far as Lady Maude is concerned, it was you who begged her for the opportunity to come to dinner, and will be dragging your reluctant sister along. Your poor reluctant sister, who has been adamantly refusing to reconsider the young duke''s proposal, in spite of your deep desire to forge a stronger connection between York and Lancaster.¡±
¡°I did?¡± Stephen said, blinking.
Sabine smiled. ¡°Yes. The single and eligible grandnephew of the Duke of Lancaster has written to the Lady Maude expressing his desire to build a closer bond between the two great noble houses, and apologizing profusely for his recalcitrant sister''s sudden and unexpected dislike of the young duke.¡±
¡°Oh,¡± said Stephen. ¡°Isolde is single, isn''t she?¡±
¡°Of course. Maude dropped hints in one of her notes to you, but they went right over your oblivious head. In your more recent letter, however, you did agree that she was a very comely woman and wished that your sister would learn to match her grace and deportment, though,¡± Sabine said, eyes twinkling.
Then she frowned. ¡°Under no circumstances do I want you to actually propose to Isolde. Discuss the prospect agreeably if it arises, but say you have to talk it over with your father before making any commitments. In spite of what Lady Maude might think, Isolde is a distant cousin in a collateral line with no title of her own. She''s well beneath your station.¡±
Stephen nodded cautiously. ¡°Duly noted.¡±
23. Family Concerns
¡°There you are,¡± Isolde said as she crested the top of the stairs and onto the ramparts of the castle bailey wall. ¡°I¡¯ve been looking for you.¡±
Both true statements. Avery turned away from his view of the river and the city walls, facing his cousin.
Isolde wore a smile across her lips that didn¡¯t quite reach her eyes as she continued. ¡°My friends have been just delighted by the way you decided to propose to half of York.¡±
Avery did not need the assistance of the power James had unlocked within his brain to tell that Isolde¡¯s friends were, in fact, not delighted. With the assistance of that power ¨C he gritted his teeth and dug his blunted talons into his palms, trying not to react to the willful dissonance between Isolde¡¯s words and meaning. The wolfhound next to him licked his clenched fist sympathetically.
Isolde folded her arms over her chest. ¡°Did you give any consideration to what it might mean for me if my most famous cousin becomes best known for his lechery? I¡¯m supposed to find a husband of my own, and that¡¯s been hard enough with my grandmother¡¯s blood. By the time I could fill a dress out well, I was already halfway to being an old maid. This was only the second year I¡¯ve been able to host my own ball convincingly, and you stomped all over it the very next day with your stupid proposal.¡±
¡°Isolde, I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll find someone,¡± Avery said, soothingly. ¡°Your mother was over twice your age the first time she married. But first, could we walk while we talk? I want to inspect the rest of the bailey wall while it¡¯s still light out.¡±
Isolde nodded curtly. ¡°Fine. We can walk, and you can explain to me how this infernal idiocy got into your head.¡±
The two of them walked side by side for a little in silence, the hound and one of the human members of the ducal guard trailing in their wake.
¡°I¡¯m not motivated by lechery,¡± Avery said to Isolde. He paused, peering down at the moat and then pointing as he addressed the man behind him. ¡°Philip, here¡¯s another place where sediment has built up enough to make a landing.¡±
Isolde regarded him in silence, and then turned and resumed walking.
Avery stared at her retreating back in annoyance, then jogged to catch up, shouting after her. ¡°You know what? By offering to marry multiple noblewomen, I¡¯m actually lessening the competition you might have for any nobleman you might be interested in.¡±
As Avery caught up with her, Isolde rolled her eyes. ¡°Yes, well, every nobleman who¡¯s called on me yesterday or today seemed mainly interested in you.¡±
¡°What about Stephen de Lancaster?¡± Avery glanced down, and tugged Isolde¡¯s hand, pulling her to a halt as the human guard and the hound caught up. As Isolde responded, Avery silently pointed down at the vines growing below and looked at the ducal guards; both human and wolfhound nodded. Anything that made the walls easier to scale made them less secure; the vines would need to be cleared.
¡°He sent a note! That doesn¡¯t count, he didn¡¯t visit in person.¡± Isolde sniffed. ¡°And he didn¡¯t dance with me at my ball. He didn¡¯t even come to my ball! No, what¡¯s going on there is that Sabine was grievously offended by your proposal, and this is a political move from the Lancastrians.¡±
¡°I¡¯m sorry that your relationship with me is now of paramount importance to your gentlemen callers, but when I became duke, I became suddenly quite important, especially to anyone living within twenty leagues of here.¡± Avery said, squeezing his foster sister¡¯s hand before releasing it and resuming his walk along the battlements. ¡°That¡¯s just the way the world works.¡±
¡°Important or not, you can¡¯t just do whatever you want,¡± Isolde said. ¡°We fought a war two months ago because our cousin thought he would better rule York, and you can¡¯t afford to inspire other nobles to believe likewise. You just offended dozens of nobles at once. Some who think you¡¯ve asked their daughters to become mere concubines for your lecherous whims, and others who are offended that you didn¡¯t make them the offer.¡±
Avery reluctantly nodded as he ducked through the doorway into a bastion. ¡°I didn¡¯t think about the fact that those not proposed to would be made all the more jealous by the breadth of my marriage proposal, but the hounds have picked up on uneasy sentiments. I may have made new enemies, and my existing enemies might be inspired to action. That¡¯s why I¡¯ve asked you and Maude to stay within the grounds of the castle for this next fortnight.¡±
He paused, looking at a barrel full of arrows. ¡°Those worries are why I¡¯m inspecting the battlements now. Thus far, the reaction has been far more confused than violent, but making a move like this could inspire some of our enemies to act.¡±
Isolde glanced at the ducal guards and then looked back over at Avery, switching the conversation to the privacy of a telepathic channel of communication as she followed Avery up the stairs to the top of the bastion. One caller who visited me this morning did so only for the express and most improper purpose of conveying a note from a couple of noblewomen who seemed disgustingly intrigued by your rumored insatiable appetite and wished to arrange a private meeting with you.
Avery shook his head. I¡¯m not interested in furtive liaisons. I¡¯m interested in political security and nothing makes political alliances firmer than the bonds of marriage and shared family.
Isolde snorted skeptically. Metalface, I remember catching you staring impolitely down more than one bodice at the ball.
Lacking a witty reply, Avery instead walked to the edge of the bastion, peering down between two merlons to get a better look at the state of the wall of the bastion. ¡°Some sediment building up in the moat around the corner here,¡± he said, looking back at the human ducal guard. ¡°This will also need some dredging.¡±
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¡°Duly noted, Your Grace,¡± the guard said.
¡°I don''t know what to say,¡± Maude said, shaking her head. ¡°Ordinarily, I¡¯d offer you a series of false reassuring statements, but¡ polite lies are of no comfort to you now.¡±
¡°Then say nothing,¡± Avery replied as he carefully poured his aunt a cup of tea before setting the teapot back down on the tray and sitting on the couch across from her. ¡°Or say everything. Say whatever you want, Aunt Maude. Whatever you wished you¡¯d said the other night, whatever you want to say now. I¡¯m asking for your opinions, so I can hardly object to you giving them.¡±
As Maude stared at her former ward numbly, a servant discreetly brought over a tray of tiny pastries, leaving it on the side table next to Maude¡¯s well-worn chair before quickly walking out of the sitting room. Silence hung in the room, but Avery waited patiently, taking the tiniest of sips from his teacup until his aunt spoke.
¡°I just don''t know why you''re doing this, Avery,¡± Maude said. ¡°You''ve never seemed interested in womanizing. When you took the throne, I was worried you might not marry at all, in spite of the clear political necessity. And now you wish to marry nine wives?¡±
¡°I''m still not interested in womanizing now,¡± Avery said, holding back a flinch at his own shading of the truth. He did find some women appealing, though he hoped it was not an unhealthy level of interest. ¡°I¡¯m mainly interested in the duchy. I wanted to forge alliances and I wanted to make sure I can get an heir quickly. Like you said I should. And seems as if it will work! Not only to seal the lords of this duchy more closely to me, but I¡¯ve gained the fealty of the ruler of Northumbria. That¡¯s not a small county ¨C a poor one, but not a small one.¡±
¡°But¡ nine wives? Really?¡± Maude rubbed her temples. ¡°And in two weeks? That''s very little time to plan nine weddings.¡±
¡°I''m not planning nine weddings,¡± Avery corrected her. ¡°I''m planning to have one ceremony for the¡ coronation of nine duchesses. We just had a coronation on not much more notice than that, and the ceremony itself was the least painful part of the affair.¡±
¡°I suppose you''re right,¡± Maude admitted grudgingly. ¡°If you say it will happen in two weeks, it can happen in two weeks; there¡¯s nobody short of Ivar the Fleshless who can gainsay that. But¡ I''m still not sure it''s wise. Nine wives? It''s a lot of work, and a lot of stress. I''m getting a headache just thinking about how to handle the seating arrangements. Nine wives¡¡±
¡°Would you stop repeating ¡®nine wives¡¯ over and over again?¡± For the first time, Avery looked annoyed. ¡°It might not even be nine. I pledged an offer to the whole room and told them they had more time to decide. It could be more. It could even be less ¨C if any of them wish to back out on the marriage part, I will let them as long as I can keep their loyalty. If you don''t want to help plan the wedding, then don''t. I''ll find someone else.¡±
¡°I''m not saying that,¡± Maude protested, holding up her hands. ¡°I''m just saying that there are a lot of complications involved that I haven¡¯t finished working through. I thought¡ I didn¡¯t think it would meet with that positive of a response.¡±
Maude took a long drink of her tea, but Avery remained silent. She continued. ¡°I thought once Johanna stood up, that would be the end of it, that no other noblewoman would throw herself under the millstone of being a second wife. And then the Northumbrians stood, and I thought it was politics on his part¡ but that for any woman to stand up behind Elizabeth as third wife was like standing up to her father and daring his pride. When you accepted the mere daughter of a country knight after Elizabeth, it felt to me like you¡¯d slapped Earl Ricard and Baron Joseph both across the face.¡±
Avery grimaced. ¡°I had second thoughts about my plan after last night, when I danced with her. She seemed clearly interested, I could not possibly do better than the daughter of an earl, and from what Gregor relayed from the hounds who followed them back to their lodgings, a private proposal of marriage and alliance would have been quite acceptable to the earl.¡±
¡°So, why didn¡¯t you?¡± Maude set her empty teacup down and eyed the bell next to her chair. Rather than summon a servant back into the sitting room, though, she stood and took up the teapot herself, filling her teacup and then topping off Avery¡¯s before sitting back down in the chair that had conformed to every line of her body for more than a century.
¡°I was asleep when the hounds reported in, for one. I didn¡¯t get the full report until morning.¡± Avery brushed his hand over one pointed ear absently. ¡°Then I had to balance the question of whether an ordinary alliance with Northumbria was worth as much as whatever oaths of fealty I could take up by offering an open proposal for marriage. I didn¡¯t know, so I cast the dice and got lucky.¡± He hesitated. ¡°And what Isolde said about Fiona bothered me. The bit about her breeding.¡±
¡°She has nothing against elfbloods,¡± Maude said. ¡°She¡¯s one herself, even if her ears don¡¯t show it.¡±
¡°No, I was thinking about what you said about the peasantry,¡± Avery said. ¡°That I enjoy the support of the humble born. So, I asked myself: What would my people want me to do? Would they prefer I married a nobly-bred earl¡¯s daughter, or the peasant-bred girl adopted by an archmage?¡±
¡°Do you think the peasants would ask you to marry nine women?¡± Maude raised a skeptical eyebrow.
¡°No, I thought that I didn¡¯t know what they would prefer,¡± Avery said. ¡°I set this course for myself almost a month ago, and I wasn¡¯t going to turn aside unless I found certainty in another path. I didn¡¯t.¡±
¡°I wish you had put the burden of certainty on the stranger path. But now you have promised, and nobody likes a lord who breaks his promises.¡± Maude rubbed her temples. ¡°The wedding itself is the least of it. Dukes having multiple duchesses just isn''t done. It upsets a lot of precedent, and there''s a lot to think through.¡±
Maude paused, visibly thinking. She raised a finger. ¡°Speaking of precedent¡ there¡¯s the issue of social precedence. Which is especially complicated if you marry all of them at once,¡± Maude said. ¡°Cases of bigamy ¨C as opposed to simply taking a lover or having an affair ¨C are rare among the nobility, even with the complications of the aristocratic disease. And even then, usually one spouse has a clear prior claim when that happens. Precedence in the finer details waits on age of the title and of the holder relative to their own family. There are no rules for what happens if each becomes a duchess at the same time.¡±
Avery shrugged. ¡°So it makes seating arrangements complicated, then. What else?¡±
Maude tapped her chin. ¡°What happens if this becomes the rage? The ruler sets the fashion for his domain. Imperial law does not touch on such local matters, and the old duke never established a law against it here in York that I know of, but monogamy is a well-established custom for good reason. If men start taking multiple wives regularly after your example, the imbalance will lead to a lot of single young men across the duchy with little to hold them in place. That would lead to unrest.¡±
Avery frowned. ¡°And if I decree that the taking of multiple wives is a privilege of men of great rank?¡±
¡°That would be worse. Then every man who has rank will feel obligated to do so to prove his status.¡± Maude sighed. ¡°When the old duke still reigned, I sometimes thought you would never marry. And now, I wonder if I really knew the young man I was raising.¡±
24. To the Golden Fleece!
Isolde glared at Marcus. ¡°This is my room,¡± she said, biting off an urge to shout in a most unladylike fashion. ¡°It''s always been my room.¡± Her fists clenched as she spoke; her fingernails bit into the palms of her hands. ¡°Why must I share it with someone who isn''t family? Much less a pile of multiple someones?¡±
Marcus continued to walk slowly around the room, looking at everything. His movements were slow and deliberate. He stopped at a small table near Isolde''s dressing mirror and picked up a hairbrush.
¡°The keep is the most secure part of the castle, but it really isn''t very large,¡± Marcus said, examining the hairbrush. He put it back down on the small table. ¡°Since your mother''s long-held paranoia has started to rub off on Avery, he decided that this would be the safest place to put his prospective brides and their families.¡±
Isolde opened her mouth.
Marcus held up an index finger, impudently stilling her reply. ¡°First, I can''t put nobles in the servants¡¯ quarters.¡± Marcus¡¯s middle finger joined his index finger. ¡°Second, I can''t put Avery''s brides in the duke''s chambers until after the wedding. It¡¯s not proper.¡± He added his ring finger. ¡°Third, I''ve cleared out Avery''s old room and the guest chambers, but it''s still not enough.¡± He added his pinky finger. ¡°Fourth, like Avery¡¯s brides-to-be, you are a young lady and therefore fit company for other young ladies.¡± He patted Isolde¡¯s cheek gently. ¡°And that, dear Lady Isolde, means you get to have roommates. Unless you''d rather sleep elsewhere until the wedding or you have some way of making new bedchambers appear from nothing.¡±
Isolde continued glaring at Marcus. The bastard son of a hedge witch was treating her like a child, which she found infuriating. But losing patience would mean losing her dignity, demoting herself from the status of ¡°lady¡± that he¡¯d granted her by courtesy even though she had no title of her own¡ while Marcus was Sir Marcus courtesy of the old duke and Lord Marcus courtesy of her foster brother. The upstart acted like he owned this place, but there was no point in getting angry. Or in crying. Or in trying to argue against his command on the merits when it was entirely logical.
¡°No,¡± she said sullenly, cutting off all the other words and emotions she wanted to unleash.
¡°Good,¡± Marcus replied. He walked out of the bedroom, firmly closing the door behind him. Isolde is insufferable, the seneschal thought to himself. The woman had no real claim to a title of her own ¨C just a hope of eventually inheriting Maude¡¯s title ¨C but the elfblooded woman had grown up feeling entitled to her space in the duke''s keep. He''d crowd as many of Avery''s brides into her room as necessary. Her bed was easily twice the size of the one he''d slept in at his mother''s house, and she¡¯d never had to share it with two noisome half-brothers.
I need time and space to clear my head, he thought to himself, taking the stairs down to the bridge from the keep to the bailey, and then over the bridge from the bailey into the city. From there, he wandered the streets, mentally working his way through the lists of Avery''s suitors. Out of sixty-one families, nine had agreed to Avery''s terms. Of the fifty-two remaining families, nineteen had left immediately following the announcement, a clear sign of decisive rejection; thirty-three had lingered. Of those thirty-three, nineteen left in silence, but fourteen had still been arguing amongst themselves as they left the great hall.
Two of those fourteen families were staying at York''s newest inn, which reputedly served lovely and refreshing ale in its taproom, though Marcus had not yet had occasion to try the Golden Fleece¡¯s house ale for himself. Refreshing ale would do to erase Isolde''s whiny voice from his memory. Marcus lengthened his stride, walking briskly. He now had an excuse in mind for taking an extended absence from the castle, one that could take him most of the night. Gregor, he sent. If His Grace inquires, tell him I have gone to try to negotiate with some of his undecided potential allies in town.
Perhaps if he lodged enough visitors in the inner keep, Isolde would remove her infuriating self to her aunt¡¯s estate, or at least the castle bailey instead of the keep.
As Marcus approached the Golden Fleece, he reviewed what he knew of Baron Henry de Greystoke and Sir Thomas, the two men on his list who were known guests of the Golden Fleece.
Baron Henry was a Cumbrian with a relatively prosperous estate, but had only daughters, the eldest of which was old enough to marry and named Ivette. He seemed to be interested in taking over the mill under construction by the York Textile Company, and was also a member of some sort of secretive organization that James refused to describe in detail, saying only that it was ¡°seditious but not in a way that presents a concern for Avery¡¯s interest.¡±
Sir Thomas, the father of an eligible young lady named Gelle, had a more modest estate and a son, Sir Simon, who had gone hunting with the duke in order to introduce his sister to the duke. According to James¡¯s files, Sir Thomas had been an excellent bladesman in his youth, proving himself in multiple duels; Sir Simon appeared every bit as talented based on the tales of his recent adventures on the streets of London.
Marcus opened the door to the taproom on the first floor of the inn and halted in his tracks. Even hunched over the bar and viewed from behind, Sir Malkin Guy cut an unmistakable figure, taller than the Silver Duke and broad enough across the shoulder to make Earl Ricard of Northumbria look petite.
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Malkin lowered the pitcher from his mouth and belched, looking at Marcus with curiosity. ¡°You¡¯re the duke¡¯s man,¡± he rumbled, slouching forward on his stool but not standing. ¡°Sir Marcus, the seneschal. I remember you.¡±
¡°Well met,¡± Marcus said, sketching out a quick polite bow. Technically, he ranked the man, but it didn¡¯t hurt to pay respect to a champion. ¡°I would have words with you, if you do not mind.¡± He walked over to the stool next to the massive knight and made a quick signal to the innkeeper, who hastened to provide the seneschal with a mug of ale.
¡°Did you follow me here?¡± Malkin¡¯s tone was mild, but with his size and musculature, he didn¡¯t need to shout to project menace.
Marcus shook his head, then took a long pull from his mug, using the motion to cover the fact that he was turning his attention inward and focusing his energy on a desperate call to Gregor. Quick, what is the name of Sir Malkin¡¯s daughter?
Merilda, came the faint answer from Gregor.
Marcus set down his half-full mug. ¡°No, I had hoped to meet someone else here. This is a bit of providence, though; I am pleased to find you here. Have you discussed the duke¡¯s proposal further with Merilda?¡±
¡°Of course not. She¡¯s a good daughter. She does as I say.¡± The man¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°Why would I ask her? What¡¯s important is what I get for her. If I heard right, the duke wanted me to give him something for her. She¡¯s a nuisance at times, but so can a goat be. You don¡¯t pay someone to take a goat away.¡±
¡°No, no, of course not,¡± Marcus said. ¡°So, let me tell you what the duke is offering to you in exchange for Merilda¡¯s hand in marriage.¡±
A drunken man with clothes that would look fine if they were clean staggered forward. ¡°The duke¡¯s to marry my daughter,¡± he said, thrusting his chest out as he eyed the two taller men. ¡°Or so I¡¯m told. But you¡ you¡¯re the duke¡¯s man. You say he¡¯ll marry this Merilda?¡±
¡°Only if Sir Malkin Guy here agrees,¡± Marcus said, holding up his hands.
The man turned away, looking over at a bearded man in a faded blue and red doublet sitting in the corner. ¡°Devils take you for a liar,¡± he spat. ¡°I¡¯ll have satisfaction, I will!¡±
¡°Not in here,¡± the innkeeper interjected, waving frantically.
A large man with a close family resemblance to the innkeeper ushered the offended drunk man in fine but dirty clothes out the front door, none too gently; then turned back to the corner of the room where the man in the blue and red doublet had been sitting. However, the man in the blue and red doublet was nowhere to be seen. The bouncer looked over at the innkeeper, shrugging.
Marcus blinked. He could still see the imprint of the second man¡¯s seat on the bench cushion, but couldn¡¯t see how the man could have suddenly vanished from a corner of the room with no door in it. He shook his head, putting the disturbance out of mind, and turned back to Sir Malkin Guy. ¡°In taking your oath of fealty, the duke promises to protect you and provide for you in times of need, and to intercede with his own authority on your behalf. If you pledge to take up arms upon his behalf when he has need, he will pledge to ensure you can take up arms.¡±
¡°For that, I need an untaxed estate where my neighbor doesn¡¯t graze his sheep on my fields.¡± Malkin paused. ¡°And someone to pay my tab tonight.¡±
Sir Marcus smiled. ¡°The latter I can promise you now,¡± he said, fishing in his coin purse and retrieving a gold noble that he tossed to the innkeeper. ¡°For the former, I¡¯ll tell you that when you swear fealty directly to the Silver Duke, he will take care of you. The old Silver Duke knighted me when I swore to serve him; when I swore to be the new Silver Duke¡¯s seneschal, he elevated me to a baronet by courtesy, and that means my heir will be a lord.¡±
¡°I don¡¯t know what you mean by former or latter, but being a lord suits me,¡± Sir Malkin Guy said. ¡°Give me that, and I¡¯ll give the duke my daughter and promise to fight for him whenever he calls.¡±
¡°Such a matter is fully within his discretion, and he listens to my advice,¡± Marcus said. He¡¯d already had a conversation with Avery; the two of them had agreed it made sense to elevate any low-ranked fathers-in-law in status after the wedding. Marcus stood, clapping a hand to his chest. ¡°On my honor, I can promise he will do right by you in such a manner as your liege and son-in-law.¡±
The large man nodded, then dropped to one knee with a suddenness that surprised Marcus, his eyes brought down to the level of Marcus¡¯s own eyes. Malkin clapped a massive hand across his chest. ¡°My allegiance is to Duke Avery of York, and after him to the heirs of his choice, be they of my blood or another''s. I will honor no other lord above him except through him.¡±
The bellowed oath silenced all conversation in the tavern. As a chatter of excited conversation broke out around the room, Sir Malkin Guy stood, continuing more quietly. ¡°That was the oath the duke requested. Our bargain, then, is made; he shall grant me title, I will fight at His Grace¡¯s command, and my daughter will be his to use as he sees fit. Cheers.¡± The man grabbed a full pitcher from behind the bar, clinking it against Marcus¡¯s mug and then draining it in one long gulp.
¡°A good night to you, sir,¡± Marcus said as he watched the large man walk away.
¡°Pray tell, what did you say to him that inspired him so?¡±
Marcus turned and looked down; the speaker was of ordinary height and build, which made him a hand shorter and narrower of shoulder than Marcus himself. The man could be none other than Baron Henry de Greystoke, wearing a maroon silk doublet trimmed with silverwork embroidery showing leaping fish around the lower parts and an abstract crossing pattern around the collar. His hose matched his doublet perfectly, a set of galligaskins striped with the same shade of maroon and embroidered with silverwork waves.
¡°Oh,¡± Marcus said, trying to think quickly. An imperial baron could hardly be tempted by the temptation of being titled as a ducal baron ¨C or baronet, as ducal barons were usually known. ¡°Well met, Baron Greystoke. We were discussing the obligations of fealty, and I spoke to him of how His Grace is an excellent liege lord who takes loyalty to his vassals seriously.¡±
¡°Talk of lieges and vassals seems quite old-fashioned to me. The bureaucracy has most of the running of Cumbria; the duke is content that we pay his taxes on time.¡± The baron frowned. ¡°I am not sure if the Duke of Cumbria would take offense if I swore fealty to another lord.¡±
¡°Does that mean that you do wish to marry Ivette to the Silver Duke?¡± Marcus asked.
¡°It would ease matters at home if she were elsewhere, unfortunately.¡± Henry sighed, fingering the fish on the hem of his doublet. ¡°And there are other reasons for me to view the match positively. But what the duke asked of me simply isn¡¯t possible on the face of it. Come sit with me and Sir Thomas ¨C we have a table near the back bar.¡±
Marcus hesitated for a moment before following the baron down the hallway to the Golden Fleece¡¯s second bar. Was Sir Thomas also a member of the baron¡¯s secret society?
25. Leaving the Golden Fleece
¡°As I see it, Lord Henry ¨C and the duke is sure to agree ¨C this Cecil of Clayton may be firmly heir by Cumbrian custom, but you are an imperial baron, not a ducal baronet. Even if you have no blood sons, a son-in-law by marriage, a grandson, or an adoptive son could displace him by imperial law, and he is in any case likely lost at sea.¡± Marcus leaned forward in a conspiratorial fashion. ¡°You¡¯re not actually the only one who couldn¡¯t locate his heir to swear to the duke before engaging his daughter, the duke himself quietly made one exception I know of.¡±
¡°Very understanding of you,¡± Baron Henry de Greystoke said. ¡°Sir Thomas may also be pleased to hear that, as he found himself in similar circumstances during Duke Avery¡¯s announcement.¡± The baron nodded to the lanky knight, who had thus far remained silent through two full pitchers of ale.
Sir Thomas grunted. ¡°Not that similar. My heir isn¡¯t lost at sea. Simon ran off the night before with some mysterious friend of Baron Henry¡¯s. And I doubt he¡¯d approve of the match. He¡¯s fought more than one duel on account of no man seeming good enough for his baby sister. He is overprotective, and I say that as their father.¡±
Marcus put down his mug, wiping foam off his neatly-trimmed mustache. ¡°I was there when he brought her out for the hunt and introduced her to the duke. He seemed greatly concerned with making sure she left a positive impression on the duke.¡±
¡°Most strange,¡± Sir Thomas shook his head. ¡°Stranger to me than Lord Henry agreeing to his daughter becoming but one of many mistresses to the duke. For myself as a mere knight, I doubt my daughter could do better; and if Simon truly finds favor in the match, then you have my agreement as well.¡±
¡°A toast,¡± Baron Henry said, turning to Sir Thomas and raising his mug. ¡°To our future son-in-law!¡±
¡°To the duke!¡± Mugs clinked, and Marcus drained the last of his mug before standing unsteadily. He heard footsteps, and turned to look, but nobody was there; then the back door opened and shut.
¡°What was that?¡± Marcus frowned, staring at the door. First, the vanishing man in the faded blue and red doublet; now a door that opened and shut on its own. The Golden Fleece seemed a strange place.
The younger Joseph Matthew ¨C Joseph de Mathieu, according to his socially ambitious wife ¨C staggered back towards his chosen lodgings to the best of his ability. York was an unfamiliar city, the swirling and ever-changing blue, green, and white marbled face of the moon was hiding behind the clouds, and he''d gotten his lefts and rights thoroughly confused several pints ago. The man in the faded blue and red doublet had been generous, although not so generous as to buy him brandy. Not this time, anyway.
Joseph blinked. There was a dog standing in front of him. Big dog. Its head was higher than his belt just standing there on all fours.
¡°Nice doggie,¡± he said, veering left.
There was a dog standing in front of him. He veered left again. Now there were two dogs in front of him. Was he seeing double? He steadied himself and took a step backwards, turning his head slowly and counting all the dogs he could see. One, two, three, four, five¡ he paused, needing to change hands¡ six.
¡°Six great big dogs,¡± Joseph muttered weakly.
Walk. The lead dog gave a short, deep, and surprisingly quiet bark as a voice in his head gave him an unequivocal order. The dog then turned away from him and started walking.
¡°I''m not drunk!¡± he said. Had the dog spoken?
Leave it. Bad. said a second strange voice in his head, as one of the dogs behind him reared up on its hind legs and pushed him forward. Walk. Walk now.
Joseph shook his head dizzily. The world seemed to spin around him. ¡°I have to sit down,¡± he said quietly.
A cold wet nose lifted the hem of his doublet and pressed into his back. No walk bath river, a third voice in his head said ominously. Bath river?
¡°Uh, I''m good,¡± Joseph said, stumbling forward. ¡°Walk good,¡± he added. ¡°No bath river. Nice doggies.¡±
The pack of dogs herded him down the street and towards the castle.
¡°That''s not the inn,¡± Joseph said. ¡°Charlotte''s going to be mad at me if I don''t make it back to the inn tonight.¡±
The lead wolfhound turned to look at him. Charlotte castle, the first voice said. Walk now.
No castle bath river, the third voice added from behind him. Bath river now? Bad smell.
Even as a baron¡¯s son, Joseph de Mathieu expected the night guards to stop him as he crossed the bridge over the River Foss to the gatehouse. Instead, they gave a small salute to the lead dog, stepping aside to let a drunk man wearing finely-made but poorly-treated clothing and the pack pass through the open gate and into the massive gatehouse. Halfway through, Joseph peered up at the raised portcullis. The world tilted briefly, then everything went black all at once.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
Maude wrinkled her nose. ¡°He smells like he''s been swimming in an open sewer.¡±
The wolfhound made a snorting noise. Did not push man bath river. Man try good, walk bad, fall many times. Sewer cover man scent.
Gregor shrugged, scratching the wolfhound behind the ears. ¡°The hounds say he fell in the sewer a few times. The morning road cleaning crew won''t be out for another two hours.¡± He prodded the face-down man with his foot. ¡°They stopped a man with a crossbow in the alleyway between the pub he was in and the inn he was supposed to get back to. They also chased off three common cutpurses.¡±
Did I leave anything out? he asked the wolfhound.
The wolfhound shook his head.
Maude shook her head. ¡°I assume they didn''t leave the crossbowman alive for questioning?¡±
¡°No, milady,¡± Gregor said. ¡°I haven''t the knack for riding along with them in their heads the way James can do. I just talk to them, and most times they obey as best as they can.¡±
Gregor not ride because Gregor too heavy, the wolfhound sent to Gregor¡¯s mind. Body heavy, mind heavy. James light.
Maude shook her head. ¡°Whoever set an assassin for him is probably aiming for us.¡± She waved at a footman. ¡°I want this man clean and presentable tomorrow. He''s supposed to take an oath. If he''s not ready to do that, we''ll let the duke decide what to do with him at that point.¡±
¡°I wonder if it''s one of the other brides. Johanna was the first to come forward. They might be worried that will give her special status of some kind,¡± Gregor said. ¡°Or maybe they just want to reduce the number of competing wives.¡±
¡°Being the first to step forward probably will give her special status,¡± Maude said. ¡°I know my nephew well enough to know that. He''ll be inclined to count that courage for more than a higher birth, which will be trouble if we let him. The aristocracy thrives on rank and status; if Avery puts the granddaughter of a baron ahead of the daughter of an earl, that will rile them. Something about this whole situation doesn''t quite fit, though.¡± She tapped her fingers together thoughtfully as she considered how she could deal with that situation. ¡°Well, it isn''t that important right now, and it will all work itself out soon enough.¡±
As Maude nodded briskly and walked off, the wolfhound quietly walked behind her, curious about what Maude thought was more important. The woman never spoke to them mind to mind, but she leaked thoughts readily.
Maude¡¯s thoughts were turning towards the question of an acceptable husband for Isolde. Two of Avery''s prospective brides had cold feet already, bringing the number down from nine to seven, a development that Maude had both encouraged and welcomed. In her discussions with the families, she stressed that they had not taken an oath to marry their daughter to the duke, they had simply pledged their allegiance and loyalty to the duke.
Their daughters could be married elsewhere, as long as that marriage did not bring them in conflict with their oath of allegiance ¨C for example, they could marry someone who also owed allegiance to the duke, and there would be no conflict of allegiance at all for the happy couple. Similarly, other families that had not come forward during Avery''s initial oath-taking ceremony were approaching her hesitantly, seeking alternate forms of entanglement that would help bind them to the duke without putting their daughters into some strange polygamous arrangement.
What Avery''s grand gesture had proven beyond any doubt was that he was looking for allies and was willing to pay a substantial price to gain them. Perhaps some nobles would seek obtain a marriage with one of his cousins instead ¨C and among those cousins, surely none was closer to Avery than Isolde. She was the closest thing Avery had to a sister.
In spite of her own negative words on the topic of cousin marriage, Maude had once considered trying to marry her daughter to Avery. They weren''t that closely related; Hugh had been Maude''s father. That made Avery and Isolde second cousins once removed (through Thomas) and also twice removed (through Mary). By Maude''s calculations, that meant they had about one part blood in thirty in common, about as much as ordinary second cousins.
The wolfhound snorted. Crossbow man important, he thought in her general direction. As always, she did not hear him.
The moon shone down brightly on York, waxing gibbous. Its blue-green surface was mottled with streaks of white, and an ill-omened "white eye," a spiral with a dark spot in the middle slowly turning. The moon usually showed white eyes only in the summer months.
The moonlight glinted off the gilded sheep hanging off a heavy-duty metal pole attached to York''s newest inn. The gilded sheep lurched as a dark-clad figure crawled out to the pole, hanging off the end of it before dropping down to the street and running. A small amount of yellowish-green gas seeped from the edges of the third-floor window as the sheep continued to swing back and forth.
A small fist banged on the window as horrid muffled coughing and sneezing noises sounded from within, along with the sounds of breaking furniture. Then a man¡¯s fist shattered the window, glass tinkling on the street, and Baron Henry de Greystoke, clad only in a nightshirt, leaned for a moment over the edge of the window, coughing one last time before pitching over to fall head-first onto the cobbles below, his broken body unmoving where it lay.
A pair of wolfhounds ran down the street towards the inn, then suddenly stopped a dozen yards away from the fallen man, sneezing as their noses burned. One sat and howled; the other dashed back down the street, following the trail of the dark figure as far as the river, then stopping.
It was impossible to track the scent further, and impossible to know how far down the river the criminal had fled. The second hound returned to the first, and the two briefly conferred.
You stay. I go castle. Bring James. The second hound licked its lips nervously, peering at the harsh-smelling building.
James not castle. The first hound gave an exasperated growl. Gregor castle. I call Gregor. You stay, I stay, Gregor come. You go other side. Watch other side.
The second hound whined. Smell hurts, it said, barking in the direction of the building.
Yes. Go other side. Stay. Watch. The first hound growled.
The second hound curled its tail between its legs and slunk down the street towards the alleyway that would allow it into the yard behind the inn. I go. I watch.
The bodies were carried out a little after dawn, under the watchful gaze of a whispering crowd of Yorkish citizens. The innkeeper and his whole family; a well-known traveling merchant and his business partners; two other men, four other women, and two young girls, all with the fine faces and nightclothes that marked them as nobility. The guards questioned the neighbors, and the questions of the guards soon gave away the fact that two of the dead women had been promised as brides to the duke.
Even though the yellow-green gas could no longer be seen, the Golden Fleece still smelled wrong to the hounds.
26. Awakening
Avery, the new Silver Duke, was clad in a long silk nightshirt as he stared at the rising sun, the slit pupils of his golden eyes narrowed to thin black lines and his hands resting on the wall around the edge of the tower. Behind him, the door to the ducal chambers stood open. Hesitantly, a servant appeared for a moment, framed by the doorway, then disappeared.
Three minutes later, with the sun now above the horizon and spilling its rays into the streets of York, the servant reappeared, carrying a tray. Avery¡¯s inhumanly-shaped ear twitched. The unseen servant tentatively advanced, placing the tray on the wall next to him. From this vantage point, neither could see the guards gathered around the front of the Golden Fleece. It seemed an ordinary morning thus far, as ordinary as any since Avery had claimed the ducal chambers as his own.
¡°Thank you,¡± Avery said, glancing sideways as the servant bowed deeply. He picked a teacup off the tray and sipped as he reached inside himself to find certain channels of communication that conventional wizards seemed blind to. Marcus was deep asleep; Isolde was ¨C oh, he had woken her. Sorry, he sent.
Gregor was awake, but seemed quite tired, almost too tired to sustain his own end of the connection. Your Grace, I have important matters to report, but I think it better to tell you in person, after I have finished my investigations. A blur of muddled emotion washed through the connection.
Avery set his teacup down with a frown. There were times when ignorance was bliss, but he doubted this was such a moment. Gregor, he sent sternly, and then his thoughts were interrupted by a loud voice.
¡°There you are,¡± Maude said. ¡°I¡¯d heard you took breakfast upstairs in your chambers, but I didn¡¯t realize you were taking it outside. I had two things I wanted to tell you straightaway. Someone tried to kill Johanna¡¯s father last night. The hounds killed his assailant and herded him into the castle ¨C he was too drunk to give any useful details, but we may know more once he wakes from his rest.¡±
¡°You¡¯re smiling. I thought you disapproved of my engagement,¡± Avery said, unconsciously matching her expression. It seemed clear that the attempted murder of Johanna¡¯s father was Gregor¡¯s important news; and if Johanna¡¯s father was safe in the castle, then matters were well in hand.
¡°Given the folly of your plans, marrying Johanna is sensible. She was the first to stand to claim your hand, and is the granddaughter of a prosperous baron.¡± Maude sighed. ¡°While I wish you were only marrying Elizabeth, I wish neither Johanna nor her family ill.¡±
Avery nodded gravely. ¡°You said you had two things. What is the second?¡±
¡°You¡¯re to be fitted today for new ceremonial armor,¡± Maude said.
Avery felt keenly sensitive to the way this sounded like an imperative from his foster mother. ¡°On your orders?¡± Avery looked down at Maude with a frown.
Maude shrank back, sinking into a curtsy in a show of overt obedience. ¡°If Your Grace wills it, I will send the armorer home, along with his cousin the jeweler, whom I engaged to fit your entirely too numerous duchesses-to-be for appropriate circlets. But Your Grace did ask me to assist with planning your wedding. Or joint coronation of duchesses, if Your Grace prefers to call it that.¡±
Every word was true, but delivered in an unkindly tone. Avery shook his head. ¡°Yes, I did ask for your help.¡± He paused, then laid a hand on his aunt¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I spoke in anger. You are right to think of that¡ what I wore to the coronation did fit me ill.¡±
¡°As well it might after lying disused for the better part of a century,¡± Maude said. ¡°My grandfather found little cause for high ceremony after the last of his children died. If you outlive your own children, you might find yourself of a similar opinion, but save those worries for a time when you have children to worry about.¡±
¡°So, you will be wanting me to make one for each bride?¡± The dwarven jeweler sipped his tea from a perch on a couch. The sitting room of the inner keep was quiet, occupied only by Maude, Isolde, the visiting jeweler, and a pair of servants.
Maude, seated in her familiar beige chair, nodded, her left pinky finger absently tracing its way along a worn spot in the upholstery. ¡°Yes, Master Lew. It is not strictly necessary that they be identical, as the brides are not all of equal rank, but I can''t have all seven of them wear Duchess Jennifer''s diadem at the same time.¡±
¡°Seven, ma''am? My cousin Herbert had word from Lord Marcus that we would need twelve.¡± The jeweler frowned. His cousin was half-dwarven and half human; but while short in stature, his halfling cousin was quite reliable with numbers.
Lady Maude paused. ¡°I¡¯m not sure how your cousin would get such a number. Lord Marcus¡¯s information was out of date. I have been more closely involved with the negotiations surrounding the duke¡¯s engagement, and I can tell you the number is now but seven.¡±
¡°I believe the number is eight.¡± Gregor, the master of hounds, stood in the doorway of the sitting room.
Maude frowned at the rude interjection and uninvited intrusion. ¡°Please do explain. Yesterday afternoon, Marie and Giselle told me they had agreed to withdraw from their engagements in favor of other considerations. Which of them has had second thoughts?¡±
The houndmaster sighed, shaking his head heavily as he seated himself next to Isolde, who wrinkled her nose for the briefest moment. Then Gregor looked up at Maude and spoke. ¡°You and Marcus need to talk to each other more often. Marcus convinced three more families and their daughters to swear fealty to the duke yesterday. You didn''t tell him about Marie and Giselle; he didn''t tell you about Ivette, Gelle, and Merilda; and I have the sorrowful news this morning to report to you that late last night, Ivette and Gelle were murdered in their sleep. The Golden Fleece was¡ as best as we can tell, flooded with a poisonous vapor of some kind, killing everyone inside. The dogs didn''t think it was safe to enter until this morning.¡±
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¡°That''s horrible,¡± said Maude. ¡°Who did it?¡±
¡°We don''t know,¡± Gregor said. ¡°Two of the hounds spotted the killer, but he ¨C or she ¨C was covered up and smelled strongly of substances not familiar to either dog. The killer was either a smaller-than-average man or a larger-than-average woman with extraordinary physical fitness. Because the killer evaded the hounds'' pursuit by entering the river, we can rule out the possibility of a vampire, though not the Scottish variety of zombie.¡±
Isolde blanched. She''d thought that the idea of bringing Avery''s brides into the keep before the wedding was an unnecessary and irritating imposition. She tuned out whatever her mother was saying and reached out to her cousin mentally. Avery, has Gregor given you the latest news?
What happened to calling me ''Metalface''? You never call me Avery this way. A pause. Gregor said he had some bad news that he wanted to deliver in person. Is it news that can wait? I''m in the middle of getting fitted for a new ceremonial breastplate. This is a bit distracting.
Two of your prospective brides were murdered last night, Isolde sent.
A loud crash sounded from upstairs, and footsteps thumped quickly down the stairs. The temperature in the room dropped suddenly. Isolde could see her breath steam out in the cold air. Maude shivered. Master Lew watched in wonder as frost formed around the edge of his teacup.
Avery entered the room, his eyes flashing. ¡°My apologies for interrupting,¡± he began, then paused and turned to Gregor. ¡°Have guards sent immediately to wherever any of my fianc¨¦es are staying in town. I want them moved into the keep before morning''s end.¡± Avery turned to Isolde. ¡°Your guests ¨C make sure they go nowhere outside the keep without an escort. I want a man or a hound with them even in the castle bailey, and if they should need to go into town, at least one reliable man and one of the hounds.¡±
Isolde jumped to her feet. ¡°Yes, Your Grace,¡± she said reflexively. ¡°They''re having breakfast downstairs. I''ll go tell them.¡±
You''re reminding me of Grandpa, she sent as she went off down the stairs. It''s a little scary, Metalface.
Sorry, Avery replied.
Don''t be sorry. You need to be scary to be a good duke right now. Isolde wiped away a single tear, composing herself as she stood outside the door.
Elizabeth put her teacup down carefully in the center of the saucer, shifting on the hard wooden bench as she looked across the table at her companion. ¡°So why did your father miss the ball and Avery''s big announcement?¡±
¡°He was indisposed,¡± Johanna said, frowning. ¡°Too much ale.¡±
¡°Really?¡± Elizabeth asked. ¡°That''s a shame. My brothers get rowdy when they''re in their cups, but they would never let me down like that.¡±
¡°I didn''t mind,¡± Johanna said. ¡°I''d rather he didn''t go off and get monstrously drunk, but it''s better for him to not be there than to be there and too far gone. It''s embarrassing.¡±
¡°I suppose it is,¡± Elizabeth said. ¡°But he was supposed to be there.¡±
¡°I know,¡± Johanna said. ¡°I love him dearly, but sometimes he doesn''t take responsibility seriously. He acts like my grandfather will always be around to take care of things ¨C pay off the bills and damages, buy him new clothes to replace the ones he''s ruined, and so on. We''re lucky he''s not dead. One of the guards told me there was a killer waiting for him in an alleyway last night. We still don''t know why.¡±
Elizabeth took a sip of tea. Johanna''s father had sworn his belated oath to the duke dressed in finer clothes than any she''d ever seen her father or brothers wear. Johanna''s grandfather must be very wealthy, she thought to herself. She self-consciously smoothed her dress.
¡°What made you want to marry the duke?¡± Elizabeth asked.
Johanna gave a shy smile. ¡°The usual,¡± she said. ¡°He''s tall, handsome, and well-titled. I''ve had a fancy for him for a long while, but my grandfather told me to stay away until after the succession dispute was resolved.¡±
¡°Does it bother you? That you claimed him first and will have to share him with the rest of us?¡± Elizabeth said.
¡°You''re the daughter of an earl,¡± Johanna said. ¡°Most people would say you''re the one having to share him with the rest of us lesser women.¡±
The blonde girl flushed pink. ¡°I don''t feel greater than you,¡± Elizabeth said. ¡°You''re taller and older.¡± And so very much richer, she added silently, trying not to feel jealous.
There was a tap at the door, and then Isolde emerged, not waiting for a response. ¡°Good. You''re both here. I was worried you might have gone down to the city. I have terrible news.¡±
¡°What is it?¡± Johanna asked.
¡°Two of the duke''s intended brides were murdered last night. Gelle and Ivette.¡± Isolde¡¯s face was nearly expressionless, except that one of her eyes was a little bit red.
¡°Murdered?¡± Elizabeth repeated. ¡°By whom?¡± She didn''t want to admit not remembering who Gelle and Ivette were.
¡°We don''t know. They were poisoned in the Golden Fleece inn. All the patrons were killed. Two of the hounds caught a glimpse of the killer, but they couldn''t identify him or her,¡± Isolde said.
Elizabeth paused, then shut her mouth, her thoughts coursing at a mile a minute. Why is Isolde talking about the hounds as if they could have reported the identity of the killer? The duke''s hounds are eerily well-trained, but they can¡¯t talk, can they?
¡°Was anyone else hurt?¡± Johanna asked. ¡°Is the duke all right?¡±
¡°The duke was unharmed,¡± Isolde said. ¡°He was here at the keep. But he was furious when he found out this morning. We''ve got men and hounds out searching the city. So far, no one has been found.¡±
¡°Why would anyone want to kill the duke''s brides?¡± Elizabeth asked. ¡°And why poison?¡±
Isolde gave the younger woman a look. ¡°Living in Northumbria, you haven¡¯t really had much experience with intrigue, have you?¡±
¡°Not really,¡± Elizabeth admitted. ¡°It''s a quiet county. Every so often we get Scottish cattle raids, and then my father goes out and rides around looking fierce and writes a letter complaining to the emperor¡¯s court demanding recompense for the lost animals.¡±
¡°Well, I''ll try to explain it to you as simply as possible,¡± Isolde said. ¡°The reason could be nearly anything. Jealousy¡ a desire to make the duke look weak and incompetent¡ it could even be one of the other brides to be, looking to eliminate some rivals and frighten off others.¡±
Johanna and Elizabeth looked at each other with sudden concern.
¡°I''m not saying I think it''s one of you two,¡± Isolde clarified politely. ¡°What I am saying is that you shouldn''t leave the keep without an armed escort.¡±
27. Aftershocks
¡°I want the bodies of the ones named Ivette and Gelle,¡± Beatrice said to her butler. ¡°Whole, not stripped down to the skeletons. Have Reginald do a basic draining and necromantic preservation. Since their parents are dead as well, there shouldn''t be anyone in town to claim them, you should be able to bribe the coroner into handing them over.¡±
The butler opened his mouth, but Beatrice held up a finger at the butler.
¡°Wait. I have a better idea,¡± she said. ¡°Grab all the bodies from the incident that you can, except for the innkeeper and his family, who surely have local relatives coming to claim them. It will surely be less memorable if we''re just buying more supply for the factory. The bribe won¡¯t be much steeper, the coroner will be happy to save on necromancy, and we¡¯re short on corpses as it is.¡±
¡°Yes, ma''am,¡± the butler said. ¡°I''ll see to it straightaway.¡±
Beatrice paced back and forth in front of the desk, frowning. Avery spurning her affections had bothered her. The fact that Avery had spurned her while deciding to propose simultaneously to dozens of other women bothered her considerably more. And yet she was also bothered to hear the news that two of those women had been murdered. Not because two of her rivals were dead, but because she didn''t know who had done it. Or why. Or even entirely how. And while she knew it wouldn''t matter in a few days anyway¡ it still annoyed her. And worried her a little.
Ivette, as the daughter of a baron conspicuously seen courting Avery, had been an obvious prospect ¨C but she hadn''t been among the nine who swore to the duke publicly. Beatrice hadn''t known Ivette was engaged to be married to the duke until the morning after she was murdered. The same was true of Gelle. Who had known that Ivette and Gelle had been among the duke''s brides-to-be before their deaths? Was the murderer someone who wanted to kill all of the duke¡¯s suitors, or did they have a more selective agenda in mind?
Beatrice had always thought of herself as shrewd and clever in business matters. But these matters seemed far more political. Political matters had to make sense to her if she were to somehow arrange to become Avery¡¯s duchess. Someone had murdered over a dozen people ¨C including a baron ¨C for what? So that the duke would marry eight women instead of ten? But then the other eight women would be protected much more closely. Before, the duke had invited his fiancees to the castle; after the attack, he had ordered his fiancees to the castle.
These two things didn''t quite fit together. Surely the price was too high for the return value, she thought to herself. Unless the murderer was someone on the inside, someone with access to the castle, who puts great stock in her ability to furtively murder more women. Perhaps another one of his fiancees did it, knowing she would have more opportunities later.
She shook off this last unsettling thought irritably. She didn''t know who killed two of her rivals and her families, but she planned to celebrate their deaths even if the perpetrator was another rival for the duke¡¯s affection. Today should be an enjoyable day, she silently told herself. The duke had been punished (if not by her) for his crime of spurning her, punished with the deaths of two of his brides.
Those two deaths pushed him two steps closer to begging for Bella.
Sabine fumed as she stalked across the room. ¡°And when I went to the coroner, the bodies were gone. He said relatives must have claimed them all already. I could believe that for one of the families, but all of them? Including the traveling merchant¡¯s party? He''s lying.¡± She turned sharply on her heel, leaning forward over the top of a chair as she glared at her brother.
¡°What would you want the bodies for?¡± Stephen, comfortably reclined on a long striped couch, popped a grape into his mouth, chewing.
¡°I want to know who killed them.¡± Sabine looked away from her brother and resumed pacing back and forth the length of the room, her steps still whisper-quiet in spite of her state of agitation. ¡°A good necromancer can recover the last moments a dead body saw, and we have enough money to hire a good necromancer even if we have to fly one from Lancaster. One of them might have seen something useful. I don''t like not knowing who is murdering women trying to marry the duke. It''s a bad precedent, considering my own ambitions.¡±
Stephen spat out the grape seed into a bowl. ¡°You sure you didn''t just want to gloat over your fallen rivals?¡± His voice was lightly teasing.
¡°They''re only my rivals if they''re my equals,¡± Sabine said, shaking her head. ¡°I rank a baron¡¯s get, much less a knight¡¯s.¡±
¡°Still, you do know something,¡± Stephen said, sounding more serious. ¡°You know someone stole ¨C or bought, more likely ¨C the bodies from the coroner. Find the bodies and you find someone who wants to hide evidence.¡±
Sabine pursed her lips, pausing to turn and look at her brother. ¡°True. I was frustrated with the fact that the coroner was obviously lying to me and didn''t think to dig deeper in that direction.¡± She sighed and sat down in a plush oversized chair, considering a more specific problem. ¡°Maybe the duke will have better luck. He''s the big fish in this little pond. Maybe he can get the truth out of the coroner. You can suggest that to Maude at our dinner with her tonight.¡±
¡°Why not you?¡± Stephen asked.
¡°I''m profoundly disinterested in anything to do with the duke, remember?¡± Sabine arched an eyebrow. ¡°From this moment forward, you''re the one who desperately wants to build connections between York and Lancaster, and I''ve been dragged to this dinner against my will by my bully of an older brother,¡± Sabine said. She made a sour face. ¡°Besides, the duke appears to have a distaste for necromancy, so I don''t want to have a single good word to say about necromancy while I''m courting him. You can fumble around like an undiplomatic oaf and appeal to his better political interests; I have to capture his heart.¡±
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
¡°Then I won¡¯t wear the ceremonial armor at all,¡± Avery snapped, his hands planted on the desk now inhabiting his old bedroom. ¡°I¡¯ll wear my battle armor and be glad of it. But I cannot go wait through hours of fittings and adjustment at a time like this.¡±
Maude clucked her tongue, leaning back in her chair. ¡°Think, Avery, you¡¯re a duke. You don¡¯t go personally comb your fingers through the rubble looking for clues, you have people who do that for you. Besides, if you¡¯re the true target of these attackers ¨C the crossbowman, the poisoner ¨C then you¡¯re safest staying inside the inner keep. The city is compromised, but as far as we know, not the castle.¡±
Avery looked into his foster mother¡¯s worried eyes. ¡°Would your grandfather have sat in his castle after his fiancee was murdered?¡±
¡°No,¡± Maude admitted reluctantly. ¡°If Duchess Jennifer but wanted for a flower, he would go himself to fetch it from the hills, or so my father told me. I never saw that side of the old duke ¨C she passed on before I was born.¡±
¡°Well, I am not so easy of a target to hunt as a sleeping woman or a drunk man,¡± Avery said. ¡°I¡¯ve had a werewolf¡¯s teeth wrapped around my arm and come off with but a little light denting.¡±
¡°You¡¯ve¡ what?¡± Maude stood, concerned. ¡°Has there been a full moon since?¡±
Avery waved his arm. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± he said. ¡°Really. Fiona told her master, and he looked at my arm when I came in from the hunt. Archmage Warin is a diviner, and he said it was okay.¡±
¡°And you trust him?¡± Maude said.
¡°Yes?¡± Avery screwed up his face. ¡°I can hear lies.¡±
¡°He¡¯s an archmage. If anybody can obscure a lie from you, it would be an archmage.¡± Maude put her hands on her hips. ¡°Tomorrow is the first night of the full moon, and it was nearly fully blue at midnight last night ¨C barely scraps of white, and on the wrong side for any green at all. If the moon is so bright and uniform tonight, lycanthropic episodes will be of great severity.¡±
¡°I will grant that an archmage may be able to conceal his lies. But¡ I¡¯m to marry his adoptive daughter,¡± Avery pointed out. ¡°He surely wouldn¡¯t want her infected with lycanthropy. He doesn¡¯t have any reason to lie to me. Sit down and go back to¡ whatever it is you were doing, and I will go speak with people who might know something about the attack. As they are not archmages, I trust I shall be able to tell if they are lying to me even if they have good reason to.¡±
Madame Jocosa looked back and forth between the two girls dubiously. One was tall with dark hair and green eyes, holding a dark bundle and wearing a faded green dress; the other was short (at least for a human) with light brown hair and blue eyes, wearing a drab dress of undyed dark gray wool. Both loomed above her in the cluttered quarters of her shop, transforming ¨C as customers were wont to do ¨C a vast and spacious room into one barely large enough, cluttered with racks and mannequins and mirrors and a sewing table.
¡°And you want me to make you a dress that matches one your friend Anna already owns? To marry the duke in?¡± The halfling dressmaker looked up at the shorter one.
¡°It needn¡¯t be exact, but I¡¯d like it to show us as being like sisters,¡± Rose said.
¡°I¡¯m surprised to get the job over Madame Percy,¡± Madame Jocosa said. ¡°I¡¯ve lost half my custom to her, and she still has most of the inventory she brought up from London.¡±
The two girls exchanged looks. ¡°We were hoping you might work less dearly,¡± Anna said. ¡°Sir Walter has not a great deal of money to spend.¡±
¡°And you want it cheap as well as a rush job,¡± Madame Jocosa muttered under her breath. ¡°Fine. Hand it over and I¡¯ll see.¡±
Anna extended her dark bundle to the dressmaker with trepidation. ¡°Be careful, I¡¯ve been working on it for years,¡± she said.
Unrolling the dress, the halfling mumbled under her breath, peering closely at the black woolen velvet with green embroidery before holding it out at arm¡¯s length and closing one of her eyes, eyeing both the dress and its reflection in an oval silvered mirror. ¡°Well done,¡± she said. ¡°I can see where you started over. Except it¡¯s not your size. Nowhere near. It¡¯s closer to your friend¡¯s size, though I might still need to take in the bust a little for it to fit her.¡±
¡°I¡¯ve been working on that embroidery since I was fifteen,¡± Anna said, numbly. ¡°Getting it exactly like I had dreamed.¡±
¡°Try it on if you don¡¯t believe me,¡± Madame Jocosa said. ¡°I¡¯d wager you¡¯re not the same size you were at fifteen.¡±
Anna didn¡¯t try on her dress, satisfied with lining it up against herself in a mirror and having her measurements taken for a replacement dress. She winced at the price quoted by Madame Jocosa.
¡°I ¨C we could buy your dress, and cover most of that for you,¡± Rose said hurridly. ¡°If the alterations to make it fit aren¡¯t too expensive.¡±
In the space of a few short moments, Rose¡¯s dark grey dress was lying on the sewing table, replaced with the black velvet dress once so carefully embroidered by a younger Anna. Rose held her arms out to the sides.
¡°Now, Anna, hold the fabric here,¡± Madame Jocosa directed, then pulled. ¡°See? Two, two and a half inches less in the bust. I could do three, but¡ inhale, dearie¡ perhaps a little padding on the inside. I¡¯ll need to take up the hem at least two inches as well, at least in front ¨C you wouldn¡¯t want to trip over it.¡±
There was a loud knock at the door to the shop.
¡°Walt, we¡¯re still busy!¡± Rose shouted over her shoulder.
The door opened. It was not Walt. A silver chin appeared below the doorframe, then lowered, exposing a silver face with slit-pupiled golden eyes. The duke.
