by K. C. Julius
But what Halla envied them most was their right and duty to aid in protecting the realm—perhaps even to earn glory and renown in battle against Drinnglennin’s enemies. It had been a decade since the Helgrin raiders had attacked their shores, but that didn’t quell Halla’s ardor to become a warrior. She was by far the best of her father’s offspring with a bow, and though she did not yet possess the strength to wield a two-handed great sword, she was highly adept with a broadsword. She’d proudly heard Draylan refer to her swordplay as “lethal.” To use her skill to defend Drinnglennin would be the most glorious of pursuits.
She was nearly as passionate about the running of Lorendale’s estate. From an early age, she’d earned the respect of Torrin, her father’s reeve. Torrin had been a beneficiary of the school started by her grandfather, and he in turn had taught Halla about the management of crops and livestock, the obligations and relationships among the vassals, peasants, and their lord, and the provisioning of the great household. She knew how many tuns of wine and beer were consumed each week, how many sacks of flour were ground and loaves baked, how much wax was taken from the hives for candle-making, and how many pounds of fat rendered for soap. She’d learned to oversee the gathering and pressing of olives and grapes, the winnowing of grain, and successions of sowing and harvesting.
She also knew everyone’s name on Lorendale’s estate, for without her mother’s knowledge she made regular rounds with Torrin, and assisted Mistress Haddie in the infirmary. She learned much about their grievances from her hidden listening post in the gallery above her father’s council chamber. Lord Valen had been indulgently aware she eavesdropped on his judgments—and had occasionally surprised her by asking her opinion of a claimant’s case or a verdict passed.
But the breadth of Halla’s knowledge and accomplishments apparently counted for naught. As a daughter of the House of Lorendale, her sole purpose in life now was to make a powerful alliance with a nobleman through marriage—and then to bear him children to continue his illustrious line. As though my body is nothing but a vessel, to grow and nurture some stupid lord’s seed, she thought bitterly. She dreaded the day of her betrothal, not least because she would have to leave Lorendale.
The fish on her trencher was cold and boney, and she put down her knife. It was then that she saw the unfamiliar knight at the entrance to the dining hall. He had clearly just ridden in—his dark hair was dripping and his cloak was spattered with mud.
A guard hurried ahead of him to the high table and offered a swift bow. “Sir Alson, vassal of Lord Jaxe of Cardenstowe, bids your leave to enter the hall, my lord and lady.”
Lady Inis’s eyes widened. Cardenstowe was the kingdom adjacent to Lorendale in the west. Her sister, Lady Rhea, was married to the lord of that land.
“Pray have him come forward at once, and set a place for him across me.” She glanced at Nolan, and added summarily, “By your leave, my son.”
The hall fell silent, and the young lord nodded before all eyes turned once more toward the newcomer.
“Please give your seat to our guest, Halla,” said Lady Inis.
Before Halla could protest, a servant lifted her trencher and carried it to an empty place at the end of the table. As Halla rose to follow it, Gray gave her a smug smile.
Sir Alson approached and bowed low to Nolan and Lady Inis. “My lord, my lady,” he said, “forgive me for appearing travel-stained before you. Your lady sister bade me present myself to you with all haste.” He dropped his voice and added, “I fear I bear tidings best not delivered at board.”
Lady Inis paled and rose at once, and Nolan got to his feet as well. The court at the lower tables followed suit.
“Then pray refresh yourself, Sir Alson,” said the lady of Lorendale. “Lord Nolan and I will await you in the upper hall. It’s clear you’ve ridden hard with your burden, and the least we can do is offer you the courtesy of our table before you share your news. I apologize for the cold fare; as you must know, we are recently bereaved.”
The knight bowed gratefully as Lady Inis swept from the room with Nolan in her wake. The gathered household at the boards below resumed their meals and quiet exchanges. Sir Alson took a place at the table and gave a nod to his three young companions.
