Closer to Home: Book One of Herald Spy

by Mercedes Lackey

  That was just how it was, of course. Still . . .

  Violetta couldn’t help but dream that, for her, it might be different. After all, once her two older sisters had made advantageous marriages—which they would, because they were both pretty, and had good dowries—she might be given leeway to choose for herself. She already knew she was Father’s favorite, although when it came to things like clothing allowances, he was either strictly impartial or favored the other two. But he indulged her in so many other things—like all her pets—that she couldn’t help but realize that he favored her.

  So she might be able to be the one of the three who would get to choose, not for advantage, but for another reason. And she daydreamed that there might be a handsome, kind, gentle young man who would love her on sight, as she would love him. . . .

  “And there is Violetta, dreaming about being the heroine of a ballad again,” said Brigette, with a laugh, as her hands dropped into her lap and she forgot to take her stitches.

  “She might as well,” Aleniel observed. “Once Father has us well established, it won’t matter that her dower is half of what ours is. There are plenty of third and fourth sons out there who would be quite happy with a pittance and a place in Father’s court. When the alternative is joining the Guard, or some Temple or other, or being the redundant and expendable fellow to send out to do unpleasant things, a pretty young wife, a modest income, and a guaranteed place at the Court Royal isn’t so bad.” This was said without any acrimony whatsoever; Aleniel was by far the most practical of the three of them, and had no inclination for romance. She never had, in fact, and so far as Violetta could tell, that was just her nature.

  “I hope,” she continued thoughtfully, “That Father finds me a nice, wealthy old Duke or Count. The older the better, so long as he doesn’t have any children by a previous marriage. That would suit me very well. I shall do my duty to him with such enthusiasm that an heir is sure to follow . . . and he will most certainly die a happy man, leaving me free to follow my fancy.” She smiled. “And in the meantime, because I shall tend his ills and do everything in my power to make him feel he has gotten a great bargain in me, I expect I shall lead a very cosseted and indulged life.”

  Violetta nodded. Pragmatic didn’t even begin to describe Aleniel. Some might think her cold if they ever listened to her speak frankly. Although she never did speak frankly, except to her sisters and Mother and Father. For strangers, she was cordial, and cheerful, and she had been practicing the arts of being charming and seeming warm for the past year and more, ever since Father had determined on coming here this Midwinter.

  For her part, Violetta didn’t think she was cold, no matter how she spoke. She was just extremely practical, and always had been, for as long as Violetta could remember. When she chose fabric for a gown, it was always something that would wear well and could last through at least one turning. When she chose a dish at dinner, she always calculated whether or not she would look graceful eating it. And from the time they all began to speak of husbands, it had been Aleniel’s plan to wed an old, titled, rich man.

  To that end, she had set out to make herself into the sort of spouse that would best please an old, titled, rich man. She had never undertaken to learn something without having first decided it could be used to her advantage. She never bothered with learning a musical instrument, for instance, but did learn everything she could about creating medicines in the still-room, because an old man would appreciate someone who could soothe his ills much more than someone who could plink out a tune. Her embroidery was superb—a very highly prized skill, since beautiful embroidery made a fine gown worth a great deal more. She knew dozens of card and board games, the better to amuse an old man who might be disinclined to leave the comfort of his own hearth. She had a strong, clear reading voice for the same purpose.

  And her self-control was . . . epic. She never raised her voice, no matter how angry she might be, and no matter how angry she might be, she never showed it. She never lost her temper. She was always serene on the surface.

  Violetta actually admired her sister; she always thought it must take an enormous amount of discipline to deny yourself things you might want to do so you could learn things that would serve a more useful purpose. And of course, Aleniel was going to give whoever became her husband an absolutely honest bargain. On his side, there would be wealth and rank. On her side, her beauty, her accomplishments, and the promise of an heir. She would, Violetta knew, be absolutely and completely faithful to her husband for as long as he was alive. She would pledge her sworn word to that at the altar, and she never, ever broke her word.

  Aleniel had what seemed to Violetta to be an almost inhuman patience. She had no trouble at all waiting what seemed an impossibly long time to Violetta for something that had been promised. She had been perfectly frank with her sisters—if not to their parents—that her plans did not include lovers until after her husband was safely in his grave. She was perfectly ready to wait for however long that took.

  But then, she had always been perfectly ready to wait for anything she really wanted. She’d demonstrated that over and over again as a child.

  For instance, there was a beautiful, absolutely perfect place on the estate to swim; a sun-warmed pool, with clear waters, mossy banks to lie on, fed by a little stream with a waterfall. But the girls were forbidden to go there alone. They had to take with them a particular trio of female mercenaries their father employed for various escort and guard duties on the girls and their mother. Many had been the time that she and Brigette had lost patience, waiting for the mercenaries to finish escorting their mother to market, or visiting the cottagers, or some other task that Father felt required an escort. She and Brigette would wander off to some other pursuit, but Aleniel would sit there, reading or sewing or some other useful thing, no matter how warm the day, patient. And her patience would always be rewarded. She would get her swim and return home in time for dinner or bed, cool and comfortable, while Violetta and Brigette would have to make do with sponging down with a basin of tepid water instead of having the refreshing swim that they longed for.