¡°Madame Jocosa. You spoke with one of my guards this morning. Philip. I wish to speak with you.¡± Golden eyes flickered from side to side, then paused, pupils widening slightly. ¡°Wait. Anna. And¡¡± A hesitation. ¡°Rose.¡±
¡°I was to fit a dress for your wedding, Your Grace,¡± the gray-haired halfling seamstress said, dropping into a deep curtsy on top of her step stool. ¡°But am at your service directly.¡±
¡°You will be later,¡± the duke told the dressmaker, sticking his head partway through the door, one hand on each side of the frame and the other pointing at Rose. ¡°But first, those two will accompany me back to the castle immediately. Madame Jocosa, you may call on them later to complete your business. They will not be leaving the castle.¡±
As Anna dipped in a graceful curtsy and walked towards her intended, Rose looked over at her own dress, draped across the back of the chair, then back the implacable golden eyes of the duke. Swallowing nervously, she grabbed her gray wool dress with one hand and hiked up the black velvet dress with the other to make sure it wouldn¡¯t drag on the street, then made for the door wearing the dress Anna had meant for her own wedding.
After the door shut behind Rose, Madame Jocosa shook her head, looking around her shop in the steady even glow of the magelight.
¡°Bad luck to see one¡¯s bride in her new dress before the wedding.¡±
28. Gathering
The day of Avery¡¯s announcement
¡°If you need time to confer with your family, you have it ¨C but do not take too long. The wedding is in two weeks.¡± The echoes of the words of the new Silver Duke were swallowed by a susurrus of whispers.
Althea felt very confused. Her father was a ducal baron ¨C sometimes called a baronet ¨C who owned a small fortified manor between the Ouse and the Trent, on the border between the duchy of York and the county of Lincoln, one of a string of lesser lordships created by the old Silver Duke along his borders after the Great Famine of 1315 and the attendant unrest. She had come to York with her parents, two sisters, and two brothers to attend the coronation of the new duke. Then they had stayed. And stayed.
The occasion of the duke''s coronation had brought many eligible nobles to town, and her mother was keenly aware that she had three unmarried daughters she needed to get rid of somehow. By the time the population of eligible noblemen had thinned, her mother, instead of giving up, had focused keen attention on the single most prominently eligible nobleman.
And now here she was with her family in the duke''s great hall, and the duke had just declared himself willing to marry¡ all three sisters? And whomever else besides? She looked at her mother''s fierce glare, then back at her sisters. Like her, they were built along lines that might kindly be called willowy, or less kindly as lanky or even gangly, with straight hair in a medium brown shade, hazel eyes, and little padding in spite of never having gone hungry. Isabel, middle-born, nevertheless had an inch of height on her; Althea in turn had almost two inches on Cecily, who might not have yet finished getting taller. It was hard to be sure.
¡°Mother has that look on her face, but I think only one of us has to do it,¡± Althea said quietly. ¡°We should draw straws or something.¡±
Isabel nodded silently. Cecily, ever resourceful, was already holding out a fist, her hazel eyes glimmering. Althea eyed her youngest sister with suspicion. Cecily somehow always manages to rig the draw, Althea thought to herself. She reached for the nearest straw, stopped, then reached further, pulling the straw closest to Cecily. A long one. Althea breathed a sigh of relief.
Isabel drew next. Her straw was shorter ¨C but when Cecily opened her hand, hers was clearly the short one. ¡°Darn,¡± Cecily said. ¡°I got the short straw. Mother, Althea wins the duke! She got the long straw!¡±
¡°Wait, I thought¡¡± Althea narrowed her eyes, but it was too late. Her mother had already seized her by the wrist.
Forcing her into a corner away from her siblings, her mother whispered to Althea in hushed tones as tears gathered in her eyes. ¡°I''m so proud of you! You''re going to get married!¡±
Cecily laughed mirthlessly at her sister''s dismayed expression as her mother dragged Althea backwards through the crowded room until they reached the queue at the front, where Althea¡¯s arms were pinned against her sides by an excited hug from a woman with strawberry-blonde hair, shorter but more solid.
¡°Althea! I''m glad you made it!¡± Helen was the third of five sisters, within a year of Althea¡¯s age. The oldest had married the elder of Althea''s two brothers, who was likely to inherit both baronetcies unless Helen''s parents managed to come up with a son as a late surprise. ¡°I was worried Cecily would cheat you out of your spot! I''m so excited that we''re going to be duchesses together! This is going to be such fun!¡±
¡°Um¡¡± Althea squinted down dizzily at Helen as the two of them spun around, trying to figure out if this was some kind of cruel joke from a friend who was usually kind to her. ¡°Helen? What about John? I thought you two were nearly engaged.¡±
¡°Oh, that?¡± Helen shook her head in disgust, holding Althea at arm''s length. ¡°He''s twelve years older than I am and fat enough for three of me. I''d much rather have the Silver Duke once a week and you every day than John every night.¡±
The day after the Golden Fleece incident
Althea held her long slender arms out straight out to each side and rolled her eyes. ¡°This is ridiculous. I was measured just two months ago. And we didn''t do nearly this many measurements last time.¡±
¡°I''m just following the seamstress''s instructions,¡± Helen said, her fingers brushing aside brunette hair before she slowly smoothed the measuring tape across Althea¡¯s bare chest.
¡°It¡¯s not as if they¡¯ll get any bigger by your measuring them. Or as if I¡¯ve grown in the last two months.¡±
¡°You were measured with a different tape. She uses new London inches instead of York inches or old London inches, and this gown will hug you in all the fashionably delicious places only if they¡¯re exactly right. She said I have to do the whole set of measurements twice, and if any of the numbers don¡¯t match, I should repeat the measurements until I¡¯m confident which ones are correct. This measuring tape keeps sticking to your skin. It''s your fault for sleeping in and not coming with me this morning.¡±
Althea shook her head, lowering her arms. ¡°I''m not rising at matins to get measured for a dress. Couldn''t she work normal hours?¡±
Helen snorted, pulling a stray strand of strawberry-blonde hair back behind her ear. ¡°Madame Percy can''t be out in daylight at all.¡±
Althea frowned. ¡°So she''s a vampire?¡±
¡°No, a ghost,¡± Helen said, jotting down a measurement and then looking back up at Althea. She licked her lips unconsciously and then wrapped the measuring tape around Althea''s hips. ¡°Or maybe an angel.¡± Helen frowned, adjusting the measuring tape. ¡°I''m joking. Of course she has the aristocratic disease. She''s been making dresses for the most fashionable ladies in London and just came up to work the season here because of the duke''s coronation. We were lucky to get a matins appointment.¡±
A knock sounded at the door. ¡°Come in,¡± Helen called. The maid opened the door and stepped aside. Althea¡¯s mother, clad in an elegant blue gown no less fine than the one she had worn to Isolde¡¯s ball, strode into the room. Her own brown hair, distinguishable from Althea¡¯s by a few scattered strands of gray, was swept up into an elaborate coiffure. She was carrying an ornately decorated leather traveling case and her expression was stern.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
¡°Maman, what is the matter?¡± Althea asked.
¡°The duke''s guards are at the front door. We must go to the castle immediately.¡± Althea¡¯s mother looked like she had more to say to her daughter, but cut herself off, turning to Helen instead. ¡°Helen, would you help dress Althea? The maid will be busy with her sisters and we need to hurry. The peach dress, please, and no dilly-dallying. The footmen will pack up the rest of her things later.¡±
¡°Yes, ma''am,¡± Helen said, smiling and tucking a scrap of parchment with Althea''s measurements into her purse as the maid ¨C having just been indirectly offered instructions by her mistress ¨C hastily walked away. Then Helen frowned, leaning close to whisper in Althea¡¯s ear. ¡°I bet this has to do with the Golden Fleece. Something awful happened there last night, but my mother wouldn''t tell me exactly what.¡±
The elderly wizard eyed the ducal guards skeptically. ¡°Do you know who I am?¡±
The lead guard hesitated, and consulted a piece of paper. ¡°Sir Warin?¡±
¡°Archmage Warin,¡± the elderly wizard corrected. ¡°I don¡¯t bother with knightly orders, running one would cut into my research time. This residence is adequately warded. Fiona and I are perfectly safe here.¡±
¡°I''m sorry, sir, I didn''t mean to imply you were past your prime, sir.¡± The lead guard sweated nervously. ¡°But the duke wants his fianc¨¦es in the keep for their own safety. The duke already invited both of you to come at your pleasure, sir, so you can come along if you like, but the duke has ordered Fiona''s presence. And begging your pardon, sir, but you did pledge the duke as your lord.¡±
Warin sighed. ¡°That I did. Very well. Fiona! Pack our things!¡±
The elderly wizard pulled out a piece of chalk and a string, and started drawing a diagram on the floor.
¡°Sir?¡± The guard looked on, puzzled. ¡°What are you doing?¡±
¡°Going to the castle,¡± Warin said, continuing his drawing. ¡°In a few minutes. Once Fiona has finished packing the bags. You might want to head there now if you want to catch up.¡±
A woman with copper hair and gently pointed ears slowly came down the stairs, one hand holding two bags over her shoulder and the other dragging a travel chest behind her. The chest thumped down one stair at a time. The elderly wizard stood and sprinkled something over the chalk and waited, tapping his foot.
¡°You should have levitated the chest, Fiona,¡± Warin told the woman as she carefully picked up the chest and set it inside the chalk pattern. ¡°It should be easier than the other way by now. Practice makes perfect.¡±
Fiona scowled at her master. Then Warin snapped his fingers and both wizards disappeared, leaving the guards behind.
Merilda shuddered, nervously holding her long blonde braid. ¡°Father, I''m frightened. If Gelle and Ivette have been murdered, surely I''m next.¡±
Though she was taller than most men, her father glowered down at her from a still greater height, his green eyes narrowed under black bushy eyebrows. ¡°I''m not leaving town until I''m rid of you,¡± he said. ¡°And I''ve what I want now from the duke and his seneschal, so I¡¯m not breaking the engagement. You''ll go to him whether you will or no. I don''t care if he beds you or puts you to work in the scullery, you''re his now.¡±
Merilda choked on a sob. ¡°But, Father, two of the duke''s fianc¨¦es are dead! Aren¡¯t you worried I might be next?¡±
¡°All the worse for you if you are,¡± her father said. ¡°All that means is that it''s a pity you couldn''t have found a man to marry earlier, Merilda. Your sister and your cousin went quickly, we didn''t have to keep either of them up for so long.¡±
¡°But, Father, what if the murders are connected to the duke''s marriage?¡± Merilda backed away into a crouch, her green eyes filling with panic and tears beneath a pair of thick blonde eyebrows.
¡°I''m sure they are,¡± her father said. ¡°The duke''s strong. If you die, he''ll avenge you well enough to satisfy my family honor. If I ever find a reason I need a daughter, I''ll get a new one on your stepmother.¡±
Merilda felt like she''d been stabbed in the stomach. She would rather he had slapped her. Her lips silently formed the words but, Father a third time; no sound escaped from them. She knew better than to try her luck.
A knock sounded at the door. Her father frowned, and put his face to the gap at the top of the door, peering out. Then he unbarred the door and opened it, revealing a pair of ducal guards accompanied by a wolfhound wearing a metal-lined harness. The two were standing in front of a carriage.
¡°How may I be of service to the duke today?¡± Merilda''s father rumbled politely at the guards.
¡°Sir Malkin Guy,¡± said the guard on the left-hand side, with a short bow. ¡°The duke has ordered that I bring Merilda to the keep.¡± He hesitated, peering up at the very large man hunched over the doorway of the small house. ¡°The orders say nothing about you, but if you wish, sir, you may certainly accompany us there to look after her.¡±
The huge man shook his head. ¡°I trust in my liege completely. You may have her.¡± He stepped back from the doorway. ¡°Merilda, get your things.¡±
Merilda went to the corner of the room, picking up a pillow up from the floor. She carefully brushed off both sides and shook it. Then she unlatched a travel chest, put the pillow in, closed the chest, and then picked it up by a handle on the end, shouldering it with one arm.
¡°Goodbye, Father,¡± she said, giving him a sad look before walking out the door. Her father shut the door without a word.
¡°Ma''am, do you want help with that?¡± The right-hand guard looked up at her.
She shook her head. ¡°It''s okay,¡± she said, lifting the chest up from her shoulder and setting it carefully on the floor of the carriage. The carriage floorboards creaked in protest. ¡°I''m used to carrying it.¡± She stepped in after it and sat down. ¡°Thank you for offering.¡±
When the coachman cracked the whip, the horses started forward. The wolfhound jogged ahead and the guards followed behind on foot. They traveled through the city and then over the bridge that crossed into the bailey of York Castle. When they reached the gatehouse that led into the castle proper, they had to wait: The guards at the gate were checking everyone carefully before allowing them to enter the castle, and a line had built up.
Inside the gates, the driver turned the team, cutting through the bailey yard towards the smaller gatehouse at the base of the stairs leading up to the keep. As the carriage rolled along, Merilda stared out the window, watching the scenery pass by.
She was glad that her father was not coming. She didn''t want to see him anymore. At the same time, she missed him terribly. She wished that he were here to protect her. Merilda sat for a moment, holding back tears as two footmen unloaded her travel chest from the carriage, balancing it between them as they started up the steps to the keep. She shook her head, clearing her thoughts, and then stepped out of the carriage in order to follow the two straining footmen in their slow journey up the stairs.
Then an elderly man appeared with a quiet pop of suddenly displaced air, a copper-haired young woman with gently pointed ears by his side. The pair of guards who had accompanied Merilda¡¯s carriage turned, surprised.
¡°Contrary to my assumptions, it doesn''t appear the keep is protected against teleportation,¡± the old man said, scowling up at the keep. ¡°I may as well have saved us the hike up the stairs and brought us directly to the duke¡¯s bedchambers. We were safer in the rental house.¡±
¡°Who are you?¡± The right-hand guard sounded suspicious and uncertain.
¡°Archmage Warin, and this is my ward and apprentice, Fiona, one of your duchesses-to-be.¡± Warin fished in his sleeve, producing an envelope. ¡°Here are my credentials.¡±
The guards stayed at arm''s length, neither reaching out to accept the envelope. ¡°Wait, please,¡± said the guard on the right-hand side.
A pair of wolfhounds loped up, one brown and one gray. They sniffed the elderly wizard and the young woman. The gray wolfhound looked at one of the guards and nodded.
¡°You may proceed,¡± the guard said.
Warin smiled and gestured at the dogs. ¡°Thank you,¡± he said to the gray wolfhound, then turned to Fiona.
¡°What is going on?¡± Fiona asked.
¡°I believe that dog is a ranking member of the ducal guard,¡± Warin explained. ¡°Which means that our duke has secrets that I don¡¯t yet know.¡± The diviner smiled, his eyes gleaming. ¡°Very interesting.¡±
29. Maudes Gambit
In the sitting room of the inner keep, Maude¡¯s comfortable beige chair was unoccupied. Not because its usual occupant was absent from the sitting room, but because she was too agitated to sit.
¡°It is your fault they died,¡± Maude said, jabbing her finger into Marcus¡¯s chest forcefully.
¡°Again, I say that we cannot know that,¡± Marcus said, shuffling two steps backward as he raised his hands to repeat his reasoning once more, in terms more succinct and confident than his previous recitation. ¡°The attacker used uncommon means. Partially alchemical in nature, though we presume magical as well. He ¨C or she, we do not even know that much ¨C surely required substantial advance preparation to carry out the attack. And yet the attack took place but one bell, perhaps two, after I left the Golden Fleece. It must have been planned before my visit, rather than in reaction to it.¡±
¡°Suppose I grant that,¡± Maude said; but before Marcus could finish breathing a sigh of relief, she continued. ¡°Granting that the attack must have been prepared in advance ¨C what if someone predicted your course? Divined it in advance? Wizards have such arts at their disposal.¡± Maude gestured widely, as if the nearly-empty sitting room was full of wizards.
A maid glanced uncomfortably over at the two of them and then scurried out of the room unnoticed.
¡°If they could predict a man¡¯s decisions the day before, the York Textile Company would not have sent in so many doomed petitions.¡± Marcus glared. ¡°And that has as its investors York¡¯s most skilled wizards. Predicting what Baron Greystoke and I might say to one another in our cups ¨C only a master diviner could accomplish such a thing.¡±
¡°Then pray tell me, what sort of visiting wizards have we in York?¡± Maude met Marcus¡¯s eyes, stepping forward again. ¡°Why, for dinner tonight, we have not merely a master diviner but an archmage diviner. Then we have also a full belted member of the Order of the Luminous Rose besides, who is rumored to be a master of two schools ready to put any of our local talent to shame. And who knows who else? And all for what? His Grace needs fewer fiancees, not more.¡±
¡°In full fairness, His Grace may have more yet coming to meet his terms no matter what I do,¡± Marcus said. ¡°His promise was quite open. I feel sure that at least Sir Thomas would have come forward on his own once his son returned ¨C by all accounts, Sir Simon strongly favored pairing Gelle with the duke, and only his absence prevented them from stepping forward.¡±
¡°And Merilda, whose father you plied with drink and talked around?¡± Maude shook her head. ¡°The girl is of uncommon size ¨C she¡¯s your height, which is most remarkable for a woman! ¨C and her mother was of common birth. She will be remarked upon as a duchess if such she becomes. For all Sir Malkin¡¯s renowned process, his daughter is hardly a suitable bride for the duke. I will try my best to remedy your mistakes, but you must stop making them.¡±
¡°You overstep yourself, Lady Maude.¡± Marcus glared down at the older woman. ¡°You have no office here.¡±
¡°I am the nearest he has to a mother,¡± Maude said sharply. ¡°He needs a mother looking after his interests.¡±
The door to the sitting room opened, revealing Avery. ¡°Enough shouting. You¡¯ve started to frighten the servants. Sit, both of you.¡± He fixed both of them with a glare, and a cool breeze whispered through the air.
Maude settled in her accustomed chair, her fingertips resting on worn spots in the beige upholstery covering the arms. Marcus retreated to a couch, sitting on the edge of the seat, his back ramrod straight.
Avery sat down on another couch and cleared his throat. ¡°I am told you have been arguing about the unfortunate fates of Gelle and Ivette. Gregor and I have assumed that it is a strike at my house, motivated by their betrothal because prudence dictates we act accordingly, not because we know who slew them or why. That, so far, remains a mystery.¡±
¡°We had shifted topics of argument. Your aunt was telling me she thinks that Merilda is a poor bride.¡± Marcus gestured broadly across the room at his opposite.
¡°Merilda was on the list, was she not?¡± Avery looked over at his aunt.
¡°Placed there sight unseen, knowing she met the minimum possible social requirements,¡± Maude said. ¡°I did not know she was taller than most men, and that was when I thought I was struggling to find any remotely suitable woman you would take interest in.¡±
Avery shook his head. ¡°I promised to marry her if she met my requirements, and as I understand, Sir Marcus ¨C Lord Marcus, I mean ¨C took her father''s oath of allegiance then and there. The girl herself is presently his only child and therefore heir, so she met the terms of my promise to the letter.¡±
¡°But he would not have sworn unless Marcus had talked him into it,¡± Maude said. ¡°We must endeavor to reduce the number of your brides if at all possible.¡±
Marcus frowned in disagreement. ¡°We need the firmest possible loyalty from as many of York¡¯s knights as we can get. That part of Avery¡¯s plan was sheerest genius. A belted knight is worth ten ordinary men on the field of battle ¨C twenty or more in the case of Sir Malkin Guy. Marry his daughter and you have his allegiance ¨C and in the coming years, the allegiance of his sons, should he have any with his new wife.¡±
¡°Still, though ¨C you could seek his allegiance without pasting his daughter to the duke¡¯s bed,¡± Maude said, her voice beginning to grow louder as she leaned forward in her chair. ¡°And as you are seneschal, I do not need to tell you the keep has already become crowded.¡±
Avery held up a hand, stilling the conversation. ¡°My aunt is correct. I wished to offer my hand widely to build alliance, but if a knight or lord is reluctant to take that hand for his daughter¡ you may offer what else you can to convince him I want his fealty, but I do not need to fill my castle with dozens of wives. You and I have already discussed the possibility of creating new ducal baronies; that is certainly one enticement we could offer without attaching my hand in marriage to it.¡±
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Marcus flushed, then slouched, letting his weight lean back into the couch. ¡°I apologize for my intemperance. In truth, I thought Your Grace was eager to gain many wives. That is all.¡±
Avery cocked his head. That is not all, he sent silently to his illegitimate cousin. I can tell there is more to it.
¡°Apology accepted,¡± Maude said.
Damnation. There was a flicker of emotion from Marcus¡¯s mind. Isolde had irked me. And¡ also, I promised Sir Malkin Guy a title of baronet to seal the deal between us; I doubt he cared much if you married his daughter or not.
Maude looked between the two tall young men and frowned. ¡°Now, if you will excuse me, I have matters I ought to attend to.¡±
¡°By all means,¡± Avery said. ¡°I need to bend Marcus¡¯s ear on a different subject in any event.¡± As his aunt got up to leave, he continued his silent second conversation. I am not angry with you ¨C you have been looking after my interests and promised nothing that I did not already privately agree to.
Perched on top of a well-flattened embroidered cushion in a well-worn wooden chair behind an oaken desk, Maude gestured in the general direction of a chair upholstered with faded red velvet. ¡°Please, Rose, do sit. We''ve been waiting on you.¡±
Rose glanced at the empty chair, then past it to Anna perched on a small couch. Merilda was sitting on a rug at the foot of Maude''s bed, and Fiona was sitting in another chair. Fiona''s long copper hair was loose, and the quarter-elf girl was combing it out with a bored look on her face.
¡°I hadn''t realized. My apologies,¡± Rose said, and then picked her way over to the couch. ¡°If you don''t mind?¡±
Anna nodded, scooting over a little bit. Rose sat down next to her friend.
¡°I wanted to talk to all of you, and I didn''t want to repeat myself or make it look like I was playing favorites,¡± Maude said. ¡°I know not all of you have come into this project happily or eagerly. I''d like to make it clear that you don''t have to marry the duke if you don''t want to, or if you''re worried for your safety. We can find another way to reward you and your families for your loyalty.¡±
Silence greeted her. The four women looked at each other.
¡°So, how does this work?¡± Rose asked. ¡°I''m assuming that you''re talking about finding another marriage, or a position of some kind?¡±
¡°Yes,¡± Maude said. ¡°I could arrange for a meeting between one of you and one of Avery''s eligible cousins. Or even one of your brothers or sisters, if you''re not personally marriage-minded at all, to give your families a similarly valuable tie.¡± She looked around the room. Disappointingly, nobody spoke up to volunteer their interest in marrying one of Avery''s cousins, though Rose seemed to be deep in thought.
Maude continued. ¡°I know it''s not very well known now, but after the Great Famine of 1315, the Silver Duke asked the Emperor for the permission to create small ducal baronies on his own authority, which became known as baronets, to fill the gaps left behind, particularly along the borders of York. Most of those lines were eventually enlarged to imperial baronies or went extinct, so there are very few around today,¡± Maude said. ¡°Mostly, in York, they survive on the borderlands with Lincoln and Nottingham. But Avery can create new ones. Lord Marcus was formally enlarged to a baronet when he was appointed seneschal, for example.¡±
Anna nodded knowingly. ¡°I''ve read all about the baronetcies. The title is still listed in the better etiquette books.¡±
This was the first Rose had heard of a baronet. She kept her mouth shut and looked at the others. Fiona still looked bored, and started re-braiding her copper-colored hair. Merilda''s bushy blonde eyebrows furrowed with worry.
¡°Your fathers don''t yet hold patents of nobility. We can change that,¡± Maude said. ¡°Avery can, rather. He can make new baronets with a simple decree. If any of you doesn''t want to be Avery''s eighth wife, you could go back home to your father and be the daughter of a newly-enlarged baronet, a favored vassal of the duke.¡±
Merilda stood. ¡°No.¡±
Maude blinked, surprised. ¡°What?¡±
Merilda looked away, then took a deep breath and looked back at Maude. ¡°No. I can''t go back to my father,¡± she said, softly. ¡°I won''t go back to my father.¡± She straightened up to her full height.
¡°Why not? Don''t you love your father?¡± Maude asked gently.
¡°I did. I do. I love him dearly, milady. But he¡ he''s not a kind person. He''s a bully. And he doesn''t want me. He came here to throw me away, and left happy because he thought he''d gotten a good price for me from the seneschal. He already promised him a baronetcy. If the duke wants to throw me away, he can tell me himself. I just¡¡± The taller woman shook her head, overwhelmed. She turned away and rushed out of the room. Fiona followed after her.
¡°Well,¡± Maude said, with a tightly controlled expression. ¡°Anna, Rose, what about you?¡±
Rose and Anna exchanged glances. Rose opened her mouth. Anna held up a finger. Rose shut her mouth.
¡°A baronetcy without an estate is little more than a courtesy title,¡± Anna said. ¡°And there''s nothing to say a young woman couldn''t hold a baronetcy in her own right. We''ll think on it, milady.¡±
Maude stifled an exasperated sigh as she watched the two of them leave. Even if Avery wasn''t willing to diminish the lands held directly by the duke, she did have an estate of her own that she hadn''t visited in more than a decade. Isolde would hardly miss anything if she gave away a few choice parts of her estate, she decided. Maude wasn¡¯t even sure that her daughter expected to inherit her estate.
¡°Of course I''m not going to give up my duke,¡± Anna said. ¡°I was bargaining for you. You would have settled for your father being decreed a baronet. You could get a lot more than that from her. If I don''t miss my guess, the duke would eventually enlarge your father to a baronet anyway if you married him anyway ¨C as his man has promised Sir Malkin. I bet you could get land and a title of your own from Lady Maude, if you want that.¡±
Rose frowned. ¡°I don''t know. I''m not even sure what I want.¡± She thought about her brother. Walt wanted glory and recognition. He wanted to be a knight like the ones in the stories they''d grown up hearing. She''d assumed that eventually she''d have a family of her own and be something like her mother. Did she want to be a baronetess? Did she want to marry the tall silver man she''d only briefly talked with, and live the rest of her life with Anna and the others? Did she want to go back to her family?
¡°Sleep on it, then,¡± Anna said. ¡°Maybe you''ll get the answer in a dream. Better than standing around here in the hallway.¡± She pushed Rose towards Isolde''s room, steering the smaller girl in a friendly manner.
When they entered, Isolde herself was nowhere to be seen; Johanna and Elizabeth were already getting ready for bed. They were the senior brides-to-be, Elizabeth by rank and Johanna by virtue of having sworn her oath first. Neither seemed to have a particularly domineering personality, at least not on first acquaintance ¨C not like Anna. Rose wondered how well the two of them were getting along with each other.
¡°I''m sorry I''m not much help,¡± Anna said. ¡°And I¡¯m sorry I was angry at you, before. Your engagement seems so very much different to me now that Lady Maude has made it clear she wishes to take the duke away from the both of us. Friends?¡±
¡°Friends. You''ve helped more than enough,¡± Rose replied with a hug. ¡°I''d be lost without you."
30. Dinner on the Outside
Sir Malkin Guy paused to watch the sun set over the Ouse. His horse, being undead, had no need of the rest, but the living knight¡¯s bones and mind both needed the calming peaceful moment. He pulled a loaf of bread from his saddle and ate, alternating bites directly from the loaf with sips from a leathern flask.
I don¡¯t miss my dead wife''s daughter one bit, he thought to himself. Nor will my new wife.
He shook his head as the last sliver of sun dipped under the hills on the other side of the river, tossing a hard piece of crust to the side. He decided that his feelings of sadness were due to the fact that he had a long ride through the night ahead of him. Or perhaps he''d second thoughts about swearing to obey the duke above all other lords. The seneschal''s promises of future favors seemed vaguer each time he rehearsed them in his mind¡¯s ear.
A sharp pain between his shoulders startled him out of his reverie. He turned in confusion, blinking his sun-blinded eyes and peering at the murky darkness. He could hear something in that direction.
Then there was a second pain, like the first but on the front of his chest. He looked down. A crossbow bolt, likely mage-sharped, had punctured his mail shirt, drawing blood before being stopped by his ribcage. With speed alarming in a man his size, Malkin slipped down off his horse, running at a diagonal to the direction of attack. A divot of earth tore as he pivoted, switching to another diagonal just as a third crossbow bolt flew to his left, and then straightening out.
His eyes were adjusting to the darkness and he could see clearly now. He had identified two men, the first holding an unloaded crossbow in his left hand while drawing a sword with his right and the second frantically cranking back a crossbow for a second shot. Neither was wearing armor. The sword blade slid along Malkin''s mail shirt as he slammed into the first man, knocking him off his feet. Mud flew as the first man skidded along the ground.
Continuing his charge past the first man to the second, Malkin grabbed the second man''s crossbow, twisting it out of line. The jostled crossbow fired, quarrel aimlessly striking the ground a few paces away. Malkin''s hands closed around the second man¡¯s right arm, squeezing hard. The man cried out in pain as bones cracked, dropping the crossbow and pulling a dagger from his belt with his other arm. Malkin felt the cold steel jab against his ribs, a lucky hit aimed for the hole punched by the second crossbow bolt. He snarled, swinging the man overhead by his broken arm, flesh tearing and bones crunching as he smashed the bandit into his still-prone companion with deadly force.
Malkin wheezed as he bent over the two dead men. They had coin on them. Identification papers, too, which Malkin tossed in the ditch. Worthless to him. Some jewelry. The crossbows were good quality, and they had clever bolt cases for them, too. The sword had slashed open some of the rings of his mail shirt. Possibly enchanted, Malkin thought to himself as he cleaned and sheathed the sword. Several vials in a pouch carried by the man with the likely-enchanted sword. Potions or poisons, perhaps. Malkin coughed, looking at the blood in his hand for a moment before realizing that the dagger had nicked his lung. He bundled the arms and pouches together in a cloak before returning to his horse, stowing the loot, and fishing around in his pack for a jar of foul-smelling salve.
He smeared the goop liberally on and in the puncture wound, then awkwardly tried to wind a cloth bandage around himself. The small roll of cloth slipped through his fingers and fell in the mud; he shook his head, leaving the bandaging where it lay. Stuffing filth into the wound would be worse than useless.
Rosamund''s salve is probably enough, but best to check in with the hedge witch herself along the road home, he thought to himself. Merilda was good with bandages, he admitted to himself, before shaking his head again. He wouldn''t think about her, she was otherwise without value to him and he was well rid of her. He mounted his horse, and nudged it forward, starting down the hill towards the bridge. As he rode, he kept an eye on the horizon, looking for movement.
Two men, one older and one younger, sat around a campfire, a tin pot full of stew steaming next to them. Around them, the gentle sounds of crickets filled the darkened forest.
¡°Sir Simon, I will certainly speak in favor of your suit,¡± the older man said.
The younger man ¨C Sir Simon ¨C held a rag in one of his hands, streaked with reddish-brown stains. He was preoccupied with the task of polishing a saber that showed no hints of iron-red rust, only black tarnish in the lettering along its blade. He grunted wordlessly at the man known as Zephyr, letting the mysterious Yorkish man carry the conversation.
¡°Cumbrian tradition is strict on the unsuitability of the passage of titles to women,¡± Zephyr said, fishing in his pocket for a spoon. ¡°Henry has only daughters, and a half-brother of acknowledged paternity ¨C who is no fisher. Ivette¡¯s husband, if she gets one, would gain a strong claim to inheritance of his domain. Especially if he formally adopts his son-in-law as a son. I could not see a better husband for Ivette than you.¡±
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Simon pulled his mug out, scooping up the stew. He stirred, blowing cool air over the hot stew as he looked down at the chunks of moonapple, carrot, and rabbit. ¡°I¡¯m glad to have your recommendation. I only hope the baron sees it the same way. He has some ambition of putting her with the duke.¡±
The Yorkish man shrugged, spooning stew into a bowl of his own. ¡°I think half the nobles in the duchy have some ambition of setting their daughter up with the new duke,¡± he said. ¡°But surely only one of them can succeed, and for that reason, I would not bet upon her victory unless it were neither a sin nor offered on equal terms. There are dozens of women, and Ivette did not really meet him closely until Isolde¡¯s ball, did she not?¡±
¡°True,¡± Simon said, after swallowing a mouthful. ¡°Still, she is markedly comely, and was dressed in a most daring and fashionable mode. I daresay she was one of the most impressive women at the ball. And she is the daughter of a prosperous baron besides ¨C the duke surely must see her as a desirable partner.¡±
¡°You are partial to her,¡± Zephyr said. ¡°And so you see her as most beautiful. To another man, though ¨C Laudine and Emeline have every bit as much rank and wealth behind them. Especially now that Osric is in no position to inherit. And they are more familiar figures, ones the duke may have fancied from afar before his sudden elevation.¡±
Simon rubbed his arm unconsciously, his wound twinging underneath the bandages. ¡°Osric made matters rather dicier than I liked,¡± he said. ¡°His cousin was bad enough, but that was a regular duel. Now, I am perhaps a murderer in the eyes of the law, but for the absence of witnesses. And perhaps only because I am not sure he is done for. It was still night when we fled Kirkham.¡±
¡°Self-defense,¡± Zephyr said. ¡°It was he who struck the first blow. And I feel sure you had him done.¡±
¡°We shall see if I did not,¡± Simon said. ¡°I will be glad when I am back to the safety of the Golden Fleece within York¡¯s walls.¡±
Beatrice stabbed the piece of meat on her plate with her fork a little harder than necessary, and then held the whole thing in the air, glaring at it for a moment before bringing it to her mouth and taking a bite.
Alric glanced over at her father, raising an eyebrow.
¡°Small bites, Bea,¡± her father admonished. ¡°Remember your etiquette lessons. Those tutors were expensive.¡±
She chewed and swallowed. ¡°My apologies, father. I''m still angry that Avery wanted to have this in his bed and not me.¡± She waved the rest of the chunk of roast Ivette in the air.
Alric cleared his throat. ¡°I''m sure it''s therapeutic for the girl to vent on the subject, Edward, but I worry she needs another focus,¡± he said. ¡°The duke''s advisors simply would not countenance him marrying someone base-born. She needs to move on.¡± The wizard exaggerated his motions as he used knife and fork to cut a politely-sized piece of the meat on his plate, then dipped it halfway into a pool of gravy, then brought it to his mouth. He chewed slowly.
¡°Don''t talk about me like I''m not here!¡± Beatrice said around a half-chewed mouthful of cooked flesh. She angrily tried to stuff the rest of the piece in her mouth, chewing angrily. It didn''t quite fit.
¡°Indeed, Alric,¡± her father said, his fork topped with a folded thinly-cut sliver of meat. ¡°I''ve been thinking about having a gala to mark the opening of the new cloth factory, but if she can''t maintain conversation-worthy composure, I''m afraid it will only embarrass us.¡± Sentence complete, he popped the meat into his mouth, chewing slowly with his mouth closed.
¡°Ah. Well, perhaps you could have the gala, and just tell the guests she''s indisposed,¡± Alric said.
Beatrice signaled to a servant, who whisked her empty plate away and refilled it from a platter at the center of the table. ¡°No, not that one, that one, please. Thank you,¡± she told the servant. When he placed the plate in front of her, she turned her gaze to Alric, took out her fork and knife, and carefully cut out a square of meat about an inch on each side.
She brought it to her mouth and daintily slipped it into her mouth and chewed. Then she swallowed. ¡°This meat is marvelous, Father. Very tender. Perhaps I might say genteel. Cook has done an excellent job,¡± Beatrice said, dabbing at an imaginary speck of gravy at the edge of her mouth with her napkin. Then she waited patiently, her eyes downcast.
¡°Better, Bella,¡± her father said. ¡°Yes, it is very nice,¡± he added, spearing a small chunk of meat and a small slice of moonapple onto his fork together. ¡°Tenderer than anything I¡¯ve had from hunts in Lancaster, even with Cook¡¯s excellent attention. Perhaps age, breeding, or leisure make a difference.¡± He waved the filled fork in the air. ¡°Master Alric has made some interesting suggestions for improvements to the design of the factory, ones that might not require the duke''s permission.¡±
Alric nodded. ¡°With the duke''s wedding so soon, I don''t think we can make any headway in negotiations with officials until matters settle down. Better to build what we can now and then bring it up to speed. I do also think that we should begin looking for a different husband for you, perhaps in London. I''m afraid that I foolishly got you and your father''s hopes up earlier.¡±
Beatrice bared her teeth in an approximation of a polite smile. ¡°I don''t want to leave home and I''ve not yet given up my hopes, thank you very much. The duke¡¯s wedding has not yet taken place.¡±
Alric shrugged. ¡°Well, if you insist. But there are some very eligible young men in the capital, some high born. I don''t think a noble husband is beyond your reach, dear. Just that particular one.¡±
¡°You''re too kind,¡± she said, maintaining her polite rictus. ¡°But no, I think I really shall remain here in York.¡±
Edward cleared his throat. ¡°So, Alric, what''s this I hear about your new method for bleaching cloth to pure white? Someone told me it was a necromantic spell, but that can''t be right.¡±
Alric nodded. ¡°Indeed, it is not. It is entirely the product of alchemy, and can be hastened via transmutation. It''s a product of aqua regia with a couple of different chemical salts, believe it or not. The intermediate products will kill you if you aren''t careful, but the end result is a solution that is stunningly effective at simply eliminating colors. I imagine there could be a fashion for brilliantly white clothing in the future.¡±
For the rest of the dinner, the conversation continued in a similar vein. At the same time, a very different dinner was taking place in York Castle.
31. Dinner on the Inside
Stephen eyed the large piece of bread skeptically. It looks stale, he thought to himself. And where are the plates? The round slice rested directly on the table.
Isolde, seated next to him, whispered in his ear. ¡°It''s a trencher. You eat off of it. It''s like a plate. You''re not expected to actually eat it.¡±
Maude, seated directly at the duke''s left hand, cleared her throat and looked at the duke, clearing her throat.
¡°Let us give thanks for this meal. Be well at my table,¡± Avery said, after exchanging glances with Isolde. The duke paused for a very long moment. ¡°Steward, you may begin serving the meal.¡±
Stephen produced a fork and spoon from his belt, and then hesitated, looking around the room. Nobody else was holding a fork. He slipped the fork back under the table and looked at Isolde.
¡°We''re a little old-fashioned here. Sorry,¡± Isolde whispered. ¡°Spoons, knives, and fingers. The little bowls are for rinsing off your fingers as needed. Just follow my lead, okay?¡±
Stephen nodded. ¡°Yes, ma''am,¡± he whispered back. He glanced over at Sabine on the other side of the room. She was seated on the right-hand side of the horseshoe-shaped high table, wedged in between two of Avery''s intended brides.
Traditionally, seating would be by rank, which meant that the petite blonde sitting closer to Avery had to be Elizabeth, daughter of the Earl of Northumbria; the tall lanky girl on the other side of Sabine was likely the daughter of a baron. He wondered if Sabine was happy or unhappy with her seat. On one hand, she''d been lumped in with the duke''s brides-to-be; on the other hand, the seating assignment implied Elizabeth outranked Sabine.
For her part, Sabine was more concerned about the size of the event. It was true that she would have preferred to be placed above Elizabeth in precedence, but she was determined not to let Maude irk her. However, her plans had been devised with the thought of a private dinner with Maude and Isolde, perhaps with a mere handful of other people.
Not only was the dinner being held with the entire ducal household, but all eight of Avery''s current intended brides had moved in and most of them seemed to have brought their families with them. The high table alone had over twenty people seated at it. However effective the phantasmal perfume would be on Avery, he wasn''t close enough to be affected, and the setting was far too public.
She had decided to risk dabbing her wrists with the simple pleasure perfume. Surely it won''t hurt to have Maude and Isolde feel delight in my company, she''d thought to herself. It would be a good test to see how well the perfume held up over the course of a longer night. A tiny crystal bottle containing the combination of phantasmal desire and arousal was carefully tucked away in her sleeve in case she managed to encounter the duke in a quieter setting later in the evening. Then she''d sat down between two awkwardly anxious and nervously uncertain brides-to-be; two women who both had their own distinct reservations about their impending mutual marriage to the duke even before the murders.
As the meal progressed, Sabine''s neighbors grew first calm, then cheerful, then downright giddy and giggly, sending flirtatious looks in the direction of the duke. This grated on Sabine¡¯s nerves. In spite of her confident words to her brother Stephen, Sabine would have preferred to have the duke to herself than to share him with others. Particularly other noblewomen of rank. Also, she had second thoughts about placing a target on her own head. Anyone targeting her tempted the wrath of Lancaster, but whoever had targeted the duke''s brides was already willing to risk the wrath of the Duke of York in the heart of his domain.
As Sabine¡¯s dinner companions grew more jovial, her mood soured.
¡°Are you going to eat that?¡± Althea pointed at a lonely purple-skinned roast moonapple stuffed with goat cheese on her plate. ¡°Those are delicious!¡±
¡°Oh, go ahead,¡± Sabine said. ¡°I''m not really hungry.¡± She looked up to the head of the table, where Avery was quietly talking with Ricard of Northumbria.
¡°Well, I am,¡± Althea said, deftly spearing the starchy tuber with her knife and then plucking it free with her fingers. ¡°I was so upset about the murders that I didn''t eat all day.¡± She let out a wine-scented giggle. ¡°Everything seems fine now, though. If I die tonight, I''ll die a happy woman.¡±
¡°I''m sure we''re perfectly safe here,¡± Sabine said, then started in her seat as Avery suddenly turned and looked straight at her, his inhuman slit pupils keenly focused on her. He''d sensed her lie from that far away? She tried to look away, but his stare pinned her in place.
Althea stared at her, puzzled. ¡°What did you say?¡±
¡°I just said we were safe,¡± Sabine said, and took a bite of a thin slice of a larger moonapple. The fried tuber was almost crunchy. She glanced back at the duke, trying to silently beg for forgiveness for lying in his earshot.
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The duke''s eyes flicked away from her as he returned to his conversation with Ricard. They''d been talking about the alternatives to skeleton power ¨C watermills in particular. The earl wanted to attract investment in a water-powered manufactory he''d been trying to build next to the Tyne. The recent moonapple blight had wiped out the cash flow he''d depended on, leaving him in debt and unable to finish building the facility.
James, I need someone to go have a look at a manufactory in Northumbria, Avery sent. Do you have any agents on the ground up there?
There was a distant pause. No. Sorry, Avery, I''m a little bit busy in the south at the moment. Things are getting complex down here. I might need to miss the wedding.
Oh. I was hoping you could help with¡ some things around here, Avery replied.
Another distant pause. Gregor asked me the same thing. He''s feeling a bit in over his head. I''d hoped he was more ready. I''ll let you know when I can make it back up north to York. In the meantime, you should listen to what the dogs have to say. They like you, you know.
Avery glanced behind him. There was a great gray wolfhound waiting at his elbow with a concerned look. He tore a piece off the corner of his trencher and slipped it to the hound.
Good boy, he sent. What''s the matter?
Your mates. Too happy. Unnatural. The wolfhound chewed the sauce-laden bread and swallowed. Sabine has smell that confuses the mind. Beauford and Manny investigated. Now rolling around like puppies.
Avery fed the hound another piece of his trencher.
Give fried moonapple instead. The dog held the piece of bread in his mouth without chewing, looking up at the duke with plaintive eyes. Trenchers tough. My teeth old. Just one?
Avery sighed, signaling a servant carrying a plate of fried moonapple wedges. As the servant leaned over to fork several onto Avery''s plate, the platter suddenly tipped sideways, as if moved by an invisible hand. Moonapple wedges fell on the table and the floor.
Bad dog, Avery sent, shaking his head. He turned back to the servant, plucking a stray wedge out of his hair. ¡°Don''t worry about it, it''s alright. I''m sure the earl and I both wanted a hearty serving, and Manfred here will take care of the ones on the floor.¡±
The hound systematically cleared the floor of moonapple wedges, his tail wagging. Remember, Sabine has magic smell. Young Manny, my strong-willed heir, rolling around like a puppy ¨C you must control yourself.
Avery raised an eyebrow.
The wolfhound cocked its head. Not afraid?
Afraid? Avery asked, a smile creeping across his face. Of course I''m not afraid. What makes you think I would be?
The wolfhound snorted as he swallowed the last moonapple wedge. Dangerous!
Avery rolled his eyes. I''m not dangerous, and neither is Sabine. You''re barking up the wrong tree, old Manfred.
The wolfhound barked once, sharply, then turned and trotted away.
Avery chuckled and reached for his wine. If Sabine was using some sort of subtle enchantment to beguile his brides-to-be into forgetting the tragedy of last night''s murders, that was fine with him. It had been a long, tense, and stressful day in the keep, and the mystery of the murders was no closer to being solved. Their bodies had vanished; investigations had revealed they''d been bought by a known necroindustrial procurer, who''d in turn delivered the bodies to a manufactory partly owned by one Edward Taylor ¨C Beatrice¡¯s father.
When questioned by Gregor in the afternoon, Edward denied any specific knowledge of those particular bodies, but probing his mind revealed that he and his business partners regularly purchased bodies without inquiring too closely of their origins and ownership ¨C and sometimes resold them to other necroindustrialists, depending on price and opportunity. On being told not to lie to the duke''s master of hounds, he''d then offered Gregor a substantial bribe to look the other way, and hinted at regular payment if he would continue to do so in the future. Gregor had then called for a meeting with the three owners of the manufactory, and they''d all denied knowing anything about the murders.
They''d all had alibis, too. The existence of an active black market in corpses concerned Avery, but given that it seemed unrelated to the murders, he''d decided that was an issue that could wait until after the wedding. After the wedding, there would be time to investigate the entire necroindustrial sector of York''s economy and see to the firm application of the laws of York set down by his great-great-grandfather. For now, he needed to focus on making sure the wedding went smoothly¡ and that he didn''t lose any more brides to murder before then.
Marcus and Maude had a loud argument over whether or not he should be trying to increase or reduce the number of brides at the wedding. He''d ultimately sided with Maude; eight brides were more than enough. He needed the families and their pledges of loyalty; he didn''t need additional brides. If a few more had cold feet and preferred to seek alternate arrangements on Maude¡¯s terms, that was fine with him.
He shook his head. Enough woolgathering, he thought to himself, and looked across the dining hall at Sabine. He needed to find out more about this strange scent the hounds had noticed. The young noblewoman had been silent throughout most of the meal, her face pale and her eyes wide and unblinking. She hadn''t eaten much for her dinner, either. Perhaps she was ill?
He looked over at Sabine''s brother Stephen, who was talking with his cousin Isolde on the other side of the table. A moment¡¯s concentration, and he sent silent thoughts across the table. Isolde, I''d like you to create a situation where I can talk privately with Sabine later this evening.
Metalface, are you serious? Don''t you have enough brides? Isolde turned, giving him a sharp look.
It''s not like that, Avery sent. I just want to ask her a question or two.
Fine, Isolde said, her tone turning sour. But you owe me a favor. Her brother is insufferable, and he¡¯s the chaperone we¡¯ll have to peel away.
Avery nodded. Fine. I owe you a favor.
After a moment, Isolde replied. I''ll tell Stephen I want a chess match with his sister. She''s terrifyingly good at chess, which means she probably loves the game enough to want to meet a challenge. I haven¡¯t played her yet, but she beat Anna, and Anna thrashed me badly.
32. Night
¡°I think I''m going to talk to Lady Maude,¡± Althea said, staring up at the stars. ¡°She''ll come up with some way to make my family happy. I just want to go back home. This whole thing is too much, too fast, too strange.¡±
Helen sighed. The stars were bright, it was a warm summer''s night, and she was lying out on the roof of the keep with her best friend, but it was hard for her to enjoy the moment when her best friend wasn''t. She squeezed Althea''s slender hand, her own fingers looking thick and stubby next to her brunette friend¡¯s elegant long fingers. Her gaze traveled over the willowy brunette¡¯s sprawled form, settling on the starlight reflecting in Althea¡¯s hazel eyes.
¡°Sometimes I wish I could go home, too,¡± Helen said. ¡°But I can''t. Not really. My parents need me to make something of myself. What else am I going to do? Run away? Ask my parents to buy me a commission in the imperial navy? Ask them to send me to mage school? I haven''t any income of my own, and my parents are buying dresses on credit now that my youngest sister is old enough to start attending balls.¡±
Althea frowned. She hated to admit it, but her friend had a point. ¡°Fine. Marriage as the next step, I understand. But why this marriage? Why marry someone we''ve barely traded two words with? I doubt he loves me, and I certainly don''t feel anything for him when I don¡¯t even know him. I just don''t see the point in choosing the duke.¡±
¡°I saw the point in choosing John,¡± Helen sat up, letting go of Althea¡¯s hand. She fiddled nervously with a strawberry-blonde braid that looked almost white in the bluish light of the moon before continuing.
¡°As you said, we were all but engaged before we took the trip to York. He''s landed gentry and manages his finances capably. His lands abut our families'' lands and he hasn''t a reputation for cruelty. Both of our mothers have wanted him for a son-in-law, but my older sister reached marriageable age before we did, so my mother had a head start in getting his attention. Then Margaret married your brother and Avice went away to mage school. But I don¡¯t want to marry John.¡± Helen paused, taking hold of her friend¡¯s hand. ¡°Do you want to marry John?¡±
¡°No,¡± Althea replied, reluctance entering her voice.
¡°Why not?¡±
Althea bit her lip and lay back, staring up at the night sky. Helen looked away, clinging to her friend¡¯s hand as she waited for an answer. Her eyes lingered on Mars, a steady orange gleam, then wandered over to the constellation of Lyra.
¡°He''s just not very appealing,¡± Althea admitted, watching a small tuft of cloud drift into Aquila. ¡°He''s fat and he''s twelve years older than we are, and he''s very boring in conversation.¡±
¡°Is the duke boring, fat, ugly, and old?¡± Helen asked, giving space for a brief moment of sullen silence before continuing. ¡°So, what''s wrong with him?¡±
Althea sighed. ¡°I already told you I thought he was handsome. I just don''t know him, that''s all. Well, maybe the part where he''s marrying seven other women.¡±
¡°As far as I''m concerned, that just means fewer wifely duties,¡± Helen said. ¡°All for the better, really. Even if I don''t love him and he doesn''t love me¡ I love you, Althea. I''d marry you in a heartbeat if you could afford to keep me up in style. If you marry him with me, it''ll be like marrying your best friend and having a tall handsome lover that you can sneak out to see whenever you''re bored.¡±
Althea blushed. ¡°I''m not bored with you, you''re my best friend,¡± she said.
¡°If you''re not bored with me, then stay with me,¡± Helen said, squeezing her hand again. ¡°And Cecily can get stuck marrying John.¡±
¡°Poor John,¡± Althea said melodramatically, putting a wrist to her forehead and looking up at the sky. ¡°I don''t know that John deserves to have Cecily inflicted on him.¡± She tried very hard to keep a straight face. Then she giggled. ¡°Fine. I''ll marry you, scandalously take the duke as my lover to make you jealous, and one of our younger sisters will get stuck with John. Probably not Cecily, though, she always gets her way.¡±
Helen smiled and sat up. ¡°I now pronounce you my wife,¡± she intoned in her best imitation of a magistrate, then suddenly bent over and planted a quick kiss on her friend''s lips. ¡°There. All done, no takesy-backsies.¡±
Althea laughed. After a moment, Helen joined her. The stars continued to shine.
She excused herself just a moment ago, Isolde sent, and then smiled at Stephen, pushing a rook forward. "Check," she said aloud. Something about seeing to necessities. I assume she''s gone to find a garderobe. She shouldn''t be long. I let slip that I''d expected to meet you for a game here later.
Should I wait out here to intercept her, then? Avery asked from the hallway.
No. Please do come in. Stephen''s been hanging on my every word. I''m sure I can convince him to abandon his sister, Isolde replied. He''d like to get me unchaperoned, if I don''t miss my guess.
Avery opened the door. ¡°Hello, Stephen,¡± he said, smiling. ¡°I see you must be an excellent chess player. Isolde looks like she''s being challenged today.¡±
¡°Your Grace,¡± Stephen said, standing up and bowing. ¡°She''s traded each of her ships for a castle,¡± he said, gesturing at the board. ¡°I''m little challenge, I''m sure,¡± he lied.
Avery narrowed his eyes briefly. ¡°Very polite of you,¡± he said coolly. ¡°I''ll give you that.¡±
Stephen swallowed, remembering what his sister had said about the duke being able to smell lies. He didn''t want to be caught out in a lie. He looked at the chessboard. ¡°My apologies if I have taken over your favorite chess set and playing partner,¡± he said. ¡°I could stand aside, if you like.¡±
¡°Nonsense,¡± Isolde said, breaking in. ¡°I''m not letting you escape so easily. There''s another set in the chest, and I''m sure Avery would enjoy playing a round with your sister when she gets back.¡±
Stephen smiled. ¡°Perfect. I''m sure she''ll be back in just a minute.¡±
Sabine ducked into the loophole and caught her breath. Applying perfume was an innocuous act, but she still wanted a bit of privacy in case¡ well, in case. There was a full barrel of arrows. The succession dispute must have had Avery worried about an assault on the keep itself, she thought, sliding the perfume bottle out of her sleeve. She carefully wiped both wrists off with a damp cloth ¨C she didn¡¯t want to mix two magical perfumes and cause a potentially unexpected interaction effect ¨C and then dabbed each wrist with a single small drop. The evening had shown her that the phantasm had a fairly strong effect.
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After a moment''s hesitation, she poured another drop on her finger, and wiped it on the base of her neck. If the duke came very close, she wanted him to be additionally impaired.
¡°What are you doing here?¡±
Sabine jumped. She turned, slipping the perfume bottle in her sleeve. It was one of the barons'' daughters who¡¯d been in the great hall during Avery¡¯s announcement. Helen, she recalled after a moment. Her strawberry blonde hair was distinctive enough; she¡¯d been two seats down from her.
¡°I was just exploring,¡± Sabine said, trying to sound nonchalant. ¡°I got a little lost, to be honest, and I thought I might see which side of the keep I was on by looking out a window.¡± She gestured at the arrow slit.
Helen sniffed. ¡°You''re on the east side of the tower,¡± she said, stepping closer. She licked her lips. ¡°I was looking for a place to be alone with my thoughts for a little while,¡± she added. She sniffed again. ¡°You smell nice.¡±
¡°Thank you,¡± Sabine said, dipping into a quick curtsy. Helen was between her and the exit to the loophole. ¡°I''ll leave you to your thoughts, then,¡± she said, turning sideways to try to squeeze past.
Helen grabbed her elbow with surprising firmness. ¡°Oh, please don''t go. I''d rather your company than that of my thoughts.¡±
Sabine froze. ¡°Oh. Well, I suppose we could talk a little,¡± she said.
Avery leaned against the wall beside the door, waiting for Sabine to return. It''s been a long time, he sent to Isolde.
Feminine hygiene can sometimes be messy, Isolde sent back, not taking her eye off the chessboard. She and Stephen both seemed determined to stretch the chess game out long enough to give Avery an excuse to play Sabine, each passing up opportunities for favorable piece trades. But now their pawns were all locked in place. Still, it has been quite a long time. I could go look for her.
Don''t bother, Avery sent. I''ll ask the dogs. It''ll be faster. He walked over to the couch, where a giant gray wolfhound was sleeping.
Manfred, time to wake up. I want Sabine found. Avery scratched the old hound''s head.
The hound yawned. Sabine has been muttering on the other side of the doorway and peering through the crack, and is about to open it the rest of the way. I can hear her.
Avery felt some invisible mental force press in on him, and shut his mental shields tight. Then the pressure eased. The door opened, revealing Sabine. She looked up at Avery, her face flushed and her gait a little bit unsteady. ¡°Your Grace,¡± she said, dropping into a curtsy.
She smells different, the hound said, hopping off the couch and sticking his nose impolitely close to the woman. New strange smell. I wanted to hump her leg for a moment. The dog sneezed and then growled, walking quickly out of the room. Dangerous woman. Dangerous smell.
Avery greeted her. He didn''t smell anything unusual as she approached ¨C just some ordinary sort of perfume and the scent of woman. I¡¯ll have to get closer, he thought to himself, searching for an excuse. ¡°You look unsteady. May I help you to the couch?¡± He held out his arm.
¡°Thank you kindly, Your Grace,¡± she said, grasping his arm with both of hers and slipping in close.
He inhaled deeply through his nose, searching for the magical scent he had been told was there. He felt like he could imagine a surge of desire and arousal, but as soon as he tried to focus on the matter, the fleeting wisps of imagined magical influence vanished. True, she was quite comely, her figure a picture of mage-sculpted perfection, but he''d thought that from a distance as well. He sat down next to her on the couch.
¡°Did you want to play chess?¡± Avery asked. ¡°Your brother seemed to think you might like a game.¡±
¡°I do play,¡± she said demurely, a deft evasion of a direct answer that left her true desires shrouded. ¡°We certainly could start a game, if you have another chess set.¡±
¡°I do,¡± Avery said, standing up. ¡°Let me fetch it.¡±
He went to the chest and pulled out the chess set, handing it to her. She took the box, and he watched as she opened the lid and looked inside. She handled the pieces carefully, looking at them closely before putting them on the table.
¡°Is something wrong?¡± he asked softly.
¡°Nothing at all,¡± she said, setting the chessmen on the table. Lie. Avery frowned. She shook her head. ¡°Nothing I want to talk about,¡± she clarified, her voice barely above a murmur. ¡°Perhaps we should begin the game.¡±
¡°Certainly,¡± he said, seating himself opposite her. ¡°I''m sure you''re a formidable opponent.¡±
¡°You flatter me,¡± she said, smiling at him as she automatically responded with a polite lie. Avery¡¯s golden eyes fixed on her and she felt a sudden chill, goosebumps rising on her arms.
They were barely past their opening moves when Stephen tipped over his king, yawned broadly, and said something about needing to stretch his legs; Isolde offered to accompany him to make sure he didn¡¯t get lost, and the two headed agreeably towards the door.
