Korinna bit her lower lip and finally spoke of the thing that worried her the most. “But what about the Warlord?” she said in a shaky voice. All of the dark fears that haunted her mind when she tried to sleep began to spill out. “Maybe he expects a submissive wife who will follow his orders and stay out of his way. I don’t know what women are like where he comes from, but a mercenary commander probably gets certain expectations from leading an army.”
Pherenia pulled her close in a warm embrace, and for a moment, she was silent as if she too feared for her daughter’s marriage. At last, she murmured, “I don’t know what traditions they have for women in Khazeem, but Galenos must have learned by now that we are equals in almost everything here. If he doesn’t respect you, remind him that he needs you to legitimize his full citizenship and claim to the duke’s title.” She paused, then added, “And there are other ways you could control him if you want me to teach you. The rumors say that he lives the life of an ascetic, forsaking pleasure. The first lover someone has, whether they are man or woman, can have a hold over them.”
Korinna knew about physical love in theory, and she’d shared a few awkward kisses with boys her age from the village, but she shrank away from the idea of using her body as a tool. She pulled back from her mother and shook her head vehemently. “I couldn’t do something like that,” she said firmly. Then she glanced up, suspicion growing for the first time. “You’ve never, I mean, with my father…”
“No,” Pherenia said softly, and her eyes began to sparkle with tears. It seemed that tears were never far away ever since Basileos had refused to take her to the capital. “I thought about coaxing him to put aside his wife when he first sent us here, but I couldn’t go through with it. I love him too much. If I didn’t, I might have made a better life for us, but I chose my heart over everything else.”
Korinna hugged her mother again, tighter, but she didn’t cry with her. Love had brought her mother nothing but pain. She vowed that she’d never let her own heart become a weakness that could be used against her. The most important thing was to take care of herself, and her mother—maybe someday, after she married Galenos, she’d be able to bring her mother to the city to live with her. Then she’d have one ally she could rely on in the complicated political landscape of the capital.
A knock at the door interrupted their embrace. Pherenia stepped back and wiped her face with the end of her sleeve, then turned to the door. “Come in,” she said kindly.
A squire of the guards, a boy named Aeson who was barely older than Korinna, entered and presented a sealed letter with a bow. “You instructed us to bring any news from the city to you right away,” he said formally. “This just arrived by runner.”
Pherenia’s eyes widened and she snatched up the letter to examine the seal. “It’s from the duke,” she confirmed eagerly. She broke open the seal and began to read it.
Korinna felt her heart sinking into the pit of her stomach, but she turned to Aeson and smiled politely. “Thank you,” she said to make up for her mother’s lapse in manners. “We both appreciate it. You may return to your duties.”
Aeson made another quick bow, then grinned at her. “I hope it’s good news.”
Korinna grinned back despite her fear. Aeson had been the class clown when they studied in the village school as children, and his training with the household guards hadn’t done much to sober him. It was hard to keep up the appearance of a noble lady around him. But the moment he left the room, her smile faded again and she went to her mother’s side, waiting anxiously to see what news had come from her father.
After several minutes of intense study, Pherenia put down the letter and sank back in her chair. “The Council has chosen another wife for the duke,” she said flatly. “There’s been some unrest in Mezzarion since he conquered the city, and they want to cement his claim through a marriage to one of their noble families. Some highborn woman named Drosia. All the arrangements are made—they’ve set a date only a month away.”
Korinna perched on the edge of the chair next to her mother and leaned forward. “Does he want me to attend his wedding?”
Pherenia covered her face with her hand. “No.” She held out the paper to Korinna with a shaking hand as if she couldn’t bear to have it near her. “He doesn’t make any mention of when you’re going to the city.”
She took the letter and read it carefully, looking past the formal language to see if there were hints of another meaning behind the duke’s words. But it all boiled down to the plain facts her mother had already listed. Basileos wrote that he would wed this other woman, but he expressed no apology for disappointing Pherenia with the news and didn’t mention Korinna at all.