As the knight bent to his chilled soup, Gray rested his chin in his hand and stared rudely. “Has someone died?” he asked.
Ignoring the question, Sir Alson brought the spoon to his lips. There followed a tense silence that lengthened until his bowl was empty. Only after a servant had whisked it away, and another had laid a trencher of meat before him, did the knight give his attention at last to the now-livid lordling across from him.
“Begging your pardon, my young lord,” Sir Alson said, and there was no mistaking the censorious tone of his voice. “My message is for Lady Inis, and it is only fitting that it be delivered to her, and to her alone.” To emphasize his disapproval, he drove his knife savagely into his meat.
Gray flinched, much to Halla’s delight.
“I wonder, Sir Alson,” she said politely, “if you might tell us the news you are at liberty to share from Cardenstowe? Have the new dikes and weirs engineered by Joh Revin eased the overflow of the river? And has the Council decided on the tithe allotment for this harvest season? How will the flooding affect that determination?”
Sir Alson rested his gaze on Halla, and she imagined he was wondering, as everyone always did, where her apricot hair and green eyes had come from in this family of towheads. He smiled for the first time since entering the hall and proceeded to answer her questions. As their discourse progressed from engineering to estate management and husbandry, she saw respect replacing the mild amusement that had at first lit his eyes. When at last he recalled his duty and excused himself—with apparent reluctance—he nodded curtly to Gray and Pearce and made a gallant bow to Halla before following the waiting guard to Lady Inis’s chambers. An angry flush stained Gray’s cheeks as he glared at the knight’s departing back.
Halla wisely rose without comment to retire to her own rooms. Her curiosity regarding the knight’s message would keep her wondering this night. She hoped that whatever news he carried wouldn’t add to her mother’s sorrows.
She never considered that it would compound her own.
Chapter 17
Inis
Someone had indeed died—Lord Jaxe of Cardenstowe, Lady Inis’s brother-in-law.
“Forgive me for bearing these sad tidings to you on the heels of your own recent loss,” said Sir Alson, his back to the blazing hearth, “but my lady wished for you to learn of Lord Jaxe’s demise before others spread it abroad.” The knight held out a fold of papers sealed with the teal peacock of Lady Rhea’s crest. “She bade me await your reply. Shall I leave you to read it in private?”
Lady Inis accepted the missive with a steady hand. “Pray you stay, good sir. Only be seated and drink some mulled wine while I see what my poor sister has written.” She broke the seal and scanned the pages quickly before turning to her eldest son. “My lord,” she said, “we will have much to discuss on the morrow. I beg you now go to your rest, so that I may rely on your level head in the morning.”
Nolan rose, ever the dutiful son. “I bid you both good night,” he responded with equal decorum.
“A fine lad, if I may be so bold as to note it,” said Sir Alson as the door closed behind the boy.
“Lord Nolan has a good heart,” said Lady Inis, “and we’re fortunate to have a council of loyal vassals to guide him in the coming years.” A small sigh escaped her. “I confess I’d counted on Lord Jaxe to stand as my son’s mentor in my husband’s stead, which makes this news an even heavier blow to bear.”
She straightened her shoulders, for she was no stranger to sorrow and knew it could be borne. She’d lost her own mother, Princess Simone, when she was three. Simone had been of the Royal House of Konigur, and cousin to High King Urlion. S
he died shortly after Rhea, Inis’s sister, was born. The two girls had been sent to live in the household of their uncle, Prince Storn, the younger brother of Asmara and Urlion, but only briefly. When Storn, too, perished shortly afterward, in the Great Battle, Inis and her sister were placed under the care of Princess Asmara, their mother’s cousin. They never saw her, however—she had taken vows to the goddess and lived as a recluse—so the sisters were attended by nursemaids and, later, ladies-in-waiting, until they married.
Lady Inis well understood the pain of neglect, although she imagined Halla would not credit her with this sensibility.