Manfred, see to it that they''re not ever alone, Avery sent as he pushed a pawn into danger.
As paws silently padded away, Sabine smiled and moved her knight in front of the pawn. Avery frowned, looking at the board carefully.
¡°I can''t see why you did that,¡± Avery said, moving to capture Sabine''s knight. She took the pawn with her other knight.
¡°A girl has to have some secrets,¡± she said. ¡°Looks like you will have me soon.¡±
¡°I want to know one of your secrets. Why did you enspell my fianc¨¦es with happiness at dinner tonight?¡± Avery sailed his black-square ship across the board, capturing Sabine''s other knight.
Sabine blinked. ¡°That''s blunt,¡± she said. She chose her next words very carefully. ¡°It was a side effect of my continuing efforts to seduce you. Are those efforts working?¡±
¡°No,¡± Avery said, sending another pawn forward. ¡°Not really. Though you are charming.¡±
Sabine moved her king''s rook, shuffling it into an awkward position behind her own pawn in the same rank.
¡°Are you even trying to win?¡± Avery asked.
Sabine sighed. ¡°You''re supposed to be happy that you''re beating me.¡±
¡°That''s not the point of this game,¡± Avery said. ¡°The point is to take your measure. Isolde beats me as often as not, and she told me you were good. I wasn''t expecting to win.¡±
¡°What was the point of your game? You had to know my father could never swear to you over the Duke of Lancaster,¡± Sabine said bitterly, tipping over her king and standing up. ¡°Aren''t I enough of a prize by myself?¡± Her fingers traced down the edges of the daringly deep decolletage of her gown.
¡°You are a prize any man would be proud to win,¡± Avery said. ¡°Even if you don''t bring your duchy with you. But¡ I made my decision. It wouldn''t be fair to the others. And it''s brought me the allegiance of many of the nobility and gentry. Including ones that won''t be my new in-laws.¡±
¡°Can''t you make one little exception the other way?¡± Sabine said, stepping close, craning her neck to maintain eye contact. "I''m seventh in line for Lancaster and I''m willing to swear to you. Seventh in line for a duchy and a proficient enchantress.¡± She paused. ¡°Usually,¡± she muttered. Why had she said that?
¡°Usually?¡± Avery''s golden eyes bored into her as he straightened, rising to his full height and peering down at her. ¡°Did you try to cast a charm on me?¡±
The room grew suddenly cold. Sabine shivered, backing away from him. She tripped over a footstool, landing butt-first on the carpet, her limbs sprawled in every direction. Her hands gripped the carpet as she stared up at him, fear written across her face.
¡°Yes. Yes, I did.¡± Tears filled her eyes. ¡°Please forgive me. I just wanted to have you. I can''t make you fall in love with me,¡± she said, her voice cracking. ¡°I can''t make you marry me. Please don''t kill me.¡±
Avery looked down at Sabine. Tears were freezing to her cheeks, and her lips were turning blue. Pity filled his heart, and he took a deep breath. The room warmed. He reached down to her, scooping her up and carrying her to a couch next to the fireplace. He bundled her into a blanket, and then laid a hand on her head. ¡°I am sorry I frightened you,¡± he said. ¡°I will think on what you said. For now, it is late, and York has been dangerous of late. You should stay here at the keep tonight.¡±
33. Elfblood Will Tell
The bed was big enough for four people, Isolde thought to herself, and would have been a very tight squeeze for five women. There were ¨C she counted again ¨C six already in her bed, including Merilda, who was visibly larger than the rest and therefore easy to identify even as a dark lump under a blanket.. She definitely took after her father, and her father looked like a trollblood. There was simply no room to be had; Fiona was visibly the last to arrive, and had simply lain on top of the blankets, using Merilda as a mattress. As Fiona was elfblooded and slender, her weight seemed to have gone unnoticed, her tightly-curled body rising and falling gently with the rhythm of Merilda¡¯s breathing.
She considered waking them and demanding they make space. It was her room and her bed, after all. She shook her head. She''d rather not draw attention to the lateness of her arrival. She''d been wandering around the keep in male company unaccompanied by a chaperone. Bad enough that she would probably be getting a lecture from her mother later for it. The castle hounds had kept a close eye on her ¨C and growled at Stephen whenever he came too close ¨C but her virtue would still be suspect if the episode became widely known among the better sort of folk.
The castle servants and guards were probably already gossiping amongst themselves. The guards knew all about the duke''s hounds, though, so none of them would worry she might have been dishonored by Stephen while the two of them were alone. She glanced over at the women in the bed one more time. They were all sleeping soundly. She could hear the occasional sigh or shift of a body, but otherwise the room was quiet.
Isolde curled up in a chair, pulled a blanket over herself, and tried to sleep. Her mind was still racing. She couldn''t stop thinking. Stephen had been surprisingly friendly and courteous for someone who had conspicuously avoided accompanying Sabine on her previous visits. Perhaps he''d taken a liking to Isolde. Maude had seemed to think he had and that he could therefore be convinced to marry her. But Stephen was a wizard of the Order of the Luminous Rose and a Lancastrian to boot. She didn''t want to leave York and move to Lancaster.
Isolde was tired. She''d been awake since dawn, and the murders had turned her day from hectic to exhausting. Six of Avery''s brides-to-be had moved in on short notice, along with over a dozen of their relatives. All sorts of arrangements had to be made for security, accommodation, and the continuing preparations for the wedding.
She, Marcus, and her mother had been overwhelmed by the sudden surge of work. Isolde had planned on sneaking off to bed early, but her mother had insisted on dragging her to dinner in order to meet Stephen, and then Avery had needed her help. She needed sleep, she thought to herself, turning over and rubbing her eyes.
Was that morning sunlight? She opened her eyes and blinked. Her neck was stiff. She felt vaguely cheated, and turned over, falling back asleep.
Stephen stood by one of the tall narrow windows of the sitting room, watching the sun rise. He missed Lancaster; he missed his friends; he missed the little comforts of life in modern fifteenth-century England, which were frequently absent in a York that seemed stuck in a preindustrial era. He''d been gone for almost three weeks, which seemed an eternity. His eyes dropped to the chessboard, remembering the game he''d played last night.
Isolde had won, but he''d been trying to stretch out the duration of the game by playing defensively. She had also played defensively at first, lulling him into a false sense of security until he''d been distracted by the return of his sister, at which point she''d unleashed a torrent of attacks that had taken him off-guard. He hadn''t taken her first offered knight sacrifice because he hadn''t trusted that it was as good of a trade as it seemed, and that had been a crucial blunder.
When he''d returned to the sitting room last night, he''d found his sister alone and asleep, wrapped in a blanket on a couch, her makeup blurred by the tracks of tears. He wasn''t sure if that meant she''d succeeded or failed. She''d intended to get herself ravished by an out of control duke driven by phantasmal lust, giving her the negotiating leverage to demand that he marry her to salvage her ruined virtue. Crying could have been part of that plan. He wasn''t sure, and didn''t want to wake her. So he''d simply gone to sleep on a pile of pillows he''d set up next to her couch.
Now it was morning, and in the light of day, he felt certain that Sabine had been ravished. If his sister had simply failed because the duke had controlled his lust, she wouldn''t have cried herself to sleep over her failure. What he didn''t know was whether she''d cried deliberately to elicit sympathy, or if she''d cried tears of pain and regret. Could he angrily confront the duke? In his own castle? With those hounds everywhere? Stephen felt uncertain now that he''d met the man in person. It was one thing to see Duke Avery from a distance; it was another entirely to stand up face to face with him and be topped by two hands of height.
My sister¡¯s plan was unwise, he thought to himself. She didn''t know what she was getting into. He felt a pang of guilt. It was partly his fault, as well. He''d played a critical part in every step of her ill-fated plan. He''d encouraged her to go to the castle by telling her that she could seduce the duke with the perfumes he''d enchanted. That had been a mistake. He shouldn''t have let her talk him into putting phantasmal lust in a bottle. She''d been in no state to resist the duke, and lacked the experience to know the full consequences of her plan. She''d been naive; he''d been stupid.
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He sighed and turned to look at his sister again. She was asleep, lying on her side with her cheek resting against the cushions. Her long blonde hair was a tangled mess, and her face was smudged with tear-streaked makeup. The duke had stolen her innocence and her virtue.
¡°I¡¯m sorry, Sabine,¡± Stephen said. Then he stepped onto the window sill, turned sideways to inch his way to the edge, muttered a few words under his breath, and jumped.
Isolde made a face. ¡°Why does my neck hurt?¡±
¡°Because you were trying to sleep in a chair for something like half the night,¡± Fiona said. ¡°I moved you to the bed after the rest of us got up. You were snoring.¡±
¡°Oh,¡± Isolde said, blinking sleep out of her eyes. ¡°Right. Sorry. I was up late. Avery needed my help with something.¡±
¡°I thought you were up late entertaining the Lancastrian siblings,¡± Fiona said. ¡°But no matter. I brought some tea, I figured you''d want some.¡±
¡°Thank you, that¡¯s helpful. Yes, I was, Avery had some questions he wanted to ask them later.¡± Isolde took the proffered cup and sipped. ¡°And then we ended up playing chess very late.¡± She decided she would not mention that she''d spent some time walking with Stephen while leaving Avery alone with Sabine.
¡°Was he making arrangements to marry Sabine?¡± Fiona asked.
¡°No. Her brother didn¡¯t even bring up the subject, and there''s no way that her father would swear allegiance to the duke,¡± Isolde said. ¡°Her father wasn''t even here last night. I believe you¡¯ll be Avery¡¯s one and only wizard bride.¡±
Fiona cracked a half smile. ¡°Maybe I could teach one of the others up to competence. Master Warin says I''ll make a fine teacher once I''ve learned well enough. Maybe I could teach you, too. Elfbloods often have a knack for wizardry, and you''re¡ what, a quarter? Like me?¡±
Isolde nodded. ¡°I never knew my grandmother, but my mother says she was a full-blooded elf. She left after my grandfather died, I think. My mother doesn''t like to talk about it much.¡± She sipped her tea. ¡°Why do you want to marry my cousin?¡±
Fiona made a wry smile. ¡°What, you don''t think he''s that great of a catch?¡±
¡°It''s not that,¡± Isolde said, then paused. ¡°Well, maybe it is that. Not great enough for eight wives.¡±
¡°It''s complicated,¡± Fiona said. She poured herself a cup of tea. ¡°I¡¯m not sure how best to explain it.¡±
¡°Try,¡± Isolde said. ¡°Quarter-elf to quarter-elf, what do you see in my foster brother?¡±
¡°All right, I¡¯ll try.¡± Fiona paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts. ¡°I¡¯ve been studying magic for most of my life. I''ve always been interested in it, and I''ve read a lot of books. Master Warin started teaching me basic cantrips when I was ten. I''m twenty-five now. Most of the girls from my childhood village are married with kids. Master Warin says I''m just a bit of a late bloomer.¡± Fiona set her teacup down, looking at Isolde.
Isolde nodded. ¡°Elf blood does that to a person sometimes. You''re beautiful now, however late you may have bloomed.¡±
¡°Thank you for saying so,¡± Fiona said, her quick smile not quite reaching her eyes. ¡°Anyway, it took me a while to start looking, and there were always more things to learn. Master Warin is particularly good at divination, so the few times I took interest in some handsome lad in the village, he''d take it as a teaching opportunity. I had every reason to want to scry on him, do auguries, and the like, and then¡ well, you know all the questions adolescent girls like to ask the fortune tellers. Only it was a real wizard doing real divination, and the answers were a lot less optimistic. This one had a wandering eye; that one could never sire children; that one had a violent temper behind closed doors.¡± Fiona swirled her cup, looking at the tea leaves collecting at the bottom.
¡°And Master Warin divined good things about my cousin?¡± Isolde prompted. ¡°That he¡¯d make an excellent husband?¡±
¡°Rather, I would say he didn''t find anything wrong with him. But also, I found him pleasing. He smells a little like fresh bread, you know.¡± Fiona smiled. ¡°More pleasant than the usual musk. But we came here because of a different divination, one we did before I''d considered your cousin as a marriage prospect. When he heard that the old duke named Avery his heir, Master Warin determined that the course of certain events in the near future would be much better if Avery held onto the ducal throne for at least ten years. We came to York so that Master Warin could offer his assistance. He started by trying to contact the court wizard.¡±
¡°Really?¡± Isolde blinked. ¡°We''ve never had a court wizard.¡±
¡°So we learned when the letters were returned unopened. Then we tried getting an introduction through the wizard collegium, and the seneschal at the time ¨C Lucas, I think his name was ¨C sent us a note saying that our efforts to insinuate ourselves into the duke¡¯s court had been noticed and to stop, as he disapproved. Master Warin gave up trying to secure an introduction at that point, but then there was the coronation, and the city was flooded with even more eligible young men of good breeding than usual, so my prospects as a woman looked good even if his prospects of assisting the duke did not. Master Warin started pulling favors to try to get us invited to your ball, and then you invited me to one of your little get-togethers.¡± Fiona paused, giving Isolde a questioning look.
¡°My mother had told me to wave every eligible woman I could in front of Avery''s nose. Trying to get an invitation to the ball put you on my list of people to invite for a soiree.¡± Isolde said. ¡°It was very haphazard. Later on, my mother told me I needed to be more selective about who I invited.¡±
¡°As soon as I met your cousin in person, I decided he looked and smelled toothsome, but assumed he was out of my league as a high-ranking nobleman. Master Warin took offense to that assumption on account of his own status, so then we did some divination. Or rather, I did, with him criticizing all the while. Once I''d gotten through our¡ um¡ standard boy battery of divinations, I was ready to marry him if I got the opportunity. He''s a decent person.¡± Fiona frowned. ¡°Though some of the auguries make a little more sense now that I know I''ll be sharing him. Master Warin is glad I''ll have the time to continue my studies. The bit about oaths of allegiance was a bit of a surprise, but Master Warin decided taking the oath was worthwhile given what he''d learned about Avery''s potential as an independent ruler after the fall of the empire.¡±
Isolde stared at Fiona. ¡°The fall of the¡¡± She paused. ¡°You¡¯re serious. Breakfast. I think I need breakfast before I can talk about my foster brother as a post-apocalyptic sovereign.¡±
34. Morning
Avery stood in front of the fireplace in the sitting room. He''d come up after breakfast, intending to tell Sabine to pack up and leave. Instead, he''d found her still asleep on the couch in the sitting room. She''d looked so peaceful and vulnerable.
He hesitated for a moment before touching her, gently pushing her hair out of her face. Her skin was warm, and she smelled of a mixture of perfume and stale sweat. She mumbled something unintelligible in her sleep and shifted slightly, rubbing her cheek against his hand. He sighed and went to a small desk in the corner of the room.
He withdrew a blank section of parchment and started to write, then paused. Sabine had been nominally chaperoned by her brother in her visit to the castle. He mentally reached out. Isolde, where is Stephen? he sent. I didn''t see him at breakfast, he''s not in the sitting room with his sister, and he hasn''t departed by the front door, either.
I don''t know, Metalface. I haven''t seen him either. Not since last night. I''ll start searching the keep, Isolde sent back. There are not so many places he could hide.
Thank you, Avery replied. He picked up the pen again and resumed writing, slowly and deliberately. There was a knock at the door. He ignored it. After a few moments, several louder and more insistent knocks followed. Avery set down the quill and walked over to the door. One of his intended brides was on the other side. Light brown hair, blue eyes ¨C Rose.
¡°Your Grace,¡± she said, bending in a curtsy. ¡°I apologize for disturbing you, but I felt I needed to talk to you and not just Lady Maude. She said if I didn''t marry you, she would find me a position, and you could make me a baronetess in my own right.¡±
Avery quirked an eyebrow. ¡°Granting ducal baronies is within my power, and if she promised such on my behalf, I am willing to fulfill that promise. If you''d rather give up being a married duchess for being a single baronetess, you will have my blessing on that.¡± Avery paused cautiously. ¡°You are a lovely young woman, graceful and honest and worthy. And while you are not the first to seek to break off your engagement, you''re the first to come directly to me about it, which means you have uncommon courage. I would feel honored either to marry you or have you as my vassal holding an estate in my duchy.¡±
¡°You flatter me, Your Grace,¡± Rose said, dropping into another curtsy. ¡°May I think on my decision longer?¡±
Avery nodded. ¡°Take as long as you like,¡± he said. ¡°Is there anything else?¡±
¡°No, Your Grace. Thank you, Your Grace.¡± Rose dipped again, and scurried out of the room.
Avery returned to writing slowly and carefully on the parchment. Then he stopped, looking at it carefully. The ink obediently dried as the parchment warmed under his gaze. He smiled, and walked across the room, laying the parchment on the chessboard. He turned to look at Sabine on the couch. Her eyes were open.
¡°How long have you been awake?¡± Avery asked.
¡°Not very long,¡± Sabine replied. ¡°I woke up feeling a bit disoriented. I''ve been having nightmares, and I don¡¯t know where my brother went. Have you sent for Stephen?¡±
¡°Yes,¡± Avery said. ¡°I don''t know where he is.¡±
¡°I heard some of your conversation with Rose,¡± Sabine said. ¡°I don''t think I really understand you. If she wants to get out of the marriage, you should be the one demanding concessions from her. I think you''re too generous.¡±
¡°Does that mean you''ve changed your mind about wanting to marry me?¡± Avery asked.
Sabine laughed. ¡°Of course not, Your Grace. I''m still willing to marry you. I just don''t think it matters anymore, does it? If you''re resorting to bribery to get rid of your brides, you clearly don''t need an extra one.¡±
¡°So you do want to marry me,¡± Avery said. ¡°Good, because I''ll have made myself sound a pompous fool otherwise in my letter. I will have some breakfast sent for you while you read and make your decision. I feel enough of an ogre after last night, so I won''t loom over you while you decide. I will be in the great hall. Unless something urgent requires my attention.¡±
He bent over and gently kissed Sabine''s forehead. She stared at him in surprise as he turned and left; when he opened the door, he found Merilda standing there, shifting from foot to foot. An inane thought popped into his mind. Hopefully she didn¡¯t just hear me disparage ogres, he thought to himself. She was little shorter than himself and powerfully built; considering the cruelties of youth, she probably had been called ¡®ogre¡¯ more than once by her peers. ¡°Merilda, did you want to speak with me?¡±
Merilda nodded, her downcast eyes fixed on a spot halfway between her feet and Avery¡¯s feet.
¡°Let us walk and talk, then, if you don''t mind?¡± Avery stepped through the doorway and politely offered Merilda his arm. She hesitated, and then took it delicately, as if his arm was a delicate blown-glass ornament. After a moment, he realized Fiona was following quietly behind them. The elfblood didn''t make much noise when she didn''t want to draw attention.
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¡°Do you want me?¡± Merilda asked. ¡°Or would you rather get rid of me?¡±
Avery patted her hand. Apparently it was the morning for his fianc¨¦es to get cold feet. ¡°If you don''t want to marry me, you don''t have to. I won''t be angry,¡± he said. Behind Merilda, Fiona shook her head vigorously, and closed her lips with her fingers. Was she trying to tell him something?
¡°Oh,¡± Merilda said. They walked in silence for a minute.
Out of the corner of his eye, Avery could see Fiona''s frustration mounting; she clearly wanted to communicate something to him, but was not willing to speak it aloud when Merilda would hear. He reached out mentally, feeling for Fiona''s mind. It was bright, crackling with magical knowledge. Gently, he established a link between them as he walked down the stairs. Once the three of them reached the ground floor, he sent a mental message to Fiona. What were you trying to tell me with all those gestures and looks?
Fiona was startled enough to trip over her own feet. ¡°Sorry,¡± she said, catching herself inches short of planting her face into the stone floor.
¡°Are you alright?¡± Avery asked. Merilda let go of his arm and picked the elfblood up off the floor.
¡°Fine, fine,¡± Fiona said, as Merilda helped her brush dust off her robes. ¡°Just clumsy, Your Grace.¡± She hesitated. Merilda is afraid you want to throw her away, she thought back through their connection. Can you hear what I try to send back? How are you doing this? I didn¡¯t see you cast a spell.
I hear you, Avery said. And thank you. Now I understand that I said just the wrong thing to reassure her. He turned away from the red-haired woman without answering her other question. There would be time for that later. ¡°Merilda, look at me.¡±
Merilda turned to meet his gaze and swallowed nervously. ¡°Sorry,¡± she said, eyes flickering back down to the stone floor. ¡°Your Grace, I''m sorry for whatever it is I did wrong.¡±
Avery shook his head. He reached out, touching Merilda''s chin with the wooden cap on the tip of his taloned finger. ¡°You haven''t done anything wrong. You''ll make a lovely duchess if you let me have you as one. And if you don''t want to be a duchess, I''ll be happy to have you live here with us for as long as you want to stay part of our family.¡± Impulsively, he leaned forward and hugged her with his other arm.
¡°Oh,¡± the blonde woman said. Bright green eyes blinked under bushy eyebrows as her cheeks flushed, and then she hugged him back.
Avery thought he heard his ribs creak. Over Merilda''s shoulder, he could see Fiona smiling.
Althea lingered over the remains of her breakfast, sipping tea very slowly and occasionally eating another crumb. Helen had been late to bed last night. She''d wanted to talk with her friend, but she''d also wanted breakfast. Now it was halfway to lunch, and the extra plate she''d sat next to her was cold. Oh, there she is, Althea thought, spying a strawberry-blonde head in the distance.
¡°Finally awake, sleepyhead? I saved you a plate,¡± Althea said, patting the bench next to her.
Helen flushed. ¡°Sorry,¡± she said. She hesitated, then came over and sat. She made a face as she chewed a spoonful of scrambled eggs. ¡°They''re awful when they''re cold,¡± she said. ¡°I deserve it, though.¡±
Althea picked up her cup and took a sip. ¡°You slept in. It happens. So, what happened last night? I thought we were going to meet up after we finished helping our parents unpack.¡±
¡°Nothing,¡± Helen said quickly. ¡°I got lost and then¡¡± She hesitated. ¡°I was distracted. The castle has, um, interesting architecture. And it''s well-stocked with arrows. By the time I got up to the ramparts, you weren''t there anymore, and I needed some fresh air to clear my head, so I sat and watched the stars for a long while. I''m sorry. I''ve been a bad friend.¡±
Althea frowned. There was something her friend wasn''t telling her, and it didn''t have to do with architecture. ¡°It''s okay,¡± she said. ¡°Lady Maude had some interesting things to say before we went to bed. I''ve been thinking about what she said this morning, about whether or not I should go through with this marriage.¡±
¡°But you have to marry me! I mean, get married with me!¡± Helen said. ¡°You wouldn''t abandon me to be alone without any friends in this big castle, would you? You seemed so happy about it last night, before I went to go help my parents finish unpacking.¡±
¡°Well, you sort of abandoned me last night,¡± Althea quipped. ¡°The roof was pretty boring without you. Bit too quiet and peaceful.¡±
Helen winced. ¡°I''m sorry. I''m well and truly sorry. Please forgive me.¡±
¡°I was joking,¡± Althea said. ¡°What''s gotten into you this morning? Were you drinking late last night?¡±
¡°No. Though I almost wish I had been,¡± Helen said. She nibbled on a biscuit. Being drunk would have given me an excuse, she thought to herself.
¡°Maybe you''re coming down with something,¡± Althea said. She held the back of her hand to Helen''s forehead. ¡°Any aches or chills?¡±
¡°We were pretty giddy last night,¡± Helen said. ¡°Is there a laughing disease? I jest, but¡ seriously, is there?¡±
Althea frowned. ¡°I don''t think so. There''s at least one laughing curse I know of.¡±
Helen tapped her chin. ¡°Sabine is a witch, isn''t she?¡±
¡°Wizardess,¡± Althea corrected. ¡°The rest of her family is into wizardry, at least. I don''t know about her for sure. She was good company last night at dinner. I haven''t laughed that much in ages. What, do you think she cursed you?¡±
¡°I don''t know,¡± Helen said. ¡°Maybe. I¡ had some terrible dreams last night. Don''t let Maude talk you out of becoming a duchess. Do you really want to go back home and marry someone like John? I don''t. I told you, I''d much rather have the duke one night a week and my best friend with me every day. Is it¡ well¡ do you now think the duke''s terribly ugly?¡±
Althea snorted. ¡°I haven¡¯t changed my mind since you asked me last night. He''s kind of like an elf, only taller with bigger muscles. And shiny and taloned. And his skin is dry and smooth, even if he has all those tiny little scales. Which is weird, but¡ not bad. Beautiful to look at, in a way. I''m just not feeling sure about this whole thing. Leaving my family, marrying someone I''ve barely met, being one out of eight wives¡¡±
¡°I love you,¡± Helen said. ¡°You haven''t barely met me. And we can have a great life together as duchesses. I promise you, if you do this, you''ll always have me, and I¡¯ll do my best to see you''ll never regret it. And I won''t let you down like I did last night. I promise.¡±
There was a small chime, and Fiona''s voice sounded from mid-air. ¡°Althea, would you please come to the sitting room?¡±
¡°What?¡± Althea said. There was no response.
¡°I think the sending only goes one way,¡± Helen said. ¡°There''s a basic spell to throw your voice to someone, even from leagues away, but listening is harder. My sister Avice uses them to send word home from school sometimes, but we have to write letters back.¡±
There was another small chime. ¡°Helen, would you please come to the sitting room?¡±
¡°Looks like we''re both wanted,¡± Althea said. ¡°I can figure that much out at least.¡±
35. [Un]dressing
Stephen soared high over the city of York, the cold morning wind biting his face as he left behind the inner keep, flying over the double-loop of the moat fed by the River Foss on its way to feed the Ouse, the inner keep and the bailey forming a pair of islands within the greater enclosure of the city. The open scar of the site for the half-built mill belonging to the York Textile Company was clearly visible, a rare large open space along the crowded ribbon of the Ouse as it cut through the city from north to south.
And there, not far from the manufactory under construction, parked outside the Taylor mansion, was the carriage belonging to Lord Guilford de Lancaster, the Baron Penrose, fifth in line for the throne of Lancaster. Stephen¡¯s father, in other words. Stephen flew down and landed, rubbing his hands to warm them. He''d not brought his flying gloves to dinner at the castle. He knocked on the door, and a butler opened it, peering skeptically at him.
A few short moments later, he''d been invited in for breakfast with his father, his father¡¯s business partner Edward Taylor, and the Taylor daughter ¨C what was her name, Beth or Bellatrix or something like that? He wasn¡¯t sure. Stephen hadn''t bothered much with learning the names of his father''s business partners'' families. The servants offered him mushrooms, toast, beans, fried eggs, and fried rashers of what almost looked like bacon. He accepted generous helpings of everything. Flying always gave him a hearty appetite.
¡°I''m sorry we were out overnight without sending a message, Father,¡± he said as the servants filled a second plate for him. ¡°We were late enough that it made sense just to sleep over. Especially with the events of the previous night fresh in everyone''s minds.¡±
¡°And where is your sister?¡± His father slowly chewed a rasher of meat, savoring the rich flavor.
Stephen shook his head and then swallowed. ¡°She''s still at the castle, having slept in. She may have drunk a little overmuch. I''ll talk to you more about that later,¡± he added, shoveling more food into his mouth. Best not to say more. If he talked about Sabine''s lost virtue in front of the Taylors and their servants, it would be all over town by nightfall, and all over Lancaster by next week. It would be the ruin of her reputation.
¡°Hmph. I disapprove. I''d say we''re wasting our time, except that I have been keeping busy. You should take her home with you tomorrow, I think.¡± The older Lancastrian noble dabbed grease off his mustache. ¡°Her idea has proven a waste of time, and you know it. We''ll have to find a husband for her elsewhere.¡±
¡°Lord Guilbert, I daresay the duke wouldn''t know a good woman if he bit into one,¡± interjected the Taylor girl, holding up a rasher on a fork and then vigorously chomping on it. ¡°A great shame,¡± she added around a mouthful of meat.
Stephen ignored the girl¡¯s rude attempt to inject herself into the conversation, not even looking at her. He turned instead to the man of the house. ¡°Mister Taylor, thank you for breakfast, it was delightful, but I should be on my way.¡± Minimal courtesy to the host complete, he looked back at his own father. ¡°Father, as I said, there have been some very important developments that I will need to discuss with you later. Privately. I would like to return to Lancaster tomorrow, but you know that politics can get complicated, and I¡¯m not sure that will be wise. But I cannot tell you my news here.¡±
¡°I see,¡± his father said, uncertainty entering his voice. He clearly didn''t see, but he showed an appropriate inkling of concern before shooting his host an apologetic look. ¡°I have a full day ahead of me, but I will be back at the house tonight and you can tell me any news then. Be careful, Stephen.¡±
Stephen smiled. ¡°I''ll do my best.¡±
The walk back to the house they''d been renting helped him focus his thoughts. He knew what he needed to do, but his sister''s words kept echoing in his head, holding him back from challenging the duke over his theft of his sister''s virtue. If Avery was even half as powerful as the old Silver Duke, then confronting him on his own home ground was courting death. He was confident in his skills as a wizard, particularly with phantasms, but he was no archmage.
Today, he would have the house to himself. A good day to practice my phantasms, he thought. Perhaps bindings, as well. With neither his sister nor his father around, he had all three of his sister''s maidservants entirely at his disposal at once ¨C as test subjects or as entertainment. He smiled.
The dressmaker held the bolt of silk up next to Elizabeth''s face and neck.
Maude frowned. ¡°I do not think azure is the best shade on you, but your colors are azure and gold, and the alternative is worse,¡± she said. ¡°Especially paired with the silver lam¨¦. Any sort of yellow risks making you look jaundiced, and my budget does not extend to cloth of gold.¡±
Elizabeth frowned. ¡°I like yellow,¡± she said. ¡°Orange is my favorite, though.¡±
¡°Orange isn''t one of your family''s colors, dear, and your dress is making a political statement. The orange dress you wore to the ball simply will not do. Silver for York; azure and gold for Northumbria. Or at least either blue or yellow.¡± Maude frowned. She didn''t like the fact that she was paying for the dress out of her own pocket instead of the earl''s pocket, but Ricard had made it clear that he could not afford the kind of extravagance that Maude felt was politically appropriate.
¡°Red is quartered on my family''s arms,¡± Elizabeth suggested. ¡°I like red.¡± If her father had been able to afford to buy a new wedding dress, he probably would have let Elizabeth pick her own colors and styling.
¡°That''s a recent addition from your grandmother''s line, and red is the principal color of Lancaster. No red,¡± Maude said. ¡°Azure silk and silver lam¨¦.¡±
¡°Milady, I have two other shades of blue in stock,¡± the dressmaker said. ¡°Though not in silk; this is my only blue silk. If you would like another shade of blue in silk, there is a transmuter in town who is good at matching colors. She does not work cheaply, though.¡±
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¡°Hm. Possibly. The dress must be silk. Let''s see them,¡± Maude said. ¡°Perhaps if we match her eyes, it will be close enough to the Northumbrian azure.¡±
¡°Of course, milady. Of course,¡± the dressmaker said. She rummaged through her drawers and came up with two sample swatches of cloth, one in deep sapphire and one in sky blue.
¡°I like the light blue better,¡± Elizabeth volunteered.
The dressmaker held the sky blue swatch up next to Elizabeth''s face, and then the sapphire blue.
¡°The darker one makes her look washed-out,¡± Maude said. ¡°The lighter one is a close match for her eyes. Let''s see the lighter one next to the silver lam¨¦, though, before we bring in your transmuter.¡±
Johanna looked at the sketch carefully, pointing at the number scrawled at the bottom.
¡°Grandfather, are you sure I need a brand new dress? Everyone remembers the emerald gown from the oath-taking ceremony, and this one seems quite a bit more expensive. I''m worried about the fitting, too. For that matter, Madame Percy can''t come to the keep to make any adjustments to a brand-new dress, and it''s not safe for me to leave the keep.¡±
Her father leaned over to peer at the number. ¡°Surely there''s been a mistake,¡± he said. ¡°That''s more than your mother spent on clothes in the past two years.¡±
Her grandfather cleared his throat.
¡°I intend to make a statement. There are about two pounds of gold woven into that design, and Madame Percy will put the rest of her clients on hold until she completes it and any necessary alterations. The cost isn''t as bad as it seems, she''s giving me a better than fair price on a dye shop, and she still owes us interest on the advance we gave her to credit her shop rental costs for the season.¡±
¡°Can we use the same emerald color for the skirts, though, instead of lavender?¡± Johanna said. ¡°And get rid of the lace, or replace it with something else. It''s just distracting, the dress is very busy already with the cloth of gold and the goldwork embroidery.¡±
¡°Hm. I suppose you''re right about emerald being the color you wore when we swore our oaths,¡± her grandfather said. ¡°That helps the statement. And the emerald color does go well with the gold... your mother loves lavender and lace on you, though.¡±
Johanna groaned. ¡°Can¡¯t you just¡ not tell her about the change? I''ve worn three different lavender outfits this past month in front of the duke, but he didn''t start remembering my name until I wore the emerald gown.¡±
The two men looked at each other. Her grandfather spoke first.
¡°I''ll go write a letter to Madame Percy telling her about the changes you''d like, and tell her she''s free to make any other minor alterations to the design that she thinks are needed to make it come together,¡± he said, looking away.
¡°Papa, can you please be the one to tell Maman?¡± Johanna looked at her feet.
Her father sighed. ¡°Fine. I''ll tell Charlotte the duke likes green better than light purple, and then later on, we''ll just say Madame Percy was the one who decided to eliminate the lace.¡±
There was a soft chime, and Fiona¡¯s voice sounded in mid-air. ¡°Johanna, would you please come to the sitting room?¡±
Stephen heard a heavy knock on the front door downstairs. Who could that be? Surely not his sister or his father, he thought. Some caller who would go away, hopefully. The knocking continued, insistent.
He peeked carefully out of the curtains. There was a carriage out front, accompanied by half a dozen of the duke''s men. He looked back at his sister''s maidservants and at the clothing strewn around the dining room. The maids were in no state to answer the door right now.
There was one more knock at the door, and then the sound of the door creaking open. Hadn''t it been barred? Stephen panicked. His magical reserves were low. He quickly cast a veil of invisibility over himself. After a second thought, he extended it to cover the table, the maidservants, and the chairs around the table.
The heavy tread of boots sounded on the stairs. He was trapped. The footsteps stopped at the door to the dining room. ¡°Is someone there?¡± a deep voice called. Stephen didn''t answer. He felt his heart beating wildly. He didn''t dare move. The door to the dining room opened.
It was one of the duke''s men. He looked at the empty room. ¡°Strange,¡± he said. ¡°There¡¯s some women''s clothing scattered around in here," he said over his shoulder. ¡°Could be the lady''s. Should I pack it up?¡±
The indistinct answer from the hallway must have been affirmative, because the man walked into the room and started picking clothing and shoes up off the floor, piling them in the hallway. Stephen held his breath as the man bent down to pick up a stocking and slammed his face into the invisible table.
¡°Ow!¡± he said. ¡°Bloody hell!¡±
The man looked around the room suspiciously, bending down more slowly and holding his arm out in front of his face. He touched the invisible table. ¡°Weird,¡± he said. He reached under the table with his other hand and picked up the stocking. Then he ran his hand along the top of the table. He started to walk back to the door, and then, as his heel caught on an unseen chair, suddenly spun around and dropped the stocking.
Stephen froze as the guard stared at the spot where the stocking had fallen. The man looked around again, and then slowly reached down and picked up the stocking. Then he turned around and then threw the stocking into the pile of clothes in the hallway. After the man walked out the door, he stopped, shaking his head.
¡°There''s something weird in the room up here,¡± the duke''s man said, talking to someone out of sight. ¡°I got the stuff. Most of it, at least, I''m not going scouring the corners of some strange enchanted room. Did you find the lady''s room yet? Or the servants that she''s supposed to have around here somewhere?¡±
There was another indistinct reply from the hallway.
"Yeah, me too," the duke''s man said. He closed the door to the dining room with one last wary look.
Stephen let out a sigh of relief, but didn''t move and didn''t drop the veil of invisibility. He waited and watched out the window as the duke''s men loaded several travel chests into the carriage, followed by a harpsichord and several bulging sacks.
Hopefully, they hadn''t taken any of his things, he thought to himself. He¡¯d packed light, only two changes of clothing and what he considered the bare necessities for magical endeavors; missing any of it would be troublesome. He waited until the carriage rolled out of sight before he banished the veil of invisibility. He picked up a half-empty bottle of wine and drained it, then sat down heavily, jolting the table.
One of the maidservants fell over. The sudden impact shattered the grip of the phantasm locking her mind into an imaginary world. As she scrambled down from the table, she looked around in alarm. ¡°Where have my clothes gone to, milord?¡±
Stephen rubbed his forehead. ¡°The duke¡¯s men took them away.¡±
She looked at him with confusion, glancing over at the other two maidservants, clearly neither understanding nor appreciating the artistry of Stephen¡¯s arrangements.
¡°Go get dressed,¡± Stephen said, his voice growing sharp. ¡°I¡¯ll want you to fetch the makings for dinner. If, as I suspect, the duke¡¯s men took all of your things, you may borrow something from my father¡¯s wardrobe for the trip.¡±
She bowed. ¡°Yes, milord. I¡¯ll be right on my way.¡±
As the dining room door closed, Stephen sighed. The time for diversions was over. He needed to check over his own things and make sure the duke¡¯s men hadn¡¯t stolen those. Between his own indulgences and the duke¡¯s men, the house was all out of order and in need of a deep cleaning, so his sister¡¯s maidservants would need to get right to work as soon as he released them from their bindings, magical and otherwise.
36. Bargaining
When Johanna walked into the sitting room, there were six women already there; not just Fiona, but four other of her fellow brides-to-be and a maidservant standing discreetly next to a tea tray.
¡°That''s everyone except Elizabeth and Rose, then,¡± Fiona said. She tucked a strand of copper-colored hair behind a pointed ear, looking over at the maid. ¡°You may go. We will ring if we need anything.¡±
Six brides-to-be waited in silence as the maid walked to the doorway, her eyes burning with silent curiosity; but Fiona didn¡¯t speak again until the door clicked shut, and even then, spoke quietly. ¡°I didn''t ask Rose here because I think she''s decided she doesn''t want to marry the duke, and I didn¡¯t ask Elizabeth because she¡¯s busy with Maude. I wanted to talk about a few things just between us future duchesses.¡±
¡°Without the Lady Maude¡¯s input?¡± Anna arched an eyebrow.
Fiona nodded. ¡°Am I right about your friend not joining in the wedding?¡±
¡°Like as not,¡± Anna said, her face schooled into a carefully neutral expression.
¡°I''m tired of talking about the wedding,¡± Althea said. ¡°My family talks about nothing else.¡±
¡°Not much point in us talking about the wedding, either. Maude is running the whole show,¡± Anna said, wryly.
Fiona nodded. ¡°Thank you, both of you. I wanted to look past the wedding. The Lady Maude taking charge of the wedding is suitable, but after that, she cannot be left in charge of the ducal household. Not if we are to be taken seriously as duchesses. After the wedding, we rank her and it will be up to us to organize the ducal household. That household will be more complex than usual, since there are so many of us. I want us to think about the responsibilities and privileges of being duchesses, and how we''re going to divide those up.¡±
¡°Who put you in charge?¡± Anna narrowed her eyes.
Fiona shook her head. ¡°I''m not in charge here. We''re all going to be duchesses together. You don''t have to agree with everything I suggest, but I hope you''ll listen and devise better if you find my notions disagreeable. This is ¨C will be ¨C our castle, and we have not even our own chambers yet.¡±
The room was silent for a moment. ¡°Marcus has been the one telling everyone where to sleep,¡± Merilda said, with a questioning tone. ¡°Is he not, as seneschal, in charge of such matters?¡±
¡°For now. But as duchesses, he answers to us, not the other way around; and I want to look past the wedding. There''s only so much room in the keep.¡± Fiona pointed up. ¡°A duchess would usually have her own chamber. The old duchess''s chamber up in the duke¡¯s solar ¨C singular, she had but the one ¨C was turned into a library after she died. Then there are the study and meditation chamber. As spacious as the duke''s solar is at present for the one man living there, that cannot be easily rearranged into seven master bedchambers. Four, at most. We''ll have to either share space or make space.¡±
¡°You mean we''ll have to share beds?¡± Althea asked. ¡°Reserving the duke his own bedchamber, that''s two in two beds, and three in the third. Unless Elizabeth gets one by herself, which would mean both of the others will have three. She''s a count''s daughter, she does rank the rest of us, and with us meeting like this behind her back, I hesitate to trample on her privilege.¡±
¡°I don''t know about you, but I would rather not sleep in a bed of three women every night,¡± Anna said. As mere gentry, she would surely get stuck in the most crowded room under either arrangement. ¡°And why should the duke sleep alone?¡±
¡°Oh, I wouldn''t mind sharing a bedroom with the duke,¡± Johanna blurted out. She eyed the others cautiously. ¡°But I don''t think I could have him to myself that much, could I?¡±
¡°Definitely not. If you had him with you every night, that would make you the favorite, and that would be a snub to the rest of us and our families.¡± Fiona shook her head. ¡°I daresay jealousy will be a problem. No, I propose we eliminate the duke¡¯s bedchamber entirely from the solar. That would give us four chambers. He will sleep in one or another of our chambers, and if he wishes solitude, he find a corner somewhere else on a lower level. Or perhaps on the roof, if the weather is kind.¡±
Helen giggled. ¡°Turf out the duke from his own chambers entirely?¡±
¡°It is incumbent upon him to provide suitable chambers for his wives. As many of us as there are, I say we claim the whole of the solar as ours. That brings me to the next point. We''ll have to have a rota of some kind,¡± Fiona said. ¡°For whose turn it is to host him.¡±
¡°Have him, you mean,¡± Anna said, green eyes flickering with a thinly-veiled challenge.
¡°Um. Yes. A rota to have him. I doubt he would set one up himself, and we can either vie jealously for attention or take firm charge and impose fairness and order on the¡ situation.¡± Fiona shifted uneasily in her seat, looking away from the dark-haired woman and at a nondescript spot on the carpet instead. ¡°As far as I am concerned ¨C we could do it by birth rank for the first time, and that would put me dead last as common-born.¡±
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This provoked a range of reactions among the women present. Johanna turned bright pink and looked down at the floor. Anna frowned a little at first, then more as Fiona mentioned rank. Althea looked uncertain; next to her, Helen looked uneasy. Merilda nodded approvingly.
¡°What if I''m indisposed, or not in the mood?¡± Helen said, the strawberry-blonde girl unconsciously edging closer to her friend Althea.
¡°You could trade your turn with someone else,¡± Anna said, rubbing her chin. ¡°Or withdraw from the rota and let him skip to the next. I misliked the idea at first, but there''s no reason we couldn''t work out a system.¡±
¡°I still don''t like it,¡± Althea said, unfolding and refolding her lanky limbs as she shifted positions on the couch. ¡°It doesn''t seem proper, somehow.¡±
¡°You don¡¯t have to like it, but this whole arrangement is going to have to be irregular, and it¡¯s better we confront its irregularities now ¨C or retreat from the arrangement entirely before the wedding.¡± Fiona paused, holding up a finger. ¡°If it¡¯s too improper for you, I¡¯m sure Maude would be happy to reduce our numbers by one more. One way or another, we''re going to have to figure out how to make decisions together. And the first decisions we must make is how to share a husband and a castle. So I''d like all of you to think about what you can do to help make things come together more smoothly. If we can figure out how we want to set up rooms, I can talk to Marcus about getting the solar rearranged before the wedding.¡±
The door opened suddenly. Fiona clapped her mouth shut as Maude walked into the room. ¡°Oh. Good, you''re all here. I wanted to talk about the wedding,¡± Maude said.
An awkward silence fell, Fiona¡¯s plan of a private meeting having been disrupted. After a moment, Helen spoke. ¡°We were just talking about how to divide up the solar between us after the wedding. Seven of us between four chambers. Althea and I can share a room together, we''re good friends and that won''t be any hardship."
Althea looked over at her friend, opened her mouth, and then closed it as Maude spoke. ¡°Properly speaking, every noble-born woman needs a chamber to call her own,¡± Maude said. ¡°But if you''re willing to make exception, I''ll confess it would make things easier if we put you both in the study. Avery doesn¡¯t need to keep a study up in the solar, he can take his old chamber back over as his study once your families go home.¡±
¡°We were thinking that he didn''t need his own chamber up there at all, and that we could divide the four rooms amongst ourselves,¡± Anna said.
¡°Hm. Good idea. He could put a cot in his old chamber for sleeping, too, if he needs a good night''s rest,¡± Maude said, counting on her fingers. ¡°It all fits neatly at that point. Elizabeth in the duchess''s old room, Johanna in the duke''s old room, Althea and Helen in the study, and then the three lower-born women in the meditation chamber. I''m sure you''re accustomed to sharing chambers, growing up in the gentry as you did. I will go put matters into motion at once ¨C then I will be back to discuss the wedding.¡±
Anna bristled at the departing gray-haired half-elf''s back as she left the room. ¡°I''m not accustomed to sharing chambers,¡± she growled after the woman had safely departed.
Fiona put her hand on Anna''s arm. ¡°We can change things again once we''re duchesses. But only if we aren''t at odds with one another. If we''re in contention with each other, I''m sure Maude will continue to run this household as she has for the past century. I''ll talk to the servants and make sure they put a second bed in the meditation room, at least. There''s no furniture in that room at present, so it should be possible to fit two beds in without too much trouble. Three, perhaps, but if it¡¯s two, I will share with Merilda so you can have one for yourself. We''ll need to be able to trust one another and cooperate.¡±
¡°Two baronetcies,¡± Rose said, her bright blue eyes fixed on Maude. ¡°One for my father, one for myself in my own right. My father already has extensive holdings for a knight, but I know Leeds itself reverted to a direct ducal holding when the baron died without issue. Grant me that part of the former baronial holdings, to be administered by my father for the time being. And in turn, I''ll act as a lady in waiting here in York in the near term. You''ll have need of such with seven duchesses.¡±
Maude shifted in her seat and eyed the young woman warily. If they were anywhere other than the privacy of her study, she felt she would need to upbraid the young woman for insolence; but in private, there was no benefit to doing so. ¡°You ask a lot,¡± she said. ¡°And you offer only a little.¡±
¡°The titles cost the duke nothing,¡± Rose said. ¡°And he said he''d enlarge my father to baronet anyway if we got married, so all I''m really asking for are the rents from Leeds. It''s not exactly a large town, and it''s quite far off from York. My father has half the lands abutting it anyway.¡±
¡°No, it isn¡¯t very large at all,¡± Maude said. ¡°In fact, I think it''s the smallest named village along the Aire. It has some of the smallest collected rents, at least. I''m sure the duke will agree it''d be better administered by a closer noble. And you do have a point. The castle servants simply are not prepared to attend to the needs of seven duchesses. We will need help, and soon.¡±
Rose nodded. ¡°I imagine you''d want my help immediately.¡±
¡°Perhaps,¡± Maude said. ¡°I will talk to the duke, and see if he''s willing to title you baronetess over Leeds. It should be easily done. What does your father think about this?¡±
¡°I haven''t told him yet,¡± Rose said. ¡°But I''m sure he won''t raise much of a fuss when I do. The last I talked with him, he was worried about whether or not he could afford to give me a dowry that would match the other brides, and whether or not I might be able to stand out next to the other brides. He doesn¡¯t like the notion of Madame Jocosa altering Anna¡¯s dress, but every other dressmaker he''s talked to so far is already booked up through the wedding.¡±
¡°I can imagine. Madame Percy turned me down,¡± Maude said. ¡°With her deepest regrets, of course, saying that she had already committed to as much work as she could possibly complete. There''s a waiting list.¡±
Rose looked at Maude. ¡°I didn''t know you were getting a new dress for the wedding,¡± she said. ¡°Or was it for Isolde?¡±
The older woman silently cursed her careless tongue. Would she have to get Isolde a new dress for the wedding just to cover up the fact that she was paying for Elizabeth''s dress? She shook her head. ¡°Well, I''m certainly not getting one from Madame Percy,¡± she said. ¡°Isolde may just have to be satisfied with what she already has.¡±
37. A Different Oath
Gregor leaned against the wall next to the back entrance and folded his arms, focusing on the telepathic connection between himself and his liege lord. I don''t like this, Your Grace. We still don''t know who was behind the Golden Fleece attack.
Avery glanced at the master of hounds from his elevated throne. They were almost alone in the great hall; a handful of servants and dogs wandered around the room, clearing away tables, benches, and scraps and getting the hall ready for the duke to hold court.
I agree, but we must move forward. Postponing the wedding only puts us at greater risk. We can''t afford to be seen as weak. Avery sighed and shifted uncomfortably on his throne. Besides, once we hold the wedding¡ the murder of a sitting duchess would routinely become a matter of imperial investigation. The threat of imperial involvement might deter the killer.
Yes, Your Grace, Gregor sent. I just wish we had more information. I''m trying my best, but I''m not James.
You know James is somewhere in Cornwall right now, Avery replied as an older hound ¨C Manfred ¨C settled between the two of them on the dais, next to the throne. As best as I can tell, he thinks that a civil war could break out in the south at any time. He''s asked me to send him any texts I can find on old Arthurian legends for some reason ¨C which makes me nervous. Don''t say a word about that aloud, by the way, we could be watched by crystal ball. The possibility the empire could dissolve in the next month is another reason to move forward with solidifying our alliances.
Gregor frowned. Are we even sure how many brides to plan for at the wedding?
Avery shook his head, reaching down to scratch Manfred behind the ears. No more than nine, even if Sabine decides to accept the terms I wrote for her this morning. Maude is working on all of the rest except for Elizabeth and Johanna, trying to get them to back away.
She likes those two? Gregor asked.
She does, Avery replied. Elizabeth, because the alliance with Northumbria is too important to ruin. Johanna¡ her grandfather is very wealthy, but only a baron. It might be because she was the first to step forward; if she walks away from me, it''ll look bad.
If you ask me, I think she just likes those two because she can push them around, Gregor sent. Maude has been the woman of the castle for a long time. So, what are you going to do about the other girls?
Nothing, Avery sent. If they don''t back out, then I''ll marry them. They can make their own decisions on the subject, as far as I¡¯m concerned.
Minor nobles and a few commoners were filtering into the great hall, some hoping to petition the duke and others present simply to see and be seen while the duke held court. Many of the latter drifted up to the balcony, while the former soon formed a queue, ordered partly by arrival time and partly by status, a process encouraged by meaningful looks from the duke¡¯s hounds and the occasional whispered hint from a servant.
We should start, Avery sent, stirring on his throne. ¡°Send the first petitioner forward,¡± he said aloud as Gregor slunk away.
The man who stepped forward was a well-dressed man with a small patch of gray hair above his ears and spurs jingling at his ankles ¨C a landed knight. He bowed low, and the tedious but important business of being the final arbiter of justice in the duchy began for the day.
By the time Sabine joined a diminished line of petitioners, it was halfway to sext, and a middle-aged man with a drooping mustache was several minutes into describing the history of a bridge over the River Aire.
Your Grace, do you want me to send her forward immediately? Gregor asked.
That wouldn''t be fair to the petitioners who have been waiting their turn patiently, Avery replied distractedly. But do have the guards start turning away any other late-comers outside the door with instructions. I will not be minded to continue holding court after she gives her answer, whether it is affirmative or negative. I will be cutting this case short, and I do not think the next two cases are likely to be long.
¡°The petitioner has committed perjury by lying in my courtroom,¡± Avery said aloud. ¡°I do not need to hear the rest of the evidence; his appeal is denied. He may count himself lucky that the old duke''s crystal sword is not present in court today. Next.¡±
The next two cases went quickly, the petitioners keeping their statements unusually brief; then Sabine came forward and bowed deeply. A small cloth bandage was wrapped around her left pinky finger, and she held a rolled-up piece of parchment in her right hand.
¡°Your Grace, I agree to all you have written, and have signed my agreement in blood. May this oath bind me,¡± she said, her voice ringing true in his ears. She walked forward to the edge of the dais, and then knelt, her head bowed, holding up the parchment in both hands. A startled murmur filled the room.
Avery stood, and the murmurs died down. He raised his voice so that it carried through the hall. ¡°I accept your oath, Sabine. We will marry.¡± He paused, and stepped forward, taking the rolled parchment out of her hand. ¡°You may rise.¡±
Sabine rose and took a deep breath. ¡°Thank you, Your Grace.¡±
The great hall echoed with the sound of dozens of voices talking at once.
Gregor, now that Sabine has made her decision, I want a polite note sent to Sabine''s father requesting his formal assent to the marriage, Avery gave the master of hounds a look as he walked down from the raised dais. Also, have a carriage pick up her things from the house. He paused. Actually, see if you can find Stephen, too. I''m still bothered by his sudden disappearance from the keep.
What if her father says no? Gregor asked.
Then I marry her anyway, Avery replied. He offered Sabine his arm. His consent would be nice to have, but by the laws of the duchy, parental consent to a marriage is optional if one has permission from the duke.
¡°I would like to speak to you privately, Your Grace,¡± Sabine murmured, her lips close to his ear.
¡°Of course,¡± Avery said. He halted in place, reaching out to cradle her cheek, the wooden caps brushing against her hair as he carefully made mental contact. This is as private as possible, he sent.
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Sabine halted in her tracks, eyes wide. A whisper escaped her lips. ¡°What sorcery is this?¡±
If you speak aloud, our conversation will not be private. Try to form the words clearly, as if you are speaking but without moving your lips or tongue.
Answer me! Sabine pressed her lips firmly together. What sorcery is this?
Avery smiled, turning away and tugging Sabine forward with his arm as he walked through the great hall to the front entrance, making a show out of ignoring the whispers. No. Tell me what you wished to tell me in privacy.
You are an utter fiend, your contract is thorough, yet I can''t wait to have you in me, Sabine sent back. I find you equal parts frustrating and frightening, and somehow that makes you all the more appealing. I must be going mad.
Avery blinked at her directness, his step hitching for half a heartbeat in surprise. I''m flattered.
Flattered? Sabine sent. I called you an utter fiend.
¡°Milord Guilbert de Lancaster, a message for you,¡± said the liveried halfling, bowing politely.
¡°Thank you,¡± Guilbert said, taking the folded envelope and tucking it in a pocket. First his son; now the duke¡¯s messenger; it seemed everyone and their cousin knew he had come calling at the Taylor mansion. He turned back to his younger companion. ¡°Alric, I think there could be a real advantage in using a hybrid system. Skeleton power is cheap and reliable, but it does have certain mechanical limitations, such as the amount of enclosed space required.¡±
Alric gestured at the courier, who was still standing next to them on the balcony of the Taylor mansion. ¡°I''d rather not discuss business plans further in front of a stranger.¡±
¡°Off with you, then,¡± Guilbert said, with all the authority that had been trained into him as fifth in line for the throne of Lancaster.
¡°I''m to wait for a reply, milord, of some kind.¡± The halfling clasped his hands behind his back, looking up at the nobleman. ¡°Begging your pardon, milord, but such are the duke''s orders to me, and you haven''t read the message yet, sir.¡±
The nobleman sighed in exasperation. ¡°Very well,¡± he said, taking the envelope back out of his pocket and breaking the seal and unfolding the piece of paper. The message was short, only two lines. He read it silently, then looked over at Alric, and cleared his throat. ¡°His Grace asks my assent and approval of my daughter''s marriage to him.¡±
¡°Very good news, isn''t it?¡± Alric asked. ¡°Isn''t that what she came here for?¡±
¡°Yes,¡± he said. ¡°I thought he''d gotten engaged to several other women, though. Sabine hadn''t given up, but I was ready to send her home with Stephen tomorrow. He¡¯s a steady flier.¡±
¡°Several? The last I heard, it was at least half a dozen,¡± Alric said. ¡°I imagine it would be difficult to take his attention away from half a dozen other women.¡±
¡°Oh, I can imagine,¡± the nobleman said dryly. ¡°Sabine''s very good with her enchantments, Alric. I shouldn''t have counted her out so early." He turned to the halfling courier. ¡°Tell him yes. Do you have anything else for us?¡±
¡°No, milord,¡± the halfling said. ¡°But he''d wanted a written response rather than just my say-so," he added, holding out a quill. ¡°Begging your pardon, milord, if you would be so kind?¡±
The nobleman paused. ¡°Very well.¡± He wouldn''t trust some courier''s say-so either, in the duke''s shoes. He took the quill and carefully jotted down a couple of short sentences, and then signed his mark at the bottom.
¡°He what?¡± Fiona¡¯s voice rose by an octave from one syllable to the next.
Anna repeated herself. ¡°He''s agreed to marry Sabine of Lancaster,¡± she said, then continued onward as if Fiona didn¡¯t need any additional time to digest that particularly unpalatable bit of news. ¡°The servants have been talking about it all afternoon. Even though her father and brother haven''t sworn to him.¡±
Fiona frowned. ¡°I thought there were to be seven brides,¡± she muttered to herself. ¡°What am I missing?¡±
¡°I''m sorry, seven?¡± Anna asked.