Pherenia let out a heavy sigh. “Perhaps he’s simply too busy with the wedding right now,” she said, but her voice didn’t sound hopeful. “It could be too awkward to confront his new wife with the arrival of his daughter by another woman, so close to his wedding. When things have settled down, then he’ll send for you.”
Korinna murmured an agreement, but inwardly, the tension that knotted her stomach began to release for the first time since the duke’s visit. She might not have to marry Galenos after all—at least not right away. She could stay in her home and do what she could to comfort her mother. Although Pherenia found the letter disheartening, it was a little bit of good news for Korinna after all.
***
Months passed without any further word from the duke, and life returned to normal in Anoberesovo, the activity of harvesting the grain and offering thanks to the gods in the festivals that celebrated the end of one year and the start of another. Korinna did not grow anxious at the sight of a traveler on the road from the capital or a knock at the door and Pherenia stopped speaking of her daughter going to the city.
But she noticed, without wanting to, that her mother seemed to eat a little less as the silence continued, and she grew tired earlier in the day. Korinna tried to take up more of her mother’s responsibilities to they wouldn’t weigh on her so heavily. The staff seemed to notice the shift too; they didn’t say anything aloud, but Steward Myron started coming to Korinna first with the household accounts, and the captain of the guard reported to her directly. Korinna went alone out into the fields to help the farm workers, leaving her mother alone in her room to weave and sew, and the people of the village grew comfortable speaking with her about their daily concerns.
Then a week before her fifteenth birthday, Myron brought her another letter with the duke’s seal. “I thought you would want to view this privately,” he said in a solemn tone.
Korinna accepted the letter with a smile of thanks, but she dreaded what she would read. Inside were only a few lines, written by a member of the duke’s staff instead of her father’s own hand, and they sealed what she had already suspected. Basileos had a son, born to his new wife Drosia. She knew the unspoken implication: he had an heir at last, so there was no use for her.
“Please do not speak of this to my mother,” Korinna told Myron, and he nodded with understanding. She locked the letter in a drawer, buried under old childhood keepsakes. It would only hurt her mother more to learn the truth.
She expected her fifteenth birthday to pass without any remark, but when she came home from her exercises that evening, she found the manor lit up with candles, the hall filled with smiling people from the manor staff and the village, and a special supper laid out on the table with all of her favorite foods. But the biggest surprise was waiting for her on the chair at the head of the table: her mother’s saffron dress, showing signs of being freshly altered.
Pherenia swept forward with a smile and held the dress up to her daughter’s tiny frame. “I took it in to fit you,” she said, showing how the hem had been shortened to match Korinna’s height and the waist slimmed for her, all with tiny invisible stitches from her skilled hand. “I know the style is old-fashioned, but this is the only dress I have left from my youth in the capital. I thought you could take it with you to remember your m
other by.”
Korinna clutched at the delicate linen fabric, so much finer than the wool garments she wore on a daily basis, and felt her secret weigh heavily on her heart. She couldn’t tell her mother the truth in front of all these people. She blinked back tears and smiled up at her mother. “Thank you,” was all she could say.
Pherenia hugged her tightly, then handed the dress off to a servant to put it away. “You can try it on later. For now, let’s eat! I brought extra help into the kitchen and they worked all day to prepare this birthday supper for you.”
Korinna accepted her place of honor at the head of the table and looked around at all of the people who had come to celebrate her birthday with her. The hall wasn’t large enough to hold all seventy families from the village, but she saw more people spilling out of the manor into the courtyard and the surrounding land. Of course, the extravagant meal was like a holiday to them, but she saw genuine smiles of happiness for her own sake reflected on their faces—and she realized that she knew each one of them by name, knew their families and the special skills that each one possessed, from the blacksmith to the lowliest shepherd. She had spent her life with these people, and knew that she could trust them to work hard with her to take care of the land they shared. She didn’t want anything more than to stay here with them.