Meeting the knight’s sympathetic gaze, she said, “My sister reports her lord died suddenly while at prayer. Do you have any more details regarding how this came to pass, sir?”
Sir Alson looked perplexed. “How mean you, my lady?”
“What I am asking,” said Lady Inis bluntly, “is if any foul play is suspected in Lord Jaxe’s death. It seems a great coincidence that both our husbands have made the Leap in the span of a week.” She paused to regard the knight across from her. “My younger sister declares her complete trust in you, sir. Although Rhea is not worldly, she is a good judge of character. May I speak freely?”
“Certainly, my lady. Whatever passes here goes with me to my grave.” Sir Alson put his hand to his heart.
Lady Inis inclined her head graciously. “As you know, both Cardenstowe and Lorendale’s heirs are of the royal blood, and both are young and untested. I’m sure you’re also aware our neighbors to the north have been very active along our borders this past year, challenging old markers to contest boundaries that have stood for centuries. It’s said that in Drinnkastel, the Nelvor are flaunting their mercenaries, and it’s been rumored they’ve even questioned the necessity of the Tribus. They make little attempt to disguise their desire to have one of their own warm the High Throne following Urlion’s death.”
Sir Alson leaned forward. “My lady, have you reason to suspect your husband’s death was not accidental?”
Lady Inis shook her head. “None. But now I can’t help but wonder.”
Sir Alson nodded slowly, his brow furrowed.
“Perhaps these concerns are groundless,” said Lady Inis, “but I thank you for hearing them nonetheless, that they may be considered should any evidence to support them arise in the future.”
She lifted the pages her sister had hurriedly penned, the waxen seal already softening in the warmth of the hall. “Do you know what my sister requests of me, sir?” she asked as she leaned forward and consigned the letter to the fire. The pages curled and charred, bits of them lifting like tiny black wings above the blazing logs.
“I do, my lady.”
“So you are prepared to escort my daughter to Cardenstowe in, say, three days’ time?”
“I am, my lady.”
Lady Inis clasped her hands together and laid them in her lap. “She will be made ready, although I fear she won’t go willingly. Be forewarned.”
A smile creased Sir Alson’s weathered face. “I’ve commanded legions of men in battle, my lady.”
Lady Inis raised her fair brows. “That may be. But I think you will find that Halla is a war unto herself.”
Chapter 18
Halla
“Don’t leave us,” Pearce pleaded. “We just lost Father; you can’t go too!” Looking up at Halla, his eyes shimmered with tears. “Who will light my candle for me,” he whispered, “when the dark dreams come?”
“Hush now,” Halla said, gently disentangling herself from his woeful embrace. “Tamara is always sleeping just outside your chamber, and you’ve only to call if you need her. And you’ll see me again next month, for the… when you all come to Cardenstowe.”
She smiled encouragingly, but within her, shock and wrath roiled. She still couldn’t believe that her mother had chosen this moment to force her to leave Lorendale and enter into marriage—and with her horrible cousin at that! Halla had visited the impregnable fortress of Cardenstowe many times, and on no occasion had she found any virtue in either it or in Whit, the intended groom. She’d always found him to be an arrogant ass, and she spent most of their family visits avoiding him. Nothing had ever been mentioned about a union between them—and as they were first cousins, Halla had never considered it remotely possible.
From the moment she had been informed of the proposed match, she’d argued strenuously against it, and had not failed to renew the argument at every opportunity since. Even now she refused to give up hope of dissuading her mother. So as soon as she had left Pearce, she headed directly to Lady Inis’s chambers, determined to change her mind.
She found her mother at her desk with Nolan seated beside her, reviewing estate reports. Her brother looked overwhelmed, and his look of relief at the interruption faded when he saw who it was. He had borne witness to Halla’s alternating anger and pleas over the past two days, and now he would be forced to listen in wretched silence as their mother, once again, rebutted each of her daughter’s objections.
“As I explained before, your aunt feels Whit needs settling, and you are both of an age to wed,” Lady Inis said firmly. “Lady Rhea counts on you to support her in this wish.”