¡°No, I''m sorry. There are things you don''t know. I need to go talk with Master Warin,¡± Fiona said. ¡°And then¡ Elizabeth, I think. If you see her, let her know I want to talk to her. Stay safe. There may be grave danger afoot.¡±
¡°Is Sabine dangerous?¡± Anna grabbed the quarter-elf, her hand wrapping almost all the way around a pale slender arm. ¡°What do you know that I don''t?¡±
¡°Maybe. More than I can explain. Let me go,¡± Fiona added. ¡°I need to find out more, and that means I need to talk with my adopted father and mentor. Who, I will remind you, is an archmage diviner.¡± She met Anna''s glaring green eyes stubbornly with her pale blue eyes. ¡°So, let me go. Please.¡±
Anna tightened her grip. ¡°I don''t want to be kept in the dark,¡± she said. ¡°We go together.¡±
Fiona sighed. ¡°Fine. You won''t understand most of what he has to say anyway.¡±
¡°I''ll be the judge of that,¡± Anna said. ¡°Now come on, let''s see what Master Warin has to say about Sabine marrying the duke.¡±
They found Master Warin on the rooftop, performing measurements with a knotted ball of twine. The tower was shaped like a cloverleaf, and the archmage was carefully holding each knot fixed against the top of the stone wall before he set down the next knot, moving along one curved section of wall. The old wizard looked up and greeted them, his finger fixed in place. ¡°How are you, dear?¡±
¡°Not well,¡± Fiona said. ¡°He wants to marry Sabine. What do we do?¡±
Master Warin shrugged. ¡°We swore an oath to bow to his will. If he says yes to Sabine, then there''s little we can do to stop that without breaking our oath. Do you think he''s in love with her?¡±
¡°I don''t know,¡± Fiona said. ¡°She''s beautiful, charming, and clever. But the paper fox still burns green.¡±
¡°Probably not, then,¡± Master Warin said. ¡°If he''s marrying her for political reasons, then maybe he sees her as a useful tool. All of you are useful to him.¡±
Fiona sighed. ¡°I''d almost hoped the paper fox would burn red. Even if it would likely have been her.¡±
Master Warin shrugged. ¡°Be useful to me and finish taking the measurements of the other three lobes of the tower while we talk. I need to know the perimeter to within an inch, and I will want my hands free if I am to answer questions.¡±
Fiona silently took the ball of twine from her adoptive father as Anna spoke, a tone of impatience entering the brunette¡¯s voice. ¡°She said she thought there would be seven brides. Sabine makes eight. What does that mean?¡±
¡°A bit of oracular prophecy, that,¡± said the archmage, and shook his head. ¡°Cryptic and nearly useless as always. Usually true, as little as it says. The precise wording is important ¨C in this case, seven true brides. It could mean that one of you will get cold feet before the wedding, or be killed; but it could also mean that one of you will be false to him. Perhaps now, perhaps later. All that tells us is that we should be on guard, and we should already have been on alert. Fiona, if Rose quitting the field led you to relax because of the seven true brides line, then you were foolish. You must always be on guard.¡±
Fiona''s face fell. She fumbled with the twine, counting under her breath. ¡°Sorry, master,¡± she said.
¡°Do you know the contents of Sabine''s oath?¡± The archmage stroked his beard thoughtfully, then started fiddling with a bracelet. ¡°I suspect it is not the same as the one the rest of you swore. It will be helpful if we know what she has pledged.¡±
¡°No, I don''t know,¡± Anna said. She looked over at Fiona, who shook her head.
¡°I don''t know either,¡± Fiona said. ¡°I know that it''s written down and that the duke has it. I''ll try to find out, one way or another.¡±
¡°Hmm. And how are you getting along with the other brides? I hear you had a gathering this morning,¡± the old man said. ¡°Did it go well?¡±
Fiona glanced over at Anna. ¡°Not very, I think.¡±
Anna shrugged. ¡°She tried to take charge of things, and then Maude came in and stepped all over everything and handed out room assignments for after the wedding.¡±
The old man winced. ¡°I think you need someone who isn''t marrying the duke to run your meetings without trying to take charge. Someone who doesn''t have authority of their own like Maude does, but will help you meet a decision together. Rose, perhaps? You''ve all met her, she''s staying in the palace as a lady-in-waiting, and the rest can trust she''s not trying to steal the duke''s heart, since she''s walked away from marrying him.¡±
¡°Rose is staying as a lady-in-waiting?¡± Anna stared at the archmage in surprise. ¡°That¡¯s great! I mean, that''s a good idea.¡± She paused, crossing her arms over her chest. ¡°Rose is fair-minded. I like her. I don''t think any of us have a reason to dislike her.¡±
38. Security
Archmage Warin looked out across York from the roof of the keep. The city was full of activity. There were hundreds of people milling around the walls and in the streets below. Some of them were soldiers, others farmers and tradesmen. In four days'' time, the most important wedding of their lives would take place in the bailey below.
He sighed and carefully placed another silver coin on the edge of the outer wall of the inner keep, holding his finger on it to fuse it in place. A line of coins lay edge to edge along the battlements, defying gravity to stick firmly to the stone where the line went up and down the sides of each embrasure.
He''d finished placing coins edge to edge around three of the tower''s four lobes, making him three quarters of the way done with the tedious and boring task. Soon, he''d be able to close the loop of silver and bind a ward to it, protecting the tower against many forms of magical invasion. The bailey was too large for a similar ward, unfortunately; the motte would have to stand alone. At least, the bailey was too large for him to ward it; perhaps another archmage might have felt differently.
Warin was a powerful wizard, and credited as among the most powerful in the empire, but he only knew his own limits well. Exactly where archmages stood in relation to each other was unclear even among the archmagi; wizards tended to become more secretive and specialized as they became more powerful, both of which made it more difficult to compare their power against each other. Partly, this was a matter of risking fragile pride and the loss of face; partly, it was a matter of security.
They all deferred to the great Obsidian Necromancer, at least in public ¨C who would not? ¨C but even he avoided unnecessarily testing himself against other archmagi. Emperor Ivar the Fleshless had greater cause than most to show off his magical prowess, but he preferred to let the sudden disappearance of an overly-ambitious noble speak for itself rather than risk showing off a magical weakness in public.
Warin had been born in the Empire, and had lived his entire life within its borders. He''d watched the imperial bureaucracy slowly expand its reach. He¡¯d watched the nobility grow wealthier, more insular, more magical, and more corrupt with every passing decade. He''d watched the emperor grow more and more reclusive, increasingly detached from the day-to-day governance of his empire. He could see chaos rising on the horizon. It had taken him a long time to realize that he could do something about it.
He''d never intended to try to overthrow the emperor himself, but both the mundane signs and the magical portents suggested that the emperor''s reign would not last much longer. Ivar the Fleshless was increasingly detached from the day-to-day business of governance. New centers of organized political power were rising. The emperor¡¯s days as the keystone of the empire were ending soon. Even if he was not overthrown and did not abdicate, his interest in governance was waning. Perhaps ¨C and Warin was not sure if this was the best case or the worst case ¨C he would remain in his tower in London as a ceremonial figurehead, leaving governance in the hands of a squabbling pack of greater nobles, archmagi, and bureaucrats. The isle of Great Britain would be riven by undeclared civil wars.
The same signs could be seen in York; the old duke had been granted his title by the emperor in the wake of his conquest of England. In the beginning, the emperor¡¯s decrees had regularly instructed the duke on governance. Over time, the emperor had grown less interested in the management of York; as long as taxes arrived regularly, all of York was the property of the first Silver Duke to use as he saw fit, and it was governed by his laws.
The same was true of the other principalities, duchies, jarldoms, and counties to a greater or lesser degree, but the old Silver Duke had been special: Senile by the end, perhaps, but not corrupt or cruel. Whatever abnormality had given rise to his draconic appearance was unlike the ¡°aristocratic disease¡± of vampirism; nor did he seem to be particularly friendly to wizards at all, much less necromancers. This made York particularly resistant to the encroachments of imperial bureaucrats, who had in part grown out of the aristocracy and the imperial orders.
Bureaucratic authority had grown out of London on thin tendrils of authority, based on charters and mandates that, for the most part, related to the promotion and regulation of wizardry and coastal security. While the duchy of York had a coastline requiring protection, that coastline faced across the widest part of the North Sea, making it a rare destination for corsairs and smugglers. It was also, crucially, distant from the capital city of York, placing imperial military bastions far from the center of political power.
The old duke of York had left behind a handful of squabbling heirs, two of which had ultimately raised armies in the field against each other. With neither a specific mandate nor a strong presence within the heart of York, the imperial bureaucracy had simply sat by the sidelines, paralyzed with indecision. Their general mandates did not relate to orderly succession of the great nobles, and York had never before experienced a succession crisis. Once the emperor¡¯s absence was total, the growing Imperial bureaucracy centered in London would struggle to exert any authority at all over the fourteen dukes and twenty-three earls scattered across England ¨C much less the twenty-three jarls of Scotland or the half-dozen princes in Wales and Cornwall.
With that thought, Warin laid the last coin, closing the loop. The archmage stepped back from the outer wall and raised his arms, causing the silver line to melt and sink into the rock as magic rippled from coin to coin, connecting them with a powerful circular current that heated the metal from the inside. With the silver embedded into the stone and connected as one piece, he started the wearisome process of casting the actual ward. If anyone had been watching from above, they would have seen glittering runes flit across the surface of the molten silver.
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The ward that he''d created was designed to resist many forms of attack. It was not impenetrable, but it would prevent outsiders from teleporting straight into the keep as well as blocking certain¡ less material intrusions. Now to repeat the process with the smaller square inner wall, he thought to himself, and sighed. It was tedious, but it needed to be done. A layered defense was best, and he was fully committed now to using Avery for his plans. Fiona had chosen him.
He¡¯d chosen to consider York first because York was the largest of the English duchies, even if it was a little backwards economically. The fact that the new Silver Duke was neither corrupt nor senile was arguably a bonus, but corrupt or senile rulers could sometimes be manipulated more easily. There had been others to consider ¨C other dukes, lesser nobles, even a few imperial officials. However, the time for considering alternatives passed when his adoptive daughter made her choice. He could not deny her a chance at happiness; not when his divinations indicated that Avery was possessed of a sound character.
¡°Merde.¡± Robert de Lancaster stared at the cracked crystal ball. ¡°Bring me another,¡± he said, in a voice too strong for a man whose hair had gone to pure white several decades previously.
Thanks to the paradox of prophecy, the mere presence of the archmage diviner in York had precluded any attempts by any lesser diviner at predicting the future as it related to York, forcing him to resort to more direct means of observation when he wished to learn more. With a second crystal ball cracked, it was clear York Castle ¨C or at least the duke¡¯s solar ¨C had been thoroughly warded against scrying, whether that scrying was performed by Robert¡¯s court wizard or by Robert himself.
Not that his occasional direct observations had been as helpful as Robert would have liked. Not even with the experience of a century of reading lips. The young Duke of York spoke rarely in private, and that mostly with his foster mother; he sometimes kept long silent periods of company with his foster sister, his seneschal, or his master of hounds. The simplest explanation was that the young man was a mere puppet; but Robert had not ruled the Duchy of Lancaster for a century by assuming his neighbors were simple.
¡°Your Grace, I fear it would only break,¡± murmured Robert¡¯s court wizard as he scurried forward, another crystal ball in hand. ¡°This is the last one I have on hand.¡±
¡°John, I am not so foolish,¡± Duke Robert replied, fixing his illegitimate nephew with a glare. ¡°I have a mind to look in on someone else.¡±
Rosamund shivered suddenly as she stood in the doorway of her hut. ¡°They didn¡¯t follow you here, did they? I feel as if someone is watching.¡±
Sir Malkin Guy shook his head. ¡°I got both of them.¡±
The hedge witch looked back and forth. ¡°Very well. Come in, but be careful.¡±
Malkin crouched, hunkering low to get through the door of the hut. He started to stand.
¡°No, sit,¡± Rosamund said. ¡°You¡¯re too tall. Worse than my son, and he knocks the rafters if he¡¯s not careful. Now, let me get a good look.¡±
With a snap of the witch¡¯s fingers, the room was flooded with bright light, and Malkin closed his eyes with a wince.
¡°Cut through the steel links like butter,¡± Rosamund said. ¡°Must have been mage-sharped. Quality work. You¡¯ll need to take off your mail. Doublet, too. A bolt like that can go right through a man.¡±
Malkin grunted, pulling his doublet over his head. The hedge witch¡¯s fingers delicately danced over his chest. ¡°There was one in the back, too,¡± he said.
The fingers withdrew, and then returned on his back. ¡°I can see one of your ribs,¡± the hedge witch¡¯s voice said. ¡°Was it barbed? It looks like you ripped it out.¡±
¡°I didn¡¯t want it in me,¡± Malkin said.
¡°Men. So impatient. This will want some cleaning. What were you doing in York?¡± There was a clattering of metal and the slosh of water in the background.
¡°You could just wrap it back up,¡± Malkin said. ¡°Put one of your magic bandages on it.¡±
¡°And a week later, when it¡¯s red and angry and swollen, you¡¯ll be either blaming me for it going red and swollen or begging me to help you drain it. Or both. I¡¯ll have water on boil soon enough, now tell me what you were doing in the city.¡± The hedge witch¡¯s voice was entirely too forceful for a woman of her size and fragility.
¡°The new duke promised to make me a lord,¡± Malkin said. ¡°Baronet Malkin Guy.¡±
¡°The duke promised you a lordship?¡± A clattering of metal. ¡°And what did you do for him?¡±
¡°I gave him my daughter,¡± Malkin said. ¡°He¡¯s to marry her, I think.¡±
A moment of silence. ¡°You think? Did you speak with the duke?¡±
¡°I spoke with his seneschal. Lord Marcus. The new duke made an announcement about marrying, but I didn¡¯t understand, and then Lord Marcus explained to me later.¡± Malkin shifted his legs, trying to find a more comfortable position to sit on the threadbare rug.
¡°Lord Marcus? Do you mean Sir Marcus?¡± The hedge witch¡¯s voice sounded like it was quite close.
¡°I thought he was Sir Marcus, but the duke enlarged him to baronet when he made him seneschal,¡± Malkin said.
¡°Oh!¡± The hedge witch¡¯s voice sounded happy. A hot wet cloth, nearly hot enough to burn, pressed down on Malkin¡¯s back. ¡°So your daughter is marrying to Duke Richard?¡±
¡°The new Duke of York is Avery,¡± Malkin said. ¡°There was a battle, Richard lost. You haven¡¯t had news here?¡±
¡°Nobody visits unless they want something,¡± the hedge witch¡¯s voice said wryly as a cold liquid splashed against Malkin¡¯s back, confusingly bringing with it a burning sensation as it poured into the wound in his back. ¡°I thought Richard would have the crown, for certes he wanted it more. Avery is Duke of York? He¡¯s taller than Merilda. Taller than my boy. Almost as tall as you. I bet they¡¯ll have tall strong children. Maybe that¡¯s why he decided to take her. So, when is the wedding?¡±
Malkin, gritting his teeth, hissed out a reply as the burning sensation faded. ¡°When he announced, he said two weeks. That was¡¡± He paused, deep in thought as he counted. ¡°Eleven or twelve days past, I think.¡±
¡°What? And you left the city rather than stay to see your daughter married to a duke?¡± Delicate fingers coated in some kind of salve poked at his back. ¡°You¡¯ve a heart of stone.¡±
¡°Is that what stopped the bolt?¡± Malkin said, glad for the subject to turn back to the treatment of his injuries.
¡°Never mind, you.¡± The hedge witch¡¯s voice receded. A few moments later, Malkin felt a hand pressing a cloth on his back, and the voice was close again, circling to his front side. ¡°Tell me about Lord Marcus. How is he doing? Is he eating well? Was he hurt in the battle?¡±
39. Settling Sabine
The dining room was sparkling clean. Stephen wasn''t quite sure where the third maidservant had gone; she''d gone out to pick up supplies for dinner on his instruction and not returned. Worse, she''d been wearing clothing borrowed from his father''s wardrobe; if his father noticed the lack, he would be annoyed. The two remaining maidservants were twitchy. The phantasms and magical bindings he''d used on them had been dissolved completely hours ago, but their memories of the experience ¨C incoherent though they might be ¨C were likely still rough around the edges.
Fortunately, his father hadn''t expected Stephen to plan dinner, and had sent his manservant ahead with supplies and instructions from the Taylor mansion. Dinner would consist of peas, mushrooms, mashed moonapples with gravy, and seared slices of a delectably youthful-looking feminine flank, the last being a treat not easily come by in York and therefore supplied by the Taylors as a special favor to a prospective investor. His father had some figures to run through while dinner was cooking; Stephen waited patiently for the chance for a private conversation.
Once dinner had been served, placed on the oaken dining table by the stark gleam of a magelight chandelier, Stephen quietly told the maidservants to leave until rung for. Then he stood up and shut the door. ¡°Father, I have grave news about my sister,¡± he said. ¡°I wanted to tell you this morning, but¡¡±
His father snorted, cutting a neat square out of the slice of meat on his plate with fork and knife. ¡°Grave news? Look, it would have been nice if you''d let me know at breakfast, but the duke''s messenger told me around noon. I know everything now. It''s good, really.¡±
¡°Good?¡± Stephen blinked, staring blankly at his father. He thought of the tear tracks he''d seen on his sister''s face that morning. ¡°Good?¡± His voice climbed, and he repeated himself a third time, his plate still untouched. ¡°Good?¡±
¡°Yes, good. She''s marrying the duke.¡± Guilbert de Lancaster gestured with a fork laden with mashed moonapple as he talked around a mouthful of food. The starchy pale mashed tuber was stained with the natural gravy of the meat. ¡°I thought she''d won you over to the idea. He asked me for my assent this afternoon. No oath-taking or anything medieval like that, just a civilized bit of courtesy. She must have finally cast a charm on him and had it stick. Those other women he''d been engaged to must be sorely disappointed about now.¡±
Stephen stared at his father. He''d always known his father was cold and detached, but he''d not expected the man to be this detached. Guilbert de Lancaster¡¯s own daughter had been brutally ravished, had cried her eyes out, and here the cold lord was, blithely shrugging it off and eating a hearty dinner. Stephen took a deep breath, focusing his mind. His father did know something he hadn''t ¨C the duke had felt guilty enough about his brutish behavior that he''d decided to marry Sabine to preserve her virtue.
That had been Sabine''s plan for the night, Stephen thought to himself, then forced himself to speak. ¡°My apologies, father, I see I have let my temper get the better of me.¡± He speared a mushroom delicately with his fork, a feeble attempt at imitating his father¡¯s appetite. ¡°If the duke is marrying her, Sabine has succeeded, and I should be happy for her, and put my personal distaste for the brute aside.¡±
¡°Brute?¡± His father looked at Stephen skeptically before helping himself to a second slice of meat from the platter in the center of the table. ¡°Is he really that much more frightening up close?¡±
Stephen paused, chewing the mushroom slowly and carefully. He swallowed and held up a finger. ¡°In a word, yes. I will be glad if I never come within arm¡¯s-length of him again.¡±
His father nodded. ¡°By the way, I got a note later this afternoon from Sabine saying that while she is happy to see her things, she misses her maids, the inner keep being short-staffed at present. The duke''s men found the house empty. I thought you would be here, packing up to go home to Lancaster.¡±
Stephen froze. His mind raced, trying to come up with an excuse that would explain everything without giving either his father or his sister an opportunity to fault him for the missing maid. ¡°My apologies, father. I didn''t expect their arrival. One of the maids ran off with some of the petty cash, and I went looking for her for a while. I can''t say what the other two maids were doing in the mean time, but they¡¯re here now.¡±
His father shook his head. ¡°I thought your sister had those maids well-trained, or at least well-enchanted to be loyal. Her tutor gave her excellent marks in enchantment. She''ll be very disappointed to be short on help.¡±
Sitting at a table tucked away in the corner of the inner keep¡¯s kitchen with only Maude for company, Gregor sipped his ale and stared at what he hoped was the final list of brides for the duke. If the duke had simply chosen to marry Elizabeth or Sabine and then took on willing attractive lesser nobles and gentry as mistresses, he thought to himself, this would be a much less complicated affair. That would be normal for a young duke feeling his oats, as much as anything could be said to be normal for a young duke.
Frankly, though, the duke didn''t even seem that interested in womanizing. Maude didn''t even think he was interested in women at all, at least not yet. She had suggested that it might take him an extra decade or two given his unusual heritage. Gregor frowned. It was possible. Something had been bothering him for a while.
¡°What are you thinking?¡± Maude asked, taking a sip of tea.
¡°Just that we''re missing something,¡± he said. ¡°Why aren''t they all beautiful? Like Sabine?¡±
¡°Beautiful?¡± she asked. ¡°The duchesses are all pretty enough, except maybe Merilda. They''re young healthy women. The reason they aren''t all stunningly beautiful is that we didn''t narrow down his list to the most beautiful ones. We just assumed he''d pick the one he found most beautiful out of all of the ones we thought were acceptable.¡±
¡°And he doesn''t care if they''re beautiful,¡± Gregor mused. ¡°He¡¯s just been purely practical, at least until now with Sabine.¡±
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Maude nodded. ¡°That''s right. He''s trying very hard to be a good duke and solve the problem that Marcus and I put in front of him. So now we have eight very confused young women who don''t really know what they''re getting into with one very earnest duke.¡±
¡°Eight?¡± Gregor asked. ¡°I feel like I¡¯m losing count. You think none of them have figured him out?¡±
¡°Well, in the long term, I¡¯m told, the number will end up being seven,¡± she amended. ¡°Fiona said as much to Isolde, and she had the assistance of an archmage-diviner in that matter. But if Rose is out and Sabine is in, the number is eight for now. With all the divinations she¡¯s done, Fiona probably knows Avery¡¯s mind better than he does. I''m not sure she knows her own mind, though.¡±
¡°She seems very set on this,¡± Gregor said. ¡°Isolde made that clear.¡±
¡°She is,¡± Maude agreed. ¡°I''ve seen her talk to the duke. She seems determined to make this work, but I doubt she¡¯s really thought through what it means to share one man between so many wives. I think I could have at least gotten Merilda out of the mix if not for Fiona.¡±
¡°I wonder which of the girls he picked will be the first to get pregnant,¡± Gregor mused, topping off his cup from the pitcher.
¡°The first to find out she''s pregnant, you mean?" Maude frowned. ¡°Short of divination magic, it''s hard to be sure right away. And in Fiona¡¯s case, as she shows her elf blood in her physiology, she may be pregnant for some two or three years before giving birth.¡±
Maude paused. ¡°The moment one of them is known to be pregnant, we''ll have to be on guard for all kinds of trouble. I''m worried that the duchesses might start poisoning each other once they start getting pregnant.¡±
¡°That''s a very depressing idea,¡± Gregor said. ¡°Do you think they would?¡±
¡°Probably not,¡± Maude said. ¡°Hopefully not. But I¡¯ve seen more poisonings over succession issues than I care to name. The whole thing is very delicate, the future duchesses are all intelligent enough to know that, and a lot of people suddenly change once they have their child''s interests to look after.¡±
¡°And the duke is new to the job,¡± Gregor said. ¡°He''s still figuring out how to handle things. That makes him more vulnerable to being manipulated.¡±
¡°Exactly,¡± Maude said. ¡°We need to be on our guard, because every single one of his duchesses has the means, motive, and opportunity to manipulate him and undermine each other.¡±
¡°They can''t lie to him, at least,¡± Gregor said. ¡°He can tell. And we don''t think he''s in love with any of them. He may not even be capable of love.¡±
Maude shook his head. ¡°He''s definitely capable of love. He loves his family, he loves York, he loves those strange wolfhounds the old duke bred. Lust, I''m not as sure of yet, but he''ll grow into it soon enough if he hasn''t yet. The way he made an exception for Sabine makes me wonder. She''s a perfect mage-sculpted beauty.¡±
"We''s the Lady Sabine''s maids, milord," the woman said, bowing deeply. "Begging your pardon, milord, we''s come to serve her here. Just send us to her quarters, we''s make ready and stay out of your way, milady."
Marcus shook his head. "She was just visiting the other night," he said. "Surely she has gone by now."
"Milord, we''s told our mistress is to be married to the duke," the woman said, and then bowed deeply again. "She hasn''t returned to her family in town. Please to beg forgiveness, milord, the mistress''s father said he''d word from the duke himself yestereve, milord. Is it possible you''s mistaken?"
Marcus held back an exasperated sigh. Your Grace, there are two women here claiming to be here to serve Sabine. And that she''s marrying you. I thought you had told me that you had enough brides.
I did, Avery sent back as he hacked at a pell in the courtyard. Sabine convinced me that she was worth it. With everything going on yesterday, I forgot to tell you directly. I''d thought you''d have heard.
Were you enchanted, milord? The symptoms can be subtle. The seneschal frowned at the two women, and waved a guard forward. ¡°Escort these two to the keep,¡± he said aloud.
No. I didn''t decide until after she was asleep. The duke knocked another chip of wood out of the pell. Fiona''s master, the archmage ¨C he said he didn''t see any sign I was under an enchantment when I spoke with him earlier that morning.
They could be in cahoots, Your Grace. The seneschal resumed his walk along the top of the curtain wall. Wizards working together.
Not likely, the duke said. He wasn''t lying to me when he said that.
Are you sure you can tell when an archmage lies, Your Grace? Magic can do many things. The seneschal paused, looking at some lichen growing on the outside of the wall. You might not know.
By this point, I have noticed him lying now and again, so I feel more confident, the duke sent, leaning on his poleaxe and breathing heavily. Whenever you hear the word ¡°coincidence¡± or the phrase ¡°by chance¡± emerge from his lips, you can safely assume he''s lying. The man knows a lot more than he lets on. He also doesn''t trust Sabine one bit. He told me that any good actress could easily fool me into thinking she''s sworn honestly. Then I asked him if he expected a war with Lancaster, and he lied when he told me no.
Considering the latest news from James about Cornwall, that doesn''t sound good, the seneschal said. In that case, I should have men clearing brush around the outer city walls. I should look into dredging the ditches lining the outer walls, too, I doubt Lucas had it done any time in the last twenty years.
Maude stopped in the doorway. ¡°Why is there a bathtub in the sitting room?¡±
"Because this is my chamber now," Sabine said, crossing her arms over her breasts. "And I wanted to take a bath. Unless you wish to clear a more suitable room for my use? I''ve heard you''ve already promised away the duke''s solar."
¡°It''s not a matter of what rooms are available,¡± Maude replied. ¡°This is a matter of decorum. This isn''t some pleasure palace. It''s a proper castle. You can''t just wander around naked in the sitting room.¡±
¡°Oh, yes, I can,¡± Sabine said. ¡°I am the duchess of York. I have every right to bathe in whatever room I please.¡±
¡°You''re not a duchess yet,¡± Maude said. ¡°This is my castle.¡±
¡°So you say,¡± Sabine said, uncrossing her arms and placing them on her hips. ¡°But you''re not the duke, and won''t ever be the duke. You''re not even the seneschal. You''ve just been living here as a guest of the duke. I''m not sharing a bed with you, either. If you want to be of assistance, arrange for a proper bed to be brought up here. I slept on the couch last night, and it was less than fully comfortable. Be off with you. And shut the door, for the sake of decorum. I''d prefer not to be naked in front of the whole castle, thank you very much.¡±
Maude glared. Young women could be very annoying at that age, she reminded herself. Isolde still was, sometimes. ¡°We will talk about this later,¡± she said, and shut the door.
Then she glared at the door. The most annoying part of it was that she couldn''t think of a better room to convert into Sabine''s personal chamber. Not unless she managed to get rid of some of Avery''s extra brides and freed up a room in the solar, and the less desirable ones were already packed two and three to a chamber.
No, she corrected herself. The most annoying part is that the brat is right ¨C I haven¡¯t any right of authority over her. If I want my sitting room free of bathtubs, I¡¯ll have to beg Avery to force the issue. She sighed deeply. At least Sabine is a suitable duchess. Nobody interacting with that woman will ever mistake her for a woman of lesser social rank.
40. Precedence
¡°Elizabeth, a moment, if you will.¡± Rose closed the door to Isolde¡¯s bedroom gently, hoping not to call attention. She¡¯d wanted a private conversation, and finding the petite blonde girl alone so quickly was a stroke of luck. ¡°I''ve been talking with some of the other duchesses-to-be, and I wanted to make sure that you''re fully apprised of the developing situation. Especially since, as daughter of an earl, you are one of the three who could claim to be first among the duchesses.¡±
Elizabeth frowned. ¡°Johanna and Sabine?¡±
¡°Yes,¡± Rose said. ¡°While Sabine was swearing her oath and you were being fitted for your dress, the rest of the brides were having a meeting about how to figure out things. I talked with Maude after that, and then Fiona. I don''t know if Maude told you, but the plan is to turn the old duchess''s chamber ¨C the duke''s library ¨C into your bedchamber. But that''s not the only thing that the other brides have been trying to figure out, and they don''t want Maude to take charge of things.¡±
Elizabeth cocked her head to the side. ¡°Maude''s been lady of the castle since her grandmother died,¡± Elizabeth said. ¡°Since before my grandparents were born, in other words. Surely it can''t hurt to have her in charge a little longer.¡±
Rose shook her head. ¡°One thing my mother told me about married life was that letting your mother-in-law run the household after the marriage will drive you up the wall. Maude''s as close to a living mother as Avery has. You should ask for her advice, yes, but you''re going to be the duchess. Duchesses. And some things are just too personal to let Maude decide how they''re supposed to work. Like the rota.¡±
¡°Rota? As in, for unpleasant chores?¡± Elizabeth''s family lived in a castle that was understaffed, and the servants took turns with some of the less pleasant tasks that were nobody''s job in particular. York Castle wasn¡¯t understaffed, per se, but with so many duchesses, there might not be room for enough servants.
Rose frowned. ¡°A rota for being with Duke Avery,¡± she clarified. ¡°Whether you see that as a chore or not, the fact is that there are eight of you and one of him. Fiona doesn''t think that leaving it up to Avery to decide such matters is a good idea, so each of you should have assigned turns with the duke where he stays in your chamber.¡±
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. ¡°That doesn''t sound very romantic.¡± She sighed. ¡°I guess it''s practical.¡±
¡°The tricky part about that is precedence,¡± Rose said. ¡°Because marriage is consummated by carnal relations, the order of the first rota is a matter of some concern. At the meeting, Fiona suggested each of the brides go in order of your old social ranks, but that was before Sabine joined your ranks.¡±
¡°And Sabine thinks she ranks me,¡± Elizabeth said, and bit her lip. ¡°I don''t quite agree. Lancaster is a duchy, yet she''s twice as far from inheriting Lancaster as I am from inheriting Northumbria. But I would hate to argue the point.¡±
Rose nodded. ¡°I think it''s a much better idea if the rota goes in the order you swore in. Whatever you were before marrying him, you¡¯re all duchesses afterwards, and if the first mark of precedence is based simply on the order of allegiance, I think it will avoid a lot of potential arguments about rank. Not just between you and Sabine, but Anna and Merilda or Althea and Helen, or Johanna and everyone from Sabine down to Helen.¡±
¡°So, you think I should speak with the other brides in favor of a system that lets Johanna go first, in spite of the fact that she is only a baron¡¯s granddaughter?¡± Elizabeth looked at Rose carefully.
¡°Yes,¡± said Rose. ¡°Because then you''re second without a fight over rank. I don''t think you''ll win that fight. You''re quiet. Small. Cute, but Sabine is utterly perfect.¡± Rose unconsciously gestured at her own chest. ¡°You look the girl next to her, and if you lose the argument with Sabine, you''ll have as much as said her father, only a baron in his own right, ranks your father as nephew of a duke. Open with the sacrifice to Johanna¡ you''ll not only go second, but go second for reasons that don¡¯t cast a shadow over your father. If Johanna goes first, Johanna won''t say she ranks you. She might think it, but I¡¯ve seen enough to know she holds her opinions close.¡±
Elizabeth sighed. ¡°My father wouldn''t like me ceding primacy,¡± she said. ¡°Neither would I like it, in truth. My brothers are big and loud, but they always let me do what I want.¡±
¡°You''re not used to fighting to get your way,¡± Rose said, gently. ¡°Your brothers indulge you because they already love you. Sabine will run you over.¡±
Elizabeth nodded. ¡°You''re right. Here you are, pushing me around, and you aren''t even a duchess-to-be. You¡¯re barely taller than I am. But if we go by order, Sabine''s last. Won¡¯t she fight that?¡±
¡°I think so,¡± Rose said. ¡°But she can fight indirectly for precedence by asking the others to trade places with her. If she asks nicely, she might be able to trade all the way up to third place. So, I want you to bring up the idea at the next meeting.¡±
¡°Me? But it''s not my idea,¡± Elizabeth said. ¡°And as you say, I¡¯m not used to fighting to get my way. I¡¯ll be talked over.¡±
Rose shook her head. ¡°If you speak up first on the topic, before anyone else broaches the topic of the rota, it''ll look like you''re graciously giving up your own claim at first turn at the duke. That sacrifice and your rank will carry more weight than anything the rest of us could say on the subject.¡±
Avery rubbed his eyes as Aunt Maude¡¯s voice droned on. I would rather fight Richard''s army all over again than plan another wedding, he thought to himself. Master Lew had been relieved to learn that the order of eight circlets had been the correct number, even if two of the original brides had died. The investigation into the death of Ivette, Gelle, and their families was still in progress. With assistance from Master Warin, the bodies had been traced to the Taylor estate, but they''d already been necromantically processed, and some parts were missing entirely, including most of Ivette and Gelle.
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Since Edward Taylor had already been found innocent of everything except greed, Avery had refrained from throwing the man in prison, but he had confiscated the contents of the Taylor estate''s short-term crypt and issued a decree that the more liquid Taylor assets were to be frozen in place until he decided on an appropriate fine for improper acquisition and use of so many corpses without proper title.
With no success at tracing¡ªor even fully understanding¡ªthe alchemical assassination of two of his brides, he''d decided to hold the wedding in the castle rather than out in the city in the old imperial barracks. The centuries-old cathedral that served as the main assembly point for the town militia was the largest indoor venue in York; but the old barracks were not as well secured as the castle bailey, especially not if one was concerned about supernatural threats or poorly-understood wizardry.
Moving the wedding inside the castle bailey placed serious limits on both the guest list and the ceremony itself. For example, in ordinary circumstances, each bride would process with a retinue, but just fitting eight brides, one groom, and an officiant on the dais in the great hall was going to be difficult. If the weather was pleasant, they could hold the wedding outside in the bailey courtyard, which would allow many more of the city''s notables to attend ¨C but an outdoor wedding posed a greater security risk, particularly considering fliers.
Although perhaps the main risk came from the brides themselves or their families; a risk that he simply could not eliminate. Avery pinched the bridge of his nose, and shook his head. ¡°I''m sorry, Maude, what did you say? After you were done with the bit about Master Lew, I lost track.¡±
¡°In short, I''m saying that Merilda is too tall. It would be better if she wasn¡¯t among the brides at all, but we can''t have her tower over the other brides, especially the ones from better families. So we need little discreet platforms for each of them to stand on,¡± Maude said.
¡°Fine,¡± Avery said. ¡°Seven little platforms for the brides who aren¡¯t Merilda.¡±
¡°We really only need five,¡± Maude said. ¡°It''s alright if the ones on the ends are a little short. Fiona and Anna aren''t noble-born anyway, so it doesn''t matter if Merilda looms above them. But one platform needs to be an extra four inches, because Elizabeth is that much shorter than Sabine. We cannot have Elizabeth feeling overshadowed on her wedding day.¡±
¡°I don''t think I''m going to worry about Elizabeth feeling bad about being short,¡± Avery muttered. ¡°Considering the size of her father and brothers, I''m sure she''s used to having other people loom over her.¡±
Maude gave him a stern look. ¡°You''re getting married in three days,¡± she reminded him. ¡°Your duchesses are getting shortchanged by seven-eighths of a husband, so the ceremony you give them must be nothing less than perfection.¡±
¡°Very well,¡± Avery said. ¡°I will have platforms made.¡±
Merilda led the others into what had been the sitting room. In spite of the inconvenient fact that it was in the process of being transformed into a bedchamber, it was still the best place for the brides to meet privately, partly due to its size and partly because Sabine seemed to have little interest in responding to polite requests to attend meetings with her rivals. She looked miffed at the sudden intrusion into her quarters.
Merilda gently set down the couch that had been placed in front of the door as the other seven women filed into the room, Rose bringing up the rear.
¡°What''s this about?¡± Sabine asked, her left hand raised in a warding gesture and her right hand concealed behind it. One of her maids flinched, ducking behind a well-worn chair upholstered in beige.
Rose responded quickly, shooting a quick worried glance at Fiona. ¡°It''s a meeting of the duke''s brides, and not the first one. The wedding is in two days, and there are matters which ought to be discussed. The duke is, as you know, quite preoccupied, and I am sorry he must be absent.¡±
Rose carefully did not mention that Avery had not been invited or even told about the meeting, guessing that Sabine would be less likely to object if she assumed the bridal meetings had been ordered by Avery rather than being Fiona¡¯s brainchild.
Sabine schooled her expression into a gracious smile, slowly lowering her arms. ¡°I see. Please, make yourselves comfortable in my chamber. Someone will see to bringing tea,¡± Sabine said. One of her maids quickly scurried out of the room. ¡°What are we to talk about?¡±
¡°We''re going to begin with a discussion of the wedding night,¡± Rose said. ¡°Or rather, nights, as there are eight of you. Some taking of turns will be required.¡±
¡°I''m sure Duke Avery will do as he wills,¡± Sabine said with a shrug. ¡°I¡¯m sure he will make a suitable choice as to who to take to bed first.¡±
Fiona looked like she was ready to argue, so Rose quickly turned to Elizabeth. ¡°Elizabeth? What do you think?¡±
¡°I think it''s most fitting for us to consummate our marriages in the order we swore to marry him,¡± Elizabeth said firmly, then blushed, screwing her mouth shut.
Johanna looked surprised and pleased. So did Anna. Fiona looked surprised and uncertain.
Sabine furrowed her brow and waved at Merilda. ¡°It''s hardly proper for one of my standing to have to wait in line behind mere gentry for anything,¡± she said. ¡°Much less a husband.¡±
Helen cleared her throat. ¡°You can have my place in line,¡± she said, her gaze carefully fixed on the floor. ¡°I don''t mind going last.¡±
Sabine glanced over at Helen with surprise. For a moment, a look of recognition flickered in her eyes, then her face flushed bright pink. She brought a teacup up to conceal the lower half of her face, looking down and sipping as she schooled her face.
Fiona quickly jumped in, her hands fluttering nervously. ¡°That would put you third in line, just behind Johanna and Elizabeth.¡±
Sabine looked up from her teacup and stared up at Johanna, but the baron¡¯s daughter sat silently, meeting her gaze without flinching. ¡°Very well, then,¡± Sabine said. She glanced at Rose and then over at her maid. ¡°This isn''t the sort of thing that should be discussed among others, however. I expect discretion.¡±
¡°May I please inform the duke directly of your decision, Your Graces-to-be?¡± Rose asked. She¡¯d expected more argument, perhaps extended negotiation where Sabine could bring her wiles to bear, but Helen¡¯s unexpected concession had brought matters to a natural conclusion. ¡°If this little matter is indeed decided?¡±
Sabine reluctantly nodded.
41. Simon Returns to York
Beatrice Taylor, Bella to her friends (though she felt rather short of those lately outside of herself), was bored. Her father had been annoyed by the intrusion of the duke''s men and had confined her to her bedroom as a result. With nothing better to do, she¡¯d gone through her things and rearranged the decorations in her room. Now, she was done, and there was nothing left to do but read, sleep, or try her luck at sneaking out.
She flopped down on her bed and huffed out a frustrated sigh, staring up at the two necromantically preserved heads on her bedstand, their glassy eyes staring back at her unthinkingly. The duke''s men had come and confiscated corpses and parts from the industrial-grade crypt in the back of the mansion, but hadn''t searched through the house, much less the kitchen or Bella¡¯s bedroom.
Gelle''s roasted flesh would grace the Taylor table tonight, though Beatrice herself wouldn''t be in attendance in the dining room. She hoped the servants could be convinced to bring her up an extra portion of meat when dinner was served. But that was hours and hours in the future; dinner would not come until after sunset. She sat up, staring with longing at the latched window.
Her father''s anger was justifiable, she told herself, summoning up a rare measure of guilt. She''d been the one to order the bodies purchased from the coroner. She wasn''t going to apologize. She knew that she deserved to be punished for bringing trouble on her house, but she couldn''t bring herself to lasting regret over what she''d done.
Guilt faded, replaced by a sense she was unfairly persecuted. Her father had bought bodies on the sly from the coroner before. He probably would even have bought those particular bodies on the sly from the corner on his own if someone else hadn''t beat them to it ¨C the opportunity to pick up a batch of largely-intact bodies all at the same time was not a common one, and it had been unusually economical.
It was simply bad luck that they''d been caught this particular time. And on a personal level, it was worth it. She¡¯d drawn great satisfaction from ingesting the choicest parts of her fallen rivals and mocking the dead women face to face with the fact that they would not grace the duke''s bed. If the duke wanted what was left of them in his bed, he''d have to take her there instead. They were part of her now.
Idly, she fantasized about killing the duke¡¯s other intended brides. She''d followed the news related to the wedding closely. Surely it wouldn''t be too hard. They were noblewomen ¨C idlers like Ivette and Gelle, with tender soft muscles marbled with fat. It would be easy to poison the wine served at the banquet, or slip something in their food, or to strangle them one by one. They were weak. Soft. Delicate and delectable.
If she killed enough of them, following in the footsteps of the unknown murderer, the duke would surely have to marry her instead. She shook her head. Sadly, she was stuck here until her father decided she''d been punished enough. She could sneak out for an hour or two unnoticed, perhaps enough to go on a short shopping trip; not enough to find out enough. She stared into a pair of glass eyes set in a lovely face and wondered if the duke had sampled Ivette¡¯s charms before deciding to marry her.
Both had been comely women, and the necromancer had done a good job preserving them. Perhaps she should have them animated to speak, she thought to herself. For now, though, they made lovely wig stands. Their hair was lovely, too ¨C both a lustrous golden blonde, Ivette¡¯s showing gentle waves and Gelle¡¯s hair holding lovely ringlets. Perhaps the duke had a weakness for blondes; maybe if she wore a blonde wig to the wedding, it would catch the duke''s eye.
Her gaze flickered over to the window one more time. She was so bored.
Sir Simon watched for a moment as Zephyr melted into the stream of travelers passing through the gate, and then shook his head, having lost sight of the man. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, repeating under his breath what the mysterious man had told him. Think of the ocean. Zephyr claimed it was less risky to return openly in the daylight, as long as one held the right meditations on divine creations in mind. There was no reason the ducal guard would bar a known knight from entering the city; and who was to say when and how Sir Simon had left?
It had been by night, via a boat lowered over the eastern wall and poled through the Foss Islands. He¡¯d just escorted his sister Gelle back to the Golden Fleece from the duke¡¯s foster sister¡¯s ball, where Gelle had danced with the duke with his encouragement. At the ball where Ivette de Greystoke, shy and reserved, had hidden for most of the first half, and then danced with the duke, Sir Osric d¡¯Ivry, and Sir Giles of Northumbria ¨C the latter both ranking him as the sons of nobles.
Though Ivette¡¯s mother had sought to focus the girl¡¯s attention on men of greater rank, her father, Baron Henry de Greystoke, was a fellow fisher. Simon hoped that he¡¯d earned the man¡¯s favor well enough to get his daughter¡¯s hand, especially after doing Henry¡¯s mysterious Yorkish friend Zephyr the favor of putting down Roland d¡¯Ivry¡ and done himself the favor of ridding the world of Osric d¡¯Ivry, as well. After all, Ivette had danced in Sir Osric¡¯s arms, eyes fastened to his as if nailed in place.
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Zephyr¡¯s offered payment for Simon ridding the world of a pair of vile bloodsuckers was nothing material ¨C a spiritual blessing and, after the fact, the promise of a good word in Henry de Greystoke¡¯s ear ¨C but in a certain light, that made him a professional duelist. Some might call him a murderer. Simon hoped that Henry would consider Sir Simon as a great champion and suitable suitor once Zephyr delivered the good news.
After another minute of staring without seeing the vanished Zephyr, Simon nervously adjusted his sword belt one last time and pulled back the hood of his cloak. Then he briskly walked towards the gate, focusing on the thought of waves rippling out to the horizon. The guards posted to either side nodded courteously to him as he walked through; the dog sitting next to the one on the left-hand side fixed him with a curious look.
Simon pushed reciprocal curiosity out of his mind, focusing instead on waves rolling to the horizon, the ocean stretching out in his mind¡¯s eye as he walked through the massive gatehouse. He had not left the gatehouse when his eyes latched on something familiar ¨C those blonde curls! Clearly his sister, though her back was to him. Gelle¡¯s ringlets were unmistakable.
She was holding up a ring in her hand as she argued with a merchant. The merchant frowned and grabbed her by the arm, just above the elbow. Simon dashed forward.
¡°Unhand her at once!¡± he shouted.
Startled, the merchant let go, and the woman glanced over in his direction. Dark eyes flickered under dark eyebrows ¨C not Gelle.
It was Simon¡¯s turn to be shocked, but he was in motion, smashing into the merchant as he stared sideways at the blonde curls bobbing rapidly away from him over a billowing cloak, the woman fleeing from the sudden altercation rather than staying to offer her gratitude. Simon picked himself up off of the cobblestones and a hand grabbed at his ankle.
It was the merchant, still laid out on the cobblestones, and he was wheezing as he tried to shout. ¡°Guards, guards! A thief-accomplice! Ahoy Monk Bar, I said guards!¡±
Simon sighed. He could make this right. He bent over, offering the man his hand. ¡°My apologies, goodsir, but by my honor, I assure you that whatever she ran off with, I will endeavor to make right.¡±
¡°It was a short-scale springbow,¡± the merchant said, grasping the offered hand and standing most of the way up. ¡°With six mage-tempered springs. One of a set of six I brought from Cambridge.¡±
Simon swallowed nervously. A springbow. He¡¯d never considering buying one ¨C they had no real advantage over a crossbow ¨C but he knew that anything using mage-tempered steel would carry an expensive price. ¡°I have not so much coin on me, but I am staying at the Golden Fleece. You can send a bill there with the fair price and I will settle it.¡±
The merchant wheezed out a laugh, then grabbed onto his arm. ¡°You must think me new in town. Nobody is staying at the Golden Fleece. Guards! Guards! A thief-accomplice! Guards!¡±
Simon did not resist as a pair of town militiamen took hold of his arms. ¡°This is all a misunderstanding,¡± he said as they took his sword.
¡°You¡¯ve quite an interesting sword, Sir Simon. If that¡¯s truly who you are.¡± The militia night captain crossed his arms, eyes glinting ruddily in the dimness. Next to him, a bored-looking soldier held the sheathed sword in question. ¡°A pure silver surface. I wonder if it might even be solid silver and mage-tempered. Enchanted in some fashion. I mislike touching it, even the handle. Gives me the creeps.¡±
Sir Simon stared silently through the metal bars, his cheeks damp. Bluish-white moonlight poured through the tall stained-glass windows of the chapter house of the militia barracks, but left the high vaulted roof dark. Nor did the moonlight much reach the holding cells lining the northeastern three-eighths of the octogonal chapter house. He did not have any words to say, not that he would say anything to the creature now taunting him.
His treasured sister Gelle was dead. His father, a true master of the sword, dead without a chance to strike a blow against his killer. His gentle mother ¨C murdered by the same. The noble Henry de Greystoke would fund no projects, and his lovely daughter Ivette would never marry Simon. Simon had not been there to rescue them ¨C or would he have died, too, choked by noxious gas in his sleep?
¡°Don¡¯t want to talk about it? I¡¯m sure the ducal guard will have it out of you in the morning. Ordinary theft is a matter for the city, but if you¡¯re part of the Golden Fleece plot, that will be a matter for the castle.¡± The night captain smiled toothily. ¡°They¡¯ll have it all out of you. Has Sir Thomas a fortune for you to inherit by claiming to be his son?¡±
Simon lay down on the stone floor, silently staring up through the bars at the glittering stained glass, seeking an elusive peace of heart. Sir Thomas had no great fortune, only a modest sum of wealth; the only great inheritance left lacking an heir in the wake of the attack was that belonging to Baron Henry de Greystoke.
¡°So he did have a fortune. But you only proclaimed your identity when questioned¡ perhaps you are his son, and you murdered him before he could disown you. You¡¯ve been hiding to avoid the duke¡¯s investigation.¡± The night captain laughed harshly. ¡°Yes, I think you are Sir Simon. With such a disturbing sword, I can believe you a patricide. Perhaps tomorrow night I¡¯ll see your body hanging.¡±
Simon choked off a sob. The only witness he knew could testify that he left York hours before the attack took place was Zephyr. Naming the mysterious man as his associate would be a betrayal of a fellow fisher ¨C nor was it likely to do good for Simon himself. Simon screwed his eyes shut, seeking sleep.
Less than a mile away, with a full belly and a new toy in her closet, Bella slept happily.
42. Rose Delivers
Avery paced impatiently in his study; a task made more difficult by the canopied bed that carpenters had assembled in the room. Maude had decided to convert the ducal chambers into bedchambers for the duchesses, and the process of remodeling was underway.
Her reasoning made sense, which was why he hadn¡¯t countermanded her or demanded details¡ªthe duchesses needed to be treated with a level of respect commensurate with their new rank if he wanted his marriages to be accepted as legitimate by his peers. For that matter, once the question had been raised about the eight of them fitting permanently in the quarters of the tower keep, it seemed obvious he should expect them to take over multiple chambers, starting with the four chambers of his solar.
Perhaps I could return to my old familiar bedchamber, Avery thought to himself. Or perhaps Lucas¡¯s old bedchamber. Earl Ricard of Northumbria will not be staying there with his son indefinitely, and I might still have need of a separate ducal study. His thoughts were interrupted by a tap at the door. ¡°Come in,¡± he said aloud, turning towards the sound.
The door opened and Rose slipped in, a small scrap of paper in one hand.
¡°Should you be here alone?¡± Avery asked. Private conversations with unrelated women were something Aunt Maude had assured repeatedly were dangerous; and neither his conversation with Bella nor his conversation with Sabine had proven innocuous.
¡°If anyone should notice that we¡¯re alone together for this brief few minutes, I think our reputations will be safe, Your Grace, given that we were engaged and that I''ve jilted you,¡± Rose said with a smile. ¡°Not that you seem broken up about it.¡±
For a moment, Avery paused, staring blankly at Rose as he reflected on Aunt Maude¡¯s lectures. An indiscreet woman who had time alone with him might blame him for any bastard gotten by another man. For that matter, if he did father a bastard himself, that indiscretion would come out eventually. Even if he dallied with a woman who wanted to conceal the source of her indiscreet bastard, she would have no chance at pretending a different father if the child later developed his silver skin, his golden slit-pupiled eyes, or his talons.
Avery shook his head. Rose did not seem indiscreet at all, and whatever leverage she might have gained from obtaining a ducal bastard was less than she could have gotten by choosing to marry him. Logically, it was safe for him to have a private conversation with her.
¡°I still have too many brides, and there are considerable complications from that, small and large.¡± Avery gestured at the bed dominating his study. ¡°Sometimes, I think this was a terribly unwise mistake rather than the brilliant idea it seemed at first. Though I have scarcely gotten used to the duke¡¯s solar ¨C returning to my old bedchamber seems a comfortable notion, a silver lining to the cloud. So, what brings you here?¡±
¡°I come with a message from your many brides. You and Maude and Marcus have been planning the wedding; they¡¯ve been planning for what comes after.¡± Rose held up the small scrap of paper, a shy smile creasing her face as she stepped forward. ¡°They''ve come up with the¡ um¡ consummation queue. Here''s the list.¡±
¡°Consummation queue?¡± Avery asked, reading the list of names. Each name was next to a number.
¡°Yes. The order in which you will consummate their marriages. First comes Johanna, then the next bride in line, then the next, and so on. From their further discussions, I believe this will also be the basis for a regular rota for conjugal duties.¡± Rose shifted from foot to foot, clasping her hands behind her back. The pleasant scent of fresh-baked bread was evident as she peered up at the duke from close range. ¡°Obviously, for a rota, there would arise needs for adjustments along the way.¡±
¡°Oh,¡± Avery said, frowning. ¡°I hadn''t really thought about that. I mean, I know how it''s supposed to work, broadly:¡±
Rose stared back at him, her eyes wide and her mouth tightly creased, the corners of her lips twitching.
Unsure what else to say, Avery decided he was meant to prove his point. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. ¡°The man goes into the woman and seed spills out of him and then she gets pregnant. Unless she uses a necromantic charm to kill the seed, or they do something else to prevent it. Or there are some complications of some kind, or one of them is sick or cursed or something, so sometimes it takes a few tries. And¡¡± Avery swallowed nervously, bright blue eyes looking up at him. ¡°It''s supposed to be pleasant?¡±
Rose fought down an inappropriate giggle and stepped back, eyeing the tall silver man carefully from a distance that didn¡¯t require craning her neck. ¡°Your Grace, I think that you should perhaps talk with an older married man about the husband¡¯s part in a marriage.¡± She paused, considering what else she could say without accidentally insulting the tall young man in front of her. ¡°For now, let me tell you what your brides are expecting, in their queues and likely in rota thereafter.¡±
Avery nodded. ¡°Go on.¡±
¡°As the singular husband of multiple wives, you are a likely object of jealousy. When it''s Johanna''s turn, she''ll want you to stay with her the whole night and sleep with her in her bed.¡± Rose held up a finger. ¡°In fact, she would let you sleep in her bed every night¡ªshe unwisely said as much, making herself a likely subject of jealousy. And since she¡¯s first in line, she¡¯s setting example and precedent. Every one of them must demand a full wedding night from you if they wish to be considered a full wife thereafter. That precedent will likely extend to any regular rota afterward.¡±
Avery blinked. ¡°Maude said that nobles don''t sleep in the same bed,¡± he said. ¡°As a rule.¡±
¡°Not all of them sleep in separate beds,¡± Rose said. ¡°And most dukes don''t have eight duchesses. My mother has said she barely gets enough time with my father, and my father doesn''t have eight wives to keep up with. Humbly, I cannot give Your Grace orders, but I advise sleeping in the duchesses¡¯ chambers exclusively and in the regular rota they establish. This will dole out your scarce time fairly, even if it¡¯s time with you sleeping on a couch because you thrash about, take up too much space, and annoy them. All things considered, I expect most of them to become as desirous of your time as Johanna, and you haven''t the time to spare for sleeping alone. Spending more time with one wife than another may be considered a mark of greater favor.¡±
¡°Ah,¡± Avery said. ¡°Then, if I¡¯m late to bed or late to rise, someone will feel slighted? Wouldn¡¯t the politically easiest course of action be to minimize all contact outside of the necessary acts of congress?¡±
Rose snorted involuntarily, then composed her face, holding silent for a moment before giving a considered reply. ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s either practical or wise. As I said, I think you should speak with an older married man about the husband¡¯s part in a marriage. If you like, I can send up my father; I know his marriage with my mother has been a happy one.¡±
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¡°Um. Please do,¡± Avery said, flustered. He wasn''t sure what to ask the man, but that in and of itself was a sign that there were gaps in his knowledge.
Madame Jocosa came with three boxes, one long and slender and tucked under her arm, the other two flat and wide and carried by a dwarven man whose face betrayed a familial connection of some kind with the middle-aged halfling woman in spite of his greater height and bulk. Behind her, one of the duke¡¯s footmen carried a chest, towering above both of the townsfolk at an ordinary human height.
¡°I¡¯ve the dresses and my traveling chest to finish the fine details of the fit,¡± Madame Jocosa said, then looked over her shoulder. ¡°That will do, Master Lew, just leave the dresses on the bed, the lady won¡¯t want you hanging around while she¡¯s changing dresses.¡± She turned back to Anna. ¡°Where is Rose? I thought she was with you.¡±
¡°She¡¯s around somewhere,¡± Anna said as the men left, glancing reflexively around Isolde¡¯s chamber as if Rose might suddenly materialize. ¡°Somewhere in the castle, at least.¡±
Madame Jocosa shook her head, tucking the long thin box into a pocket in her apron. ¡°I already saw your parents on the way in, and I was hoping to talk privately with Rose¡ Well, let¡¯s get you out of that old thing and into your new dress, and I¡¯ll see if my guesses were right. I had some luck and a little inspiration.¡±
Anna cracked open the first flat box, but the first glimpse of familiar embroidery over black velvet told her that it was the dress she¡¯d made herself ¨C the dress that she had outgrown without realizing it while it lay packed away, the dress that now, with Madame Jocosa¡¯s alterations, would belong to Rose. After a moment of staring wistfully at the dress she¡¯d long expected to wear to her wedding, Anna shook her head, then opened the other box, pulling out a second gown, black broadcloth trimmed with thin strips of green satin and decorated with green and blue beads.
¡°I couldn¡¯t replicate the embroidery, not as a rush job; but I could add glass beadwork. The real bit of inspiration was to mirror the whole dress in broadcloth instead of velvet. It¡¯s less similar, but that makes it more convincingly a sister design rather than an inadequate copy.¡± Madame Jocosa bobbed in a modest curtsy. ¡°If milady would try it on? While I had a good measure of Rose, I expect to make slight adjustments with yours ¨C I cut with the expectation of having to take it in a little bit, as it is easier to fix measurement mistakes in that direction.¡±
Anna held the gown out over herself, looking in the mirror. The satin trim and the alternating blue and green glass beads did look nice, and somehow a little familiar.
¡°Well, hurry up, off with the old and on with the new, it needs to be on you for me to make fine measurements.¡± The gray-haired halfling impatiently waved her hands at the tall dark-haired woman.
¡°I was just thinking for a moment first,¡± Anna replied defensively, laying the dress back down to pull the dress she was wearing up and over her head. As she donned the new dress, the door opened, admitting Rose.
¡°Sorry, I saw you on your way into the courtyard, but I had to speak with my father first about certain matters.¡± Rose dipped her head apologetically.