  So Violetta had absolutely no doubt that Aleniel would do exactly as she pledged. It was as certain as it was that the fire at their feet was hot.

  “Well, I’ll be perfectly happy to find father has got me either a second son in a landed family, or a nice, wealthy merchant,” Brigette said firmly. “Not just any merchant, of course. It will have to be a Guildmaster.” She set a few more stitches thoughtfully; her embroidery was absolutely fabulous, and she was creating a lozenge containing the family crest of a gold rampant lion on blue to appliqué to one of her new gowns, using real gold bullion for the lion’s mane. “It would be lovely if it were someone in the Jeweler’s Guild . . . or the Cloth Merchants. Just imagine having the free run of the warehouses!”

  Brigette was not as pragmatic as Aleniel, Violetta knew, but she was practical, and she loved beautiful things. “Just imagine being your husband’s showpiece!” Aleniel replied, with no rancor whatsoever. “You are pretty enough to show off anything to good effect, and your husband would be a fool not to drape you in whatever he wished to sell and take you to Court and festivities as often as possible.”

  “That . . . would be wonderful,” sighed Brigette, as her eyes turned dreamy. Violetta knew that in her imagination, she saw herself gowned and jeweled to perfection, the envy of every woman who saw her. As long as she could have beautiful things, Violetta knew she was indifferent to what her husband looked like. Well, almost indifferent—but unlike Aleniel, Brigette was unlikely to find herself married to a sick, smelly old man. It would more likely be a man of quite mature years, but still vigorous enough to run his business and run it well. And given that her marriage would be to someone who was marrying into the highborn, acquiring a title of nobility for his offspring if not himself, it was very unlikely that she’d be married off to someone who wasn’t suitable, presentab
le, and pleasant.

  They all three sewed a little more, basking in the warmth of the fine fire.

  “And we know what Vi wants, don’t we?” Aleniel exchanged a look of amusement with her sister. “A beautiful young man, who writes her terrible poems, and caterwauls under her window, and whispers ridiculous things into her ear.” She put her embroidery down in her lap and struck a pose. “Oh Violetta, Violetta! Your sweetness puts the flowers to shame, and your eyes teach candles to burn brighter!”

  Brigette also dropped her embroidery and put the back of her hand to her forehead, dramatically. “I swear by sun and moon and stars, never have I seen a maid more fair, and never was fair maid more kind!”

  “Oh stop,” Violetta protested, as her sisters giggled. She blushed, because, to be honest, that was exactly what she wanted. Only she of the three of them believed in the love-ballads that the Bards sang. Only she of the three of them hoped she could marry for love, not advantage.

  Only she had no avarice for fine jewels, or expensive gowns, or a great manor. So long as we do not go hungry or ragged or cold, I would marry a farmer if he loved me and I loved him. She didn’t dare say that out loud, of course. Her sisters would first laugh at her, and then make it their business to disabuse her of those ideas.

  Well . . . as long as Father doesn’t plan to marry me off to one of the cousins . . . There wasn’t a single one of them she loved, and there were quite a few of them she didn’t much like, but that would be Father’s idea of kindness, so she never had to leave home, and she and her husband could set up their household as part of Father’s greater household. If he got that idea in his head, she really had no idea how she would talk him out of it.

  Still . . . if that had been his plan, he wouldn’t be letting her go along to these parties with her sisters, now, would he? He’d save the expense of the gowns and all and keep her home.

  So she listened to her sisters outline their plans for this evening, and daydreamed, thinking about meeting someone’s eyes in a dance, and having the world change . . . and the fire crackled pleasantly, the work under her hands was soothing, and her new pet poked his little nose out from under her skirt and made her smile.

  —

  Listening to the girls gossip away about the sorts of young men they were hunting sounded exactly like listening to a lot of young men plotting a day of game hunting! Amily wasn’t certain whether to find that amusing or appalling. She did make a note to ask Dia or one of the others if all the young ladies of the Court were like this . . . though she had the sinking feeling that most of them probably were. And . . . looking at it pragmatically, she knew she shouldn’t be surprised at this. Getting married well was their business, the thing they had been trained for from the time they were very small.

  She was just grateful that she wasn’t one of them.

  Her own fire crackled just as pleasantly at her feet, and the more time she spent in these rooms, the more she appreciated Bear’s taste in furnishings. The chair she was in was extremely comfortable; exactly the sort of thing that you needed, if you were going to be concentrating on Mindhearing . . . making sense of what came through a dog’s ears!