Pherenia poured a goblet of wine for Korinna, then lifted her own cup in a toast. “To Korinna!” she called out across the hall. “In only a year, she will be a woman, and serve Kyratia by marrying the duke’s chosen heir to carry on his noble line. But she’s already accomplished so much. I’m so proud to call her my daughter!”
Cheers filled the hall, and Korinna blushed with gratitude at their praise, hiding behind her goblet. The wine went to her head, so she sipped at it sparingly while she tried to enjoy the meal. Her guilty conscience made it hard to enjoy anything, but she plastered a smile on her face and thanked everyone she could personally.
The birthday supper lasted for hours, but finally, the food ran out and the stuffed villagers slowly trickled out of the manor, leaving the servants to clean up. Korinna was left alone with her mother.
Pherenia was usually dozing by the time supper was finished, but tonight she was full of energy, grabbing her daughter by the arm and dragging her up to her room. “I have more presents for you,” she said brightly. “I want you to go through all of my jewels and pick out which ones you’d like to bring to the city. A duke’s daughter should never be without proper adornment, of course. I know you’ve been waiting a long time, but I’m sure it won’t be much longer since he wants to prepare you before you’re old enough to wed.”
Korinna let herself be led into her mother’s chamber, but when the door was closed, she nudged her mother toward the bed. “Sit down,” she said gently. “I need to tell you something.”
Pherenia perched on the edge of the bed and patted the spot next to her for her daughter to join her. “Come, talk to me. Are you still nervous about going to the city? I know it’s a big change, but I’m sure you’ll learn to fit in there in no time. You know, I was considered quite the jewel of society when I was young, even though my family wasn’t noble. You’re as lovely as I was—and I caught more eyes than just the duke’s.”
Korinna waited for her mother to finish babbling, then took her hand and squeezed it. “Mother,” she began, looking into her eyes because she was going to face the truth head on. “I’m not going to the city.”
Pherenia tilted her head to the side. “What? You can’t say no to the duke, my dear, whether you want to go or not. It’s his order.”
“The duke doesn’t need me anymore,” Korinna said with a shake of her head. “His new wife just gave birth to a son.”
Pherenia’s eyes widened for a moment, but then she stopped and patted Korinna’s hand. “No, he can’t have a child so soon. Where did you hear that rumor? Someone must have been playing a joke on you.”
Korinna cringed at the pain underneath her mother’s denial, but since she’d spoken up, she had to finish it. “It’s no rumor. I had a letter with his seal—” She stopped herself from mentioning that it wasn’t written by him directly. “It arrived last week, but I hid it from you. It’s been many months since their wedding,” she added gently, fearing that her mother was losing her grasp of time.
Pherenia looked away, her eyes going blank. “A son,” she murmured as if testing out the idea. “I could have given him a son years ago, but I was careful not to have another child before he married me, afraid that we’d become a burden to him. Maybe if I’d had a son, he would have set aside his barren wife and married me.”
There was so much bitterness in her voice. Korinna put her arms around her mother, trying to calm her down. “You can’t dwell on what might have been,” she said, stroking Pherenia’s hair soothingly. “This is what we have now. You still have me, and the duke will make sure we’re taken care of. Next year when I’m grown, we can ask him to find me a suitable husband, one who would be happy here with the home we already have. That’s all I want.”
“No.” Pherenia wrenched out of her daughter’s grasp and crossed the room to her writing desk, yanking open drawers in a frenzy. “His newborn brat may claim Mezzarion if he likes, but the duke has made promises and they must be kept. Kyratia is yours to rule with Galenos. I shall write to remind him of his obligation.”
Korinna pleaded with her mother to stop, but Pherenia wouldn’t listen, pulling out papers and writing in a wild hand. She called Myron to her chamber and gave him the sealed letter, ordering him to be sure that it was delivered directly to the duke.