¡°No matter, milady, I was just getting started with Anna here.¡± Madame Jocosa dipped into a deep formal curtsy, turning her back to Anna. ¡°Your dress is on the bed ¨C I expect it should fit you neatly now that I¡¯ve taken in the bodice. I understand the duke has given you Leeds?¡±
¡°Oh. Well, yes,¡± Rose said distractedly as she shucked off her dark gray wool dress. ¡°Really, that mainly means I¡¯ll get rents from holdings there. It¡¯s not as if I¡¯ve been granted power over life and death or anything like that.¡±
¡°I¡¯ve a cousin in Leeds ¨C Morris ¨C he¡¯s a tinker and occasional silversmith,¡± Madame Jocosa said as Anna crossed her arms. ¡°Breathe in deep, dear.¡±
Rose obediently inhaled.
¡°Perfect,¡± Madame Jocosa said with a smile, then turned to Anna. ¡°Isn¡¯t she beautiful? Lady Anna, your embroidery really is quite excellent.¡±
¡°Thank you,¡± Anna said, her foot tapping impatiently.
¡°Now, I know you haven¡¯t necessarily a great deal of cash on hand, but I happen to have a necklace that would bring the whole thing together perfectly. As nice as the embroidery is, you really simply must have some glittering jewelry on you when you marry the duke.¡± Madame Jocosa pulled the long thin box out of her apron pocket, holding it out to Rose. ¡°And given your recent gift from the duke, I dare say I can afford to let you buy it on credit.¡±
Rose accepted the box being pushed in her hand, glancing apologetically at her friend before opening it. Inside, silver links glittered, green and blue glass beads identical to the ones on Anna¡¯s dress framing a polished teardrop-shaped turquoise cabochon, sky blue with a tracery of veins.
¡°I had Master Lew add the beads to echo your friend¡¯s dress, but it matches your eyes neatly, as well as the green embroidery matches your friend¡¯s eyes. I had it from my granduncle Bill ¨C when he retired at the ripe old age of a hundred and eleven, he left it to me with his bag shop, which is my dress shop today.¡± Madame Jocosa leaned forward, lowering her voice as if imparting a grave secret. ¡°It¡¯s a genuine moon rock, Uncle Bill had it from Ivar¡¯s second expedition. And you know what they say about moon rocks? I wore it on my wedding night and had my first son nine months later. But I¡¯ve no daughter to pass it on to, and I¡¯m willing to let it go for a fair price.¡±
Rose¡¯s eyes widened with skepticism, Anna¡¯s with open surprise. Rose spoke first. ¡°It is very beautiful, but¡ I¡¯m not marrying the duke.¡±
Madame Jocosa¡¯s face fell. She reached for the box holding the necklace.
¡°Wait,¡± Anna said, hope and desperation spilling out of her voice in equal measure. ¡°If you can credit Rose, can¡¯t you credit me? I¡¯ll surely have access to some funds as duchess. Especially if I bear his first child.¡±
Madame Jocosa cleared her throat. ¡°Well, truth be told, with so many brides and the new duke perhaps straining his treasury, I¡¯m not so sure the duke might make allowances of funds to each duchess for fripperies. But my cousin Morris is a bit of a tight spot ¨C not likely to make this year¡¯s rent, at least not in timely fashion ¨C and I thought in a matter of a bind, I might be able to trade forbearances between us.¡±
Rose looked over at Anna¡¯s face, then back at Madame Jocosa. ¡°She¡¯ll have it for the wedding on my credit, then. As long as the price is fair.¡±
Madame Jocosa paused. ¡°Fifty pounds?¡±
Rose frowned. ¡°If it really is a moon rock¡¡±
¡°Are you calling me a liar?¡± Madame Jocosa put her hands on her hips, glaring up at Rose.
¡°I haven¡¯t met your granduncle Bill,¡± Rose said.
¡°Forty, then.¡± Madame Jocosa said with a sigh. ¡°But you¡¯ll promise outright to let my cousin Morris have one or two years of forbearance on rents if and when he needs it. He¡¯s a good man, just not always good with settling his accounts quickly.¡±
¡°Done,¡± Rose said. ¡°Now, would you see to Anna¡¯s fit?¡±
¡°Of course, of course,¡± Madame Jocosa said, smiling brightly as she turned back to Anna. Several minutes of poking and prodding were followed quickly by swift sewing, stitching, and one accidental pinprick that made Anna jump. Soon, Madame Jocosa was ready to be on her way, a spring visible in her step as she left.
Anna stared at herself in the mirror, fingering the necklace. Worry flitted across her face. ¡°Do you really think I could have the duke¡¯s first child with this? His first legitimate child, at least.¡± Anna frowned. ¡°I suppose he may well already have a bastard or two somewhere.¡±
¡°I don¡¯t think he has any bastards out there,¡± Rose said, very quietly. ¡°Now that I¡¯ve spoken with him privately, I¡¯m pretty sure the man you''re marrying is pure and untouched.¡±
¡°What? But¡ he''s a duke. I thought noblemen usually practiced on servants before marriage,¡± Anna said. ¡°Or on village girls if their parents keep a disciplined household. Are you sure? How did you find out?¡±
¡°I''m pretty sure,¡± Rose said with a giggle. ¡°I told him about the rota, and he got very flustered, and¡ yes, from the things he said, I think so.¡±
¡°That¡¯s good,¡± Anna said. Then she sighed. ¡°Although with my place in the queue, I still won¡¯t be his first.¡±
43. Family Fortunes
Alric tapped his gavel, the sound loud in the mostly-empty small lecture hall. ¡°I hereby declare the meeting of the investors of the York Textile Company in session. I will, as is usual, represent the interests of the collegium¡¯s share of the venture. Joining us today at the invitation of Edward Taylor is Guilbert de Lancaster, the Baron of Penrose, who has expressed an interest in investing in our venture. My apprentice Ulrich will be taking the notes for us.¡± The wizard gestured broadly at a young man wearing slightly shabby maroon robes seated to his left.
There were only five men seated at the table in total¡ªthe other two investors, Edward Taylor and Jacob Hebert, sat to Alric''s right.
¡°Baron Penrose, you may begin,¡± Alric said.
¡°Thank you,¡± Guilbert said. ¡°I have been reviewing the information provided by Edward Taylor, and I am prepared to offer a capital investment of four thousand pounds in exchange for half of the company.¡±
¡°What?¡± Jacob looked unhappy. ¡°I put in two thousand pounds and hold only a single share! Half the company¡¯s profits¡ªthat would be five whole shares at eight hundred pounds a share!¡±
Guilbert held up a hand. ¡°I understand that the initial capital pooled for this project was nine thousand pounds sterling, with Alric promising the resources and backing of the collegium in order to make up the balance on what would have otherwise been a half-share, and Edward having a triple share as the main investor with six thousand pounds,¡± he said, calmly.
¡°That is right,¡± Jacob said. ¡°And at market prices, the services from our partnership with Alric have been worth every penny. I don¡¯t regret the collegium owning a full share at half rate. It may as well have been ten thousand pounds of initial capital.¡±
¡°Maybe. However, much of that initial investment has been squandered.¡± Guilbert shook his head. ¡°The company has purchased corpses at well over twice the going market rate in Lancaster. Compounding this expense, seven were recently seized as evidence by the ducal guard in a criminal case¡ªand an additional twenty-one skeletons were impounded pending documentation proving their legitimate acquisition. Documentation that is not likely to be forthcoming, from what I know. That''s well over a thousand pounds sterling in capital losses right there, in addition to whatever your wizards may have been paid for related work on them. Much of the collegium¡¯s necromantic contributions, in other words. You''ve also had significant expense overruns related to the delays in opening the manufactory.¡±
¡°Still, less than a thousand pounds a share?¡± Jacob shook his head in disbelief more than denial. ¡°Four thousand is less than half of our initial capitalization! And you think that deserves half the company? I don¡¯t think we have lost half of our capital to mismanagement.¡±
Guilbert nodded. ¡°Not quite half, true. But close. By my reckoning, I think you have lost perhaps three thousand five hundred pounds to mismanagement so far. But, like Alric, I bring significant resources other than silver. I can assist you in purchasing skeletons from my uncle''s duchy, for one. However, the worst difficulty your project has faced is not the high price of skeletons in York, it is the indifference¡ªperhaps I dare say unfriendliness¡ªof the duke to industry. My daughter Sabine is engaged to marry the duke, which is the only reason I stand willing to throw good money after bad¡ªhe cannot possibly wish to beggar his own father-in-law.¡±
Jacob laughed bitterly, turning to the others. ¡°And is that worth an extra six thousand pounds?¡±
Edward sat silently, his lips tight. Alric nodded slowly. ¡°Even if the duke were to come around on his own, we''re still short on necromantic resources. Skeletons at Lancastrian prices alone could easily save us a thousand pounds in expenses in the first six months. Two thousand within three years, if we stick by our original plans.¡±
¡°Then why don''t we simply go to Lancaster and buy them ourselves?¡± Jacob asked Alric.
¡°Because they are not going to sell to you,¡± Guilbert interjected with a smirk. ¡°The main part of the Lancastrian skeleton supply is all tied up with existing contracts. However, I have a prior right of access and can step to the front of the queue.¡±
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¡°You have what?¡± Alric asked. ¡°Edward?¡±
Edward turned to Guilbert, gesturing. ¡°Go on. Tell them what you told me.¡±
¡°My uncle rules Lancaster,¡± Guilbert said, dryly. ¡°And I''m a baron in my own right. Rank has its privileges. You may have a few days to think on it, if you like.¡±
¡°I¡¯d take him at his word, but I¡¯ve business partners in Lancaster willing to vouch as much. Moreover, we simply do not have the cash to bring our project to completion at all,¡± Edward said. ¡°Not after those last purchases carried out under my name. Worse, my family¡¯s assets are presently illiquid by ducal decree. If we could obtain a loan in the name of the company, I would think us lucky to pay less than fifty percent in interest on the loans over three years.¡± Edward shook his head. ¡°We need the money, we need Lancastrian corpses, and we need a voice in the duke¡¯s ear. Guilbert is ready to give us what we need. I don''t like handing over five whole shares to make that happen, but I''m ready to agree.¡±
¡°The money''s as good as lost if we can''t get the manufactory off the ground in the next year,¡± Alric said. ¡°I say yes, but by charter, we require unanimity to move forward with this matter. Jacob?¡±
Jacob looked like he''d bitten into a lime. ¡°It cuts the value of my share of the company in half, as far as I''m concerned, but half is better than losing it all. Let''s draw up the contract.¡±
Lord Marcus, seneschal of York Castle, frowned down at the peasant woman grabbing at the reins of his horse. Under the upturned visor of his helmet, his piercing blue eyes gazed down at her upturned round, friendly, mud-spattered face; then widened in recognition.
¡°Mother, what¡¯s the meaning of this? You are embarrassing me by accosting me like this,¡± Marcus whispered fiercely. He gestured back at the castle. ¡°If you knew to find me in the castle, you could have come and waited there privately. Here, every gossip in the city is wondering who is accosting the seneschal and what her business is.¡±
Rosamund let go of the reins, stepping back and planting her hands on her hips. ¡°Tried to visit you in the keep last night, but I got knocked clear off my broom. There¡¯s a ward of some kind about the castle, a mighty powerful one the likes of which I¡¯ve never seen. I¡¯m lucky I landed in the water or I¡¯d have died. Didn¡¯t want to chance crossing the moat without permission in case the whole thing was warded top to bottom.¡±
Marcus sighed, holding up his hands. ¡°Very well,¡± he said, then lowered his voice back down to a whisper. ¡°What do you want? Other than a new broom?¡±
¡°My own son didn¡¯t tell me he was a lord now,¡± Rosamund said. ¡°Or is that just gossip? I figured I would come visit. And I heard the new duke was getting married. I wanted to see that, if my son, who seems now to be the Lord Seneschal of York Castle itself, could get me an invitation.¡±
¡°Yes, yes,¡± Marcus whispered back. ¡°Fine. Keep your voice down. It¡¯s not a good time to visit, there¡¯s no room at all to be had in the inner keep.¡± He held up a hand to forestall her reply. ¡°No, you don¡¯t have to sleep on the street, I can find space in the bailey, I¡¯m sure. Just go on in and tell them I sent you.¡±
¡°And get dunked in the moat again when I try to cross the bridge?¡± Rosamund shook her head. ¡°You¡¯ll come with me and catch me if I fall.¡±
Marcus looked around at the curious onlookers, then back at his mother. With a heavy sigh, he dismounted, offered his mother his arm, and silently tapped into the mental channel that connected him with his higher-ranked cousin. Your Grace, he sent. My mother has surprised me with a visit. I may be late to our meeting.
Halfway across the drawbridge into the bailey gatehouse, a thought crossed Marcus¡¯s mind, and he spoke. ¡°Mother, can you identify a zombie of the Scottish variety just by looking at it? There are none registered in York, but we¡¯ve had a horrible crime. We suspected a Scottish zombie could have been the instrument of it before, but a diviner recently confirmed it.¡±
Rosamund shook her head. ¡°Most diviners are halfway to being charlatans,¡± she said, clicking her tongue. ¡°And hardly any of them know necromancy.¡±
¡°But you do,¡± Marcus said, quietly. ¡°I know healing magic is a sort of necromancy, and healing magic is the bread and butter of your work.¡±
Rosamund glared. ¡°Healing magic is a sort of necromancy? What kind of fool says a thing like that?¡±
Marcus swallowed, glancing up at the inner keep and imagining his mother falling off a broom. ¡°The kind who warded the tower,¡± he said.
44. Simply Divine
The sitting room of the apartment was small. It would not be called cozy due to a lack of any decoration; it featured furniture in mismatched styles, chosen for comfort without regard to appearance. A small side table was wedged between a striped chair (presently occupied by Archmage Warin) and a bottle-green couch upholstered in well-worn velvet that must have been expensive when new (presently occupied by Master William Taylor).
Between the two of them stood a maid holding a tea tray, illuminated by the uneven light of a hanging chandelier. Only three of the four sockets had magelights in them, and one of the magelights was colored orange with the other two being the more usual sunflower yellow shade.
A larger and more lightly-constructed card table covered with a thin layer of felt occupied the center of the room, ringed by bare wooden chairs. Chips were neatly stacked in slots around the edge of a cylindrical ivory-colored chip holder perched on the corner of the card table. In the center of the chip holder rested two decks of cards.
¡°Of course I can raise a zombie in the Scottish style!¡± Master William Taylor puffed out his chest. ¡°I am credentialed as a master.¡±
Master Warin smiled softly, a polite smile creasing the edges of the diviner¡¯s mouth as he leaned back in a striped plush chair. ¡°Of course, Master Taylor. You are a master necromancer, I don¡¯t doubt your credentials. Would you mind showing me an example of your work with Scottish zombies?¡±
¡°Well, I don¡¯t have any Scottish style zombies on hand right now,¡± William Taylor said, gesturing at the unblinking waxy-skinned maid holding the tea tray. ¡°You¡¯re already looking at the only zombie I own, in fact¡ªFlorence here was my masterwork project in Cambridge. I keep her around for sentimental reasons, but most of my work ends up with my clients, and I primarily do industrial work, which means skeletons, mainly.¡±
Warin sipped tea, nodding. ¡°I see,¡± he said. ¡°If you¡¯ll forgive my prying, what¡¯s special about Florence? I was under the impression that zombies simply came in the regular variety and the Scottish one, and I¡¯m afraid further distinctions escape me, what with my focus on divination.¡±
William nodded, eager to prove himself. ¡°Florence, place the tea tray on the side table.¡±
Mechanically, the maid walked over to the side table, bending at the waist to place the tea tray on the table, then froze.
William walked over, pulling the dress over the zombie maid¡¯s back to reveal smooth waxy skin. ¡°Absolutely flawless. You wouldn¡¯t know she¡¯s been animate twenty years, would you? It¡¯s not just regular washing and waxing, Florence is self-repairing.¡±
The gray-bearded diviner sipped his tea, peering over with an expression of mild interest but keeping his seat. ¡°Really?¡±
¡°After a fashion, anyway,¡± William added hastily. ¡°I haven¡¯t violated the second law of necrodynamics, she does need feed stock. She¡¯s not a vampire, but it¡¯s a similar sort of principle that goes into her enchantment. If I add too much feed stock, the overflow starts going into her hair and nails, though, which can be a little annoying.¡±
¡°Self-repairing seems useful,¡± Master Warin said. ¡°Why aren¡¯t most zombies self-repairing?¡±
¡°It¡¯s a complicated enchantment,¡± William said. ¡°Not many people know it. Also, the reagants are expensive. I needed almost ten pounds of human soap for the ritual cleansing, though my master told me to buy fifteen in case I ran out partway, and the pearls¡ Alric says it¡¯s cheaper to just do repairs actively as they come up, and he¡¯s probably right.¡±
¡°So, is she as good as a Scottish style zombie?¡± Master Warin stirred his tea.
¡°They¡¯re not self-repairing,¡± William said. ¡°And she won¡¯t improvise.¡±
¡°I thought zombies just did as they were told,¡± Master Warin said.
¡°Regular zombies do only as they¡¯re told. Scottish zombies do as they are told, but they improvise.¡± William sat back down, leaving the smooth-skinned maid frozen in an awkward position like a mannequin. ¡°Everything Florence does is by my design. Well, I¡¯ve read a lot of standard interpretation commands into her, but everyone does that, nobody writes out all of their own program of motion anymore anyway.¡±
Warin frowned briefly behind his teacup. ¡°Really?¡±
¡°There are only so many ways someone can tell a body how to climb up a set of stairs,¡± William crossed his arms defensively. ¡°And most of them will only work on half of the stairs in this city, so it makes sense to use a well-proven script from another master. You don¡¯t need to do that with a Scottish-style zombie, though, they have a certain amount of directing intelligence.¡±
¡°That seems better,¡± Warin said. ¡°Not having to do a lot of reading in of commands, that is.¡±
¡°Until it does something you¡¯re not expecting,¡± William said. He gestured at the maid, still bent over the table, and pulled away the tea tray. ¡°Florence, pick up the tea tray off the table.¡±
The maid stood up straight, her rumpled dress falling back into place. First she turned, then her hands reached down to the surface of the table, curled as if to grab something, and stopped.
¡°She doesn¡¯t detect a tea tray on either table. Because I have given her advanced interpretation commands related to visual errors, she attempts to complete the task once based on the last recorded location of a tea tray on a table.¡± William placed the tea tray on the table; the zombie maid stayed frozen in place. ¡°I haven¡¯t given her a persistent command keyword, so the task ended incomplete. A Scottish zombie might have snatched the tray out of my hands, or it might have waited until I put it on the table. To make it desist, I¡¯d have to issue another command. That kind of unpredictability is not good in an industrial setting, where everything needs to be precisely in its place. Frankly, if you wanted a zombie of the Scottish style, well, as much as I¡¯d hate to dissuade a potential client, I wouldn¡¯t recommend it.¡±
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¡°Very interesting,¡± the archmage said, then placed his teacup on the side table, putting his hands on his knees as if about to stand.
William hastily interrupted. ¡°Would you be interested in commissioning a regular zombie? I promise you, with a good library of interpretation commands, they¡¯re really quite capable personal servants, and my restoration skills are top-notch.¡± He waved at the maid. For a moment, his eyes flickered towards the card table before traveling back to meet Warin¡¯s eyes.
Warin stood, smoothing his robes. ¡°Not right now, but perhaps later. I understand sourcing the necessary material is a little difficult at the moment, and I don¡¯t have a body on hand for you. I just wanted to find out a little bit more on the topic from an expert, and after speaking with Master Alric about your depth of necromantic knowledge, I felt I needed to talk to you.¡±
William Taylor¡¯s face cracked into a wide genuine smile. ¡°Really? I mean, of course. There are not so many credentialed master necromancers here in York, and I went all the way to Cambridge for schooling. Master Alric did his apprenticeship in Cumbria, not far from the border. I¡¯m sure he¡¯s at least seen some Scottish zombies, but I suppose he might not have had a master that knew much about the interior differences.¡±
¡°He was rather cagey about where he studied,¡± the archmage said, shrugging.
¡°Perhaps he felt embarrassed,¡± William said. ¡°Not everyone can study at Cambridge.¡±
Simon stared down at the stone floor. He had spent a year and a half studying the workings of imperial law at Oxford. While the laws pertaining to dueling were his principal interest, he knew very well that theft¡ªeven theft of a valuable springbow¡ªwas not a matter for a city to involve a duke in. Two dead noblemen, only one accounted for with a public duel, however¡ Simon bit his lip and looked back up.
Sunlight shone in many colors through the stained-glass windows of the militia chapter house, gleaming brightly on the gilded decorations on the duke¡¯s breastplate and nearly equally brightly on his silver skin and hair.
¡°Given that the whole Taylor family is presently under investigation by the ducal guard, being identified by Beatrice Taylor wasn¡¯t sufficient to obtain your release,¡± the duke said, the slit pupils of his golden eyes narrowing as he stepped more fully into the tinted sunbeam. ¡°In the absence of any more reliable witnesses, I decided to confirm your identity myself.¡±
¡°I¡¯m pleased you came yourself, Your Grace. You do recognize me from the hunt, then?¡± Simon straightened up, brushing his hair away from his face. ¡°You strangled a werewolf in his beast form with your bare hands. I was there, and so was Beatrice.¡± He was glad he¡¯d not been asked to identify Beatrice Taylor; the dark-haired girl had come up to his holding cell wearing three layered spiderweb-styled veils over her face and a faded tight-fitting gown with a spiderweb top.
¡°I recognize that I hunted with you, but to be clear: Tell me that you are indeed Sir Simon, son of Sir Thomas, lately staying at the Golden Fleece here in York.¡± The duke¡¯s inhuman eyes focused on his, and he pointed with a finger tipped with a talon filed to a blunt point.
Simon gritted his teeth angrily. ¡°I am Sir Simon, son of Sir Thomas, brother to Gelle, and I stayed here in York at the Golden Fleece.¡±
The duke nodded. ¡°You are his heir, then? Did you wish your family¡¯s bodies sold to the York Textile Company and placed into the hands of the Taylor family for processing?¡± He held up a finger. ¡°Answer each question separately.¡±
¡°Yes, I am his heir; and no, I most certainly did not and will not so wish.¡± Simon¡¯s face flushed with outrage as he imagined the outrageous spectacle of his sister¡¯s bones stripped of flesh and laid out on a slab for animation as a common factory skeleton. No wonder Beatrice had not wanted to look him in the eyes, face to face; the girl must have felt horribly guilty about the crime committed by her family.
The duke nodded. ¡°I expected as much. Now, tell me what you know of the Earl of Greystoke. He was staying with you at the Golden Fleece, and you named him as a close friend who would vouch for your character.¡±
Simon took a deep breath. ¡°The Earl was wealthy and much interested in business; he came from Cumbria with two separate hopes, marrying off his eldest daughter and finding new business partners in York. His eldest daughter, Ivette, was by his first wife; after she died, he remarried a woman named Colette, but Ivette and Colette did not get along very well. He has¡ no, had two younger daughters by Colette,¡± Simon said. Then a fact popped into his mind, and he blurted it out without thinking. ¡°In Cumbria, though, a daughter would not be named heir.¡±
¡°Is there more?¡± The duke stepped closer, gleaming brighter in the sunlight.
The gilding on his right shoulder caught the light at just the right angle, reflecting the sun straight into Simon¡¯s eyes, and Simon stepped back, averting his eyes as he stepped backward out of the reflected glare.
¡°Yes,¡± he said, licking his lips as he desperately searched his mind for the answer to a question he could only pose to himself silently. Why had the force of Providence put that fact at the forefront of my mind? His conversation with Zephyr. Staring at the duke¡¯s armored boots, Simon swallowed, and steeled himself to tell a lie. It was a forgivable lie, he thought.
The duke¡¯s foot tapped once, a sign of impatience.
¡°He named me his heir,¡± Simon whispered hoarsely, unable to give his full voice to the sacred lie that Providence had inspired in his mind. A cold wind whistled through the chapter house, and Simon looked up, seeing the duke¡¯s face twisted with anger.
¡°Clear the room,¡± the duke said.
¡°Yes, Your Grace,¡± said the militiaman standing next to him, who started to jog the exit.
¡°No, take those others with you.¡± The duke gestured at the other holding cells. ¡°I would have speech privately with Sir Simon.¡±
The militiaman swallowed nervously, pulling a key off his belt. ¡°You mean to have the rest of them released, Your Grace?¡±
¡°You can put them back after. I¡¯m sure they won¡¯t be any trouble.¡± The duke gestured negligently; a pair of wolfhounds trotted into the chapter house accompanied by a liveried guardsman.
The other prisoners¡ªa drunk, a thief, and a man whose reason for detention remained unclear to Simon¡ªdid not test their luck, walking meekly out of the chapter house. The duke did not say another word until the great door boomed shut, the sound echoing off the high vaulted ceiling of the barracks chapter house.
¡°You lied to me. But it is so unusual of a lie, and so bold, that I wish to understand the reason for it.¡± The duke¡¯s golden eyes fixed on Simon¡¯s.
¡°That is¡ I think he would have wished me his heir. That, if he did not die, he would have made me his heir. Because¡¡± Simon did not say he was a fisher like the baron, and unlike the baron¡¯s legal Cumbrian heir. Thoughts of the beautiful Ivette flickered through his mind. A tear rolled down his face. ¡°I cannot say the reason,¡± he whispered, then cleared his throat, regaining strength in his voice as he looked up, staring up at the stained glass windows high above and focusing on a singular figure, one he could imagine was blessing him. ¡°But I have faith that this is so.¡±
The duke hummed thoughtfully, a curious little surprised sound. ¡°So you do.¡±
Simon pulled his eyes away from the vaulted ceiling of the barracks chapter house. ¡°Does it matter?¡±
The duke stared at Simon for a long moment without saying anything, slit pupils slowly dilating as the shadow of a cloud dimmed the room. His mouth opened silently for a moment, revealing a forked tongue poised to speak. Several tense heartbeats passed before the tongue moved. ¡°I have decided that it does.¡±
The door creaked open. The liveried guardsman was back, carrying Simon¡¯s silver sword by its sheath in one hand and a familiar-looking key in the other.
He speaks with a literal forked tongue, Simon thought to himself, then swallowed nervously. What have I gotten myself into?
45. Good Practice
Archmage-Diviner Warin sighed, the barren stone walls of the empty chamber echoing his breath faintly. ¡°At times, a different perspective is useful. Let us consider the lesson one part at a time. What happens when you try to scry upon the resting place of King Arthur?¡±
¡°I see nothing. It fails.¡± Fiona looked down at the book, her elfblood eyes straining against the dimness. The faint scent of burning incense from the seven braziers anchoring the corners of the heptagonal table filled her nostrils. ¡°And that means¡ I do not know the subject well enough, the subject is protected by a greater power, or the subject does not exist.¡±
¡°Geoffrey of Monmouth says his divinations pointed unequivocally to Glastonbury Tor as Arthur¡¯s final resting place.¡± Archmage Warin steepled his fingers. ¡°So, what is the problem?¡±
¡°Geoffrey was not likely a properly educated wizard,¡± Fiona said. ¡°That was in the dark ages between Ivar¡¯s death at the hands of the three half knight brothers and his resurrection. But I¡¯m only a journeyman, and I dare say I do not know as much about Arthur. So perhaps I simply do not know enough about the subject, or Geoffrey was a prodigious natural talent.¡±
¡°I experience the same result,¡± Warin said. ¡°And I have read every line Geoffrey ever wrote.¡±
¡°Then surely Arthur has no resting place,¡± Fiona said, looking up at the archmage. ¡°Geoffrey told a myth.¡±
¡°I am not so proud as to pretend I have no equal in divination, even if I have not yet met him.¡± Warin shook his head, then extended his hand out over a smoothly polished crystal ball. ¡°Where Aurelius Ambrosius waits,¡± he intoned out loud. Then he draped a cloth over the dim magelight on the table, leaving only a small hole pointed toward the crystal ball.
Fiona blinked, her eyes adjusting. Projected against the stone was the image of an aerial view of a long asymmetric hill, with a gently curled ridgeline falling slowly away from the top in one direction and a steep slope down otherwise. The sides of the hill showed seven terraces separating the hill from the ground, though the long side of the ridgeline descended smoothly over the terraces as if draped on top of them. At the end of the long ridgeline, a small cluster of dots of varying sizes waited, perhaps people or animals.
¡°So. Ambrosius, the golden one by name, elder brother of Uther Pendragon, waits there. It is not his grave or his funeral pyre. He is intact and whole, and not shielded by a greater power than that which I wield. All these I have been able to divine. And yet¡¡± Warin shook his head, placing his hand directly on the crystal ball.
Fiona ducked under the table. Grasping a ball directly was, according to all she had been taught, unsafe, a recipe for getting one¡¯s hand cut by fragments of crystal if one¡¯s target was warded against scrying.
¡°Show me more precisely where Ambrosius waits,¡± Warin commanded.
Heat flared in the room as smoldering incense flared, leaving behind ashes. The table rocked, the image of the hill briefly blurring, and then it came to rest. The whole of the hill still filled the view.
¡°Perhaps it is the limit of the angular precision of the ball?¡± Fiona flipped through the pages of the book in her hands, biting her lip.
Warin gestured negligently, and the view moved slowly to follow his gesture, half of the hill sliding out of view as the perspective of the crystal ball shifted; then he pulled his hand up, and the dots at the base of the hill rapidly expanded into view in one brief blurry moment.
Fiona could see a small person sitting next to a large dog, talking to someone out of sight near the foot of the hill.
¡°Baron James,¡± Warin said, frowning as he recognized the duke¡¯s cousin. ¡°As you see, the crystal ball is precisely formed enough for a greater level of precision at that distance. I am not blocked, yet as far as any of my divinations are concerned, the place where Ambrosius waits spans nearly the whole of the hill, from the peak down.¡±
The halfling¡¯s hand stopped stroking the wolfhound suddenly, and he looked around.
¡°Baron James is sensitive to being watched,¡± Warin said, wiggling his fingers. The image faded, and then the archmage slid the covering cloth off the magelight, brightening the whole room. ¡°That is not the first time I have seen him, though this time I was not looking for him in particular. He seems not to have any means of magically protecting himself, but certainly has some kind of uncanny sense for when someone is paying him mind.¡±
Fiona frowned, remembering the uncanny way the duke spoke silently to her mind without casting a spell. ¡°Does it run in the family?¡±
Warin shook his head. ¡°Not as far as I know, though your husband-to-be is uncanny enough in plenty of ways. His family is large, old, and complex. Speaking of him, however, we should revisit your ball gown.¡±
Fiona shrank inside her comfortable, albeit ugly, journeyman¡¯s robes. ¡°Must we?¡±
¡°You will wear it for the wedding, will you not?¡± The archmage crossed his arms, giving his adoptive daughter a measuring look. ¡°It suits you well enough, and I wager the duke holds a good opinion of your appearance in it¡ªthe duke danced with you twice when you wore it, and no other woman at the whole ball.¡±
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¡°Very well,¡± Fiona said. She reached into her sleeve, pulling out sea-green silk. A shake in her hands and the shape of the gown became clear, with its circular neckline and long, draping sleeves.
Warin stared at the silk and clucked his tongue.
¡°Yes, I know it¡¯s wrinkled,¡± Fiona said. ¡°I can unwrinkle it in three shakes of a lamb¡¯s tail.¡±
¡°That wasn¡¯t what concerned me, though that is also worth a reprimand,¡± Warin said. ¡°Wrinkled journeyman¡¯s robes can be taken as a sign of humility, rather than incompetence; a wrinkled gown, on the other hand, will always reflect poorly on a noble. But I was more concerned with this.¡±
There was a flash of steel from one of Warin¡¯s voluminous sleeves; a jeweled dagger sank to the hilt in the sea-green silk of the gown, the tip striking sparks as it bounced off of Fiona¡¯s brown robe on the other side of the now-damaged garment held in her hands.
¡°If you are to be a duchess, fine gowns will be part of your regular life,¡± Warin said. ¡°Which means that temporary enchantment is inadequate.¡±
Fiona shook the gown out with a frown, the dagger clattering on the floor. ¡°Yes, Master,¡± she said heavily, poking her finger through the hole.
¡°As a wizard, my apprentice can wear her comfortable robes as much as she likes. My daughter, however, decided to marry a duke, and duchesses do not have all of the same liberties.¡± Warin held up his finger, then pointed at a book with a battered red leather cover resting on the table next to a spool of silk thread and a small golden needle, the eye of the needle filled with a bead of glass. ¡°I believe you will need Anselm¡¯s second volume once you have mended and unwrinkled your wedding dress. Unless you wished to purchase another dress for the occasion?¡±
¡°You could help, Father,¡± Fiona said, a note of hope entering her voice.
¡°I would rather find out if I have taught you well enough,¡± Warin said. Diffidently, he stood, taking three steps toward the door, turning twice in place, and then walking the rest of the way to the door. ¡°Besides, I have a concert to attend.¡± He leaned, placing his forehead on the door, and closed his eyes.
Sabine ignored the gentle tugging as one of her maidservants braided her hair, focusing intently on the open notebook laid across the harpsichord. Her soft fingers marched across the pale, polished keys determinedly, showing not a single moment of hesitation or uncertainty as a shaggy gray head poked into view, propelled by silent paws.
She continued playing the sedate bassa dance as the wolfhound sat and turned to look at her, its chin resting on top of the case of the harpsichord. Her eyes stayed trained on the page, flickering to the delicately inked notes of the coda upon the printed staff on the second page. After letting the final notes of the tune fade, she licked her finger, reaching for the corner of the page, then paused mid-reach.
¡°Does anyone know who let the beast in?¡± Sabine stared at her fingers, carefully refraining from making eye contact with either the subject or object of her inquiry.
The hands tugging her hair froze. There was a long pause. ¡°I¡¯s not seen him come in, milady,¡± a voice shyly said.
A second voice chimed in. ¡°Milady, he¡¯s not here when I left, but was already when I came back in. Betsy is the one what let him in, I did not.¡±
¡°Did not! Mayhap he let himself in!¡± The first maidservant sounded offended.
¡°I do not like to listen to petty arguing,¡± Sabine said. She frowned and turned the page.
¡°Begging your pardon, mistress, but I¡¯s a written message for you.¡± The second maidservant¡¯s voice was quiet. ¡°Had it from a stableboy. Marked with Duke Robert¡¯s mark. Did not want to interrupt the song.¡±
Sabine glared. Not irate enough to acknowledge the maidservant¡¯s presence more directly, she chose to glare at the wolfhound instead. ¡°The message may be set next to the music,¡± she said, turning the page to the next song and sliding her music four inches to the right. The edge of her notebook blocked her sight of the wolfhound¡¯s watchful eyes for a moment; then the wolfhound adjusted its position, putting its chin back on top of the harpsichord next to the edge of her notebook.
Sabine¡¯s eyes flickered to the left, pausing on her family coat of arms momentarily. She started to play, her eyes flickering back and forth between the scrap of paper and the music. For a while, she played perfectly and the wolfhound¡¯s eyes slowly closed.
Then she missed a note. The maidservant braiding her hair continued unaware, but the wolfhound¡¯s eyes popped open, and then Sabine hesitated, the whole piece stopped unfinished. She turned, looking directly at the maidservant perched on the couch. ¡°You will do your best to forget you ever brought me any missive. Indeed, you brought with you a scrap of paper for re-lighting the hearth.¡±
The maidservant swallowed, nervous and confused. ¡°Milady?¡±
Sabine growled under her breath, then gestured sharply. With a puff of smoke, the fireplace suddenly went dark. ¡°I said, you brought with you a scrap of paper for relighting the hearth.¡±
The maidservant hesitantly walked forward, taking hold of the message in one hand. ¡°Will milady need the purple bag with the special candles?¡±
¡°No.¡± Sabine looked back at the music.
¡°The boy said it was sent with an urgent desire for a swift reply, and I thought¡¡±
Sabine fixed her maidservant with a look. ¡°You brought with you a scrap of paper for relighting the hearth. No more, no less, as you are loyal to me, and I am loyal to my husband-to-be. And there is no reason why relighting the hearth should entail any interruption of my practice. Though I might add that one might roust the beast before it drools overmuch on my instrument.¡±
Sabine closed her eyes for a long minute, listening as several tea biscuits were devoured by an uncouth canine mouth and the hasty excited panting was cut off by the sound of a door closing. She breathed in and out, counting to ten, then opened her eyes, slid her notebook four inches to the right, and resumed practicing. This time, she chose a slightly faster tempo, a sense of urgency propelling her through the lively volta. One maidservant resumed braiding her hair; the other gently wiped the top of the harpsichord, cleaning away drool.
Sabine was only halfway through the tune when the wolfhound¡¯s head poked back into view. When she finished, she eyed the dumb beast resting its chin on the harpsichord, then flipped the page to yet another song, this one another stately bassa dance. As her fingers danced once more across the pale, polished keys, the dog yawned widely, its eyes closing.
46. How to Handle a Woman
Two armored men stood in the courtyard of the castle bailey, cloth-padded training staves in hand. The shorter of the two leaned heavily on his staff, pushing back his visor to reveal a gray beard below a red panting face.
¡°Striking into your parry is like practicing against an oak tree,¡± Sir Walter complained. ¡°I¡¯m not saying you need to yield against the blow¡ªbut I do not think I have crossed staves with anyone half as strong.¡±
¡°You have never crossed staves with Sir Malkin Guy, then,¡± the taller knight said, pulling off his dull battered practice helm to reveal a bright and shiny silver face. Duke Avery of York grinned down at his pledged vassal. ¡°Lord Malkin Guy now, I suppose, as you are both ducal barons.¡±
¡°Well, I would not lead someone to think I am an imperial peer,¡± Sir Walter said demurely. ¡°According to the book my daughter consulted, London etiquette titles a baronet merely a ¡®sir.¡¯ In truth, milord, you remind me that I should be going home soon,¡± Sir Walter said. ¡°With Rose settled as a lady-in-waiting instead of a bride, I¡¯ve little excuse for lingering to gawk at the wedding, and your bestowal of her new estate into my care leaves me with much to do. My wife would prefer I got her properly married instead, but out of the house and with an income of her own from the Leeds rents will surely satisfy her.¡±
¡°Will she not be concerned that you have not gotten Sir Walt engaged?¡± Avery inspected his staff. ¡°Check for cracks. I¡¯ve asked Sir Marcus to look into a better quality of supply, but for the last eight years or so, we¡¯ve had a run of bad practice staves. The one I got when I was ten lasted two years. After that, I think Lucas stopped being able to tell good wood from bad. I¡¯ve seen staves crack every other week.¡±
Sir Walter spared a glance at the length of ash wood in his hands, nearly two inches thick. It looked as if it had been polished smooth by the hands of dozens of men-at-arms. ¡°Looks good,¡± he said, and changed the topic. ¡°Little Walt doesn¡¯t strike sparks with his mother as much, and I daresay there¡¯s not an eligible lady in York whose mind will be wholly settled until your wedding. I could leave him here, though¡ªhe can take most of the trip home with Sir Gerald and Lady Constance. I wouldn¡¯t normally travel alone, but one of your ladies said she could summon me a tireless steed.¡±
¡°One my ladies?¡± The duke paused, thinking for a moment. ¡°The wizard Fiona?¡±
¡°Lady Sabine de Lancaster,¡± Sir Walter said. ¡°She told me she keeps a token, but that it costs her little to use it to summon a phantom steed on my behalf, as she does not intend to return to Lancaster any time soon, much less in haste. With your permission, Your Grace, I would take leave of York today.¡±
For a moment, the duke paused, a blank look on his face. Then he spoke. ¡°I suppose that would do. Will you take a packet along with you to the mail post at Leeds? I am minded to send a message to the Duke of Lancaster, and Leeds is halfway there. Sabine is his grandniece, and it would be fitting if I sent him a personal letter to give him direct word of my marriage to her before it happened.¡±
¡°It is no imposition at all, Your Grace,¡± Sir Walter said. ¡°Just remember what I told you¡ªattend, apprehend, and comprehend¡ªbut after our practice, I am reminded to add that you must take care to be gentle. Women are very delicate creatures, you are uncommonly strong, and in moments of passion or anger, it is easy to use one¡¯s full strength.¡±
Duke Avery nodded. ¡°I will keep your words in mind. Attend, apprehend, comprehend, and be gentle.¡±
Sir Walter nodded. ¡°To husband is a verb. If your wife knows that you husband her to the best of your ability, she will know happiness even when she is unhappy with what else goes along. And it all begins with attending, for attention is at the root of apprehending and comprehending.¡±
Sabine was perched in a freshly reupholstered, formerly beige chair. The chair¡¯s seat was a little too narrow to be perfectly comfortable for Sabine, and its legs were a little too tall to allow Elizabeth to sit while resting her feet fully on the ground. The new upholstery of the Maude-sized chair was a rich purple velvet, which perfectly matched the primary color of Sabine¡¯s dress, though it lacked the expensive goldwork embroidery.
Elizabeth was seated on a couch, the only piece of furniture in the room quite the correct height to rest her heels firmly on the ground. It was bad enough that she felt outmatched by her counterpart¡¯s jewelry, attire, and perfectly mage-sculpted beauty; sitting on a chair that left her feet swinging like a child would have made matters worse. She sipped her tea, frowning at an unfamiliar taste. She looked across the former sitting room at the blonde woman who had claimed the room for her own chamber. ¡°What variety of tea is this?¡±
¡°Well, the¡ª¡± Sabine¡¯s eyes suddenly crossed, her tongue limply dropping from the roof of her mouth as her jaw hung slack. The taller woman¡¯s arm froze in place, but the teacup that had been held delicately in place by thumb pinched against index finger continued its downward momentum, landing with a soft splashy thud on the rich carpet. Sabine¡¯s maidservant let out a startled gasp.
Elizabeth¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Is something the matter?¡± She quickly set down her own teacup, her mind leaping with concern to the strange taste on her tongue. Was the tea poisoned, or was Sabine afflicted with some kind of epilepsia or hysteria? Elizabeth looked over at the tea tray, then back at Sabine.
Sabine¡¯s eyes uncrossed. She looked down at the carpet, shaking her head briefly. ¡°Nothing is the matter,¡± she said. ¡°I was surprised.¡± For a moment, she rummaged about her person, coming up with a small disk of ebony wood carved with the image of a horse. ¡°This shall be taken down to the bailey courtyard and given to Sir Walter posthaste.¡±Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
The maidservant still had a concerned look on her face, but took the implied order at face value, taking the offered disk and fleeing from the room.
¡°Now that we are in perfect confidence¡ are you quite sure?¡± Elizabeth glanced down at her teacup, resting on the low table in front of the couch. ¡°The tea tasted quite odd.¡±
¡°I am,¡± Sabine said, shaking her head. She stood, bending down to pick up her teacup before walking over to pour herself a new cup of tea. ¡°Before I was interrupted, I was going to explain that the taste you are unaccustomed to is a the dried peel of a particularly fragrant and thick-skinned citrus fruit. We grow them on the castle grounds. Supposedly, it is a lunar variety, an imperial boon to one of Duke Robert¡¯s ancestors, though I have had my doubts. To me, it is the taste of home. Unfortunately, I have a limited supply of the ingredient with me, and it may be difficult to obtain in the future.¡±
Elizabeth stared reluctantly down at her teacup, then picked it back up the table, taking another sip. ¡°It is a pleasant flavor, now that I know what it is,¡± she said. ¡°Why would it be scarce for you in the future?¡±
¡°Duke Robert is a very proud man,¡± Sabine said, turning away and walking over to her harpsichord, teacup held in both hands as ¡°If he learns that the duke placed two other women before me, he may take insult from it, and that may have all kinds of complications.¡±
Elizabeth frowned, sipping her tea for a moment. ¡°My father rules a county in his own right, and he has his own pride. Northumbria will not be slighted.¡± The petite blonde paused, silently congratulating herself on her forcefulness.
¡°I understand. High nobles are prideful creatures,¡± Sabine said. She turned back to Elizabeth. ¡°Thus, I understand why you cannot allow me to be placed before you. However, if we are placed on truly equal footing, earl¡¯s daughter with duke¡¯s grandniece, neither can truly claim to be slighted.¡±
¡°Equal footing in what way?¡± Elizabeth kept her gaze fixed on her rival as the woman turned away, keenly aware that if she stood, the footing would look anything but equal.
Sabine turned away, silent for a long moment. She set her teacup on top of the harpsichord, staring down at the polished top of the case. Then she spoke, quietly. ¡°That first night, we could go to bed with the duke together, in complete privacy, and draw the curtains for total darkness. Nobody but the two of us will know which the duke has first.¡±
Elizabeth stared at Sabine¡¯s backside, taking in the hourglass silhouette poised in front of the hourglass. ¡°I daresay that even in the darkness, the duke would know which of us he had hands on.¡±
¡°Perhaps, but I think the duke would keep the secret between the three of us.¡± Sabine turned, a precisely neutral expression on her face as she leaned on the harpsichord. ¡°I don¡¯t ask to go before you, I just ask that you let it become a public unknown which of us has gone first.¡±
¡°Even if I agreed¡ªa grand supposition¡ªwouldn¡¯t your granduncle still be insulted by Johanna going before us?¡± Elizabeth cocked her head to the side.
¡°If she does,¡± Sabine said. ¡°But perhaps we could change that, for the sake of the prides of Northumbria and Lancaster.¡±
The Matthew family¡ªor de Mathieu family, as Charlotte preferred to style it¡ªstood around in the small chamber temporarily granted to Baron Joseph Matthew.
Charlotte de Mathieu, sitting on a small cot, looked at her husband, her daughter, and her titled father-in-law. Then she gestured back at the dress laid out across the reading table. ¡°Madame Percy has cut corners. This looks rather different than what we ordered from her. Did she not have any lavender fabric? Did you not pay enough for lace?¡±
¡°No,¡± the older Joseph Matthew said, infusing the assertion with authority. ¡°The lace costs near nothing compared to the cloth of gold and the goldwork embroidery. I have spared no expense¡ªwe could not make a greater statement than exhausting her supply of cloth of gold and goldwork thread. There are twenty-five tower ounces of gold in that dress, and my agent confirmed as much with his enchanted loupe upon taking delivery of the dress.¡±
¡°The duke has scarcely paid attention to her all week,¡± Charlotte said. ¡°His mind is on other matters, so I know he did not order such a change. Who did?¡±
Johanna stared at the floor and discreetly toed her father¡¯s ankle.
¡°Ah. Um, Madame Percy herself thought the gown looked better without the lace. Better to let the cloth of gold shine,¡± the younger Joseph said.
Charlotte propped her hands on her hips. ¡°I spent hours working on the sketches for that dress with your father! At the prices Madame Percy commands, I expect her to be a consummate professional who takes the orders of her clients as if they come from the lips of Ivar the Fleshless himself.¡±
¡°We told her that she could make minor changes to the design as was most suitable to make it come together,¡± the older Joseph interjected.
¡°This is not minorly changed!¡± Charlotte jabbed her finger at the dress. ¡°Surely, some kind of refund must be in order at the least.¡±
Johanna stared at the floor as silence descended on the room.
Charlotte sighed. ¡°It is not a bad dress, it is very lovely work, but it is just not the best color for her in full sunlight. And that is the occasion on which this dress is supposed to shine. And surely we cannot simply accept Madame Percy taking such creative liberties with an order of this magnitude.¡±
Johanna slowly dragged her head up and stood. ¡°Mother.¡±
Charlotte turned. ¡°What is it, dear?¡±
¡°I decided to have the dress in emerald-green. And without lace.¡± Johanna¡¯s heart raced as she fought to meet her mother¡¯s gaze. ¡°It¡¯s the right color for me. The lace¡ªI know you love the look of it, but it distracts the eye. Lavender and lace never earned me a second look from the duke.¡±
¡°Neither did the emerald dress,¡± Charlotte retorted. ¡°He didn¡¯t even dance with you at the ball.¡±
¡°But he did dance with Fiona twice, and she wore sea-green.¡± Johanna shook her head. ¡°And even if green weren¡¯t the color he favored, emerald-green is the color I was wearing when I made my troth.¡±
¡°Dear, he noticed you that day because you stood up.¡± Charlotte paused. ¡°As you are standing up to me now.¡±
¡°Yes,¡± Johanna said, then shrank back.
¡°No, no. Boldness is not for men alone.¡± Charlotte stepped forward, hugging her daughter. ¡°My little girl is growing up. And just in time, too.¡±
Behind them, the younger Joseph Matthew stared wide-eyed, while the older Joseph Matthew breathed a heavy sigh.
Johanna felt as though she had run twenty miles at once, but paradoxically energized and nervous. ¡°I think I will go for a ride,¡± she said. ¡°After all this time cooped up in this tower, I will lose my seat.¡± She stood in place, holding her breath and waiting.
¡°Very well,¡± Charlotte said. ¡°After you¡¯ve backed and bathed, we¡¯ll see how the dress fits you, then.¡±
Johanna let out her breath, leaving the room on unsteady legs. A ride would calm the tumult within her. It always did.
47. Missives and Missions
Ragnilda de Greystoke stared at the sealed letters for a long moment. Here on the south side of the top floor of the tower, looking out over the pond, she could have both good light and privacy¡ªwith the baron and his family absent, the servants would not come to the top floor unless she herself rang for them. She did not want anyone to watch her while she read.
One blurry seal felt familiar, marking another letter from Uncle Henry; one was not, though the herald had told her it came from the Duke of York. Yet the herald had seemed to expect her to read it and was delaying his departure in case she wished to add a reply to his courier pouch. He would be going to Carlisle Castle the next day with an urgent missive for the Duke of Cumbria, but then returning to York.
Putting aside the letter from Uncle Henry as less interesting, Ragnilda picked up the second letter, hesitating a moment before deciding she had the right to open it. She turned to put the sunny tower window at her back and held the letter at arm¡¯s length to bring the blurry letters into focus, tracing the tiny letters one by one with the index finger of her other hand.
TO THE RESIDENTS OF THE CASTLE GREYSTOKE¡ªURGENT
In the absence of Uncle Henry and his wife Colette, she was, for all intents and purposes, mistress of the castle. And the letter was addressed to the occupants of the castle in the plural¡ªpractically a public decree. Uncle Henry¡¯s last letter had mentioned that he had obtained an appointment with the Duke of York in relation to his pursuit of a suitable marriage for Ivette. Perhaps the Duke of York would call on the castle? If so, she would need to begin preparations immediately.
Carefully, she cut the seal with a penknife, then resumed reading.
To those whom it concerns:
It is with deep regret that I write to inform you that Henry de Greystoke has been murdered while visiting the city of York, along with his wife Colette and his daughters Ivette, Clara, and Dulcia. They were slain in an attack that killed over a dozen people in the dark of night. Investigations are continuing, and I swear the perpetrator or perpetrators will be brought to justice.
Ragnilda¡¯s breath caught, the letter falling from her limp hands and fluttering to the stone floor. Her first reaction was horror. Henry was dead? And his whole family besides? All three of his sweet daughters, dead? When Henry had refused to bring her mother back as a waxy-skinned servant, Ragnilda had cried for a week, wishing she could again see her mother¡¯s face; now every living relative she knew was gone.
Then her thoughts turned to her own fortunes, swirling from sadness into despair. She had no property of her own, no income, and no right to continue residing in Castle Greystoke if Uncle Henry was dead. Even if her acknowledged kin Cecil returned after being missing at sea for more than a year, the bastard could put her out¡ªshe¡¯d never met the man, but she doubted he would be generous to a stray noblewoman.
She paused in thought. Cecil had set out to sea with his wife and young son; if he returned at all, he might have more children by then. As a bastard inheriting his noble half-brother¡¯s title, he would need someone to teach his children to fit into his new social class. Perhaps she could convince him to keep her on as a governess. Having grasped a straw of hope to pull herself out of despondence, she bent, picking the letter back up off the stone floor, and started reading again, working her way back through the first painful paragraph and then onward.
It is the finding of my court, based on our interpretation of imperial law, that he is survived by his chosen heir, then called Sir Simon, originally of Rutland. I have written separately to the Duke of Cumbria to inform him of this fact.
Prior to his elevation, Baron Simon was a belted knight and accomplished bladesman, trained in the military arts and imperial law, and it will be your good fortune to gain him as a baron after Henry¡¯s unfortunate demise. It is my understanding that Simon and Henry became closely acquainted via Baron Henry¡¯s business projects.
Baron Simon is occupied at present with matters related to the sudden death of his adoptive father¡ªBaron Henry had business dealings in York¡ªbut will arrive at his earliest convenience. I hereby entreat you to begin preparations for his arrival.
Ragnilda stared down at the signature of Duke Avery of York for a long moment before beginning the painful process of re-reading the letter, unsure if she correctly understood the letter or its implications.
The barony of Greystoke was within the duchy of Cumbria, separated from the duchy of York by the counties of Westmore and Durham. The title of Baron of Greystoke was part of the imperial peerage. The Duke of York had full formal legal authority over lesser ducal baronies within his own territory, but Greystoke was neither a ducal domain nor was it within the boundaries of the duchy of York.
By what right did the Duke of York proclaim this Simon as the new Baron Greystoke? What, if anything, could Ragnilda do to secure her own future? And what was the part of the Duke of Cumbria in this? Surely, if any duke could interfere in the inheritance process, it was the one whose domain it was.
¡°But what does the letter from the baron say?¡± Peter asked gently.
Ragnilda hung her head. ¡°In the excitement, I forgot to look at it,¡± she said. ¡°I was so distraught by the idea of Castle Greystoke being given to a stranger that I rushed straight down here.¡±
¡°Well, let¡¯s have a look at it,¡± Peter said.
Ragnilda looked at the kindly old man¡ªold enough that Uncle Henry sometimes called him ¡°Father¡± by accident¡ªthen thought about the winding stone stairs leading up to the top of the tower. ¡°I¡¯ll ring a servant to go fetch it,¡± she said, reaching for a bell.
While waiting for a spritely young stableboy to return with the letter, Ragnilda told the old man her fears, and the old man listened until the stableboy returned, letter in hand.
¡°So, let¡¯s see what Henry said.¡± The old man gestured at the letter. ¡°Maybe he¡¯ll ease your worries from beyond the grave.¡±
Ragnilda swallowed nervously, breaking the seal and unfolding the letter. She spent a moment staring in the dim lamplight at the blur of black ink on the page. ¡°Um. Well, you can see for yourself,¡± she said guardedly.
¡°Hm? Oh.¡± Peter sighed. ¡°I see, this letter isn¡¯t from Henry at all. It¡¯s from Simon himself.¡±
¡°Yes,¡± Ragnilda said. ¡°The nerve of him to use Henry¡¯s seal!¡±
¡°Well, he is the new baron,¡± Peter said distractedly, looking closely at the letter. His finger tapped on the page, and he counted under his breath. ¡°Interesting¡¡±
Ragnilda shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do about this. Except to petition Duke Alexander.¡±Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.
Duke Alexander of Cumbria was the master of Carlisle Castle, an adept necromancer and competent conjurer. He was fond of literature, with an extensive collection of classical and contemporary works, from Icelandic sagas to classical Greek drama. He was not, however, fond of having his target practice delayed. It was a court day, but Magister Zacheus hadn¡¯t brought up his list of the accused and the bureaucrat¡¯s recommended verdicts until just after nones¡ªsome matter related to a complexity in the case¡ªand then one of his wife¡¯s cousins had been in a particularly chatty mood during the procession from the duke¡¯s audience hall to the wall overlooking a fenced enclosure within the castle courtyard.
¡°Your Grace, my apologies for the disruption.¡± The butler bowed deeply, a courier bag in one hand and a message tube in the other. ¡°There was a herald who arrived from York, and he bore several pieces of correspondence.¡±
¡°I just had a letter from him by regular post yesterday. He¡¯s getting married on short notice and sent out a pro forma invitation.¡± Duke Alexander sighed, taking the letter and cracking the seal. ¡°Likely he¡¯s rescheduled or canceled. I planned not to attend in any case.¡±
Magister Zacheus nodded sagely in response, as did several courtiers.
The duke¡¯s eyebrows drew together as he read the letter. ¡°Strange,¡± he said. ¡°Duke Avery writes to tell me that Baron Greystoke is dead and that he has appointed an heir. A Rutlander, of all things.¡±
¡°Who has appointed an heir, the baron or Duke Avery?¡±
The innocent-sounding question came from one of the flock of courtiers and sounded like it was probably one of his wife¡¯s cousins. As he wasn¡¯t sure which one it was, Duke Alexander frowned and turned instead to Magister Zacheus, letter in hand. ¡°Supposedly the baron. But as determined by the court of the Duke of York. Can he do that?¡±
¡°Ah,¡± the imperial bureaucrat said. ¡°Well, it is an imperial barony, so it isn¡¯t subject to ducal whimsy, but customarily a duke is the final word of justice within his domain. Technically, he could determine that while within York, the baron had declared Sir Simon his heir, and this Sir Simon could then rightly call himself Baron Greystoke from a Yorkish perspective. But he can make no finding of justice binding on the state of affairs here in Cumbria, and if you made a contrary finding, the only way for him to resolve such a dispute in his favor would be to appeal to the Emperor.¡±
The butler cleared his throat.
¡°Is there something more?¡± Duke Alexander looked at his chief domestic manservant.