  Well I am obviously not going to learn anything from Violetta’s pup, she thought, At least not tonight. It was time to move to the mind of the old mastiff, and see if his master was having a conversation with any of his underlings that would be useful to overhear. She opened her eyes and rubbed them a bit, then shifted a little to make herself more comfortable. Closing her eyes again, she sent out her thoughts, searching for the familiar mind of the old dog.

  The mastiff was easy to find for her now, and she settled in to discover that, rather than drowsing as he usually did, the old dog was very much awake and alert.

  And that was because the master’s little sanctum was full of his men. And he was delivering a stern lecture to them. Or rather, at them; it was pretty obvious from his tone that he was laying down the law rather thickly, and was going to brook no dissent.

  “. . . don’t want my girls’ chances spoiled because you hotheads can’t keep your tempers if one of you idiots sees someone of House Raeylen and starts something.”

  There was grumbling at this, immediately, grumbling which began to rise in volume.

  And this insubordination, enraged the mastiff’s master. The mastiff heard the anger in his master’s voice, and scented it as well. His hackles came up and he tensed, although he was too well-trained to growl without being commanded to.

  Lord Leverance, in the meantime, raised his voice and shouted them down. “I am the head of House Chendlar, and by all that is holy, you will obey me, you young fools! Once I have marriages arranged, at least for Aleniel and Brigette, you can do as you like, but until then if you attend these Midwinter parties, you will keep your swords in your sheathes and your challenges behind your teeth! Because if you don’t, I can beat you to a bloody pulp, throw you out on your asses and leave you to join the Guard or find some other fool’s bread to eat! Do I make myself clear?”

  Amily was more than a bit startled by this. There had been no sign of this formidable temper in the man she had met. But then again, a temper like this wasn’t something you showed to your superiors. It was something you kept hidden, and only displayed to your subordinates.

  Small wonder all the servants in Lord Leverance’s house treated him with total respect. That respect was probably born of fear.

  There was muttering, but it all followed the general pattern of “Aye, my Lord,” or “As you will, my Lord.” It was clear this pack of relations had seen his temper at work as well, and they were not about to chance evoking it. For her part, Amily was . . . well not precisely delighted, since it was quite clear that Lord Leverance had no intention of actually giving up the feud, but at least somewhat relieved that he was attempting to keep blood from being shed for the time being. I wonder if I ought to advise the King that he shouldn’t allow any betrothals to take place until after Leverance takes his family and goes home . . .

  But that would scarcely be fair to the girls, who hadn’t done anything, and didn’t deserve to be punished. And the eldest two really, truly wanted those betrothals.

  Although a part of Amily was completely revolted by the idea that they defined themselves by their ability to make a “good” marriage. And that once married, they would define their own worth by how “worthy” their husbands were. She tried to remind herself that this was how they had been trained, and that they didn’t know any different, and that they couldn’t miss what they weren’t aware existed.

  And by that reasoning, it is perfectly acceptable for people to keep slaves, if that was how they were raised, they aren’t abused, and they don’t know any better. No. No, I can’t accept that is right. I may have to accept that this is what those girls want, but I don’t have to accept that this is right.

  And she would, by all that was holy, work to change it.

  But she had work to do. She went back to concentrating on the dog and what she was hearing through his ears and seeing through his eyes.

  Having laid down the law, Lord Leverance dismissed his men. He sat in silence for a moment, brooding into the fire. The dog got up and sat down beside his master, laying his enormous head on the man’s knee. Leverance smiled a little, and gave the mastiff a rough caress. “You, at least, I can count on, old man,” he said to the dog, who, of course, only understood the words “old man” as being one of the things Leverance called him, and thudded his tail on the floor. “I know when I give you an order, I can count on you to obey it. Those hotheaded fools . . . I am not so sure. I swear, there are times that if I could replace them, one and all, with dogs, I would.”

  The mastiff nudged his master’s hand, and Leverance chuckled a little. “All right, old man. Go and lie down. I have to attend this infernal party as it’s the first of the lot, but after this, you’ll have me all to yourself while
her Ladyship and Lady Dia deal with this confounded nonsense. It would be much easier if we all did the sensible thing, and treated this marrying off business like a Hiring Fair. We should assemble all the parents with children to marry off in an enormous room and conduct this properly in a businesslike fashion.” He sighed. “Well, we can’t so . . . keep the hearth-rug warm, old man. It will be a late night for me.”

  And with that, he got up to leave. Amily disengaged herself from the old dog’s mind and debated going to the King . . .

  :You don’t need to go to the King,: Rolan reminded her. :You have me. I’ve already passed the information on to him, or at least, what’s relevant.:

  One less thing to have to worry about, then. For a change!

  Which only left her with several hundred others. Time to get dressed in her own version of finery, and join the rest of the Court . . . or rather, the ones who were not attending the particular Midwinter party that the three girls were going to, nor any of the other three being held tonight—none of which had nearly the cachet of the first. The courtiers in attendance at this evening’s very subdued gathering would be insulted if she and at least one of the Royals were not there.