Myron accepted the letter, but his eyes met Korinna’s for a moment, and she knew that he would wait for her confirmation before he sent anything. She gave a slight shake of her head, and he left the room.
At last, Korinna coaxed her mother into the bed and lay with her until Pherenia fell asleep.
Korinna was exhausted from the long day, but she found the steward and drew him aside for a whispered conversation. “Get rid of that letter,” she told him. “I’ll write to the duke myself in nicer terms, wishing him congratulations and asking if he has any plans for me. Make sure the rest of the staff knows not to deliver any messages from the capital to my mother, or to send anything else she writes without me seeing it first.”
Myron nodded, his eyes filled with sympathy. “Of course. We’ll do whatever it takes to help with the lady’s…infirmity.” He reached out and ruffled her hair fondly, as he had done when she was a small child. “She’s right to be proud of you, whether she realizes what you’re doing or not. We’re all proud of you.”
Korinna smiled faintly. “I’m only trying to do the right thing. Thank you for your help.”
He bowed respectfully and left her to collapse in her own room. It was only her fifteenth birthday, but suddenly she felt much, much older. Taking care of all the people of Anoberesovo and dealing with her mother was a heavy responsibility. Was this how her father felt with the weight of all Kyratia on his shoulders? For the first time, she felt sorry for the duke, never able to make the choices that he wanted. If that was what it meant to rule, then she was grateful, once again, that the burden had passed her by. One estate was enough for her.
***
With care, Korinna saw her mother’s mental state improve over the next few months. So long as no one mentioned the duke or Kyratia’s capital, Pherenia seemed to stay calm, going through the motions of daily life with most of her customary poise and dedication. If she had a little less enthusiasm or her smile didn’t always quite reach her eyes, well, at least she no longer locked herself in her room and cried in bed. They would go on, with or without the duke.
The planting season arrived, bringing new work for everyone with the plowing and sowing. On the longest night of the year, Pherenia went with the other adults from the village to the bonfires, where they danced and blessed the fields in the ancient fertility rites. Korinna saw her mother come home the next morning with a little smile and
extra spring in her step. She never asked for details about the celebrations, but she was happy that her mother had found something—or someone—to help distract her from her worries.
Summers were too dry for many things to grow on the peninsula, so winter was the fertile season for grain and most other crops, when storms brought life-giving rain to the fields. When the first clouds appeared on the horizon, they planted their fields and tended them throughout the eight months of rain. It was cold, wet work—most days brought at least a drizzle, so they couldn’t wait for clear days to go outside—but there was a warm fire waiting in the manor, a hearty meal from the kitchens, and a soft featherbed to fall into at night.
The crops were growing well and when a fateful morning changed everything. On a rare sunny day, a young boy came running up from the village. He shouted frantically as he came into the courtyard, waving his arms. “Help! Oh, please, come help!” he said in a hoarse voice, close to breaking.
Aeson, on duty in his squire’s uniform, was the first to catch the boy, who collapsed into his arms and immediately started sobbing. Korinna saw them as she came outside, both sitting on the dusty cobblestones. She knelt next to Aeson and put her hand on the village boy’s shaking back.
“Has he told you what’s wrong?” she asked, looking up at Aeson.
The squire shook his head. “He hasn’t gotten it out yet. I’ve been trying to get him to calm down.”
Korinna went and filled a cup with fresh water, then brought it back to the boy. “Here, take a deep breath and drink this,” she said in a soothing tone.
Aeson helped the boy sit up to drink, not caring that some of the water dribbled down onto the front of his tunic. “Your name is Biton, right?” he asked the boy. He looked over the boy’s head at Korinna. “The tanner’s son,” he explained.
Korinna remembered the boy’s father and nodded. She thought she’d recognized the child, but there were so many children in the village, she couldn’t be sure of all of their names. “It’s alright, Biton,” she told him. “Collect yourself and speak when you’re ready, then we’ll see what we can do to help.”
The Duke's Daughter Page 2