The butler bowed apologetically. ¡°There are two letters from Cumbria in the mail bag. As well as another from York, which bears the seal of the Baron Greystoke. I did not think them urgent enough to bring to Your Grace¡¯s immediate attention.¡±
¡°Let¡¯s have them,¡± the duke said. A moment later, he was ripping open a letter. ¡°Ragnilda de Greystoke begs me to declare her the proper heir in contravention of ordinary custom, as Cecil is missing at sea and should be declared dead, and this Simon is an unrelated pretender.¡±
Magister Zacheus nodded. ¡°That seems like it would be a prudent choice if you don¡¯t want a Rutlander managing one of your baronies.¡±
¡°Absolutely not,¡± the duke said. ¡°Women can¡¯t inherit. I know it¡¯s happened, but not in Cumbria. I¡¯ve met titled women in London. They¡¯re all absolutely insufferable, and Ragnilda must be already insufferable enough given she¡¯s still unmarried at twenty-six years of age. Let¡¯s have the next one, shall we?¡±
The butler handed the duke the letter. ¡°No seal on this one, Your Grace; I swear I didn¡¯t look at it already.¡±
The duke unfolded the paper. ¡°The baron¡¯s clerk¡ªOld Peter¡ªsaying that Sir Simon was adopted by the baron as his son a week before he died. He had a letter from the baron saying as much, though the paper has since been erased and reused as he is thrifty.¡±
¡°And this new letter from Henry himself?¡± The duke shook his head as he broke the seal on the next letter handed to him by the butler. ¡°No, not from Henry. It¡¯s a letter from the claimant himself. Cheeky of him to use the baronial seal already. Says very little, though he says it politely and with many words. Not one word about documentary evidence, though, except for the letter the clerk already recycled. What if I reject all claims? The barony escheats to me, does it not?¡±
¡°Technically, to the imperial crown, but the emperor does not manage outlying estates,¡± Magister Zacheus said. ¡°Until such time as you found the proper heir or the title was reassigned to a new family by imperial writ, the estate would be in your care, though I could have someone from the chancery brought up to oversee the details of administration on your behalf.¡±
¡°It all seems quite strange.¡± The duke shook his head, then turned to the butler. ¡°I will return to this topic later; it¡¯s taken enough of my daylight hours and no immediate action is required.¡± He pointed down at the line of four prisoners. ¡°Have them just send out the second from the left¡ªthe big, juicy one¡ªand put away the rest for later. I only have time for one round of target practice before the sun sets, so make sure the duchess¡¯s ewer is ready straightaway.¡±
As the butler hastened down the stairs, the duke licked his lips unconsciously, thinking of his thirsty duchess. She hadn¡¯t aged a bit in thirty years and was delectable in her youthful beauty. He loosened and ruffled his voluminous sleeves, wriggling his fingers to warm them up as he recited a nursery rhyme under his breath to loosen his lips. Target practice was both fun and rewarding.
Duke Robert de Lancaster leaned back from his crystal ball. ¡°John, I want our agents in the Cumbrian court to push Duke Alexander on this. I don¡¯t know what kind of Yorkish trickery is afoot, but I know this Sir Simon must be York¡¯s creature if they¡¯re seeking to install him. Sabine may be able to turn matters to our advantage later, but I have been unable to contact her.¡±
The court wizard of Lancaster nodded at his duke and unacknowledged uncle. ¡°Yes, Your Grace. Is there anything else?¡±
¡°This business about inheritance¡ it bothers me.¡± Robert de Lancaster shook his head. ¡°We loosened our custom on women inheriting, but the aristocratic disease is more common here than in Cumbria, and I can think of half a dozen baronies in Lancaster that will escheat to the crown short of undiscovered genealogy. I do not trust that the imperial bureaucracy will let them back out of their management. And Sabine¡¡±
The court wizard waited patiently, then broke the silence. ¡°What about Sabine, Your Grace?¡±
¡°Sabine and Stephen are more important than I thought,¡± Robert said. ¡°If I live another century, I could leave a dead end, like Durham has.¡±
¡°I would not be sure Durham is a dead end, Your Grace. He was born in the sun as his mother died to it. He¡¯s different. Maybe he can sire children as he is.¡± John rubbed his chin. ¡°He has not married, but¡¡±
***
¡°This far I go, but no further,¡± the tinker said, waving at the abandoned hut. ¡°The sun is near setting, and I doubt I will find better shelter in the next quarter of a bell or so.¡±
The rider dipped his head. ¡°The city of Durham is perhaps but a half of a bell¡¯s ride ahead. It would not be too late to arrive at the city gates.¡±
¡°Perhaps, but I would not want to be a stranger wandering the land of Durham when the sun sets. My grandfather warned me against it. The aristocratic disease was common to several of Durham¡¯s barons, and I¡¯ve heard the new earl is an avid hunter himself. No, I won¡¯t be out after dark, not at all.¡± The tinker unharnessed his donkey from his cart.
¡°What I can¡¯t figure out is why, if you¡¯re so fearful of such things, you wouldn¡¯t have stopped your travels in York.¡± The rider gestured south. ¡°The duke doesn¡¯t issue any licenses for hunting of peasants at all. You could prosper safely there.¡±
¡°I heard he issues no licenses for hunting two-legged game, but I didn¡¯t travel by night on my way through d¡¯Ivry lands on my way up, neither. If there¡¯s no license to hunt, a free traveler might be poached on the sly, vanishing in the night without anyone the wiser.¡± The tinker glanced nervously at the low sun. ¡°And there¡¯s too many people in York with too little money. I made less than half my old wages on my way up here. Durham¡¯s population is managed tightly. We¡¯ve not seen new houses in any of the villages we passed. There may be a ready supply of the dead for ordinary sorts of work, but there¡¯s no tinker¡¯s art from dead hands¡ªin the city of Durham, a tinker¡¯s wage must be ten times what I saw in York.¡±
¡°Well, a good night to you, then, and good fortune on the morrow when you reach the city. I cannot myself delay.¡± The rider checked his message tube, then flicked his reins, leaving the tinker behind. He passed a village before the sun set and then rode past two more sleepy villages with his herald¡¯s badge glowing brightly to illuminate the road before him.
When the herald arrived at the city of Durham, he was surprised to find only a low outer wall around the outer borough, an unguarded barrier suitable only for keeping animals from wandering into the streets. Proper fortification was reserved for the castle perched on the other side of a triple-arched bridge that crossed the River Wear.
The herald showed his badge of office to the bridge guards, crossing into the inner borough below the castle. The gate to the castle was closed and silent, though, and remained so after he announced his presence. He would have to deliver his message in the morning, and so he slept the night away in the inn. When morning came, the herald delivered his messages, but the Earl of Durham was already out hunting.
The herald set forth, his herald¡¯s badge carefully polished and in plain view. He didn¡¯t meet the tinker going the other way on the road, and this saddened him.
48. More Important Matters
¡°This be the last of the Greystoke luggage, milord.¡± The white-haired halfling wrung his cap between his hands as the two burly human porters¡ªboth of whom bore a close family resemblance to the halfling¡ªset down another large chest, this one with a lock.
Sir Simon¡ªarguably now Baron Simon¡ªfelt crowded. The little wedge-shaped room had seemed more than enough for one man by himself when he¡¯d decided to rent it, but now that it was full of things, it seemed quite small. He pressed three shillings in the halfling¡¯s hand.
¡°Very well done,¡± Simon said, then waited for the men to leave. It seemed disrespectful to go through the goods of the dead in front of others, doubly so given the fraudulent nature of his claim to ownership.
Not that anyone else has a better claim, he thought to himself. He left aside the locked chest for now and opened the latches on the largest chest instead, finding it full of women¡¯s clothing. Another and a third¡ªmore clothing, some outfits in matching sets of three with two sized for little girls. A fourth¡ªIvette¡¯s dower chest, a familiar-looking maroon dress with a feeder neck and black embroidery carefully laid flat on top. A sack filled with loose items gathered from around the room the Greystoke family had rented, and a pair of travel bags.
A small chest with a lock on it. After searching for the key and finding it in the pocket of a jacket, Simon discovered that the chest wasn¡¯t locked. Inside were four jewelry boxes. He opened the smallest jewelry box, recognizing at once a necklace he¡¯d seen Ivette wear. Tears blurred his eyes as he shut the box. He walked over to his own small travel chest, unlocked it, and set Ivette¡¯s jewelry box inside, next to the jewelry box that had belonged to his sister Gelle.
The last chest had to contain the rest of the baron¡¯s traveling effects and the man¡¯s arms and armor. Examining the lock, Simon found it had no keyhole; it was a puzzle lock, and not a very good one. He¡¯d seen one like it before, belonging to one of his Oxford roommates. There would be a different trick to it, but as long as he was systematic, he would get it open eventually.
Across the bailey courtyard, a woman wearing a lavender leather hunting vest festooned with lace craned her neck around over her shoulder to watch the Duke of York as the tall silver man started to strike at the pells with a poleaxe. Then she slowed her horse to a walk, stowed her riding whip between her teeth, put one hand on the seat of her lavender saddle, the other hand on one of her saddle¡¯s pommels, and swiveled her legs over the horse¡¯s rear end to the opposite side in a casual practiced motion that briefly flared her skirts. This put her in a comfortable viewing position sidesaddle on the right side of the horse, which flicked an ear dubiously in response.
You cannot return in time for the wedding? Avery hacked angrily at the pell with his poleaxe, lopping off a foot-long section of the notched post.
I am near the eastern border of Cornwall, James sent back. And there have been complications. It is a long story.
Complications? Avery leaned the poleaxe against his shoulder, catching his breath. Imperial complications?
Hopefully not, although there was an imperial auditor sniffing about the last time I was here. The main complication was that the prince behaved inappropriately. My companions took exception. Sir Bryan and my men-at-arms reached our rendezvous point before the prince¡¯s men caught up with us. James¡¯s voice sounded vaguely embarrassed. We should be fine. But it¡¯s really not the time; I¡¯m trying to help coordinate, and Hana is hard to connect to when she¡¯s invoking.
With a loud crack, Avery swung the poleaxe overhead in a blow that split the damaged pell, a splintered piece six inches across and five feet long falling to the earth. If you have made the Prince of Cornwall my enemy, you will tell me now.
Instead of speaking, James sent an image, pieces coming into focus as the distant halfling closed his eyes and called up a memory full of fire, blood, and violence, and the image of the sun rising over a writhing thing, already burned and pinned to a castle rampant by a spear that sank into the stone itself. It¡¯s complicated. I think the prince is not your enemy at present, but he was old and canny; he may yet still return in some form eventually.
Avery eyed the splintered post sticking out of the ground. It would not do as a pell anymore, not at all. He closed his own eyes, glaring inwardly at the tableau being sent to him. James¡
Later. James sounded breathless, and then suddenly the tableau vanished as the usually disciplined mental voice of the halfling echoed with the sound of his real voice, the clang of metal on metal, and the bodily sensations of fear. The hill! Move! Move!
As the halfling closed the link from the other end, Avery had a brief impression of a sheet of grassy turf moving, golden scales appearing through seams opening in the earth.
James! Avery strained, but the connection was blocked, and there was no way he could force his way in if James wasn¡¯t interested in listening. Avery glared at the splintered post sticking out of the ground for a long moment, breathing heavily; then he flipped the poleaxe around in his hands and struck at the frosted base of the ruined pell with the hammer head on the back of the blade.
Both Fiona and Maude suddenly paused. The older half-elven woman was still for a moment; the younger quarter-elven woman cocked her head to the side, turning her ear in the direction of the window.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
¡°That¡¯s a different sound. Perhaps someone dropped some crockery,¡± Maude said. ¡°Or pitched it out a window?¡±
Merilda glanced over at Anna, still standing at the other end of the bedframe. Behind Anna was a jumbled pile¡ªanother bed, piled with both mattresses and both canopies, and a table sideways against the wall with a set of four matching chairs stacked on top of it.
¡°I didn¡¯t hear anything.¡± Anna shook her head, dark curls bouncing. ¡°Let¡¯s get this moved to the corner.¡±
Merilda lifted her end of the frame, then set it down as Anna shook her head again.
¡°I can¡¯t hold up this end by myself. Fiona, get back here,¡± Anna said.
Fiona peered out the window, looking down across the moat to the castle bailey, fiddling uncomfortably with the long draped sleeves of her gown as she turned back to her fellow fiancees. ¡°I guess I¡¯ll ask Johanna when she comes back; she¡¯s still riding laps about the courtyard. It sounded like it came from down there, but I don¡¯t see anything. His Grace looks like he¡¯s done practicing and on his way over to the kennels.¡±
Maude cleared her throat. ¡°Gossip is a base preoccupation,¡± she said pointedly.
¡°As is moving furniture by hand,¡± Fiona said, arching an eyebrow.
¡°I told you, we¡¯re shorthanded. The servants will get to it in time if you wait, and you wanted to make special arrangements rather than all piling in the one bed I had brought up first¡ª¡±
Fiona glared, waving her hand at the bedframe leaned up against the side. ¡°Special arrangements. Very well, I will make special arrangements. Anna, Merilda, come over here by the window.¡±
Maude crossed her arms as Merilda obediently shuffled over to stand next to Fiona. A moment later, Anna followed uncertainly. Fiona drew a thin stick of wood from her sleeve, tapping the edge of the bedframe tentatively.
¡°Are you casting a spell on my bed?¡± Anna asked.
Fiona ignored the question, her brows furrowing as she muttered under her breath. The bed lurched into motion, skidding across the stone floor for the space of a few heartbeats before thudding into the wall. With another gesture, the bed slowly scraped along the wall, settling in the corner.
¡°There we are,¡± Fiona said, a small, proud smile on her face. ¡°No need for us to dirty our hands, and my father will be glad I¡¯m practicing. We can take care of matters for ourselves here, Lady Maude, but I believe the room wants at least one large carpet and two or three smaller ones. It is a duchesses¡¯ chamber, and we¡¯ll have a goodly space for a carpet between the two beds.¡±
Avery leaned against the closed door. ¡°I think we should move now to shut down the manufactory site.¡±
Gregor scratched a wolfhound behind the ears. ¡°I thought we were going to wait until James was back in town.¡±
Avery nodded. ¡°That was my plan, but James kept telling me he was busy with important matters.¡±
¡°What could be more important than the murder of an entire inn full of people?¡± Gregor frowned.
Avery hesitated. ¡°I¡¯m not sure, but I think I am now convinced. We spoke briefly¡ªhe was in a pitched battle of some kind.¡±
¡°But¡ I cannot learn which of them is guilty, Your Grace,¡± Gregor said. ¡°All I can do is help manage the hounds.¡±
¡°We do not have James, but we have an archmage-diviner on our side,¡± Avery said. ¡°The hounds have scented the poison used at the Golden Fleece Inn, and it is stored at the dyeworks under construction by the York Textile Company, a site kept tightly secured for the purpose of maintaining the secrecy of their exclusive bleaching process. Surely, the archmage-diviner can discern which of the officers of the York Textile Company has chosen to hide a gaseous poison within a dyeworks. We summon the officers, identify the culprit, and pass judgement upon the spot.¡±
Gregor rummaged in his pocket, pulling out a slip of paper. ¡°The archmage handed me this at the crack of dawn.¡±
When Duke Avery inquires as to my availability today, please inform him that I will be busy observing Aurelius Ambrosius. This, I am sure, will be very exciting, since I have not yet succeeded in doing so, but the auguries of the auguries were unequivocal even if the direct ones were not, and this matter is of paramount importance.
¡°Aurelius Ambrosius?¡± Avery searched his memory. The name sounded familiar, and he felt certain he¡¯d read it in a book. ¡°Wasn¡¯t he a Roman general or something? How could a figure out of history be of paramount importance?¡±
Gregor shrugged. ¡°Master Warin spent half of yesterday looking at grains of wheat under a jeweler¡¯s glass and the other half arguing with a scruffy old lady about whether or not brooms ought to have straight handles. If you ask me, Your Grace, he¡¯s barmy.¡±
¡°Understood,¡± Avery said, looking at the slip of paper. ¡°Or rather, I understand what you mean, not¡ whatever this means. I ought to roust him anyway; set his mind into the present time.¡±
Old Manfred stood and shook, his ears flapping. Then the old dog spoke silently to both of them. No can bother Warin. Warin fly away with Rosamund two bells ago. Beauford watched.
Avery let out his breath in a long annoyed hiss.
Gregor cleared his throat. ¡°We could wait until he comes back,¡± Gregor said.
¡°No,¡± Avery said. ¡°The incident at the Golden Fleece may not be important enough to James or Warin, but by my honor, it is important to me. Old Manfred, you will stay here. I think¡ eight hounds and half a dozen guards in the main party. Have the town guard fetch the officers of the York Textile Company to meet us at the site, and have someone fetch Sir Simon. Or, rather, Baron Simon.¡±
Yes, said the old dog, yawning. But I get chipped moonapples tonight. Because I am good boy.
¡°Yes, Your Grace,¡± Gregor said. ¡°I will pass along your orders at once.¡±
49. The Grand Closing
Standing over an open chest, Simon held up the mass of mail. He could see now that it was a vest, though with its fine small links of alternating black iron and white silver, it would not likely stop the thrust of a spear or a good sword unless it was mage-tempered¡ªand though silver took well to mage-tempering, cold iron did not. Still, Baron Greystoke had prized the vest enough to bring it with him and hide it away. Logically, that meant it was either sentimental or it was meant to protect against something other than steel weapons.
There was a knock at the door; then another, impatient.
¡°Coming!¡± Simon shouted, sliding the vest back into the chest. He cracked the door, recognizing at once the livery of the ducal guard, and opened the door wider. ¡°How may I serve His Grace?¡±
¡°His Grace requests your presence at a matter related to the deceased Baron de Greystoke¡¯s business affairs,¡± the guard said. ¡°Henry de Greystoke had registered a purchase offer with the city office¡ªland valued by him at some eight hundred pounds. He believes the matter may be soon settled. As his heir, it falls upon you to execute or abrogate the contract.¡±
¡°I see,¡± Simon said, brushing his hands off on a stained undershirt. ¡°I will go at once. It should not take long to settle the matter.¡± Whatever the baron wished to purchase in town¡ªsomething on Ivette¡¯s behalf, likely¡ªhis plans are surely moot.
The guard cleared his throat. ¡°Lord Greystoke, perhaps you might wish a few minutes to render yourself presentable in a manner suiting your status? The duke will not set out from the castle for another third of a bell¡ªhe is having the officers of the York Textile Company summoned, and prefers not to wait for their arrival.¡±
¡°The York Textile Company?¡± Simon frowned, remembering what Henry de Greystoke had told him and suddenly re-evaluating his earlier decision. The triumph of water over bone. ¡°I had known he hoped to buy out a controlling share of the company, but I imagined it would be much more than eight hundred pounds. Are they selling the manufactory site?¡±
The guard shrugged. ¡°I do not know, milord, but if you wish me to carry a strongbox for you, I can do that for you.¡±
¡°No need,¡± Simon said. ¡°Henry de Greystoke carried letters of credit with him for the greater part of his portable wealth.¡±
¡°I will wait outside, then.¡± The ducal guard looked around the cluttered room uncomfortably before backing out of the door.
Simon looked down at the iron and silver chain vest thoughtfully. Henry de Greystoke had described the York Textile Company as ¡°bloodsuckers,¡± and the investors included the local wizard collegium. If this is protection, I had best use it, he thought to himself.
Smell Alric. No see Alric. Where Alric? The wolfhound¡¯s voice sounded in the head of his companion, a human guard named Philip. The wolfhound¡¯s voice didn¡¯t reach the well-dressed men standing across from them on the muddy field where most of the pieces of a cloth manufactory had been assembled. The site itself was on low ground, the land around the dyeworks tower dug out to more easily draw water from the river.
The site included two finished buildings, one a squat round stone building with a coffin port next to a heavy metal-banded door, and the other a short wooden tower perched next to the river. The dyeworks tower had a curious overhanging roof covering wide open windows and a small wheel meant to pull water from the river by the force of its own current.
¡°Where is Master Alric?¡± Philip said aloud. ¡°His Grace wished to meet with all of the officers of the York Textile Company here on this site, and word was most assuredly sent to the collegium.¡±
Jacob Hebert and Guilbert de Lancaster both looked over at Edward Taylor. Edward in turn looked at his brother William, who glanced briefly at the squat stone building before meeting the ducal guard¡¯s gaze.
¡°I have been deputized to represent the collegium as needed,¡± William said. ¡°The collegium itself is the investor of record, not just Master Alric personally. It¡¯s true he is the collegium¡¯s usual representative in this affair, but if you had wished the full collegium in attendance, you would have needed to give notice well ahead of time¡ªsome members are away.¡±
Philip glanced down at the wolfhound, who growled.
Smell Alric, the wolfhound insisted, flicking an ear.
Philip shrugged minutely. ¡°Very well, then. I hope His Grace is not disappointed.¡±
William Taylor puffed out his chest. ¡°I¡¯m a credentialed master necromancer, and I am deputized with the collegium¡¯s authority on this matter. Whatever His Grace wished from Master Alric, I can capably provide.¡±
At that, Edward Taylor shifted nervously from foot to foot. Guilbert de Lancaster patted Edward on the shoulder, whispering some kind of reassurance in his ear.
Philip did not respond to either William¡¯s pronouncement or Guilbert¡¯s whispering, as no response seemed to be required. Instead, he patiently waited in silence for the arrival of the duke. Beauford, meanwhile, circled the site, sniffing around the perimeter. When the hound reached the tower, he sneezed, then gave it a wide berth as he continued his circuit, giving one brief warning.
Poison scent stronger today. Beauford settled next to Philip. Tower dangerous.
Sir Simon¡ªBaron Simon, now, if one believed the Duke of York¡ªtrailed after the liveried guard. The guard kept a brisk pace; at first, Simon kept up but then slowed, falling behind as he took in the gathering of the investors of the York Textile Company. One of the duke¡¯s guards and one of his hounds¡ªit was curious that the hounds accompanied the guards, but such seemed to be Yorkish tradition.
Among the company of investors was one very finely dressed man, in a fashion that was current in London just the previous season. Madame Percy had brought some of London¡¯s latest fashions with her for women¡¯s clothing, but she specialized almost entirely in dresses and had no impact on men¡¯s fashion.
The others looked familiar enough, though. Simon could recognize Jacob Hebert¡ªHenry de Greystoke had expounded on the man¡¯s venal corruption at length one evening¡ªand Edward Taylor, and then there was another unfamiliar man, dressed in master¡¯s robes and with a face that marked him as kin to Edward. One of the Taylor family wizards.
Henry had shown Simon a copy of the charter of the York Textile Company, and it was only a three-way partnership between Taylor, Hebert, and the collegium. The fourth man, though¡ªa man dressed that finely was no servant, and if he was present as a representative of the collegium, he would surely wear robes marking his profession. No, this man was a well-connected noble or an imperial bureaucrat, possibly both, and Simon felt uneasy about the implications of either possibility. So, he hung back with the small gathering crowd of onlookers.
The liveried guard who had accompanied him gave him a quick puzzled glance, and Simon nodded, smiling brightly as if the two of them had planned to arrive separately. Both liveried guards looked down at the hound, who barked quietly once; then the guards turned back to the group of investors, waiting for the arrival of the duke.
This did not take much longer. Duke Avery arrived on horseback, accompanied by human and canine members of the guard in numbers that, in Simon¡¯s learned opinion, qualified as a serious show of force. Either the duke expected the investors of the York Textile Company to resist his authority, or he intended to intimidate them into compliance with the threat of force.
Underneath the voluminous embroidered cloak that had belonged to Henry, Simon¡¯s hand drifted to his baldric, quietly checking that his blade was loose and ready in its scabbard. With all eyes on the dismounting duke, Simon walked purposefully in the direction of the partially constructed manufactory.
The duke spoke with a loud and clear voice as two groups of wolfhounds circled around the site to either side of the construction site, one upriver and one downriver. Simon casually leaned against a canvas-covered pile of cut lumber, directing his attention to what the duke had to say.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.
¡°Investigations have shown that the alchemical substance used in the massacre at the Golden Fleece is stored upon this site. Right there, in the dyeworks.¡± The duke¡¯s golden eyes transfixed Edward Taylor as he pointed at the short wooden tower built right against the river. ¡°While the person or persons responsible took steps to remove themselves from the vicinity of both the poison and the attack, it is plain that they had knowledge of and access to the commercial secrets of the York Textile Company.¡±
Edward shuddered. ¡°I swear, neither I nor any of my family had anything to do with it! I¡¯ve never even been inside the dyeworks nor the Golden Fleece. I had naught to do with any of it.¡±
¡°You bought the bodies afterwards.¡± The duke stepped forward, looming over the shorter man. ¡°Did you not? That is what you told my men.¡±
¡°Yes, I did.¡± Edward swallowed nervously. ¡°It was me, Your Grace. Poor judgement, really; we¡¯re just desperate for working bodies here.¡± He waved at the low, squat building.
¡°And now you lie to me.¡± The duke did not move, and his expression remained calm.
¡°I¡ªum¡ªmy daughter was the one who gave the orders to my servants,¡± Edward said, dropping to his knees. ¡°But it¡¯s my responsibility; I¡¯m her guardian. I¡¯ve punished her for her misbehavior, Your Grace, and if you must punish me further for lying to you, I accept it.¡±
¡°Do you know anything more about the murders?¡±
¡°No, Your Grace,¡± Edward said. ¡°This is the first time I¡¯ve heard it could have anything in common with our dyeworks.¡±
The other Taylor, the wizard, turned to Edward. ¡°I know I¡¯ve told you before that our whitening dye can be extraordinarily dangerous if mishandled, and we went over the fume venting designs for the works together because you weren¡¯t sure if the expense was justified.¡±
¡°William!¡± Edward¡¯s voice sounded horrified, but his face looked angry.
¡°Enough.¡± The duke held up a finger, then turned his gaze on William. ¡°What more do you know?¡±
¡°I know we¡¯ve lost two apprentice wizards to alchemical poisoning while getting the dyeworks figured out, and one was a promising student,¡± William said. ¡°The other one drank vermillion dye on a dare, but Gwen¡¯s only mistake was to clean the bleaching tub with an experimental cleaning solution made with purified sal ammoniac, and the whole room was suddenly flooded with deadly gases. An entirely unanticipated alchemical reaction. When I learned the Golden Fleece was attacked with alchemical fumes, I thought it might be something similar to what we use in the dyeworks.¡±
¡°Which is what, exactly?¡± The duke took a step back, moving up the muddy slope.
¡°I don¡¯t know the formulation, Your Grace.¡± William shrugged. ¡°The master alchemist guards the secret closely, and I have better things to do than try to spy out his work. I¡¯m sure it¡¯s something quite complicated.¡±
¡°And that¡¯s all you know?¡± The duke frowned. ¡°Who has access to the whitening dye used for your bleaching process?¡±
¡°Any of the alchemy students, nearly, they¡¯re in and out quite frequently as we test dyes. But after Gwen¡¯s death, they¡¯re quite leery of the bleaching formula. I¡¯m in charge of automating the process, so I supervise¡ªnot in person; we have a good watch-skull with nearly perfectly spherical crystal eyes. Any apprentice diviner could scry in with a regular crystal ball, and I¡¯ve the matching pair sitting on my desk.¡± William swallowed nervously. ¡°Not that they¡¯re strictly necessary, I could use a regular crystal ball myself if I needed to, it just saves a little on effort.¡±
¡°How much do you have stored at the dyeworks?¡± The duke waved at the low tower. ¡°Do you keep track?¡±
¡°About three hundred gallons?¡± William said. ¡°Master Alric keeps the accounts, but I review them on the regular¡ªwe haven¡¯t had any significant amount go missing. We¡¯d notice if we were more than a couple of gallons short.¡±
¡°How much would it take to kill everyone in the Golden Fleece if it was unleashed to its deadliest effect?¡± The duke frowned.
¡°Probably¡ um¡¡± William paused in thought. ¡°I think I would guess one or two pints if the building was shut up fairly tightly, and round that up to a half gallon if I wanted to be sure? I don¡¯t know if it sinks or rises.¡±
Simon stared at the tower, suddenly concerned. If half a gallon of the substance could kill everyone inside an inn several stories tall, what would three hundred gallons do if released all at once? The open air between him and the tower was vast, but if the deadly fumes filled a sphere, it would only have to fill ten or twenty times the volume of the Golden Fleece to kill him at this range. Three hundred gallons was six hundred half-gallons and forty-eight hundred pints, Simon thought to himself. Ten by ten by ten is a thousand¡ I would need to be at least ten buildings away to be safe in the open air.
¡°Very well. I am satisfied of your personal innocence in this matter.¡± Duke Avery frowned. ¡°Jacob Hebert, tell me what you know of the attack on the Golden Fleece.¡±
¡°Nothing,¡± Jacob said, then shivered suddenly.
¡°Nothing?¡± The duke¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°Nothing at all?¡±
Jacob wrapped his jacket more tightly around himself, his teeth chattering. ¡°Your Grace, I am suddenly reminded that I owed the innkeeper fifty pounds sterling, the deposit he made as surety for the regular delivery of spirits and fine wine. I was glad not to have to repay it when he died. My apologies for the fault in my memory.¡±
Duke Avery frowned, then turned to the well-dressed man. ¡°I have been told you are an investor in the York Textile Company, but I have not seen you before. Who are you?¡±
¡°Guilbert de Lancaster, Your Grace. The Baron of Penrose and your future father-in-law.¡± The man bowed deeply. ¡°This is my first time here since I chose to invest in the York Textile Company.¡±
The Silver Duke blinked, stepping back to digest unexpected information. Then he shook his head. ¡°And do you know anything at all that would shed light on this matter?¡±
¡°You accuse me of foul murder?¡± Guilbert¡¯s head rocked back. ¡°Your own future father-in-law?¡±
¡°Answer the question, Baron Penrose,¡± Duke Avery said, his voice flat.
¡°I have had nothing to do with the attack,¡± Guilbert ground out. ¡°And it is absolutely outrageous that you would suspect me, Your Grace. This is no way to treat a family member. I have but lately invested in the company.¡±
¡°My apologies, I must be thorough.¡± Duke Avery frowned, confusion showing on his face. ¡°However, it is clear that while the four of you are individually innocent, I cannot have this manufactory and its dyeworks posing a danger.¡±
¡°That¡¯s outrageous!¡± Guilbert shook his head. ¡°You cannot punish innocent investors for the malicious actions of some rogue employed by the company.¡±
Simon stepped forward, moving around the pile of lumber and clearing his throat. ¡°If I may speak, Your Grace?¡±
¡°Granted. You may proceed.¡± The tall silver man¡¯s face was a study in neutrality.
¡°A company can hold assets, debts, and contracts,¡± Simon said. ¡°Indeed, according to a reputable professor at Oxford, it is for such purposes a sort of person. As such, it is perfectly sensible that the company itself can be, in its personhood, an accessory to murder, with punishment applied to its entity like any other person.¡±
¡°That seems absurd,¡± Edward Taylor said, shaking his head. ¡°Totally absurd.¡±
Guilbert nodded. ¡°Your Grace, now that you have brought this matter to our attention, we will assist you in discovering the true identity of the murderer,¡± he said. ¡°I can forgive your rash accusations; it is in our interest to uncover any theft or misappropriation of our proprietary secrets or alchemical substances.¡±
Duke Avery shook his head. ¡°I find the York Textile Company itself, in its person, guilty as an accessory to aggravated murder in multiple counts. As such, I am banishing it from the city. This manufactory site will no longer belong to the York Textile Company. I am compelling the company to accept the Greystoke offer of purchase of the site.¡±
Simon cleared his throat. ¡°Your Grace¡¡±
¡°Do you need to fetch payment?¡± The duke looked at him.
¡°Ah, no, Your Grace,¡± Simon said. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a piece of paper with the Greystoke seal attached. ¡°This is a letter of credit offering the withdrawal of eight hundred pounds from the Greystoke accounts in Cumbria.¡±
¡°Baron Henry de Greystoke is dead,¡± Jacob said. ¡°Even if he drew up the letter before dying, and even if we accepted such an absurdly low price, such a note will likely not be honored if it was handed over after his death. Only the baron himself could issue the payment.¡±
¡°Baron Simon de Greystoke has every right to issue such a letter,¡± Duke Avery said. ¡°I have made a finding that he is Henry¡¯s heir. Be glad that the York Textile Company was able to exchange its one immovable asset¡ªthat of land¡ªinto currency. You may remove any of its movable assets to divide amongst yourselves before you finish either dissolving the company or removing its operations outside of my domain.¡±
There was a loud thump from the direction of the squat building, and the door opened. Edward¡¯s hat flew off of his head, and several footsteps appeared in the mud behind him. Several of the hounds started barking, moving into action as the door on the side of the tower swung open and then banged shut.
Simon nervously ran a hand across his chest, feeling the fine links underneath the cloth of his shirt.
50. Shuttered
¡°You may remove any of its movable assets to divide amongst yourselves before you finish either dissolving the company or removing its operations outside of my domain,¡± Duke Avery said, then continued silently to Gregor. None of them know anything. I suspect Alric, perhaps another collegium wizard, but I cannot know for sure.
Gregor sent back a mental shrug. I am in position outside the Taylor estate¡ªno signs of activity here.
Edward Taylor¡¯s hat flew off his head, drawing Avery¡¯s attention back to his present surroundings. The air was calm, nearly stagnant, and the man¡¯s hands had been clasped at waist-level, and the motion was unexpected. Avery stared at the hat as it landed in the mud.
Edward turned, one hand unconsciously lifting to his bare brow as he took one step in the direction of the fallen headgear, then halted as a hound rushed forward, barking. As two others followed behind, the leading hound sniffed at the ground, moving towards the dyeworks tower as the door swung open and then shut again.
¡°Who was that?¡± Avery said. He pointed at the tower, guards jogging forward to surround the wooden building. The dull rattling sound of bones in motion sounded from inside the low squat stone building on the other side of the site¡ªlikely just the working skeletons disturbed accidentally into motion by whoever had fled from one building to the other.
Edward smoothed back his thinning hair. ¡°Your Grace, I have no idea. Perhaps a spy seeking to steal our trade secrets. But there is no exit from the tower.¡±
Thumping noises sounded from inside the tower as Philip pried at the door, the human guard confirming it had been barred from the inside. A voice shouted, a spray of sand flying out of the tower window, and Philip staggered, leaning heavily against the door as one of the hounds next to him yawned. Then a rectangular object, patterned in an exotic style, sailed out of one of the wide open windows beneath the curiously wide roof of the tower, a dent in the middle suggesting a weight.
Avery pulled the sword from his belt, hurling it after the retreating rectangle. The sword spun through the air and bounced, its path deflecting from a spot several feet above what could now clearly be seen to be a fringed rug. The rug jolted, flipping sideways and then curving as it flew in a wobbling westward path; the bloodied blade finished its arc, splashing down into the River Ouse. Then what looked like yellowish-green smoke began to pour out of the top of the tower, falling down on top of Philip and the hounds at the base of the tower.
When the sand was flung out of the tower by an unseen hand, Simon started forward and then flinched as he felt a wave of heat ripple through the metal links on his chest. The duke¡¯s guards swayed on their feet, several yawning and the one making ready to break down the tower door collapsed against the tower, barely keeping his feet.
Edward Taylor suddenly sat down in the mud, slowly reaching for his hat and grabbing it with sleepy focus. A necklace sparkled brilliantly around the neck of the man in the very fashionable clothing¡ªGuilbert de Lancaster¡ªwho looked left and right as he reached for the equally fashionable sword at his belt.
When the yellowish-green gas began to pour out of the tower, as if it were water boiling over the edges of a pot, Simon stopped himself. Unlike natural smoke, the billowing yellowish-green gas fell downwards, and such an unnatural substance could only be the special alchemical solution used in the company¡¯s proprietary bleaching process¡ªall three hundred gallons of it.
¡°Run!¡± Simon shouted, putting action to words as he dashed up out of the muddy pit of the construction site, waving his arms. ¡°Get back!¡±
Some of those standing nearby tried to obey; others gaped at him as if in a stupor as the yellowish-green gas flowed out from the base of the tower, racing across the surface of the River Ouse and crawling more slowly up to the street. A harsh biting sensation clawed at Simon¡¯s throat, and he held his breath, eyes watering as screams surrounded him.
If this strange, unnatural smoke fell, then he could climb above it, Simon reasoned, clamoring on top of a cart and jumping, catching onto a sign with a loaf of bread painted on it. His lungs burned as he refused to open his mouth for a breath, pulling himself up and on top of the sign, screams sounding from the bakery below.
Standing precariously on top of a wooden beam with black spots appearing around the edge of his vision, Simon pulled his shirt and chain-link vest over his mouth and nose before allowing himself to suck in a breath. It stank of iron and sweat but did not burn. He looked back down at what had been meant to become a textile manufactory.
The duke stood at the center of a semicircle of fallen guards, some writhing and some still, his serpentine eyes and nostrils both closed tightly against the yellowish-green haze. Edward Taylor lay still on the ground, his hat in one hand, his mouth gaping open. William Taylor had pulled the hood of his robes over his head and was slowly backing up towards the river, his chest visibly heaving. Jacob Hebert was nowhere to be seen. Guilbert de Lancaster had dropped his sword and was fumbling with a potion as he staggered to his knees. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.
And something was coming out of the low, squat building; Simon could see a pair of oversized skeletal arms, elbows pushing into the mud. Simon risked raising his chin back over his shirt collar and vest to shout.
¡°Your Grace! Get out of there! There¡¯s an enhanced skeleton coming out of the repository to finish everyone off.¡±
Blindly, the duke cocked his head to the side, then took a step in the wrong direction, tripping over one of his fallen guards and falling to his hands and knees.
¡°Wrong way, Your Grace!¡± Simon shouted. ¡°Up the hill, away from the river!¡±
Below, the duke grasped at the fallen body, pausing when his hand fell on top of the poleaxe carried by the guard. The duke grabbed the poleaxe, pushing himself to a standing position, and then slowly turned. Meanwhile, the enlarged skeleton, having finished its crawl through the doors, stood. Ten feet tall if it was an inch, it was smoking, fresh runes glowing in red and orange.
The hooded figure of William Taylor shook. He suddenly lay down, his hands briefly waving before becoming perfectly still.
¡°It¡¯s approaching on your left side!¡± Simon shouted.
The duke turned to his left, blindly lifting the poleaxe amidst the yellow-green haze.
¡°Not that far! A little right!¡± Simon shook his head. ¡°You should go away from it!¡±
The duke¡¯s head shook minutely as he raised the poleaxe.
The skeleton paused, reaching inside of its ribcage. Flames spiraled between its fingertips and the ribcage.
¡°Fire attack!¡± Simon shouted.
The duke glittered for a moment as the skeleton withdrew its flaming hand, tossing a ball of swirling magical flames. The fire engulfed the glittering duke for a moment, and then the duke emerged, wisps of steam trailing behind him as he ran at the skeleton, poleaxe cocked.
¡°To your right!¡± Simon shouted. ¡°Right!¡±
The duke swung the poleaxe, the shaft clattering and bouncing off the skeleton¡¯s thick thighbone. The skeleton cocked its still-flaming hand back, raising it high in the air.
¡°Dodge!¡± Simon¡¯s nose was starting to run.
The duke stepped to his right as the giant skeletal fist smashed to earth, mud sizzling from the fire, then swung in a wild, wide-armed uppercut of a blow that smashed into the skeleton¡¯s left hip with a loud crack, the thighbone shifting in the socket. The skeleton tried to turn and take a step, its left knee pumping below the jammed thighbone as it leaned and then fell.
¡°It¡¯s fallen down!¡± Simon¡¯s throat hurt.
The duke stepped to one side and raised his poleaxe.
¡°No, further to your right!¡± Simon waved his hand.
The duke took a step to the right, swinging his poleaxe down an overhead blow that landed on the giant skeleton¡¯s skull, shattering it. The runes flared and went dark, and the bones came apart as they shrank back down to a normal human size.
¡°It¡¯s down! Get out of there!¡± Simon shook his head and coughed into his hand.
The duke risked opening one eye for a moment. Then, his eyelid clamped shut, he turned around in place and walked uphill, almost tripping when he reached the street and again when he stepped on a limp, unmoving body.
Simon coughed again, and below him, the duke¡¯s eyes opened, then his nostrils. One eye looked bloodshot.
¡°Well spoken, Baron Simon,¡± Duke Avery said, then sneezed. He shook his head, looking back down at the wisps of yellow-green gas still churning on the surface of the river below. ¡°Oh, no,¡± he said, horror tinging his voice. ¡°No!¡±
¡°And that¡¯s about the shape of it, ma¡¯am. Again, my condolences on your loss.¡± Gregor glanced down at the full cup of tea sitting at his right hand.
The Taylor matron shook her head minutely. ¡°Are you sure?¡±
¡°He was very close to the center,¡± Gregor said. ¡°As you will see when you come to fetch it, the body is very intact on the outside, but¡ it was probably not painless.¡±
The middle-aged woman sighed heavily, stirring her tea mechanically with a tiny spoon. ¡°Thank you for informing me promptly,¡± she said. ¡°Is there anything I can do for you? Would you like any scones? We have a proper necromantic breadbox; I can have some fetched.¡±
Gregor shook his head. ¡°I am needed at the site¡ªthe hounds, you understand, the duke brought some with him.¡±
There was a regular thumping noise, growing louder, and then the door burst open without a knock or pause, a dark-eyed young brunette barging into the room¡ªBeatrice Taylor.
¡°What¡¯s the duke¡¯s man doing here?¡± Beatrice asked.
¡°Nothing important, dearie,¡± Mrs. Taylor said. ¡°He was just telling me about¡ªtelling me that your father has gone on a quite sudden business trip. There was a bit of trouble at the manufactory site, but nothing you should worry yourself about.¡±
Beatrice helped herself to a cup of tea and plopped herself down on the couch. ¡°Does he¡ does he ever talk about me?¡±
¡°I can¡¯t say,¡± Gregor said. ¡°I am only the master of hounds¡ªhe tells me what to do, and I report to him on the well-being of the creatures in my care. Speaking of which, I really must be off. Thank you for the tea.¡±
As Gregor walked off, Beatrice stared down at the full teacup sitting next to the plush chair the duke¡¯s man had occupied. She turned to her mother.
¡°Why would the duke¡¯s man be bringing us a message from Daddy?¡±
¡°I didn¡¯t ask, dear. I¡¯m sure His Grace simply didn¡¯t want us to worry unnecessarily at his sudden disappearance.¡± The Taylor matron put down her spoon. ¡°Now, if you will excuse me, your father¡¯s sudden departure means that I will need to go deal with a few things to arrange for dinner tonight and tomorrow¡ªyour cousins are visiting for the duke¡¯s wedding festivities, and I wanted to pick up something special for our extended family to enjoy.¡±
51. Paternal Problems
Sabine was sitting and reading at a desk in the corner of her chamber¡ªone of only three pieces of furniture she¡¯d had brought into what had already been a richly appointed sitting room¡ªwhen there was a polite knock at the door.
¡°Do come in,¡± she said, putting down her finger to mark her place in the lines of arcane text before closing the book.
A petite Northumbrian blonde in a bright orange dress appeared in the doorway, holding a small box. Behind her, one of the duke¡¯s servants was carrying a platter of scones, which he quickly set on a side table before rushing off.
¡°I thought that perhaps, since you shared your house¡¯s personal tea blend with me, I might return the favor,¡± Elizabeth said. ¡°That is, if it is a good time for tea? I spoke with the servants, and they said you had not been seen outside of your chamber yet today.¡±
¡°There is not much reason for me to wander the tower, and only the inner keep is warded,¡± Sabine said. ¡°It¡¯s been made quite clear that someone wishes to thin our numbers before the wedding, and I intend not to be thinned.¡±
Elizabeth¡¯s eyes flicked down from Sabine¡¯s daringly deep decolletage to the taller woman¡¯s fuller hips, and a wry smile quirked one corner of the petite woman¡¯s mouth. ¡°Not coming down for breakfast with the rest of us may thin you in a different way, though that is not what brought me here. I wander to avoid boredom¡ªnot all of us brought a library of our own.¡± She waved at the tome on Sabine¡¯s desk. ¡°Conversation has been my main form of entertainment, and there are only so many people at loose ends.¡±
¡°We could play a game of chess,¡± Sabine said, gesturing at a low table in the corner. ¡°That is, if you¡¯d like to do more than simply chat. I¡¯ve found chess always staves off boredom.¡±
¡°Only if you spot me a castle and a pawn,¡± Elizabeth said, shaking her head as she made her way to a freshly reupholstered chair that had once been beige. ¡°And only after we have had tea. By now, I know better than to play you on even terms.¡±
¡°Perhaps a ship and a pawn?¡± Sabine asked, sitting across from Elizabeth on a couch. ¡°A castle is a great deal to give up.¡±
¡°A ship is quite a bit less important than a castle,¡± Elizabeth said, kicking her legs idly. ¡°Two ships.¡±
¡°Both ships? You would have me landlocked.¡± Sabine grinned. ¡°Fine¡ªI will let you sink my ships before the match is begun.¡±
A powerful and familiar presence suddenly filled her mind, and Sabine let her vision unfocus, Elizabeth fading into an orange blur.
I have news for you, Avery¡¯s voice rumbled in her head.
Sabine shivered. She didn¡¯t know what kind of magic Avery had to speak to her as he did, but the fact that the magic was unknown to her meant that its limits were unknown. She worried Avery might pull secrets out of the privacy of her thoughts at any moment, which meant that every fresh moment of contact came with a frisson of fear and excitement: Plans past and present, her deepest desires, even embarrassing memories might be exposed.
Your Grace, I await your news, Sabine sent back, then focused her concentration on vividly imagining licking the duke¡¯s chest. Just as she didn¡¯t know if Avery could see her deeper secrets, she didn¡¯t know if Avery could see what she concentrated on imagining, but that didn¡¯t stop her from doing so in the hope of teasing her future husband.
It is grave news. If you are not seated, you should sit down. Avery¡¯s voice sounded tense and uncomfortable.
Very well. I am seated. Sabine sighed heavily. Tell me.
Your father is dead, Avery sent, then continued. There was an incident at the manufactory site for the York Textile Company¡ªan alchemical poison, the same gas used in the attack on the Golden Fleece.
After the first four short words, the others slid over and past Sabine¡¯s consciousness without comprehension, drowned out by a rising tide of emotion. Instead, everything faded to black.
¡°Hey, wake up,¡± a soprano voice said.
Something warm and wet moved across Sabine¡¯s face, and she opened her eyes with a start. A furry gray canine face stared at her, its mouth gaping as it panted; then the hound darted forward to lick her again. She pushed it away, sitting up and blinking away stickiness from her eyes. Her cheeks were wet and not just from the dog¡¯s actions.
An orange blur through wet eyes soon resolved clearly into the petite figure of Elizabeth. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Sabine said.
¡°What¡¯s wrong with you? This was worse than the last attack,¡± Elizabeth said. ¡°Once, I can overlook; twice, though¡ªand this time, you fell into a swoon and stayed there until the hound woke you from it. You didn¡¯t just drop a teacup.¡±
Sabine wiped at her eyes and face with a handkerchief, then held it up. One of her maids hustled forward to take it, while the other rushed forward with a clean handkerchief. She bit her lip, considering how much to tell the woman in front of her. Petite and girlish, but also her highest-ranked rival. ¡°To start with, I will say that I have never had any attacks before,¡± Sabine said. ¡°And¡ªwell, I was caught off-guard. I did not anticipate what I learned.¡±
¡°Do you have the sight?¡± Elizabeth cocked her head.
¡°No,¡± Sabine said reflexively, then bit her lip as she realized that would have made a fine lie. ¡°At least not that I know of. I blame His Grace.¡± She started to point up at the ceiling, but then hesitated, her finger swiveling to point northeast as she realized she wasn¡¯t sure where Duke Avery was, exactly. Northeast feels right, though, she thought to herself, then shook her head.
¡°Did he put some kind of curse on you?¡± Elizabeth frowned.
¡°No, no¡¡± Sabine said, struggling to find an answer. Her normal poise had deserted her. Between the fact that her face felt like it had been wrung dry like a sponge, the grave news she did not want to think about, and the contract she had signed in blood, she could not think of a good lie, so instead, she decided to tell the truth. ¡°His Grace can speak to me whenever he pleases. It is one of his uncanny powers.¡±
¡°I didn¡¯t hear him,¡± Elizabeth said. ¡°I¡¯ve heard Fiona speak from a distance, and I¡¯m told you know that spell as well¡ªnothing unnatural about that.¡±
¡°No, not like the spell,¡± Sabine said. ¡°Directly into my head, where only I can hear it.¡±
A look of pity formed on Elizabeth¡¯s face. ¡°If you say so,¡± Elizabeth said. ¡°Perhaps you need that tea? Maybe some scones? I haven¡¯t seen you eat any yet¡ªhave you been fasting?¡±
Sabine nodded, eager to end the line of questioning. ¡°Yes, perhaps I should eat something,¡± she said. ¡°And let us talk of something else. I promise I will not fall over again.¡±
Rather than returning to the chair she¡¯d been sitting on, Elizabeth sat right next to Sabine on the couch as Sabine¡¯s maids bustled about, one brewing a fresh pot of tea and the other bringing over the tray of scones. Sabine felt crowded by the smaller woman, but it would be hardly couth to complain.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.
¡°If you feel the slightest bit faint,¡± Elizabeth said as the first maid brought over a cup of tea, ¡°let me know, and I will catch your teacup for you.¡±
¡°Thank you,¡± Sabine said. ¡°But really, a change of topic is called for.¡±
¡°I still say no to your earlier proposal,¡± Elizabeth said. ¡°I did inform Johanna of it as well, and she agreed that she would also refuse you if you tried to jump the line with her.¡±
¡°Ah, that,¡± Sabine said. ¡°I¡ am no longer worried about my father¡¯s pride being pricked so much. And if my granduncle objects, well, I am sixth in line for his throne, and he should be in no hurry to disinherit me.¡±
¡°I thought you were seventh in line for the throne of Lancaster,¡± Elizabeth said, holding up a scone. ¡°Now, here, have a scone; you really should eat something before you keel over again.¡±
Sabine took the scone from Elizabeth and nibbled daintily. ¡°Oddly enough, I do feel a little better now,¡± she said.
There was a knock at the door, and then it opened, revealing Lady Maude. ¡°She¡¯s here,¡± Maude said, and Sir Marcus stepped into view.
The tall man cleared his throat. ¡°Lady Sabine, I regret to inform you that your father is dead.¡±
Elizabeth¡¯s right arm discreetly snaked around behind Sabine¡¯s back, prepared to arrest any swoon, while her left hand hovered in front of the two of them, her eyes fixed on Sabine¡¯s teacup.
Sabine chewed the bite of scone in her mouth and swallowed. The clump of chewed dough sat heavily in her stomach, but her eyes had no tears left. ¡°Thank you for informing me promptly, milord seneschal,¡± she said. ¡°How did he die?¡±
Elizabeth¡¯s grip around Sabine¡¯s waist slackened as both she and Lady Maude looked at Sabine in silence.
¡°You take that news very well,¡± Sir Marcus said. ¡°There was a flood of noxious gas in the middle of the city. Dozens are dead, and dozens more lives hang in the balance. He was close to the center¡ªone of the first to die.¡±
¡°I see,¡± Sabine said. Her face ached, remembering the sudden flood of tears she had released face-first in the couch. ¡°The house we rented in town¡ªhave it cleared out. One of my maids will accompany your men. My father¡¯s body¡ªburn it.¡±
¡°Burn it?¡± Elizabeth cocked her head sideways.
¡°Yes,¡± Sabine said, then lied. ¡°It¡¯s what he would have wanted. I will need his things¡ªI need to send my brother his signet ring, for one thing¡ªbut burn his body.¡± She had previously resigned herself to the possibility she would not see her father again but rarely; if his corpse disappeared completely into ashes unseen, his death would be something only spoken to her. Something that she could put aside. Because it was something she felt she had to put aside. ¡°Is there anything else?¡±
Mutely, Sir Marcus shook his head. As the door closed, Sabine could hear Lady Maude¡¯s voice. ¡°Is there anything else, she says? Not a single tear?¡±
Sabine turned her head and looked at Elizabeth, who was staring at her. ¡°What His Grace told me¡ªthat is why I said I was sixth in line for the throne of Lancaster. He told me. Do you believe me now?¡±
Elizabeth hugged the taller blonde.
The Castle Penrose¡ªnamed after the family of the second wife of a previous Duke of Lancaster, a Cornish noblewoman, and bestowed originally on her son¡ªwas, for the most part, a low wooden building with two stories. However, some kinds of magic become more difficult if one is close to the earth, which motivated the construction of three stone towers, each connected to the manor house via short elevated walkways.
Stephen was not a master of divination, and he felt he needed every bit of assistance possible in getting a clear image out of a crystal ball. For this reason, the top floor of the eastern tower held a three-legged chair perched next to a seven-sided table. A crystal ball the size of an ogre¡¯s skull was mounted in the center of the heptagonal table.
¡°Petronilla Mallory, where are you?¡± Stephen asked aloud, staring hard into the luminous depths of the ball. There was the image of a circular cluster of stones, some standing and some fallen, surrounded by an outer ditch and earthen bank, but there was no Petronilla Mallory to be seen at the henge today.
It wasn¡¯t likely she had screened herself from view¡ªPetronilla was only a journeyman divinitrice. She had been through a dilettante¡¯s course at Oxford, dabbling in every subject at whim, with a surplus of talent but lacking the dedication to pursue any single course to mastery. Her latest project was studying the old henges, and her approach was a matter of trial and error.
At first, Stephen had checked in on her if it had been more than two weeks since her last letter; then he¡¯d scried and found her clad in nothing more than swirls of blue body paint. She had been doing handstands on top of one of the lintels in an effort to invoke its long-dormant power. Since then, his letters had grown more frequent, and he¡¯d made a hobby out of practicing his scrying skills more often regardless of how long it took her replies to arrive.
Not that he¡¯d been able to keep up with either scrying or correspondence while in dreadfully dreary York. Hopefully, she would forgive the delayed response to his letters. But where was she? Cautiously, he traced his fingers around the table, and the image of the henge shrank. He could see a cluster of little white blobs¡ªsheep. Was that Petronilla in the yellow dress?
Before he could refocus the view more closely on the tiny figure in the yellow dress, a great shadow swept across the site of the henge, moving from west to east. The shadow had a body, a long neck, a tail, and outstretched wings that spanned the whole width of the ditch. Stephen inhaled suddenly in surprise, stammering as his fingers danced, trying to redirect the view to catch sight of a rapidly moving creature at an unknown altitude. The ball flashed with gold for a moment, and then Stephen¡¯s concentration was interrupted as a chime sounded in mid-air in front of him. The globe went dark.
A man¡¯s voice spoke, vaguely familiar. ¡°This is the Pride of Penrose¡ªwe have been forced to make landing early¡ªthe Irish have made a landing in Cornwall in force. The Prince of Cornwall has done nothing to stop them, but the Prince of Wales guards his own coast¡ªwe made port in Cardiff.¡±
Stephen groaned, sensing the beginning of a headache, backlash from his interrupted connection with the crystal ball. Presumably that was the captain, or perhaps the captain¡¯s first mage. That would explain the familiarity of the voice, as well as the fact that they¡¯d been able to contact him by spell; he¡¯d met both at dinner a time or two. He shook his head. The news was important, but there was nothing to be done about it until after his father returned from York in any event. He chanted under his breath, the crystal ball filling with dim, blurry, white fog, then another chime sounded and the orb went black.
¡°Of course there¡¯s more for him to say,¡± Stephen growled to himself.
To his surprise, the voice that sounded from mid-air this time was Sabine¡¯s. ¡°Father is dead. Murdered. But not by the duke. I don¡¯t know who, yet. I am sending you his signet ring.¡±
Stephen sat there. ¡°That¡¯s not funny,¡± he said, fully aware that Sabine couldn¡¯t possibly hear his statement. ¡°Don¡¯t joke about that.¡± His father wasn¡¯t dead. Everything was happening all at once. No, his father wasn¡¯t dead, and that meant that his sister was playing a joke on him, one in very poor taste.
A third chime. Sabine again. ¡°Under the circumstances, I have decided on cremation. I do not think it would be safe for you to visit York, and you will have matters to take care of at Castle Penrose.¡±
Stephen stared blankly at the darkened orb. Burning their father¡¯s body? What a bizarre and wasteful notion. ¡°You what? Now I am certain you are joking with me. Look¡ªI cannot be provoked into¡ª¡±
A fourth chime. ¡°Stephen,¡± Sabine¡¯s voice said raggedly. ¡°I love you. Please stay safe.¡±
Stephen sat in silence, waiting for another chime to sound, his mind racing through possibilities as grim certainty settled on him. Sabine was telling him the truth, as she knew it. Perhaps not the whole truth, though, only the truths she could tell while being overheard by the duke¡¯s servants.
The Duke of York had ravished Stephen¡¯s sister, then claimed her for one of his many concubines. Their father had, for pragmatic reasons, decided to assent to that arrangement. But if Guilbert de Lancaster changed his mind, then the duke would have had a reason to have him murdered.
And above all else, Stephen could not possibly stand for his father to be destroyed. Not when he could be brought partially back¡ªas a zombie of the Scottish variety or, more usefully, as a consulting skull if they could get a master necromancer to work quickly enough. He knew barely anything about the details of his father¡¯s business dealings, and that could become troublesome.
He uncovered the magelight on the side table, blinked as his eyes adjusted to the brightness, and then rang for a servant. ¡°I need my flying gloves and jacket. And have sandwiches brought up as well¡ªand my red bag. Make haste; it is a matter of urgency.¡±
52. Missed Opportunities
Stephen took off his flight gloves, tucking them into his belt. Nerves, he told himself as he stretched his fingers, glancing over at the setting sun. Simply nerves. My father won¡¯t get any deader, and I¡¯ve been there before¡ªI should be able to find a city the size of York in a night flight easily enough.
A chime sounded in mid-air, and Stephen groaned aloud. ¡°What now?¡±
¡°Come immediately to Castle Lancaster.¡± It was the voice of his granduncle Robert. ¡°I repeat, come immediately to Castle Lancaster. I repeat a third time, come immediately to Castle Lancaster. It is urgent.¡±
¡°More urgent than ensuring my sister does not put my father¡¯s body to the torch?¡± Stephen snapped back at the empty air. For a moment, he felt foolish to shout back when his granduncle could not hear; then Stephen decided it was a good thing that his granduncle hadn¡¯t heard. He stood for a long moment, then another chime sounded. ¡°John has you on a crystal ball now. Minutes count¡ªLondon is burning, I need you here now, make haste.¡±
Stephen muttered under his breath, his fingers dancing; then he soared into the air. He grabbed his flight gloves off his belt as the wind whistled past his ears, sticking the left glove between his teeth as he donned the right glove.