“What about my wishes?” Halla retorted. “I can be of use here, helping Nolan manage the estate.” When this argument fell on deaf ears, she pressed forward to the next. “Our father has just died, Mother! We haven’t even finished the bereavement period. Have you no regard for my feelings?”
Lady Inis remained unmoved. “It’s your secure future, and that of Lorendale and Cardenstowe, that I am thinking of, Halla. Whatever your present feelings are toward your cousin, they’re bound to change. I only met your father once before we were wed, and we were blessed with happy years together.”
“And I’ve met Whit time and again, and my opinion of him has altered only for the worse!” cried Halla. “Besides, isn’t there a stricture against cousins marrying?”
Lady Inis waved a dismissive hand. “I sent a message to Drinnkastel only this morning, requesting this stricture be waived. It’s to King Urlion’s benefit if our kingdoms are more closely allied through this marriage. Now—as there’s nothing further to discuss regarding this matter, I suggest you waste no more of either of our time and focus your energy on organizing what you’ll need in your new home in the coming weeks. Your trousseau and other belongings, as well as your dowry, can be brought when we come to attend the wedding.”
She turned pointedly back to the reports spread before her.
“I won’t marry him!” Halla cried, stamping her foot.
Lady Inis lifted a bell and rang it sharply. When a manservant appeared, she said, “Kindly escort Lady Halla to her chambers.”
“Mother!” Halla pleaded.
But her mother didn’t look up from her papers. “If you wish to join us for meals before you depart, daughter, come you not with debate still wagging your tongue. You will do your duty. This matter is settled.”
Back in her rooms, Halla gave vent to her outrage, kicking at the chests that had been set out for packing, and slashing the curtains with her broadsword. When at last her fury was spent, she threw herself across her bed. But she did not weep, for she knew tears opened no portals and cleared no obstacles.
Lady Inis may have pronounced the matter settled, but Halla was far from admitting defeat.
* * *
On the day before her departure from Lorendale, Halla rose at dawn. Her mother had still not relented, nor, Halla was now certain, would she ever. She dressed in her training tunic and hose, tied her hair into a ragged knot, and pulled on her riding boots. When she opened her chamber door a crack, she was relieved to see her rebellious threats had not warranted a guard at her door.
One of the benefits of taking a keen interest in Lorendale had been Halla’s discovery of the hidden passages that lay below the castle’s fo
undation. She now took one such passage, which led from the east tower down to the outer courtyard near the secondary stables, where a few horses were kept for the household staff to run errands in the surrounding countryside. If Halla had tried to pass through the front gate, without a chaperone, she would surely have been turned back—but this secret passage had, for several years now, allowed her to slip covertly outside the castle walls. The young grooms in the servant stables had grown used to her appearing at any time of day, and never dreamed of challenging her.
Emerging from the dark underpass, Halla woke a dozing boy and instructed him to saddle a jennet for her. Soon she was trotting along the outer walls of the stronghold, her spirits lifting as she gave the horse its head on the road leading north. They veered into Lords Wood, the exclusive hunting reserve of the lord of Lorendale, and followed a narrow trail deep into the forest.
Stillness resided among the bare trees, the only sound the rustle of leafmeal beneath the jennet’s hooves. Halla edged along a steep ravine, reining in when she caught sight of the stream below. She dismounted and whistled a long low note, followed by two higher.
Only the faint trickle of water broke the silence.
She whistled again, and her heart leapt when she heard the whistle echoed back. Somewhere below her, the camp still lay, the smoke from its fires shielded by dense firs.
* * *
Over the last few years, Halla had come often to the å Livåri’s camp in her father’s vast forest. She’d learned much about these people known to most of Drinnglennin as Lurkers. They were nothing like the lone scavengers who had soiled the å Livåri reputation. They were a decent and kind people, fiercely loyal to their kin and to the Konigur kings.