London has a fire service¡ªseveral of them. Why would the city be aflame?
With a nervous twitch of her fingers, Petronilla Mallory swept her fingers through the bowl of still water, ripples occluding the moonlit form of Stephen de Lancaster. He was flying north, she could see that much¡ªfarther away from her. But there was another watcher already invisibly present on the other side of the reflection, and she didn¡¯t want to be caught scrying on Stephen.
If it got back to Stephen that she¡¯d been scrying on him, she would feel greatly embarrassed; he would surely take it as a sign that Petronilla was obsessed with him rather than merely possessed of mild interest and friendly curiosity. Worse, if Stephen¡¯s sister learned¡ªSabine could utterly destroy her reputation from Lancaster to London with just a few well-placed rumors. Stephen¡¯s beautiful blonde sister was known to be totally ruthless in the pursuit of her own interests.
So, rather than letting the surface of the water settle to reestablish the connection, Petronilla dumped out the bowl and stood, smoothing down a mud-stained wool dress that would have looked yellow in daylight, bare feet feeling the chill of the lintel stone. She turned her gaze to the cloudy sky, the stars obscured from her sight. On the one hand, she could have used some astrological guidance at the moment, but on the other, if the upper reaches of the sky were beyond her sight, she was out of sight of things flying high in the sky.
Was there a dragon somewhere up there? Had she really seen a dragon, glittering gold and flying right over the henge? Petronilla shook her head. If it had been another of Thurston¡¯s illusions, the man would have shown up by now. There were precious few master illusionists haunting the countryside, and creating an illusion of that size and maintaining it for long enough that it seemed to fade naturally from sight would be, well, more impressive than anything she¡¯d seen from Thurston, and the young lord was ranked as a master. He and Stephen had shared many of the same professors.
Additionally, the fear that had swept through her when the shadow of the dragon swept over her had felt nothing like an illusion. It hadn¡¯t started in her mind; it had started in the depths of her body, a bone-deep terror that gripped her guts and set her heart to racing before she looked up to see if it was a raincloud that had suddenly shaded the field.
Then she¡¯d frozen still, not moving a muscle while she watched it fly out of sight and then long after for what seemed like an entire bell, feeling vulnerable, alone, and bite-sized. It was one kind of dangerous thrill to chat with a nobleman who ranked her socially, topped her by a head of height, and looked at her she was a glass of wine on the other side of ten miles of dry desert sand; it was another sensation entirely to look upon a creature large enough to use her as a toothpick, knowing it was likely impervious to anything less than an archmage.
She¡¯d read about dragons. She¡¯d even seen a small one in the distance, once, and in Oxford, she¡¯d gaped at the skeleton of one, mounted in a bipedal position and looming ten feet tall. But the shadow of the golden dragon had covered the entire circle of Stonehenge, a size that would have seemed utterly implausible to her until she¡¯d seen it.
She shook her head, shaking away her daytime memory and jumping off the stone lintel, her dress flaring as she bounced in the air, folding her legs to tuck her cold feet into the creases of her knees to warm them up. While she couldn¡¯t get any real altitude yet with her present flying skills, she didn¡¯t want to go very high in any case. Not with what she¡¯d seen in the sky¡ªbeautiful and majestic, but totally terrifying.
For the first time in her life, she briefly wished she¡¯d never left home to pursue her studies of magic. As delightful it had been to try to learn about every kind of magic and as eager as she¡¯d been to learn the mysteries of Stonehenge, at that moment she wished she hadn¡¯t taken the path in her life that left her standing on an old pile of rocks on a cloudy night, her skirt filthy and her feet cold, a small pit of lingering fear still sitting in her stomach like a rock.
Petronilla could have simply stayed home, continuing to learn from books and tutors. She probably wouldn¡¯t have met Stephen or Thurston, though whether she was sure she wanted either of them in her life seemed sometimes an open question. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn¡¯t even eaten dinner, and her imagination wistfully drifted back. If she had stayed home¡ªif she was home right now, she could be sitting the warmth of her mother¡¯s kitchen, eating a home-cooked meal, rather than flying through the darkness with cold muddy feet, worried about both dragons and the possible destruction of her reputation within polite society.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.
Bella¡¯s mother laid the plate down in front of her. ¡°Here you go, dear.¡±
Bella yawned sleepily. ¡°Thanks, Mom. But what are you doing serving breakfast? Where¡¯s Susanna?¡±
The Taylor matron shook her head. ¡°I gave her the morning off. With Delia having left to work for the Hirst household, I¡¯d rather handle the trickier part of preparing dinner myself than risk embarrassment¡ªSusanna lacks experience in butchery. The roast is already in the oven, and I fried up some of the off-cuts for breakfast.¡±
¡°Aren¡¯t you having any?¡± Bella asked, taking in the empty table. It was the first she¡¯d heard that Delia was gone rather than simply on furlough, but the surprise was that her mother wasn¡¯t insisting on having a family breakfast.
¡°I already ate, dear. A perk of being the cook for the day,¡± her mother said. She was holding a creased piece of paper with a noble¡¯s waxen seal stamped on the lower right-hand corner as a signature. ¡°There¡¯s quite a bit to do around the house. I shouldn¡¯t wait for your laggardly self to wake to break my fast.¡±
Bella looked down at the meat and eggs on her plate, accompanied by a slightly singed piece of toast. ¡°Thanks, Mom,¡± she said, spearing the largest of the irregularly shaped chunks of meat with her fork and popping it into her mouth. As she chewed, she could not help but notice differences. It was tougher, chewier. Mom just isn¡¯t as good of a cook, she thought to herself. Though I can hardly say as much, it¡¯s not polite.
As she chewed the tougher meat, though, she noticed the difference between this morning¡¯s breakfast and her recent meals. This meat was leaner, gamier, and overall, more intensely flavored. It was from a person clearly altogether different from Ivette and Gelle, and from past experience, she felt she could guess the principal underlying cause of the differences. Bella swallowed as she finished her process of comparison and deduction. ¡°You picked this up whole just the day before yesterday, right? Since Daddy¡¯s not here to object, can I have the¡ª¡±
¡°No!¡± Bella¡¯s mother said sharply. After a moment of composing herself, she continued, switching to a consoling tone as her left hand unconsciously drifted across her abdomen, paper still clutched in her hand. ¡°Maybe another time, dearie. Now, if you¡¯ll excuse me, I have more to do in the kitchen¡ªand then I must visit the banker to try to settle some accounts.¡±
Bella shouted after her mother¡¯s retreating back. ¡°Next time? When will that be, six months?¡± They¡¯d been eating well lately, but Bella knew that had more than a little to do with a combination of good fortune, the aftermath of the attack on the Golden Fleece, and a desire to impress prospective business partners during a critical juncture in her father¡¯s business dealings. Plus, special occasions usually meant that others¡ªguests that Daddy wanted to impress¡ªwere already present, and with guests to impress, she was usually served either last or near to it out of anyone around the dinner table.
Bella¡¯s mother turned. ¡°Maybe sooner than you think. There was another gas attack, and it left behind many dead. The morgue is glutted, and with the coroner under close ducal supervision, many of those bodies will sit under preservation for some time.¡±
And so, Bella ate her breakfast alone. She wondered which of her father¡¯s business partners would take the lead on trying to negotiate for corpses¡ªsurely if there was a sudden glut at the morgue, the York Textile Company would buy, especially with the fresh influx of capital brought in by Lord Guilbert. The Lancastrian baron was very rude, and his son even more so, but Bella could forgive that of a man who¡¯d put a smile on her father¡¯s face after months of near-constant anxiety and concern.
There was a simple lesson there: If you were important enough, you could afford to be rude. Once I am a duchess, Bella thought to herself as she chewed on a particularly tough piece of meat, I will be as rude as I like, and nobody will object for fear of getting on my bad side.
¡°Madame Taylor, it is a Cumbrian letter of credit,¡± said the bespectacled man. ¡°Your household is known to bear debt, and the Matthews collection policy is not to offer cash on a foreign letter without collateral at hand. The York Textile Company is dissolved, the regular Taylor family account is frozen by order of the duke, your manor is already up as collateral to the dwarves¡ªyes, I spoke with Master Lew this morning¡ªand your farms are on long-term lease from the d¡¯Ivry estate, not owned.¡±
Madame Taylor blew out a slow breath, then unfastened her necklace, placing it on the desk. ¡°Could I offer personal collateral, then?¡± A pair of bracelets followed, then three rings, one from her finger and two from a box tucked away in her purse.
¡°All put together, those would be¡ªwhat, at most one hundred fifty, perhaps two hundred pounds?¡± The bespectacled man shook his head.
¡°Can I¡ªcould I list myself down as collateral as well to make up the difference?¡± Madame Taylor ran her hands over her body. ¡°My bones are solid¡ªI know that bodies are always dear.¡±
The bespectacled man sighed. ¡°You are indeed desperate. I doubt Baron Matthews would approve of taking a living body on as collateral, but in any case, the market is in a sudden glut. You are healthy but fine-boned, and even for a zombie of the Scottish style¡ªas a respectable woman of the gentry, I doubt you have any muscle memories anyone would be interested in for specialty work. Even before today¡ªwell, to be very blunt, the only reason your body might be valued above market by that much would be sheer sentimentality. Your husband is dead, your brother-in-law is broke, and your kin are elsewhere, are they not?¡±
Madame Taylor nodded slowly. ¡°Yes. Cheshire, mostly, though my sister moved to London.¡±
¡°If the collateral you offered was worth even half of the sum listed on that letter, perhaps I could take on the risk myself personally on account of my own soft sentimentalities, Madame Taylor, but it simply is not.¡± The bespectacled man shook his head. ¡°Especially not now. If you want more than half of face value on the letter, you will have to look elsewhere. Probably in Cumbria itself. It¡¯s not a long trip, you could be there in less than a week, a single day if your brother-in-law William can fly you¡ªhe is a master wizard, is he not?¡±
Madame Taylor shook her head. ¡°Flying isn¡¯t necromancy¡ªhe told me he could if it was a real emergency, but I have my doubts.¡±
The bespectacled man nodded. ¡°Even if it takes a week¡ªspeaking in my alternate capacity as a barrister, nobody can press any legal action in the interim, regardless of whatever you may need the money so urgently for. All of York is in mourning today¡ªmy condolences on your husband, by the way¡ªand the duke¡¯s wedding day will be a holiday. I doubt he will hold court for at least a week, and by that time the backlog will be substantial.¡±
Madame Taylor sighed. ¡°I suppose I shall have to travel to Cumbria, then. Beatrice can stay out of trouble for a few days, surely¡ªher cousins are visiting, and that should put her on her best behavior.¡±
53. Interference
¡°Et voila,¡± Master Warin said as he and Rosamund appeared in a flash of light, briefly illuminating the ring of standing stones around them. ¡°The stones answered the dragon¡¯s roar¡ªI want to know more. But from here, we will not want to teleport but fly near. I trust that your new broom will suit; here, you may accustom yourself to it while you wait.¡± The bearded archmage slowly drew a long birch staff out of his sleeve.
¡°You wanted me to ferry you about broomback? That¡¯s why you brought me here?¡± The hedge witch sniffed as she took the staff, eyeing the ends dubiously. ¡°Isn¡¯t a broom without any head. How¡¯s the magic to know which end is which?¡±
¡°Does it really matter that it doesn¡¯t have a head?¡± Warin gestured, and the length of birch began to float. ¡°It has been properly enspelled, I assure you. Enchantment may not be my specialty, but a flying broom is a fairly simple matter. Considerably less complex than a carpet.¡±
Rosamund grabbed the staff and hefted it experimentally. ¡°It needs twigs.¡± She pulled a hunk of twine-wrapped white quartz from her bag, tapping it against the birch; it flickered for a moment before lighting up. ¡°I suppose grasses could do,¡± she added with a sigh, glancing over at the bearded archmage.
Master Warin said nothing, the diviner¡¯s eyes already closed as his hands ran along the surface of a fallen stone, lips moving in a silent mutter.
Rosamund frowned. ¡°We will be back in time for the wedding, won¡¯t we?¡±
¡°Yes, if you don¡¯t keep pestering me,¡± Warin said with an edge of exasperation. ¡°This is delicate work, woman; let me focus.¡±
Rosamund rolled her eyes, then looked down at the soft, muddy ground. Grasses will have to do, she thought to herself as she took in the surrounding fields, then hung the magelight on her belt. She walked quietly around, cutting and gathering grass using her knife, then paused when she saw a footprint.
Woman, or a young boy. But we¡¯re a good way from the nearest village, and they were barefoot, so probably a curious young boy. The tracks lead to one of the trilithons, but not away; circling the trilithon revealed no corresponding set of tracks away. A boy came out here but didn¡¯t return. His mother must be worried sick. As she mulled over the puzzle, her own memories of Marcus¡¯s childhood coming to the fore, she folded stalks of grass over a length of twine and then wrapped the birch staff seven times with the twine, trying to make a decent excuse for a broom out of the plain enchanted stick.
Rosamund shook the newly fletched broom once, twice, and a third time, then swung her leg over to straddle it. Her first time on a broom, she¡¯d tried riding it sidesaddle, worried about preserving her virtue; she was lucky she hadn¡¯t broken her neck with such foolishness. With a quick jerk of her hands, she pulled the broom up and leaned forward, steering into an upward spiral before looking down at the lintel stone of the trilithon.
No lost boy stared back up at her. She¡¯d hoped to find one stuck up there like a cat in a tree, bold enough to climb up but still afraid of the trip back down. Rosamund frowned, steering the broom in a slow, low circle around the standing stones, cupping her magelight in one hand to try to see better. When she returned to the first trilithon for a closer look, she saw muddy footprints on the lintel stone. She cautiously flew to the north of the ring, landed, and called back. ¡°Be careful, wizard; I think these stones make people disappear.¡±
¡°Poppycock,¡± the archmage shouted back. ¡°They¡¯ve been studied by at least half a dozen generations of scholars and students from Oxford. In none of those studies has anyone detected any trace of a functional portal, much less stepped through it.¡±
¡°I¡¯m not staying here any longer,¡± Rosamund called out. ¡°If you don¡¯t come out right away, I¡¯ll just start the long flight back home, wherever that is.¡±
¡°North. It¡¯s north.¡± There was a long pause, and then the archmage started walking towards her. ¡°Fine. The stones are being stubborn in any event. They¡¯ve been sleeping a long time, and I¡¯m not convinced Aurelius woke them up all the way.¡±
Rosamund held her new birch broom in one hand and tapped it with the other impatiently. ¡°You don¡¯t have to try to impress me with nonsense, old man.¡±
¡°My name is Warin,¡± the old man puffed. ¡°I¡¯ll also accept ¡®Master,¡¯ ¡®Archmage,¡¯ or¡ªif you feel particularly formal¡ª¡®Archmagus.¡¯¡±
¡°Names have power, old man,¡± the witch said. ¡°And you never know who might be listening.¡± She wiggled a hand.
¡°You might not know. I, however, am a master diviner.¡± Archmage Warin cocked his head, frowning. ¡°Someone has just begun to watch, however.¡±
¡°Is that¡ª¡± John leaned forward. ¡°It¡¯s Archmage Warin, Your Grace. I think I found the source of the cross-scry.¡±
¡°Eh?¡± Duke Robert de Lancaster looked up from his own crystal ball and over at his court wizard, the flickering orange light therein illuminating his face strangely. ¡°It was an archmage¡¯s cross-scry you picked up? Well done. Perhaps you should be qualified as a master diviner after all.¡±
¡°It¡¯s a rare thing to catch another scry sideways, true,¡± John said. ¡°But what¡¯s stranger is that he didn¡¯t go elsewhere or set up a ward in the half a bell¡¯s time between when I caught someone else looking at Stephen and when I narrowed down the location. Surely, if I picked up the cross-scry, he must have as well. He must not care about being traced.¡±
As Robert peered over at John¡¯s crystal ball, the little robed figure walked to the edge of the circle of stones; the scene suddenly blurred, then the crystal ball dimmed and cracked. Robert sighed heavily. ¡°And there¡¯s a scrying ward,¡± he said, shaking his head. ¡°Warin must have wanted us to know it was him before blocking us from seeing anything else.¡±
A manservant standing in the doorway quietly cleared his throat, discreetly seeking permission to interrupt his master.
¡°You may speak,¡± Robert de Lancaster said, not taking his gaze off the broken crystal ball.
¡°Young Master Stephen has arrived,¡± the servant said. ¡°I showed him to the great hall with the others.¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Robert grunted. ¡°Go and tell them that John and I will be down shortly. Wait¡ªhave pots of tea brought out. You do not need to outright refuse Stephen and the others wine if they request such, but any pitchers brought out should be well-watered. We have much to discuss, and I do not want to deal with wits muddled by too much drink.¡± He sighed and turned to look at the intact crystal ball with its tiny orange and black diorama, flickering with lights. ¡°John¡ªcan you hold the link on that ball open while you carry it downstairs?¡±
¡°Probably,¡± the court wizard said. ¡°If not, though, I can reopen it after bringing it downstairs. At that altitude, it¡¯s above routine interference.¡±
Robert nodded. ¡°It is not even especially important for me to watch the fires at this point, but I think it is worth showing to the others, simply to ensure that they do not misunderstand the urgency of the matter at hand. Even after this dragon is dealt with¡ªa show of weakness in the defense of London like this is the greatest threat to the integrity of the Empire in forty years.¡±
¡°Forty years¡ªI thought you said London was burning. Are the Irish making another attempt to take and hold a beachhead in Wales?¡± Stephen¡¯s curious voice sounded from the doorway.
¡°I doubt it, though I suppose they might try once they hear London has been burned.¡± Robert looked over at his grandnephew. ¡°We were about to head downstairs. I¡¯ll explain later; I¡¯d rather not repeat myself explaining to everyone separately.¡±
Raynagh spilled out of her hammock with a start, bare feet landing cat-quiet on the cold boards of the deck before she knew what had caused her to wake, After sixteen decades as a corsair¡ªseven as a first mage and two as a captain¡ªshe had learned to trust her reactions, and the bare blade of a basket-hilted broadsword was extended in front of her before she considered the cause of her wakefulness. The ship had shifted; as a beached ship ought not to shift very often, the motion was worth attending to.
Is it the tide? It felt as if it was nearly the right time for the water to reach its way up the mile-wide mud flats she had grounded her ship on, and the waves sounded near. Then she heard a shout: ¡°Awake! Boarders! Boarders!¡±
She rushed out of the captain¡¯s cabin, her open right hand flexing in preparation for a spell. A four-armed humanoid, at least seven feet tall, was pulling itself over the prow of the ship, seeming hardly slowed by the axe blows being aimed its way by two wakeful crewmen. The clangor of metal on metal sounded as steel axe blades struck its cold body. A golem¡ªa lesser one, perhaps, but not a familiar design. Made of metal, which made it a poor choice for marine combat, if not for the fact that the ship was beached.
Raynagh began to chant, pointing with the sword in her left hand as the nimble fingers of her right hand worked double-time. Then there was a sudden blow to her shoulder, her chanting replaced by an uncontrolled vibrating exclamation as electricity wracked her body and she fell to the deck. A young human¡ªperhaps a tenth her age¡ªstood over her, raising a copper-clad staff. Men-at-arms, armored and armed in a northern English style, rushed past her fallen body.
Raynagh froze, unable to move.
¡°Hold¡ªI have her, Flyntex,¡± said a tenor voice. A halfling stepped into view, the little man barely taller than her seated form. ¡°This is the captain; at worst, she is worth a ransom, but at best, she will know valuable information.¡±
Raynagh¡¯s arms moved behind her back, seemingly of their own volition. As she was bound with rope, the half-blooded galley captain watched helplessly and wordlessly. One by one, the skeleton crew that had stayed to watch the ship surrendered, died, or fled, jumping off the deck into the lapping waves of the incoming high tide. The doughtiest fighters had all gone inland to assault Castle Burgia, but the speed of the defeat of her skeleton crew was still demoralizing and disappointing.
She¡¯d thought herself unlikely to see action after volunteering to wait behind with the ships and watch over the fleet beached on the mud flats; she had been wrong, and wrong in one of the worst possible ways. A mage light illuminated the deck. The young man who had knocked her to the deck with an electrically charged blow looked younger in the clear light, with a puff of brown curly hair and scraggly growth on his chin that announced he was barely able to grow a beard; the golem proved to be copper with a light tracery of verdigris suggesting it was neither old nor magically insulated from the elements.
The golem pulled up the anchors; a scarred man who the others called Sir Bryan directed the men-at-arms in pushing at the sticky, wave-lashed mud with oars, the ship sloshing into motion. The youthful lightning wizard cast a lightning bolt at the next ship in line, which smoldered threateningly; then a foreign-looking woman with glossy black hair waved away the youth and stepped forward, both arms waving. A minute later, a sheet of flame danced out over the waves, igniting ship after ship.
The unseen force that had taken control of Raynagh¡¯s body disappeared; she knew the moment it happened because she had been trying both to scream and break free of the ropes. The former action was successful; the latter only abraded her arms uncomfortably.
For her pains, she found herself grabbed and shaken, with a rag stuffed in her mouth before she was dragged back into her cabin and tied to a chair. While she could no longer see anything other than the wall of her cabin, she could feel the ship move, the uneven lurching announcing the inexperience of its new oarsmen. She dozed off for a little while, then woke when she heard voices.
¡°Think of it this way, Sir Bryan¡ªthey would not have landed in the bay with a hundred galleys if they did not mean to try to take Cornwall.¡± The first voice was familiar, the same tenor that had declared Raynagh worth a decent ransom.
¡°One hundred twenty-four,¡± interrupted an impetuous bass voice.
¡°Quiet, please,¡± responded an accented alto. ¡°Lord James¡ªplease do continue; I am as curious as Sir Bryan. Why was it so urgently necessary that I burn as many ships as I could? As most were completely uncrewed, merely preventing pursuit would not have required that level of destruction. Great magics carry a price.¡±
¡°We have forced them to commit in full by making withdrawal more difficult,¡± said the tenor voice¡ªLord James. ¡°Since the Prince of Cornwall is dead and his men are in disarray, a firm commitment will leave them likely to succeed. Captain Raynagh here has confirmed that they hoped to seize the peninsula¡ªit is not merely a raid in force, though it could easily become one if they had a full fleet to run back to.¡±
It took effort for Raynagh to stay still, pretending continued unconsciousness in spite of the shocking statement. She could not remember being questioned at all.
¡°Lord James, I understand, but¡ªit strikes me as dishonorable to strike at my enemy¡¯s enemy in the dark of night. The next time your cousin asks you to act as a cat¡¯s paw, leave me out of it.¡± Logically, the gravelly baritone had to belong to Sir Bryan.
¡°The kings and corsairs of Ireland are not our friends, even if they are our enemy¡¯s enemy. I agree it smacks of dishonor, but it is a dishonor I am willing to accept. And it is mine to bear alone. My cousin knows nothing of this¡ªother than the fact that I have dealt with the Prince of Cornwall,¡± Lord James replied. ¡°If an imperial investigation arrives in York, I would prefer he did not have to dissemble. But between the dragon we woke from Glastonbury Tor and what is in motion in Cornwall, I hope there will be no imperial interference in my cousin¡¯s reign until he has had the chance to fully consolidate his position.¡±
54. London Flights
The bells rang loudly, filling the tower with a sound so loud that Piers Webster could easily feel it, from his face to his fingertips. Fortunately, his hearing had faded decades earlier, sparing him the pains that bell tower apprentices often experienced. A large object had entered London¡¯s skies, something that was large enough enough to trip the outermost ring ward that circumscribed the city¡ªas large as a whole flock of wyverns in close formation.
It was moving slowly enough to hit the second ring ward, which¡ªbeing reactive¡ªrequired a moment to trigger, but whatever magic it carried was powerful enough to shatter the second ring, breaching the physical barrier that had formed in the skies with ease. No natural creature could have so much magic at their command¡ªthat barrier had been tested by a two-hundred-year-old dragon once, and had held easily. And yet the third countermeasure, the anti-magic wave triggered by the destruction of the second ward¡ªthe powerful wave that had burst through the air from the tallest tower had not brought any foreign flying device to ground.
Nothing either Mongolian or lunar, then, Piers thought to himself as he seated himself on a silver stool with a circular top, surrounded by seven hanging crystal balls. A Martian craft, perhaps, of strange and unfamiliar design? The observation of a great network of canals had fueled considerable speculation as to the scale and nature of civilization on the red planet, though no expedition had been attempted to the too-distant world since Yves¡¯s Folly. Perhaps it could even be Yves himself returning?
After stroking each of the seven crystals with his fingers, Piers kicked the step ring on the base of the stool, sending himself into a rapid spin as dark night skies began to swirl into view, his gaze switching from orb to orb with uncanny rapidity to follow the search pattern. Whatever the unidentified flying object was, he would lay eyes on it soon enough¡ªor at least its shadowy shape against the stars above and the magelights of the city below.
If the greater bells were silent and he was not spinning, he might have noticed the ringing of the lesser bell announcing the passage of a small unregistered magical flying device of less than one ton into London airspace. Even if he had noticed, though, Piers would have put it back out of mind; such was rarely an important matter, unlike the presence of a large unidentified flying object capable of breaching the city¡¯s wards by main force.
¡°Have a care, woman!¡± Master Warin felt thankful for the extra traction provided by the fresh-cut grass wrapped around the aft end of the broom as the archmage diviner held on for dear life. ¡°I nearly fell off.¡±
¡°That tower came up out of nowhere,¡± Rosamund said. The hedge witch¡¯s voice was defensive.
¡°It¡¯s an illuminated clock tower,¡± Warin said through his teeth. ¡°We¡¯re much too low. Wait¡ªI just felt a scrying pass over us. Climb.¡±
¡°What, so we can fall farther if the broom gives out?¡± Rosamund shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s not safe to go very high.¡±
¡°We¡¯re over cobblestones, woman, any fall that lands is a bad one. The higher we are, the more time we have to recover from any daft maneuver.¡± Warin gritted his teeth.
A dim streak of light shot out from a tower, and then there was a burst of flame, a fireball several times the size of Rosamund¡¯s house momentarily illuminating a gleaming tail as it whipped out of sight above the fireball.
¡°Also¡ªwe have found Aurelius. I thought he would go wake the Pendragon, but¡¡± Warin gestured down at the city as he fished a pair of glasses out of his sleeve, peering into the dark night. ¡°The lower heights above London are not very safe right now. So, climb. You can go up into the clouds a little, I will be able to see just fine through the fog now that I have my glasses on.¡±
¡°I won¡¯t be able to see a thing,¡± Rosamund shot back.
A dark shadow momentarily blocked their view of the tower and surrounding buildings, and an orange glow illuminated the golden outline of a dragon. Its tail looked longer than the tower was high, and its wings shadowed into darkness. Then the shadow finished passing over the tower. Gleaming streams of molten bronze dripped down the stone sides of the tower as the roof blazed merrily.
¡°It looks like a candle,¡± the bearded archmage muttered under his breath. His fingers danced subtly as his mutters left behind mundane language and shifted into an arcane register.
Rosamund silently agreed with the sentiment as she pulled the head of the broom upward, seeking the dark damp safety of the clouds above. It was terrifying to fly at speed without being able to see anything, and unpleasant to be damp¡ªbut she would rather be damp than crispy, and the dragon had chosen to fly at a low altitude.
¡°Ah. Turn left ninety degrees,¡± Warin said, brows furrowing with worry.
¡°Ninety whats?¡± Rosamund said, turning over her shoulder to look at the wizard.
¡°Turn left hard!¡± The archmage¡¯s voice raised with urgency.
Rosamund pulled hard on the broom, turning to the left sharply enough that she had to lean into it. A moment later, there was a blinding flash of light, thunder sounding immediately, the entire world blotted out. For a moment, Rosamund couldn¡¯t hear anything except for the ringing in her ears, then the diviner¡¯s voice became audible again, rising and falling in the characteristic manner of a lecture.
¡°¡ªexcept that in a way, Wallingford was on the right track, in that we know that the druids were¡ª¡±
¡°Old man, I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about,¡± Rosamund said sharply. ¡°Which way do we go from here to not get fried by the next one of those lightning bolts?¡±
¡°Ah. Best that we turn right sixty degrees.¡± A pause. ¡°Not that much, just back a little left from what you just did.¡±
Sir Morgan paused as he pulled the flying glove over his left hand, blinking against the brilliance of the bolt of lightning that had descended from the sky to strike the cathedral spire of a barracks hall. Two quick heartbeats later, the loud crack of thunder reached his ears as flames and smoke began to rise.
True, the Order of the Luminous Rose was an imperial order, and by charter obligated to assist regular imperial troops in defense of the realm. True, he had full confidence in his ability to subdue a wyvern¡ªthe Order¡¯s training in aerial combat included practice against phantasmal versions of both the terrestrial wyverns and lunar quetzals. He¡¯d even gone wyvern-riding in Scotland once. And true, he knew at least one man in his order who had taken down a proper dragon, and believed himself to be a better invoker than Sir Miles.
But that particular verdigris-scaled creature had a wingspan of fifty feet, perhaps half again the wingspan of a lunar quetzal and really only a little more than the biggest bull wyverns. This was something else entirely, a primordial beast with wings larger than ship¡¯s sails, its tail alone the size of a mature sea serpent.
The size of the beast alone would have given him pause, and yet now things seemed even more dangerous. Someone had either disabled London¡¯s protective weather-wards or was attacking London with weather-magic with a level of potency expected only from an archmage. The multiple domains of expertise that had to be involved spoke of likely involvement of two or three archmages in the attack¡ªeither a coup d¡¯etat or a preemptive strike meant to forestall one. In either case, discretion was the better part of valor.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.
So, Sir Morgan lifted up into the air on his own power, turning his back on the Thames to fly south by southeast, away from the distant gleaming wings and the rising fires. There was no reason he could not have spent the previous night at his cousin¡¯s estate in Kent, he decided. Georgina would provide an alibi readily enough on his behalf should any questions arise regarding shirking his obligations. And, under such uncertain circumstances, it surely fell on his obligations as a guest to ensure the safety of his cousin¡¯s estate¡ªdragons were sighted in Kent often enough, and if some event had stirred them into unusual activity, Georgina surely would have need of his assistance, giving him every reason to stay there once news of events in London arrived.
¡°Master Webster?¡±
The sound of a voice speaking felt like a terrible shock to Piers Webster after decades of deafness. He couldn¡¯t see anything, though¡ªeverything seemed blurry. Then there was a squeaking noise as a cloth rubbed across his field of view, leaving faint smears in its wake. Piers tried to blink, but no eyelids moved.
The familiar fanged face of Thora Gwenhild stared down at him. ¡°I was quite surprised when your gem lit up¡ªwho was it? One of the bell tower apprentices looking to move up?¡±
Piers tried to speak, but nothing came out.
Thora shook her head. ¡°Silly me, asking you questions already. As long as you were wearing both rings and the choker when you died, you should be able to remember what happened, though you might feel foggy for a little bit.¡±
Piers focused intently, trying to recall his most recent memories. He could remember seeing flashes of shadowed gold in his crystal ball array. The unidentified flying object had been approaching the watchtower directly, faster than a galloping horse. Then there had been a moment of heat and light, followed by complete darkness, then blurry dim light and Thora¡¯s voice. It was a nice voice; he¡¯d never actually heard it before.
¡°Oh dear,¡± Thora said, looking away from him. ¡°That¡¯s three more at once. Something terribly exciting must be going on in London. But I only have two bodies built, Master Webster, and begging pardon, while I am fond of you as a friend, you¡¯re not my most important client. You may have to wait a little while on the shelf. I know it¡¯s not supposed to work that way, but I wasn¡¯t expecting to have multiple clients pass away all at once.¡±
Piers wanted to scream that since he¡¯d died first and he¡¯d been her very first paying client, surely he should be first in line¡ªbut it was no use. She couldn¡¯t hear him as she put his gem back in the little wooden cubbyhole. Piers watched in silent frustration as she took out and polished a brilliant yellow faceted stone and then walked away.
Well, he thought to himself, trying to find something to feel good about. If I have to wait for her to put together a new body, at least it¡¯ll be one she built specifically for me¡ªsurely, she¡¯ll want to make up for her tardiness with the highest possible quality product.
Tobias de Lancaster, second in line for the throne of Lancaster, found his meal disturbed by the ringing of tower bells¡ªtoo many to ignore, signaling an alarum of the imperial variety. He knew the imperial signal book, and it was not often that an unidentified flying object was deemed a threat to London¡¯s skies. After sending the street urchin back to the kitchens, he climbed up six flights of stairs to the roof to see for himself, hearing the lesser bells of a fire service visiting one of the nearby manufactories.
Fires and an unidentified flying object¡ªtonight is a lively night, Tobias thought to himself as he stepped onto the roof, glancing around. Apparently, the bottleworks had been the one to pay the highest premium to the fire service, as it was being attended to while the furniture manufactory burned merrily. Then he saw that the Ministry tower itself was aflame, and his heart leapt into his throat. Is London under attack? He looked up and turned in place; one third of the way through his turn, he froze, watching as fire descended from a shadow edged in gold.
His first thought was that the oversized creature had to be some kind of phantasm. His second thought was that¡ªphantasm or not, his uncle Robert needed to know that Ivar¡¯s inattention had led to some kind of internal conflict. No other explanation was possible; London¡¯s aerial defenses were more than a match for any foreign foe. Robert would have a likely guess of the cabals on each side¡ªTobias kept abreast of different factions within the capital city¡¯s bureaucrats as best as he could, but the duke was older and his knowledge was deeper.
Tobias reached into his pouch, pulling out a packet of salt and a short copper wire, then candles. Lighting the candles was difficult; it was a damp and windy night, thunder rumbling as clouds threatened a storm. He was not worried about being drenched by any storm¡ªLondon¡¯s weather-wards would have been left undisturbed by any cabal of conspirators, as they would surely have no effect on the course of conflict between them.
¡°Uncle Robert¡ªLondon is burning. There is something in the sky, perhaps a dragon or a high-quality phantasm of one.¡± The candle flared and went out. Tobias glared at the smoking nub, rummaging in his pouch for another candle. He felt confident the full message had gone through, but perhaps he should try someone else, in case Robert was sleeping deeply or otherwise distracted enough not to hear. The truly elderly had irregular sleep patterns. Rowan, perhaps¡ªhis nephew was recently enough turned that he would surely be wide awake at midnight, and in spite of his high status as fourth in line for the throne of Lancaster, had very little to do. Guilbert¡¯s children each had at least twice the ambition of Sapphira¡¯s only child and kept abominably busy.
The outer candles had not gone out, and it was the work of a few moments to light a fresh inner candle, tucking the copper wire back underneath his tongue. ¡°Rowan¡ªsomeone set one, no, two of the Ministry towers on fire in London. This is an emergency.¡±
Tobias spat out the wire. He did not want to bother his mother or Sapphira¡ªwomen were not really meant for politics, in his opinion¡ªand Guilbert was likely asleep at such an hour. His family obligations were fulfilled, and his loyalty to the Empire could be paid to whichever side emerged victorious in the present struggle.
As Tobias began the work of activating the tower wards, he heard wingbeats. If that is a phantasm, it is quite nicely done, he thought to himself as he looked upward. For one moment, he thought he saw the sun cradled inside a massive mouth, bracketed by teeth the size of swords. In the next moment, he thought he felt the sun. The sensation was overwhelming but brief.
Many miles away, Rowan snarled as he grappled a thrashing peasant, blaming his uncle for waking the creature up with a sending. He did not know that he had just become third in line for the throne of Lancaster.
From the damp, dark, and uncomfortable safety of the cloud, Warin watched could see through the clouds to the spreading chaos below. Emperor Ivar¡¯s tower, squat and unassuming compared to more recently constructed Ministry buildings and mage¡¯s towers surrounding it, was dark and still, a dim blob of black surrounded by burning buildings.
The London chapter house of the Order of the Luminous Rose was also dark and still, in spite of the fact that between ten and twenty fully belted and robed members of the order were usually present. By contrast, the great cathedral that served as London¡¯s principal barracks was lit up brilliantly with magelights¡ªyet its occupants seemed paralyzed with indecision, imperial officers holding their regiments of obsidian-clad skeletons while they waited for unambiguous orders.
Halfway across the city from the dragon, a brilliant flare of violet light drew Warin¡¯s eye. Archmage Kell was hovering in place next to the half-melted remains of Archmage Radus¡¯s tower.
Makes sense¡ªif Kell believed the dragon was controlled by an insider, who could it be but the Minister of Fauna? Warin shook his head as, two blocks away from the tower, the Ministry of Fauna launched a counterattack against the chapter house of the Order of the Red Tooth.
¡°And for the ordinary members of the Ministry, it makes sense to strike back at Kell¡¯s allies,¡± Warin mused aloud.
¡°What?¡± Rosamund turned to look at her passenger.
¡°Sorry, just thinking aloud,¡± Warin said. ¡°Perhaps¡ªyes, I think I have seen enough. This is the end of the empire.¡± The whole city seemed awake and on the move¡ªsome trying to flee, some taking advantage of the confusion.
¡°Did the dragon get Ivar the Fleshless?¡± Rosamund¡¯s control of the broom faltered.
¡°Watch where you¡¯re flying, woman!¡± Warin grabbed at the grassy end of the broom to steady himself.
¡°I can¡¯t see a thing,¡± the hedge witch snapped back as she brought the broom under control and their flight path back to a level straight line. ¡°Not in the middle of a cloud at night!¡±
¡°Sorry,¡± the archmage said, slightly abashed. He pushed his enchanted spectacles along his nose as he looked back down at the city below, peering through the opaque darkness with unnatural vision. Ivar¡¯s tower looked intact¡ªa little melty around the edges, maybe, but otherwise fine. ¡°You asked if Ivar is dead yet again¡ªI think it does not matter. Now, I think we should fly higher to get above the clouds. It¡¯ll be chilly, but I¡¯d like you to be able to see where you¡¯re going.¡±
¡°Then why not fly down below the¡ª¡± A thunderclap interrupted Rosamund. ¡°Right. Up it is. Do you have any gloves? It¡¯s quite chilly up this high, and the damp makes it worse.¡±
¡°I¡¯ll see what I can do about that,¡± Warin said, rummaging in his sleeves.
55. Full Deck
Johanna de Mathieu woke before dawn. She had a few aching bruises from the other day; after watching the duke take apart a pell, she¡¯d decided to practice her jumps. A solid week cooped up in the tower had weakened her seat, and she¡¯d felt those landings, not that the duke had taken notice. She drew the curtains back, planting her feet next to a pile of shredded lace she¡¯d cut from her favorite riding vest.
If lavender and lace rendered her invisible to the duke even when practicing riding tricks, she would have no more of it. The vest could be recolored an emerald-green to match her eyes and her new favorite gown. She yawned, nudging the pile of lace with her toe before daintily stepping over to her wardrobe and pulling out the dress she¡¯d worn the first time she¡¯d been introduced to the duke.
It was a very pale shade of lavender, positively festooned with elaborate lace, with ribbons that trailed nearly down to the floor. The front was modest and demure in its cut, and the back¡ªwell, the bustle and the ribbons were certainly attention-getting. If baroque decoration was to the viewer¡¯s taste, that is.
If she cut away all the decorations, she would be left with either a ragged mess or, at best, a daringly backless gown, and while her leather riding vest had been simply coated with an alchemical dye that could be easily enough done over, the pale lavender velvet of the dress in her hands was enspelled to hold its color against stains, an enchantment that also served the cause of repelling debris and holding a permanent lavender perfume.
If she simply had it redyed, the dress would eventually shed the new dye and restore itself to its former lavender color. No, it would need to be completely disenchanted and then either mundanely dyed or re-enchanted, and that was more fuss than the dress was worth. It¡¯s not even that flattering, she thought to herself as she held it up against herself. Best to simply get rid of it. Someone else will want it, maybe one of the other brides or perhaps Isolde¡ªthere¡¯s a woman who has no need for concern about being overlooked by Avery; he¡¯s her foster brother.
¡°Giles, what exactly happened yesterday?¡± Elizabeth asked. The castle being shorthanded on servants had its silver linings, one of which was that her brother had brought her breakfast up personally. ¡°All I know is that the duke was away most of the day and took a late dinner in his office, and nobody will tell me more.¡±
Her brother frowned, setting the breakfast tray down next to his petite blonde sister on her bed. ¡°Promise you won¡¯t tell Father I told you this?¡±
Elizabeth nodded vigorously. ¡°I promise! But I need to know.¡±
¡°There was another attack,¡± Sir Giles said, looking down at his little sister. ¡°An alchemical poison, like at the Golden Fleece, but in the daytime and a hundred times as big. Many dozens of people died, and many hundreds were harmed¡ªwhen I went into the city yestereve, it seemed every third man I passed had a terrible cough. The duke himself was in the middle of it.¡±
¡°Oh, no!¡± Elizabeth frowned. ¡°Is he alright? Is the wedding still happening?¡±
Sir Giles nodded. ¡°I spoke to him myself¡ªhe was deeply troubled but determined to carry on. That the attacker disapproves of his marriage is all the more reason to press forward.¡± A nervous look crossed Giles¡¯s face as the very large man looked down at his tiny sister.
Elizabeth forced a small smile onto her face. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Giles, I will still marry the duke.¡±
¡°You¡¯re not afraid?¡± Sir Giles asked.
¡°I am,¡± Elizabeth said. ¡°Which is why I shan¡¯t set foot outside of the castle until I am properly wedded and bedded and the whole matter is settled. The attackers have not gotten their way into the castle, and if they could have attacked the duke here, they would have already.¡±
Sir Giles let out a sigh of relief. ¡°Well, now you understand why Father and I will be scarce today¡ªI will be walking shifts with the guards, and he will be doing what he can. I hope you are not too bored.¡±
¡°If I am bored, Sabine owes me a chess game,¡± Elizabeth said. ¡°I can find ways to entertain myself.¡±
Sabine flattened the lavender and lace confection of a garment over her body, staring in the mirror. I may not need to salvage my father¡¯s pride, she thought to herself, but I still have pride of my own. Perhaps I can salvage it in my own way.
¡°Thanks for bringing this on the way back down,¡± she said, looking at the wall. A smile cracked the corners of her mouth, the first to do so since the duke¡¯s frightful missive the previous day. ¡°I believe I have a use for this. In the future, of course, I hope the duke¡¯s servants will know better than to redirect you when you are about my business, especially when it is another one of the duke¡¯s wives ringing¡ªbut you have done well, even if you did not intend to.¡±
The maidservant blushed as she bobbed in a deep curtsy.
¡°I no longer require breakfast, however.¡± Sabine said. Not that I had any appetite this morning in any event. ¡°Whichever of you is the better seamstress, fetch the sewing kit and get everything set up at the table; the other of you, help me redress.¡± Her voice trailed off as one of the maids began to tug at the lacing of her gown. Less than two minutes later, she was standing in front of the mirror, dressed as fully in the lavender gown as its fit would allow, the maid holding the laces.
¡°As I suspected, the bodice is tight.¡± Sabine breathed shallowly. The maid let go of the lacing, and Sabine shrugged out of the bodice, the top of the dress sliding down her arms as the laces loosened. ¡°Too tight to go without alteration. Fits well on the hips, though, to my surprise. I had assumed the bustle had fuller padding.¡±
Sabine shimmied, and the maid assisted by loosening the dress further; then Sabine stepped out of the dress. The maid picked it up, and Sabine pointed at the bodice. ¡°Add a panel here¡ªthe ribbons will cover it¡ªand here, where the lace will cover the gap. The same on the other side. I think an inch apiece will do, tight but not unbearable.¡±
As the maid scurried off, Sabine muttered under her breath, running her hands through her hair as she stared in the mirror, blonde strands darkening to the light brown shade of Johanna¡¯s hair. ¡°Makeup case,¡± she said, holding out her hand. When one of her maids placed a red-laquered box in her hand, she nodded. ¡°Someone shall go down and tell Isolde that I am mourning my father in solitude and wish to remain undisturbed until the morrow, that I may cry all my tears out and regain my face before the wedding tomorrow.¡±
Sabine opened the case, unfolding its shelves and pulling a brush out of the side. Case in one hand and brush in the other, she cleared her throat. ¡°I need my easel and a fresh canvas¡ªno, a fresh sheet of parchment.¡±
The remaining maid set down her sewing needle to fetch her mistress¡¯s easel, setting it next to the mirror and hanging a clean parchment on it. Then she hurried back to the sewing table.
Sabine stared in the mirror and then began to dab makeup on the parchment with the brush as she pictured Johanna¡¯s face, glancing at the mirror every so often. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
¡°Tomorrow we are wed together to the duke,¡± Althea said, long legs folded and pulled under her chin as she sat on the bed, brunette hair hanging like a curtain in front of her face. ¡°In truth, not just in jest.¡±
¡°And tomorrow night, then, is our wedding night¡ªin truth and not just in jest. I¡¯m glad I will have you as my bride for three whole nights before you begin your torrid affair with Duke Avery,¡± Helen said, blue eyes twinkling wickedly under a disheveled mop of strawberry-blonde hair.
Althea giggled. ¡°You¡¯re so funny, Helen,¡± she said. ¡°But¡ please, no more jests. If I am to change my mind, today is the last¡ª¡±
¡°No, no, no,¡± Helen said. ¡°I need you, Althea. You¡¯re my best friend. I don¡¯t want to marry John, you don¡¯t want to marry John, and the only way we could stay home together is if one of us marries John and the other stays an old maid. Have I been poor company this last fortnight?¡±
¡°No, of course not,¡± Althea said, lifting her head and shaking her hair away from her face. ¡°But I hardly know the duke, and I hardly know how to be a duke¡¯s wife. What if¡ªwhat if when my turn comes, the duke decides he does not like me? I don¡¯t know what I am to do. My mother told me simply that I should kiss him well and then bend whichever way I am put.¡±
¡°I hardly know either,¡± Helen said. ¡°But it can¡¯t be hard. We¡¯ve four more nights to figure it out¡ªand three other brides we can ask beforehand. Or, rather,¡± she corrected, looking at Althea¡¯s mortified expression, ¡°that I can ask.¡±
Althea sighed. ¡°I suppose so.¡±
¡°Don¡¯t be so glum. What, are you worried that the duke will tickle you?¡± Helen lunged at Althea, fingers outstretched; surprised laughter burst out of Althea¡¯s mouth before the attack could even arrive, anticipation mattering more than reality.
¡°Awake! I come bearing breakfast, oh gentle maidens fair,¡± Rose intoned. Then her expression broke into a smile as she carried the heavy tray into the room, setting it down on a low table. ¡°Also, I have news¡ªthe duke is out of the castle dealing with some kind of urgent matter, and you have strict orders to stay within the tower until the wedding tomorrow. Sir Marcus said you are not to even risk visiting the castle bailey¡ªwhatever you might wish, I can fetch it for you or have it fetched.¡±
Merilda yawned sleepily and sat up, the motion of the large woman tumbling the dainty Fiona up and out of bed. The redheaded quarter-elf landed on her feet with both eyes wide open, suddenly fully awake.
From the drawn curtains of the other bed, Anna chuckled. ¡°And now I am doubly glad to have my own bed, rather than sharing with the two of you,¡± she said to her roommates, then turned to Rose. ¡°What sort of matter is it?¡±
As Rose shrugged, Fiona cut in with her own answer. ¡°London is burning. Master Warin sent me a dream last night¡ªAurelius Ambrosius is not dead, and he mislikes what imperial rule has made of the place.¡±
Merilda rubbed her eyes sleepily. ¡°I dreamed there was a cute little fox sitting on my chest. But then someone brought breakfast, and I had to wake up. So I did.¡± She looked over at Fiona, already standing next to the table. ¡°You must be very hungry to decide to get out of bed so quickly.¡±
¡°London is burning?¡± Rose asked, then shook her head. ¡°Nobody told me anything, but I thought the duke was concerned with some matter in town.¡±
The rosy fingers of dawn peered through the buildings on the opposite side of the Ouse, gleaming off the river. A great heap of lumber and broken wood sat in the middle of the muddy depression of the manufactory construction site. Ten shrouded lumps lay on top of the wood.
William Taylor was not one of them. Thanks to the protective enchantments he¡¯d attached to the hood of his robes after the death of his student Gwen, he had been unharmed by the gas; however, when the enhanced skeleton had emerged from the storage crypt, he¡¯d placed himself in a suspended state, feigning death in a manner that any undead creation would find convincing to its most magical senses.
As far as non-magical faculties went, William knew very well that whichever edition of Professor Vaux¡¯s work had been inscribed on the skeleton¡¯s arms, it would have no faculty of reason and was unlikely to have any but the crudest of senses. Without significant and carefully calculated adjustments to the skull during the enlargement process, focal length mismatches would ensure its visual senses were poor.
In his lectures at Cambridge, Vaux had explained that a giant fireball-flinging skeleton didn¡¯t need to be terribly precise in aiming its movements, and the integral life sense was more reliable for martial purposes in any event given the theoretical cheapness of illusory soldiers. The professor had then gone on to say that he could, in principle, correct the growth matrix to recalibrate the focal lengths dynamically, but it would easily double the complexity of the spell, increasing preparation time, activation time, and inevitably also the rate of errors by the end users of the necromantic ritual.
William had woken up next to the body of his less-fortunate (and now deceased) brother Edward in the morgue as soon as the coroner attempted a preservation spell, which backfired badly. As busy as the coroner was, the man was grateful for his offer of assistance and didn¡¯t linger to chat or supervise the master necromancer¡¯s work. William was able to rifle through his brother¡¯s pockets unseen before carrying out the basic cleansing and preservation work. Then his sister-in-law had shown up; he¡¯d helped carry Edward¡¯s body out to her carriage before returning to the manufactory site, wondering what he might be able to salvage there.
When he returned with the news that the coroner was too busy to take on more bodies, the ducal guards had promptly put him to work helping with the dead¡ªa bountiful supply of fresh corpses that William had never seen the likes of before. It was sadly ironic to realize that the price of high-quality intact bodies in York would drop precipitously just as the York Textile Company was dissolved, especially given the fear and concern that the common people showed over the strange alchemical scent that lingered on the bodies of the fallen.
No, as fearful as the townsfolk were of the lingering scent of alchemical toxin, few of them would want to indulge their sentimentality by keeping the bodies of the dead.
Still, even if the York Textile Company¡¯s urgent commercial needs were suddenly irrelevant, William was still a practicing necromancer. And as a necromancer, it was a fine time for bargain shopping, especially as he was performing freelance necromantic preservations on the spot, so many that he¡¯d needed to send a runner to fetch more myrrh paste.
He kept what coin he collected but traded away the jewelry he¡¯d collected from Edward on the spot in quiet negotiations with bereaved relatives who came to identify and collect their dead. Best to get rid of it quickly; even if it was family jewelry, his sister-in-law might question how it had passed into his hands.
The night had passed quickly, the duke arriving in the pre-dawn gray. He looked well, though William dared not ask how he had survived both the poison gas and the enhanced skeleton. Such a question might have the air of guilt, and William felt as if he¡¯d only barely survived the duke¡¯s suspicion the day before. Instead, he hovered nervously near the edge of the manufactory site, mixed in with a clump of other curious onlookers.
He¡¯d watched as the duke and an old wolfhound walked slowly and stiffly, looking over the last of the bodies left behind, talking with the guards who had been there through the latter part of the night. The pyre had been built quite quickly afterwards.
¡°Your Grace, are you sure the bodies should be burned?¡± The guard who had spoken glanced over in William¡¯s direction, shifting uneasily as he held a lit torch, the flames dancing. ¡°Might not more families come forward to claim their own? Or perhaps the corpses could be donated to the city?¡±
William wanted to speak up, shouting about the waste of burning perfectly intact bodies, but held his tongue, stepping backwards in the hopes that the guard had not been looking at him in particular.
¡°Sabine told me to burn her father,¡± Avery said. ¡°For the rest¡ªtoday, I do not think highly of recycling them for industrial purposes, regardless of what it might earn the duchy in revenue. Philip had no family, or none he was close to, and that leaves him in my charge as his liege lord. Anselm and Gunter¡ªtheir mother couldn¡¯t stand to see them dead. Little Timothy was an orphan; Old Roana, a widow with but one son, lost at sea;and the man in the yellow cloak with the green boots was a traveler with no identity papers. And the hounds¡ªwell, the bodies smell wrong, Manfred says, so we shouldn¡¯t bury them in the gardens like usual. Fire is cleansing.¡±
At Avery¡¯s side, the old hound sat solemnly. It was the first time in more than a year that Manfred, forty-second of his name, had left the castle grounds. Start fire, Manfred sent to the guard.
Obediently, the guard stepped forward, holding the torch against the kindling stuffed underneath the larger pieces of lumber, then tossed the torch on top of the makeshift platform. The pyre caught slowly at first, then more quickly once the first flames reached the shrouds, racing across the oil-drizzled cloth.
¡°Rest in peace,¡± Avery said, then listed off the names of the fallen. ¡°May your deaths be avenged.¡±
Old Manfred howled as the flames rose higher.
56. Greens and Blues
Johanna yawned, covering her mouth widely as her emerald eyes winked closed. She wore a dark nightgown, layered silk that had surely once been quite expensive but now was well-worn, nearly to the point of shabbiness. The lavender nightgown buried in her chest would stay there until it was recolored¡ªnever again would she wear lavender if she had any choice in the matter.
¡°Sleepy?¡± Isolde asked, waving at the chessboard that sat between the two women on the richly patterned carpet that warmed the cold stone floor of what had once been the old duke¡¯s bedroom. The duke¡¯s foster sister had also changed into her nightgown, a warm maroon velvet affair trimmed with warm fur.
¡°I think you have this one,¡± Johanna said, pointing her finger down at her king and tipping it very gently. It wobbled but didn¡¯t fall over. ¡°It may be early, but I think I am well enough sleepy.¡±
¡°Really?¡± Isolde stared down at the board, reaching over to pick up the white castle. ¡°If you¡¯d put your castle here, you¡¯d have me.¡±
¡°You¡¯d have my castle, easily enough, and pose an unanswered threat to my night ship,¡± Johanna said, reaching over to move Isolde¡¯s queen. Then she paused. ¡°Oh. But then I could fork your queen.¡±
¡°Yes. I¡¯d be forked, completely and utterly.¡± Isolde moved Johanna¡¯s knight. ¡°So, it was really your game.¡±
Johanna yawned again, stretching widely. ¡°Not unless I saw that, which I didn¡¯t until you moved for me. So, you¡¯re at four matches out of five, and I¡¯m not ready to go for five out of nine to try to better you for the day.¡±
¡°Sorry that it¡¯s been such a boring day pent up in the tower like this,¡± Isolde said. ¡°I know you like to at least get out and ride the courtyard. I don¡¯t know what Avery¡¯s been about¡ªsomething went terribly wrong yesterday is all I know, and I don¡¯t think it¡¯s London burning like Fiona says. My mother won¡¯t tell me a thing, and Sir Marcus is worse.¡±
¡°How can he do worse than not telling you?¡± Johanna asked.
¡°He tells me not to worry my pretty little head about it,¡± Isolde said. ¡°My mother just changes the subject.¡±
¡°So, the problem is that he¡¯s calling you pretty and little?¡± Johanna smiled. ¡°He is rather taller than you; you can hardly object to him calling you little, so it must be the pretty part.¡±
¡°No!¡± Isolde blew out a breath, her cheeks puffing with frustration. ¡°Yes? I¡¯m used to my mother bossing everyone around, but¡ Sir Marcus isn¡¯t¡ he¡¯s¡¡±
¡°He is the seneschal,¡± Johanna said. ¡°That means he¡¯s supposed to be in charge of the castle. Wasn¡¯t there a seneschal before him? Lucas?¡±
¡°Lucas did whatever my mother told him to do,¡± Isolde said. ¡°And he¡¯d always tell me what he knew if I bent his ear. Sir Marcus keeps secrets, and it¡¯s just not fair.¡±
¡°Well, it¡¯s kind of you to keep me company, Lady Isolde. Sleep well.¡± Johanna stood, offering her hand to Isolde.
Isolde took Johanna¡¯s hand, noting the surprisingly firm grip as she stood up. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind¡ªnobody will tell me what¡¯s wrong, but my mother told me I was to stay with you tonight, and I think¡ª¡±
¡°The Lady Maude has some nerve dictating sleeping arrangements,¡± Johanna said sharply. ¡°If Sabine can shutter herself in her chamber all day saying she feels unwell, surely I can have a quiet night¡¯s sleep by myself. No offense to your company intended.¡±
Isolde raised her hands. ¡°Hear me out, please; I don¡¯t mean to impose simply out of whim. I have barely gotten my chamber to myself once more, and I would rather I had a night in quiet solitude myself. When my mother told me I should stay with you tonight, she didn¡¯t say why, but when I talked to Gregor about some of the hounds being away¡ªthere was something that happened in the city, and whatever it was, it was related to the murder of Baron Greystoke. Meaning, also, the murder of Gelle and Ivette scant hours after they became engaged to my foster brother. Whatever happened in the city was very bad and related to the murder of two of Avery¡¯s fiancees.¡±
Isolde paused, and Johanna nodded. ¡°Go on.¡±
¡°If the murderer acted on behalf of one of the other brides¡ªthe consummation queue puts you first, and my mother knows that. Tomorrow night is yours, unless someone can do you ill between now and then, whether by violence or gossip.¡± Isolde placed a hand on Johanna¡¯s upper arm and squeezed. ¡°I want to stay with you to protect you. If someone means you ill, even someone already in the castle, perhaps even one of the other brides¡ªthey will have to go through me.¡±
Johanna looked down at the chessboard for a long moment before her emerald eyes flicked back upwards to meet Isolde¡¯s gaze. ¡°Lady Maude has raised you to be quite clever. When you put it that way, it seems sensible,¡± she said. ¡°Very well. I hope you do not snore.¡±
Avery mechanically shoveled cold mashed moonapples in his mouth. The starchy paste would be tastier and with a consistency less like glue if he¡¯d warmed the bowl back up by the fire, but he hadn¡¯t felt like making the effort. He hadn¡¯t felt he deserved to have a warm dinner; nothing he had done over the course of the day had undone any of the devastation of the alchemical gas attack aimed at him and his subjects.
When his spoon clinked against the bottom of the bowl, he shook his head, setting the bowl down on the floor. As Manfred did his best to clean up the rest of the cold mashed moonapples, Avery poured himself another goblet of wine and stared at the short stack of papers on his desk. A report from the city¡¯s council, detailing the damages wrought by what Avery could only assume was the missing Master Alric.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
Nobody had found a body corresponding to Master Alric, at least, nor any sign of him at the collegium, though Avery knew that some bodies had been swept downriver. He¡¯d never wanted the services of a diviner so much in his life¡ªand, of course, the benighted Master Warin was still off on his mission to observe Aurelius Ambrosius. In addition to locating the guilty party, the archmage diviner could probably also put to rest the wild rumors about the city of London having burnt to the ground, which had swept through the castle in the morning and the rest of York by sundown.
And the less said about James¡¯s absence, the better. Avery refilled the goblet again, picking up the first page of the report and turning it over to read the back side.
Sleep time, said a gruff voice in his head. Read again later.
Avery shook his head. Not yet.
The wolfhound stood, sticking his cold, wet nose against Avery¡¯s elbow. Sleep.
Avery shook his head again; the wolfhound snorted and padded away quietly. A small, surprised, feminine squeak sounded on the opposite side of the door after the hound passed through; Avery ignored the noise, focusing instead on the pages in front of him, his eyes traversing across a familiar litany of damages as he endlessly asked himself what he could have done to avoid the catastrophe.
The invisible wizard¡ªAlric, almost certainly¡ªhad reacted to the dissolution of the York Textile Company. Perhaps he was hasty to dissolve the company¡ªbut the dyeing tower was already a horror waiting to happen. It had been unleashed intentionally, but if he had not dissolved the company, that same reservoir could have been unleashed by accident or malice later on. Perhaps even in greater volume, or accompanied by additional alchemical toxins.
A gentle, insistent knocking on the door penetrated his thoughts. He looked up, noticing the door was barred. Manfred must have decided to bar the door to give me privacy before he left, Avery thought to himself. Probably a servant come to collect the dishes.
He picked up the bowl from the floor and put it back on the tray before unbarring and opening the door. Looking down, he could see long, straight, light brown hair adorning the top of a woman¡¯s head as she stared down at her feet. The woman was wearing a lavender dress festooned with lace; it looked familiar.
¡°What is it?¡± Avery stepped back as the woman stepped forward, bringing the woman¡¯s face into view. Her face¡ªblushing, with downcast eyes¡ªalso looked familiar.
¡°We are to be married tomorrow, Your Grace,¡± the woman whispered, one corner of her mouth quirking up briefly.
Knowing that she was speaking truth, Avery felt both reassured and panicked. Reassured, because the woman was not some stranger out of place in his tower; panicked, because he had not recognized her immediately. Then a memory came to mind.
¡°Johanna,¡± Avery said. The pose, the dress, the hair, the face; it was just like when she had been first introduced to him by her mother, Charlotte. For some reason, though, it had just been hard to place her, even though Johanna had been staring down at her feet nearly every time he¡¯d ever seen her¡ªthe notable exception being the hunt, when she had not been shy about riding ahead and showing him the back of her head. ¡°Is there something the matter? Have you changed your mind about marrying me tomorrow?¡±
The woman in the lavender dress hesitated, staring down at his feet rather than meeting his eyes and picking her words carefully. ¡°I have not changed my mind¡ªthough I would marry you tonight if I could. I want to have you as soon as I can.¡±
¡°So, what is the matter?¡± Avery crossed his arms, leaning back, his thighs pressing against his desk. ¡°If I remember rightly, you are first in the queue. Unless that has been changed?¡±
The woman shook her head, which blurred slightly, and then answered, again staring down at Avery¡¯s feet. ¡°I am worried about you, Your Grace. Last night, you came back quite late, hardly slept, and returned to the city before dawn. I worry that my precious, shining silver groom will be in a poor state when I marry him¡ªnearly dead on his feet and worn to a dull gray.¡±
Avery flinched involuntarily as the woman¡¯s heartfelt but hyperbolic phrase ¡®worn to gray¡¯ grated against his ears, the whisper gaining harsh echoes.
¡°Oh. I¡¯m sorry,¡± the woman whispered, reaching out to take hold of his hand. ¡°I did not mean to sound a scold. You must think me selfish.¡±
Avery shook his head. ¡°I deserved scolding. I did not think I might ruin your wedding day¡ª¡± He caught himself. ¡°Indeed, your wedding night. It is past when I should be seeking rest. But it seems I cannot relax¡ªI am wound up by the attack.¡±
¡°Let me help you relax,¡± the woman whispered, holding his hand in both of hers. She bent low, kissing his hand; then, rather than stand up from her deep bow, she knelt, sitting down on her legs as she began to massage his hand.
¡°Isn¡¯t it a little improper for you to be alone with me?¡± Avery whispered back, his breath catching as he looked down at the top of the kneeling woman¡¯s head, his eyes trailing down the long, simple braid of light brown hair resting on her back, the tip just touching a bustle that looked well filled out below a narrow, delicate waist.
¡°Nobody noticed¡ªI nearly tripped over a dog in the darkness, but dogs can¡¯t talk¡ªand in any case, I am yours in full tomorrow,¡± the woman whispered. ¡°And I should like you to relax; I would not want you nervous and exhausted on our wedding night.¡± Her face turned up to look at him, bright blue eyes staring up at him, the motion arching her back and placing her decolletage at a distracting angle.
Avery felt nervous; but at the same time, his sense for truth told him that every word the woman spoke was completely true. He let his arm relax as soft fingers poked and prodded at his hand and moved up his wrist. Surely, allowing his bride-to-be to help him take his mind off of yesterday¡¯s tragedy would do no harm¡
57. Best Behavior
Avery woke as the light of sunrise began to filter through his study¡¯s single narrow window. With substantial regret, he pushed away a pleasant dream about the blue-eyed bride who had improperly imposed her pleasant presence the previous night. It was hard not to credit the pleasant memories to a dream as well; he could remember his initial introduction to Johanna, the blushing woman staring at his feet as she wore that very same lavender dress festooned with lace.
Yet last night, bright blue eyes had boldly stared up at him out of the same face and above the same dress, forcing him into blushing stammers as she knelt before him and pleasurably banished his worry-wrought insomnia in a most wanton way. He shook his head, turning to look at where the sunbeam painted a spot on the wall next to where his old bed had been. The bed had been disassembled when the room had been converted to a study, and he¡¯d moved¡ªbriefly¡ªinto the old duke¡¯s chambers.
Briefly, because his future brides had already taken them over, exiling him to his study for the time being. Not that his nights on a cot in his room would last long; today he would marry, and from that point on he would be spending his nights upstairs in the old duke¡¯s chambers or the sitting room that Sabine had converted into her own private chamber. He eyed the tangled hose lying on the floor, the stitching around the waistband popped on one of the sides. Filled with a new desire to make as positive of an impression as possible upon his brides on the day of their wedding, he wondered if he would have time to finish having his new ceremonial armor fitted. It would look better than his battle armor.
He reached out through his mental connection to Marcus, his seneschal and illegitimate cousin. Marcus¡ªI think I should have breakfast and a bath brought up to my study. If it would be possible to finish fitting my ceremonial armor after that, I¡¯m sure Aunt Maude would greatly prefer that to my getting married in my battle armor.
There was a long moment before Marcus replied. Your Grace, there are some matters related to the wedding¡ªI had wanted to ask you a few things. Lady Maude has her opinions, but¡
I trust your judgement implicitly, Avery said. And if you are unsure¡ªwhile my foster mother may disapprove of the multiplicity of my impending marriage, I feel quite confident that she does not wish to embarrass me. I just realized she was right about the ceremonial armor¡ªI trust she will apply her century and a half of wisdom in my interests. I am the closest she has to a son.
Marcus sent a quick wordless affirmative, the mental equivalent of a quick nod. Avery folded up his cot, putting it out of the way, and then felt a deft familiar touch on his mind. Isolde.
You had to ask for a morning bath drawn, didn¡¯t you? Isolde¡¯s voice sounded exasperated. The servants only brought one tub up here so far¡ªSabine¡¯s maidservants already commandeered another¡ªand I¡¯m sure Helen and Althea will also be demanding morning baths as soon as they wake. Five brides make for a veritable madhouse up here. There are baths to be taken, hair to be washed and combed and styled, dresses to be fussed over, charms to activate, and jewelry to be polished to its brightest shine. Rose has already been up and down the stairs half a dozen times for one thing or another.
The door to Avery¡¯s study opened as a pair of servants carried in an empty washtub, setting it next to the fireplace before going back out to fetch water from the kitchens.
I¡¯m surprised that you are awake already¡ªit¡¯s scarcely dawn, Avery sent back to his cousin. And you finally have your chamber to yourself. Did they come down to pester you?
No¡ªI slept in Johanna¡¯s chamber to keep her company, and she¡¯s eager enough today to have beaten the sun to rising, Isolde sent back wryly. You would not believe how eager she is for the day of her marriage.
Avery remembered a pair of brilliant blue eyes looking up at him. I think I would believe, he sent, carefully guarding his inner thoughts to avoid leaking things he did not want his foster sister to hear.
Althea blinked sleepily. ¡°What was that?¡± she asked aloud, not quite sure what had woken her up¡ªbut there was morning light, and she could hear the muffled rhythm of arguing voices through one of the doors that connected her chamber with the rest of the duke¡¯s solar.
The pair of arms wrapped around her stomach stirred, and Helen mumbled in Althea¡¯s ear. ¡°I dunno, let¡¯s go back to sleep.¡±
Althea shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s morning already,¡± she said. ¡°I don¡¯t know how late in the morning, but I think we were up too late last night.¡±
¡°When it comes time for the groom to kiss the brides, you¡¯ll be glad we spent all that time practicing,¡± Helen said defensively.
Althea wiggled out of her friend¡¯s sleepy grasp and stood. Following the sound of arguing voices, she walked over to the door to Elizabeth¡¯s room and knocked gently. The door opened, and Althea was surprised to find a naked Johanna on the other side.
From her narrowed emerald-green eyes to the arms crossed over her pert breasts, Johanna was the picture of annoyance. She also looked like a wild woman: Her light brown hair was long and loose, and her unclad frame showed more muscle than Althea had expected, particularly below the waist. Althea felt suddenly certain that Johanna could easily bowl her over in spite of Althea¡¯s modest advantage in height.
¡°You¡¯ll have to wait your turn¡ªI¡¯m next, as soon as they¡¯ve finished refilling the tub,¡± Johanna said. ¡°Anna¡¯s called the next after¡ªI shan¡¯t stop you from trying to pull rank on her if you wish to try.¡±
Althea nodded reflexively, caught off-guard by the woman¡¯s forcefulness. Was this really the same woman who hadn¡¯t been able to look up from her feet while swearing her oath to the duke? And why did the bathwater need to be changed already if only Elizabeth had taken a bath so far? Instead of asking the questions she wanted to ask, Althea turned away from Johanna¡¯s emerald-green eyes, peering into Helen¡¯s blue eyes instead. ¡°I think we can wait for our turns.¡±
¡°Um. Yes, we can,¡± Helen said, staring through the open doorway with a fixed expression, one hand idly twirling a strawberry-blonde lock of hair.
Althea looked back over her shoulder. Through the open door, she could see Johanna¡¯s retreating aft end, her gently padded but well-developed lower body musculature on display; she could also see that Elizabeth¡¯s room was filled by what seemed like everyone except Elizabeth herself. The petite Northumbrian must have retreated after her bath to dress in one of the other rooms of the duke¡¯s solar.
Isolde was wearing a nightgown and Rose was wearing a proper dress, but Anna was already dressed for her turn in the baths, wearing only her dark curly hair and a green-eyed glare. Fiona and Merilda were similarly attired; the two of them were helping draw a fresh bath for Johanna, the large blonde woman taking buckets of cold water from an annoyed-looking servant standing in a doorway while the slender quarter-elven redhead waved a wand over the tub, steam swirling up in the wake of her stirring gestures.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Althea turned back to Helen. ¡°It does seem rather crowded in there,¡± she said.
Helen blinked. ¡°Um. Yes. I just hope there¡¯s time for both of us to take a bath after the rest of them. It¡¯ll go very slow if each of them insists on a change of bathwater. Maybe we could bathe together to save time¡ªit looks like the tub they brought up was one large enough for Merilda, after all.¡±
Althea nodded. ¡°Seems sensible enough.¡±
Bella woke with a terrific hangover. Susanna should have watered the fourth pitcher¡ªin truth, perhaps even the second and third pitchers¡ªbut the maidservant had been unfortunately diligent in bringing more wine for Lunete and Nigel, and Bella had felt the need to match her cousins goblet for goblet. When she staggered down the stairs, she found Susanna already awake and frying up a large pan of eggs and moonapples cubed up quite small.
With no mean, it seemed a cheap breakfast to Bella, and she complained as much; Susanna apologized, promising that the combination of starchy tubers and eggs was kinder on an uneasy stomach and better for calming a painful headache. That, and plenty of tea.
Presuming that the maidservant had the better knowledge of such things, Bella forced her way through a full plate of simple fried fare and six cups of tea, eating until she felt uncomfortably full. She jotted down a quick note for her still-sleeping cousins, letting them know she¡¯d gone ahead to the castle bailey to watch the wedding. Then she donned a blonde wig, retrieved her new springbow from her quarters, loaded and locked in a first enchanted bolt, wrapped a pair of six-bolt sheaves around the outsides of her thighs, donned a heavy cloak, and started the long walk to the castle bailey.
Her cousins would take a carriage¡ªthey might even arrive before she did, but she had plans that were best accomplished without Nigel and Lunete¡¯s company. In spite of her full breakfast, the sunlight still seemed painfully bright to Bella when she left the manor. She felt both conspicuous and uncomfortable, but then¡ªin a sign that York itself favored her suit¡ªthe good weather did not hold. Clouds covered the sun, providing relief for her painful hangover as she crossed the moat into the castle bailey, joining the gathering crowd.
As the procession of the brides began, a light drizzle began to fall. Bella was not the only one to hood herself as the chilly dampness descended from above, and the stir of motion provoked by the gave her the opportunity to work her way forward through the gathered crowd of onlookers fully anonymously.
Though the part of the courtyard nearer to the line brides had been designated as the place for the brides¡¯ families, they did not know each other well, and the position directly north of the ceremony provided a poor view in any event. So, Bella was able to work her way to a vantage point behind the eight brides without much notice, squeezing her way through as if she belonged to a different bridal family. Holding the springbow under her cloak, Bella counted, staring at the backs of the eight brides. From this angle, she could not see their faces, only their figures and the five platforms of varying heights that they stood on.
Half of them were blondes. His Grace clearly has a preference, Bella thought to herself, tugging at the blonde wig she had pinned carefully in place before setting out that morning. Ivette¡¯s glorious blonde hair had caught the duke¡¯s eye before; surely it could do so again.
The bride nearest to the crowd was standing on the ground, a mass of dark curly hair obscuring her neck and back and nearly blending into her black velvet dress. It would be difficult to aim precisely for the heart¡¯s triangle through that mass of curly hair, and she was not a blonde, anyway, meaning that she was not likely to be the duke¡¯s favorite. Next to her, perched on a platform that elevated her above the taller woman, was the first blonde, one with red and orange highlights that looked fiery and warm in spite of the drizzling rain and stood out sharply in contrast with her blue dress.
Unfortunately, the strawberry blonde was shifting nervously with an irregular rhythm as she gripped the hand of one of her neighbors, alternately shifting from side to side or bouncing on her toes. The constant small motions were bothersome. Hopefully, after the first shot took another bride, the strawberry blonde would freeze in place out of fear, giving Bella a cleaner shot than what was presently on offer.
Sharing the same platform with the strawberry blonde but looming taller on her own account was a lanky brunette in a peach dress, her hair falling in a long straight drop that did little to obscure the contours of her back or the position of her vitals. Unlike the shorter woman gripping her hand, the brunette was still. An easy shot¡ªbut a target of secondary importance given her brunette hair and boyish figure.
Next to the lanky brunette were two central blondes, standing next to each other on higher but uneven platforms that matched their heads to the same level as dear Duke Avery¡¯s own towering height, the smaller woman clad in blue and the larger woman clad in red.
Does His Grace mean to declare them his equal? Such a gracious man, Bella thought to herself, sparing a moment of affectionate thought for the man who had captured her heart. Then she swallowed nervously, realizing one of the two central blondes had to be her father¡¯s business partner¡¯s daughter. Guilbert de Lancaster was blond, a relation of the Duke of Lancaster, and was set to become the duke¡¯s father-in-law; logically, his daughter would be both blonde and in the greatest place of pride.
The thought of angering her father stayed her hand for the moment and sent her gaze skimming over to the next bride in line¡ªa brunette in an emerald-green dress covered with shining goldwork perched on the last of the four platforms. Not a blonde, Bella thought to herself. Though I envy her that dress, she was likely included only because of her father¡¯s wealth¡ªif that is real goldwork, she is clad in a fortune.
Her gaze shifted over to the last two women, feet planted on the ground. The one on the very end was a slender redhead in a sea-green gown with long draping sleeves; second from the end, though, was another blonde in a plain gray dress, one that Bella could see unusually. With a dress so plain, she must be a great beauty for the duke to wish to marry her in spite of her lack of family wealth. And I can see her so well¡ªit is as if my intuition has magnified her image to greater than her real size, Bella thought to herself as she raised the springbow, licking her lips in anticipation of the shot. The heart¡¯s triangle was so clearly visible in focus that she could not possibly miss, framed by a pair of flaxen braids.
As Bella¡¯s finger pressed down on the trigger, the redhead suddenly spun, dropping a small folded piece of orange paper that looked like a fox, her eyes widening in surprise as she shouted.
¡°No!¡± The redhead leaped, flinging herself over the giant blonde¡¯s back. There was a loud clang, as if of metal on metal, a heap of flowing sea-green silk landing on the grass with a splash of red hair on one end. The large blonde turned, gray eyes wide, her face a study in shock.
Bella grabbed another enspelled bolt from the sheaf strapped to her left leg and jammed it into the springbow¡¯s muzzle, reaching for the lever. That blonde is getting larger¡ªno, closer, Bella thought to herself as she raised the springbow, her finger nervously squeezing the trigger. The bolt burrowed into the ground only a few feet from Bella¡¯s foot. She grabbed a third bolt from the sheaf on her leg, backing up to give herself the time and space needed to reload her weapon.
The blonde got there first, grabbing the springbow by the barrel and yanking it away. Bella heard a crack, and the index finger of her right hand flared with pain, trapped by the trigger guard. But I still have the bolt, she thought to herself distantly, raising her left hand up. She gripped the bolt fiercely as she raised the bolt overhead, preparing to stab the blonde who she had thus far failed to shoot. The blonde¡¯s fist moved faster, filling her whole field of view. The fist seemed entirely too large to Bella, and then came the impact.
There was an instant of disorientation. Bella could not feel her body, but she could feel blades of grass against her left ear. With her right eye, she could see a patch of blue opening up in the gray sky, and then she saw nothing at all.
58. Procession
The great hall was nearly empty, occupied mainly by brides and attendants. If a storm had struck, the ceremony would have been held inside the hall, but the archmage-diviner had insisted the drizzling rain would clear up at any moment, and the duke had chosen to believe him. An outdoor ceremony in the bailey courtyard was preferable in that it allowed more of the duke¡¯s subjects to see the spectacle and celebrate.
As she jogged through the hall, skirt hiked up in her hands, Rose considered the political implications of the sunlit wedding. The fact that the greatest social occasion since the duke¡¯s hasty coronation would take place during sunlight would highlight exactly which nobles and other prominent citizens did and did not suffer from the aristocratic disease. No wealthy family of York could be seen to snub the duke on his wedding day, and Rose suspected that would be exceedingly awkward for some of them.
Rose spun in front of Anna, her loose light brown hair flaring along with the black velvet dress. ¡°There¡ªI nearly forgot in all the fuss. Now, we match.¡±
¡°It looks lovely on you,¡± Anna shook her head, green eyes peering down at her own black velvet dress, blue and green glass beadwork echoing the embroidery on the dress that Rose now wore. ¡°I just¡ I always expected that dress to be what I wore at my wedding. Not that this is¡ªMadame Jocosa has done an admirable job, and¡ª¡± Anna paused, fingering the teardrop-shaped turquoise pendant resting dead center of the square-cut d¨¦colletage of the dress. ¡°Thank you for this, especially.¡±
Rose nodded shyly. ¡°If it really is¡ªI hope it will.¡± She cut herself off, glancing around at the other brides. According to Madame Jocosa, it was a genuine moon rock from the second expedition, bearing a power to ensure fertility¡ªbut Rose didn¡¯t want to talk about that in front of seven other brides, any or all of whom might disapprove of Anna conceiving a child for the duke before they did.
Anna pulled her hand away from the pendant, pushed an errant dark curl back over her ear, and smoothed her dress against her body. ¡°It is a very pretty necklace, at least, and if it is really from the moon, you got it at a very kind price. It makes me feel quite beyond my station.¡±
¡°Your new station will be as her equal,¡± Rose said, gesturing over in the general direction of Johanna de Mathieu.
The baron¡¯s granddaughter¡¯s emerald-green silk gown glittered with goldwork and cloth of gold. She had on several necklaces, including a pearl choker and a golden chain bearing an antique t-shaped amulet punctuated with a brilliant central diamond and six emeralds¡ªone to the left, one to the right, one above, and three below.
Johanna was presently engaged in a discussion with her father Joseph, who was pale, shaking, and sweating in spite of the drafty chill of the great hall. The end result of that conversation was the exit of the younger Joseph from the hall, assisted by his wife Charlotte, leaving just Johanna and her grandfather, the elder Joseph.
¡°I guess I won¡¯t be the only one walking without her father,¡± Anna muttered under her breath.
Rose sighed, patting her friend on the shoulder. ¡°Your father has an honorable excuse¡ªnobody can shame him for being injured in defense of York. And at least your father will be in the audience,¡± she said, tipping her head subtly in the direction of Sabine de Lancaster.
The blonde woman, sixth in line for the throne of Lancaster, stood conspicuously alone in her vermilion dress, having already dismissed her maids. Her face was a stationary, serene mask, blue eyes fixed on some distant point a thousand miles away.
Anna shuddered. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I could stand to be married two days after my father died.¡±
Rose gave Anna a measuring look. ¡°I¡¯d always thought nothing would stand in your way.¡±
¡°Maybe,¡± Anna said. ¡°There has been one uncanny surprise after another. I used to dream about my destiny¡ªnow, it seems I have walked a dark and tragic path, shrouded with death and danger.¡±
¡°Well, you still have time to change your mind,¡± Rose said.
¡°Several days yet, if I decide to ask for annulment on the grounds of non-consummation,¡± Anna said. ¡°But I¡¯ll be damned if I¡¯m the one who leaves to bring us down to Fiona¡¯s seven true brides.¡±
Rose looked around for the quarter-elven wizard for a moment before spotting her. The redhead was dressed in her sea-green gown but was kneeling in the corner, the long, draping silk sleeves carelessly dragging against the floor of the great hall as she folded up a square of colored paper.
¡°My mother would kill me if I treated a fine gown like that,¡± Rose said.
¡°Oh?¡± Anna looked at Rose, then followed her gaze. ¡°Enchanted against dirt and damage. And if it isn¡¯t, she surely has a spell to fix it.¡±
A clangor of metal drew Rose¡¯s attention to the side exit of the great hall. Lady Maude was there with Sir Marcus.
¡°It must be nearly time,¡± Anna said, nervously touching her hair. ¡°Is everything staying in place?¡±
¡°Yes,¡± Rose said. ¡°As long as you don¡¯t keep touching it.¡±
¡°Sorry,¡± Anna said, then glanced back over at the side exit.
Sir Marcus now had Sabine on his arm, lining up four abreast next to the very massive Earl Ricard of Northumbria and his petite daughter Elizabeth, both dressed in blue. Behind them, Lady Maude was engaged in a vigorous discussion with Johanna, the gray-haired half-elf blocking the emerald-eyed woman¡¯s path.
¡°I thought we were going to process in the order of the queue,¡± Anna said, briskly walking in the direction of the exit. Rose hastened to keep up.
¡°Lady Sabine de Lancaster and Lady Elizabeth de Northumbria.¡± The stentorian bellow of Aildag, the duke¡¯s bellman, was clearly audible.
Lady Maude met them halfway. ¡°You will walk with Merilda,¡± the gray-haired half-elf said brusquely. ¡°It will be grossly unbalanced, especially since you¡ªwhere is your father?¡±
¡°His leg is not quite reliable yet, Lady Maude,¡± Anna said. ¡°Rose will be escorting me down the aisle.¡±
Lady Maude stopped in her tracks. ¡°If you¡ªbut¡ªwait.¡± She sighed. ¡°Very well. Isolde will serve as Merilda¡¯s escort; that will be the best I can do to try to balance that arrangement.¡±
¡°I am concerned about¡ª¡± Anna said.
¡°Go stand behind Helen, please,¡± Lady Maude said as she turned, walking briskly in the direction of the redheaded wizard. The woman in the sea-green gown was still kneeling on the floor and still intently focused on folding paper.
¡°Once the wedding itself is over,¡± Rose said consolingly, ¡°you can start giving her orders. But Avery did give her free rein to manage the details of the ceremony, and marching by rank instead of the brides¡¯ queue is more of a snub to Johanna than it is to you. Does she look angry?¡±
¡°She looks smug to me,¡± Anna said. ¡°Though maybe that¡¯s my imagining.¡±
¡°I would feel smug in her shoes,¡± Rose said. ¡°She¡¯s still first in line as far as the duke himself is concerned¡ª¡±
¡°Lady Johanna de Mathieu!¡± Aildag¡¯s voice cut across what Rose had intended to say.
Merilda walked up next to Rose¡¯s left side. ¡°We¡¯re supposed to walk together,¡± the large blonde woman said quietly, her gray eyes peering down at Rose. ¡°Unless¡ªis something wrong?¡±
¡°No, no,¡± Anna said, glancing back at Fiona. ¡°I was borrowing offense on behalf of someone else, and Rose was rightly settling my nerves.¡±
Isolde leaned forward to talk around Merilda. ¡°If it settles your nerves any, I would wager His Grace is as nervous as all eight of you put together. I¡¯ve never known him to be this close-minded.¡±
Anna blinked. ¡°How is being stubborn the same as being nervous?¡±This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.
¡°Oh.¡± Isolde shook her head. ¡°I meant¡ªnever mind, I don¡¯t think I can explain what I meant by close-minded right now. Maybe I should have said close-mouthed. But trust me¡ªspeaking as his foster sister, I have not seen him this nervous in years.¡±
Standing next to his chief clerk, an imperial notary, and another imperial official whose precise title and role he wasn¡¯t sure of, Avery stared at the discreet row of four wooden platforms of varying heights and widths. Aunt Maude had impressed on him that any deviation from her plans could have dire political consequences he did not fully understand.
The widest platform was meant to support both Helen and Althea, calibrated to bring the shorter Helen up to Anna¡¯s height. On the opposite side was a taller platform meant to match Johanna¡¯s height to that of Merilda. The middle two platforms would put Sabine and Elizabeth eye-to-eye with Avery, ensuring that they would have a couple of inches of elevation over a grounded Merilda and a platformed Althea.
Aunt Maude had strong opinions about the symbolic importance of height. It seemed silly to Avery; he was more concerned with the fact that of the investors of the York Textile Company, two were still unaccounted for. Master Warin had indicated both were alive, with Alric having decamped to Cumbria and Jacob remaining somewhere at large in the duchy of York, albeit outside of the city.
Also unaccounted for was the Scottish-style zombie that had delivered the poison gas to the Golden Fleece¡ªthought to belong to Master Alric, but not found in his office at the collegium or his upstairs apartment. Competing with his worries over safety was the worry that his brides would think ill of him, a consideration that had come into sharp focus the previous night. Johanna¡¯s bright blue eyes had looked up at him with a level of devotion and affection that he had never before felt and that he now felt obliged to reciprocate.
He nervously adjusted his new and hastily fitted ceremonial armor as Aildag¡¯s stentorian bellow interrupted his thoughts.
¡°Sabine de Lancaster and Elizabeth de Northumbria!¡±
Avery¡¯s chest pushed out as two pairs of bright blue eyes focused on him from a distance, drawing nearer along with their owners. Petite Elizabeth, looking even smaller next to her oversized father, was wearing an azure dress that matched her eyes, the bodice and accents in silver lam¨¦, her hair an elegant waterfall of blonde down her back.
Voluptuous Sabine with her intricate braids was hanging on Sir Marcus¡¯s arm. She wore red and gold that contrasted with her eyes, the deep, daring, vee-shaped d¨¦colletage drawing Avery¡¯s gaze in a process that seemed wholly out of his control. The ruby anchoring her necklace winked back at him from between perfectly sculpted feminine flesh barely contained by vermillion and cloth of gold.
Avery bowed to both and offered a supporting hand to Elizabeth¡ªher platform was tall enough that she clearly needed help mounting it. When he turned back to Sabine, he found that the Lancastrian woman had her hand out and a smoldering smile focused on him. Belatedly, he gripped her hand, offering the woman what seemed like wholly unnecessary assistance in mounting her shorter block with her longer legs.
You will need to offer each of them your hand as you put them in their places, now, Sir Marcus sent. Once you helped Elizabeth¡ªit becomes symbolism, you understand?
Avery did not, but he knew well enough not to argue the point. An explanation could come later, when he had less on his mind.
¡°Johanna de Mathieu!¡± Aildag¡¯s bellow announced the next arrival.
Distracted, Avery left the link to Sir Marcus open as he looked down the courtyard to the side entrance of the great hall. A woman wearing an emerald-green dress advanced, her eyes modestly downcast as she clung to her grandfather¡¯s arm, the dress so heavily worked with gold that it seemed to be gleaming in the sunlight in spite of the overcast weather. When he offered his hand to Johanna, a smile broke out on her face, and she looked up.
Emerald-green eyes peered into his. Eyes that were as far from blue as they could be while remaining green rather than brown or hazel.
Last night¡ªwas that a dream? Avery tried hard to keep his shock from showing on his face as Johanna settled herself on the wooden platform.
I don¡¯t know what you dreamed last night. Sir Marcus¡¯s mental voice sounded confused as it echoed in Avery¡¯s head, then Avery hastily cut the still-open link, embarrassed, shuttering his mind tightly with shields.
Althea and Helen were approaching, each accompanied by their father, the border baronets decked out in attire every bit as martial as Avery¡¯s own. Uncertain which of the two had precedence, he reached for Althea¡¯s hand, and the willowy brunette¡¯s hazel eyes flicked to the ground as she took his hand and stepped next to Sabine.
Then he reached for the hand of Helen, noting her bright blue eyes beneath strawberry-blonde curls. Could they be the same blue eyes that had met his the previous night? As Helen stepped onto the platform, Avery¡¯s gaze dropped downwards and he minutely shook his head¡ªHelen was shorter than his nighttime visitor. Her movements were springy and energetic, but the scale of the secondary motion of her bodice only confirmed that her figure was less generous than what he had seen¡ªand briefly felt¡ªthe previous night.
Aildag¡¯s voice again drew his attention. Avery watched closely as Anna and Merilda approached, guiding each into her proper place with his right hand. They had no platforms to step on and blushed to take his hand as he ceremoniously steered them into their designated places. By her size and figure, Anna could have been his nighttime visitor¡ªbut her eyes were as green as Johanna¡¯s, and the dark curly mass of her hair looked too substantial to conceal beneath a light-brown wig.
As for Merilda¡ªshe matched Marcus¡¯s height and was unequivocally too large to have been his late-night visitor, even if her straight flaxen hair in its tight braid looked easily enough hidden beneath a wig. Her eyes were gray¡ªclose to blue, but not quite what he remembered.
¡°Fiona the Red!¡± Aildag¡¯s voice cut through Avery¡¯s thoughts one last time, though there could be no mistaking the identity of the auburn-haired woman in the sea-green silk gown with its old-fashioned semicircular neckline, her exposed collarbones as pale as porcelain. Her eyes were not far from the shade of her dress, seeming closer to a watery blue one moment and closer to a pale green the next.
Her delicate figure and pointed ears would have been unmistakable as belonging to her over any other bride if they had been presented to him as they were¡ªbut she was a wizard. Perhaps only a journeyman wizard, but one whose skill had earned her a name. He did not know the limits of her magical abilities; for all he knew, she could transform herself into a fox, much less a differently-shaped woman with round ears and a generosity of proportions that the elfblood lacked.
As he grasped her hand to steer her into her position¡ªon the far side of Merilda from the crowd, where most of the crowd would not even see her¡ªAvery pried open the tight shield he¡¯d clamped around his mind and sent a delicate tendril of thought into the quarter-elf¡¯s head. Did you visit me last night?
In response, Fiona blushed, her skin turning a delicate shade of pink that contrasted poorly against her sea-green dress. No¡ªthough I dreamed of you. Were you dreaming of me?
Avery clamped the connection shut, offering only a minute shake of his head as he stepped away. The brides were all in their proper places, precisely where Maude had told him each should stand. The woman who had visited him last night¡ªhad she been Johanna after all? Eyes could seem different colors in different light. Even if the face had been the product of an illusion of some kind, he had recognized Johanna¡¯s dress¡ªthere would not be two separate dresses so alike yet tailored to such distinctive tastes.
Elizabeth was clearly too small to wear one of Johanna¡¯s dresses, and as for Sabine¡ªAvery¡¯s gaze flickered back and forth between the tightly fitted bodice Johanna wore and Sabine¡¯s daringly deep d¨¦colletage¡ªit seemed it would be difficult for her to wear one of Johanna¡¯s dresses for a wholly different reason. But dresses can be altered, he reminded himself.
His eyes flickered back to Sabine¡¯s chest one more time before rising to meet Sabine¡¯s face, which bore a serene smile. Staring into her eyes, Avery reached out with his mind, a mixture of at least two different passions thrumming through his chest as he delicately opened the shields he¡¯d been holding tight around his mind. Sabine, he sent, then paused as a pair of brilliant blue eyes suddenly crossed, the Lancastrian¡¯s pert mouth dropping open in surprise.
Thus distracted, he did not notice the cloaked figure in the courtyard behind his brides, raising a springbow; what drew his notice was a metallic clang a scant instant before Fiona plowed face-first into the grass behind Elizabeth.
Then he saw the hooded figure struggling to reload a springbow. ¡°Down!¡± he shouted both verbally and mentally as Merilda turned, looking down at the chaotic spill of red hair and green silk on the grass.
In defiance of his order, Merilda ran forward. Sabine fell like a puppet whose strings had been suddenly cut and Anna dropped into a crouch. For a moment that seemed far too long, the rest of the brides looked about in confusion. Avery stepped over Sabine¡¯s prone form and onto her platform, pushing back on the other three brides with his outstretched arms.
The hooded figure fired the springbow again, bolt plowing into the dirt in front of Merilda as Althea, Helen, and Johanna stepped away and ducked low, making themselves smaller targets. Merilda swung her fist, and there was a loud crunching noise as Avery started to run forward, frost forming on the grass in his wake.
The steady drizzle of rain stopped, and the sun peeked out from behind the clouds as Avery looked down at the unmoving figure of Beatrice Taylor, a clearly broken finger wrapped in the trigger guard of the springbow. She was still warm, but when he held his hand in front of her mouth, no breath fogged the silvery surface of the back of his hand.
¡°She¡¯s dead,¡± Avery said, looking up at Merilda.
¡°Sorry, Your Grace,¡± Merilda said, looking down at her feet. ¡°I¡ªI just wanted to stop her from shooting. And¡ªand I was angry that she shot Fiona. Are you going to send me back to my father?¡±
Avery shook his head, grasping Merilda¡¯s hand in his. ¡°No. Not unless that is what you wish from me. You did the right thing,¡± he said. ¡°And I think it is what your father would have done under similar circumstances¡ªhe is not known for hesitation.¡±
He looked around; in the sunlight, he could see no other threatening figures, and the guards were coming now. Avery continued to hold Merilda¡¯s hand as they walked back to his other brides.
59. Seven True Brides?
William Taylor had not wanted to attend the wedding but feared that his absence would be noted. The Taylor family¡¯s business interests and York¡¯s wizard collegium both needed positive representation, so he¡¯d come and brought a wedding gift for the duke, hoping to curry favor.
Unfortunately, his most valuable possessions were Florence and his personal library, and the duke seemed to share his predecessor¡¯s prejudices against necromancy; fortunately, he had access to the storage rooms adjoining the alchemy laboratory, where the early batches of test cloth had been stored. Technically, it was property that belonged in shares to the former owners of the York Textile Company, but Jacob Hebert was missing, and the other two individual investors were dead.
It would be some time before anyone else attempted to track down company inventory held by the collegium to demand their fair share of it, and the collegium had a substantial inventory of paper and cloth used for testing dying solutions. Cloth that was valuable but could not be easily sold without drawing attention to the fact that it mostly properly belonged to the dissolved York Textile Company¡¯s investors¡¯ heirs.
So, William had brought a wheelbarrow laden with various types of cloth of the purest shade of white, alchemically dyed with the solution that should have made the York Textile Company a household name among every dressmaker in the country. The castle guards had accepted the cloth, carrying it off to somewhere out of sight inside the great hall, and then he¡¯d settled in to watch the wedding, positioning himself somewhere that could be seen.
Then there had been the attack. William hadn¡¯t seen the first bolt fired, but the crowd had suddenly erupted in confused motion and babble. By the time he¡¯d gotten to a good vantage point to see, there was a blonde woman lying very still on the grass wearing an all-too-familiar heavy cloak. It was Edward¡¯s old cloak, one that William himself had enchanted as a journeyman for weatherproofing and warmth.
A pair of guards and a wolfhound were standing next to the cloaked body, one guard holding a springbow and sheaves of bolts, the other telling the crowd to keep a distance. William pushed forward, heedless of the halberd that pointed menacingly in his direction as he dropped to his knees next to the body. A gruff voice spoke words at him, but he didn¡¯t quite hear them, staring instead at the familiar face beneath the unfamiliar blonde hair.
¡°Beatrice?¡± William tugged at the blonde wig, revealing his niece¡¯s familiar dark hair beneath. As he did so, her head rolled limply to an unnatural angle. ¡°It is Beatrice,¡± he said with a heavy sigh, picking up the body and cradling it. ¡°Oh, dear sweet little Bella, what have you done?¡±
The body didn¡¯t answer his question.
William shook his head, then looked back up. The sharp metal point of the guard¡¯s halberd was shockingly close to his face. ¡°I¡¯m a certified master necromancer, and her uncle¡ªI can take care of the body from here,¡± he said, glancing over at the wheelbarrow he¡¯d brought to the castle. ¡°It¡ it isn¡¯t as if she will need to stand trial for what she has done; she has already paid with her life. Please. I had no idea she would do something like this.¡±
The halberd stayed in place for a long moment. In the distance, the tall form of the duke turned, looking over at him, and then both of the guards cocked their heads to the side at the same time.
The guard holding the halberd raised it away from William¡¯s face and to a less-threatening vertical position before he spoke. ¡°Very well. There is no place for a corpse at a wedding. Take her away forthwith.¡±
Between his family¡¯s business connections and his Cambridge classmates, William Taylor had been to enough fancy weddings and banquets to know that corpses had several places of potential importance in a wedding, but he suspected that contradicting the man on the subject would be unwise in several ways. Instead, he hoisted the body over his shoulder.
She¡¯s all grown up, he thought to himself as he handled the body, carrying it over to the wheelbarrow he¡¯d brought and laying it gently within, folding up the arms and legs to make it fit neatly. Very well-formed, too; I hadn¡¯t really noticed before¡ªand hardly any damage other than the cracked neck and the finger.
It was a shame that his pretty little niece was dead, but she had left behind a very fine corpse¡ªexceedingly well-formed, youthful, and with unbroken skin. Her injuries were simple, acute, and primarily to the skeleton itself. William hummed to himself as he pushed the wheelbarrow containing his latest acquisition, paying no mind to the pair of wolfhounds trotting in his wake.
Between all of my recent acquisitions, it would be quite easy to come up with ten or fifteen pounds of human soap¡ªand I have all my old notes from the Florence project, William thought to himself as he crossed the bridge, leaving the castle behind. Perhaps I could even try a Scottish-style rite as the base¡ªfrom what I¡¯ve read, the fact that she¡¯s a blood connection should make that process significantly easier.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
Avery walked slowly back towards the irregular line of elevated platforms, Merilda¡¯s hand clasped in his. Avery wasn¡¯t looking at his large blonde bride, though; his gaze was fixed on the splotch of long auburn hair spilled across the grass like a bright pool of blood. Fiona¡¯s sea-green gown gleamed in the sunlight, shimmering like a pool of water with waves in motion, gently rising and falling.
Not dead¡ªnot yet. Avery¡¯s steps quickened, and he pulled Merilda along behind him before kneeling next to the fallen woman, her gasping, short breaths audible. He took hold of one hip and shoulder, slowly turning her over onto her front.
Fiona¡¯s hand was clasped over her midsection; her eyes met his, her mouth gasping wordlessly. Avery opened a connection. Just think the words, he sent, cradling her in his arms.
That shot knocked the wind out of me, Fiona sent back. Or maybe the fall. Did the shooter get anyone?
Let me see the wound, Avery sent. He gently pulled Fiona¡¯s hand away from her bodice to look at the wound. A creased circular impression could be seen pressed into the silk, nearly an inch around, but there was no hole¡ªno blood. Lying on the grass was a bolt with a flattened head, the discharge of its own magic having been forced back against itself by the more powerful enchantment of the gown.
I will be fine. If I can catch my breath. Fiona looked up at him. But the others? I heard at least one more shot out of the springbow, and¡ªand I also heard something awful, a horrible, disgusting sound ending with a body falling to earth. Who died?
As he helped Fiona stand, Avery looked back in the direction of the fallen shooter. The ducal guard had moved into action¡ªand there was William Taylor, of all people, holding the body of the shooter in his arms, the corpse¡¯s dark hair nearly brushing against a blonde wig that lay on the ground as her neck lolled at an unnatural angle. In plain sight and framed by hair of a familiar shade, Avery could recognize the face. Bella had been the cloaked shooter.
The other brides are fine, Avery silently sent into Fiona¡¯s mind. The shooter is not. He broke his connection with the auburn-haired one and reached out with his mind, touching the mind of the ranking guard with a note of wordless inquiry.
Man wants to take body. Is family¡ªcan smell that much. The guard sniffed, tail curled proudly high. We detain? Interrogate?
Avery looked for a long moment at the shocked face of William Taylor and the limp corpse that the necromancer held, a corpse that had once been a pretty girl who seemed to wish for nothing more in the world than to marry the Duke of York. A pretty girl whose father had died because said duke had decided to dissolve the York Textile Company. Whose family had likely lost a fortune.
No, Avery sent. Tell him he may go. I have caused that family more than enough pain. But someone should follow and keep an eye on him in case he is minded for revenge.
He turned away and walked back around the little row of uneven platforms, holding Merilda¡¯s thick right hand and Fiona¡¯s delicate left hand, steering two of his brides back into their proper place with a solemn frown on his face. Fiona¡¯s silken gown was pristine in spite of her dive into the grass, but Merilda¡¯s knuckles were spattered with blood, and there were a matching set of parallel streaks on her gray homespun dress marking where she had wiped her hand after the fateful blow.
Sabine stood in front of her platform, her hand halfway extended. As Avery grasped her hand to assist her in stepping back up on her platform, he looked into her bright blue eyes, opening up a channel of mental contact in preparation for speaking with her privately. Sabine¡¯s gaze flickered down to her feet as the blonde woman shivered. She took a deep breath, then looked him back in the eyes, composing her expression.
¡°Do we still proceed?¡± The imperial notary¡¯s raspy voice broke Avery¡¯s concentration.
Avery turned to look at the notary. ¡°Yes,¡± he said, then looked back at his brides, hesitating. ¡°That is¡ªif you are still willing? I do not blame any of you if you wish to take your leave to reconsider, under the circumstances.¡±
Fiona firmly gripped the wrist of an uncertain-looking Merilda. ¡°We do,¡± the auburn-haired wizardess said at the same time as two other voices, neither of them Merilda¡¯s, said ¡°Yes.¡±
Althea opened her mouth, then closed it as Helen¡¯s foot pressed down over hers. The strawberry blonde girl went up on her tiptoes to whisper in her brunette friend¡¯s ear. Althea frowned, listening, then looked down at her friend, nodding. ¡°We are with you, Your Grace,¡± Althea said aloud, grasping her friend¡¯s grass-stained hand.
The wash of wordless determination flowing through Avery¡¯s mental connection to Sabine reminded him that he had left it open. We will speak later. He focused, severing the connection and looking back and forth along the line of his brides one more time. The expressions of the faces looking back at him varied from grim determination to lip-biting nervousness to a furrowed brow of confusion, that last expression belonging to Fiona as she looked at the other seven brides.
The quarter-elf bent, picking up a small orange paper fox out of the grass, which disappeared into her sleeve as she shook her head. Standing near the front of the crowd of witnesses, Master Warin nodded, rolling his hand in a motion resembling that of a wheel turning. Fiona fixed a smile on her face that did not quite reach her eyes as she looked at Avery and spoke:
¡°The ceremony shall proceed.¡±
60. Until Death Us Departs
¡°The ceremony shall proceed.¡±
The smile fixed on Fiona¡¯s face did not reach her watery eyes, and Avery¡¯s heart tightened as he looked down at the slender wizardess who had spoken with firm certainty. Her face framed by auburn hair above and by the semi-circular neckline of her sea-green dress, the long, draping silk sleeves swaying as her hands fidgeted nervously.
Are you sure? Avery thrust the words into Fiona¡¯s mind as he clasped her left hand in his, focusing his attention on her and ignoring the voice of the imperial notary as he silently communicated with her. Is there worse to come? What have you and Master Warin divined that has you so worried?
We divined that you would have seven true brides, should you live to marry. Fiona sent. But none have stepped aside today. None have fallen. Eight women still stand ready to marry you, and the remaining possibilities disturb me. Perhaps that means I should step aside, but I do not want to, not any more than I could bear to see Merilda struck by the assassin¡¯s springbow. I cannot see any way for me to do better for the world than to support you as your wife and wizard, and I have not met any man I would rather have than you as my husband, my lord, or my king.
Avery rocked back but kept holding Fiona¡¯s slender hand in his as he stared into her eyes. There are no kings in the empire but Ivar himself¡ªHis Imperial Majesty has no use for lords greater than princes and dukes.
Fiona¡¯s slender hand tightened around his as she spoke aloud, responding to whatever the imperial notary had said. ¡°I, Fiona, who hight also the Red, take thee, Avery, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to be bonair and buxom in bed and at board, until death us departs; thereto I plight thee my troth.¡±
Avery could feel Isolde and Marcus attempting to contact him as Fiona spoke her wedding vow, and he could guess at least some of what they wanted to tell him. I wasn¡¯t supposed to marry you first, he silently told the wizardess as she finished speaking. I was supposed to follow the queue. But none can say you did not earn it when you flung yourself in front of a springbow bolt.
¡°I take thee, Fiona, for my wedded wife, for fouler, for richer, for poorer, so that thou be buxom and bonair to do what I bid thee do,¡± Avery said aloud. ¡°Thereto I plight thee my troth.¡± He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it, then tucked the finger of his right hand under Fiona¡¯s chin, bending to kiss her firmly on the lips. Her slender, elfin fingers grasped at his breastplate as a flood of emotion washed through their mental connection, and Avery¡¯s mental shields wobbled.
Finally, Isolde¡¯s voice said in his head, the intrusion on the moment as welcome as a bucket of cold water to the face. I¡¯ve been trying to get through to your thick head forever. Mom says at this point, you may as well just go from right to left; anything else will be worse¡ªbeing visibly systematic will make it look as if you¡¯re starting with the woman of lowest breeding is only an accidental snub of the rest instead of a deliberate insult.
As Isolde spoke, Avery broke the kiss, staring down into Fiona¡¯s eyes and trying hard to ignore his foster sister¡¯s mental voice. Fiona stared back, her lips parting unconsciously, and her voice rang in his head, three simple words: I love you. Avery broadcast a wordless affirmative before breaking both telepathic connections, turning to Merilda and grasping her thick left hand in his as he looked into her gray eyes.
¡°The vows between Duke Avery of York and his bride, Fiona the Red, have been recorded,¡± the notary said, to the sound of scattered cheers. ¡°I now record the identity and presence of Merilda, the daughter of Sir Malkin Guy.¡±
Avery spoke his vow to Merilda¡ªhe was supposed to speak first; he remembered that much¡ªand then Merilda gave her vow, and he leaned forward to kiss the large blonde woman, tilting his head only slightly for the scant few inches that separated their heights. Her gray eyes closed beneath her bushy brows, and her right arm wrapped him around in a hug, crushing their left arms uncomfortably tightly between them for a moment before she stepped back, looking down at her feet.
Avery squeezed Merilda¡¯s hand one more time before turning to Johanna, who was standing on a platform that raised the baron¡¯s daughter up to match Merilda¡¯s height. Johanna¡¯s emerald-green dress was stiff with gold, a more fanciful and elaborate version of the gown she had worn when she had become the first fianc¨¦e to swear her family¡¯s loyalty to the Duke of York. Even Sabine¡¯s dress was a less impressive display of wealth and status, though it was unequivocally more daring; Madame Percy had done excellent work.
In contrast to the day of their betrothal, when Johanna had shyly stared at her feet, today the young woman¡¯s emerald eyes firmly met Avery¡¯s own golden eyes as he spoke his oath. It was he who felt shy, his cheeks heating under outwardly impassive silver skin as he recalled the sight of that face looking up at him the previous night¡ªthat face, only with brilliant blue eyes instead of emerald eyes, and thus perhaps not truly Johanna. Still¡ªhe had to be sure.
As Johanna spoke her oath, he carefully opened a channel into her mind. When she had finished, he grasped the back of her head with his right hand and covered her lips with his in a passionate kiss. As her cheeks flushed pink, he spoke in her mind. Did you come to visit downstairs last night?
How is it that you speak to me without speaking? Johanna¡¯s eyes popped wide open as she squirmed, panic and confusion coloring her thoughts as she reflexively tried to jerk back in surprise. Avery¡¯s hand was like iron on the back of her head, though, stilling the motion. Your foster sister safeguarded my honor last night¡ªwhat dare you say to impugn it?
I had to ask¡ªI am sorry. Avery released Johanna¡¯s head, allowing her to pull away. I am yours tonight, he added.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Thus we have sworn, Johanna silently replied, her green eyes narrowing with suppressed rage. I have never ridden but sidesaddle in all my years to ensure my virtue would be beyond reproach on my wedding night. Do you think so ill of me?
No, sent Avery, in desperate apology. You will be the first¡ª He hesitated, searching for an end to the sentence that would be true. The first bride to share a bed with me. And no other bride stands before you in my heart.
He severed the connection before she could reply further and turned to Elizabeth, taking her left hand and speaking his vow a fourth time, trying to ignore Johanna¡¯s smoldering eyes as she continued to stare at him. His smallest bride was dressed in a blue dress that matched her eyes, the bodice gleaming with silver lam¨¦ that shone in the sunlight, and she stood on a taller platform that raised her height past Johanna by another two inches.
Elizabeth clasped his hand with both of hers before she replied with her vow, leaning forward on the edge of the platform. ¡°I, Elizabeth, speaking on behalf of Northumbria, take thee, Avery, to be our lord and master and husband through these dark times,¡± she said. Her high voice, usually quiet, was pitched to pierce the crowd. ¡°Northumbria pledges its loyalty to York and its daughter as York¡¯s buxom and bonair bride. We plight thee our troth.¡±
The imperial notary said nothing for a long moment as a hubbub of noise erupted from the gathered crowd. Then the notary swallowed uncertainly, his quill pen scratching quickly against the paper in front of him. ¡°The vow spoken by Elizabeth of Northumbria has been recorded.¡±
Avery felt that he was taking up most of Elizabeth¡¯s weight with his left hand as she leaned forward for their kiss. He pushed into her mind. Careful, he sent. Don¡¯t lean so far forward that you fall.
Her lips broke away from his, startled blue eyes meeting golden eyes as Avery pushed her back onto the platform. ¡°I¡¯m sure you wouldn¡¯t let me fall,¡± she whispered with a smile, brushing a loose strand of blonde hair away from her face as she replied aloud to the silent message, her brows furrowing as she wondered how he had spoken with his lips clasped to hers.
Another pair of blue eyes stared at the two of them¡ªSabine, on the next platform. Avery¡¯s eyes tugged downward from Sabine¡¯s brilliant blue eyes, gravitating down to the ruby pendant nestled between her breasts as he spoke his oath. Then, with an effort of will, he looked up, catching for one moment the left side of Sabine¡¯s lip curled upward on its own before plump lips parted to speak.
¡°I, Sabine de Lancaster, take thee, Avery de York, to be my lawfully wedded husband.¡± Sabine¡¯s eyelashes fluttered in a show of modesty before she went off-script. ¡°I am yours completely, to have as you will, until my death and beyond. I plight thee my troth.¡±
She swayed gently as she closed her eyes, leaning forward; when he kissed her, her mouth opened, pulling at his tongue to draw it inside her mouth. Amidst the eager osculation, Avery touched her mind. It was you last night, he mentally growled.
Her knees buckled suddenly, and he swept his arm around her shoulders, holding her up so that she would not fall. After a moment, her inner voice reached his mind. Your Grace, it is pleasing that you would address me in this way at this time and this place, she began, her tongue swirling about his as she hung limply in his arms. And I appreciate that you also did not let me fall. Such an incident would be most embarrassing for the both of us.
Answer the question, Avery sent back.
You did not ask a question, Your Grace. Although I daresay that your kiss may have become unseemly long, at least in the eyes of the others. A throaty chuckle sounded both in his mind and against his mouth, but in spite of her words, Sabine did not move to break off their kiss, continuing to tug on his tongue.
Avery pulled away, steadying Sabine¡¯s shoulders with both of his hands. Minx. We shall speak later, he sent, curtly breaking the mental connection as he turned to Althea.
He did not see Sabine¡¯s satisfied smile as he recited his vow for the sixth time, his golden eyes fixed on the eyelids of Althea¡¯s humbly downcast eyes. Althea mumbled back hers shyly; then Avery tilted his head down to kiss Althea. Their lips met; an instant later, Avery was surprised by the shy brunette¡¯s tongue boldly plunging into his mouth, twisting about his with confident skill.
For a moment, Avery was tempted to linger to hold the kiss for as long as he had with Sabine, to prove a point of some kind¡ªhe was not sure of precisely what point¡ªbut instead he broke away after a dozen heartbeats, smiling at the lanky brunette girl. Her hazel eyes now met his rather than staying downcast, though she bore a blush that matched her cheeks to the peach shade of her dress.
On the same low platform but shorter and therefore more distant from Avery¡¯s face was Helen, her strawberry-blonde hair tucked back in a long ponytail. The usually confident woman opened her mouth to start blurting out her vows before Avery could start to speak his. She spoke quickly, rushing through the vow, words either jammed close together or skipped in her haste.
¡°¡ªin sickness and health to bonny buxom in bed and board ¡®til death us part I plight thee my troth!¡±
Avery spared a glance at the imperial notary, wondering if the older man could clearly hear what Helen had made of the vow or would simply write down what he expected to hear from the jumble of rapid words. Then he recited his vow for the seventh time, staring down at a pair of rapidly blinking blue eyes before bending down to kiss his seventh bride of the ceremony. Helen rose up on her toes, meeting him halfway for a brief, nervous collision of pursed lips before falling back down on her heels. Althea gave Helen a sharp look; Helen looked away, staring down at the ground.
Avery turned to the last bride in line, Anna. She stood directly on the ground¡ªas she did not outrank Merilda, Aunt Maude had not felt the need to elevate her¡ªand her skin looked pale in contrast to the surrounding black velvet and dark curly hair that framed her face and bosom. Avery found that looking down at her face from close by gave him a very appealing view of a teardrop-shaped turquoise pendant framed by the square-cut d¨¦colletage of Anna¡¯s generously filled bodice.
Anna¡¯s fierce green eyes grabbed at his gaze, forcing it upwards to meet hers. She watched him intently as he took her hand in his and gave his vow. Then she tugged their hands together on top of the left side of her chest to speak her vow, loudly and clearly, not taking her eyes off his as she pressed the back of his hand against the soft flesh over her heart.
¡°I, Anna, take thee, Avery, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to be bonair and buxom in bed and at board, until death us departs; by my heart, I plight thee my troth.¡±
Avery bent down to kiss his bride. The imperial notary spoke, announcing that he had recorded the final vow, but Avery paid little attention to the notary, focusing his whole attention on the moment with Anna. When she wobbled on her feet, he swept her legs off the ground to carry her in his arms before breaking off the kiss.
There was a cheer from the assembled crowd, and he turned to face them. Feeling seven pairs of eyes on his back and several minds clamoring for his attention, he decided instead to speak directly to his citizens. ¡°People of York! Your duke is married¡ªand again, eight times over. Come and celebrate!¡±
The sun shone brightly, and the Silver Duke gleamed as he walked through the crowd, a beautiful, beaming bride held in his arms and seven more following behind him.