“I am sorry he is not here with us any more, Katriona.”
“If he were, I would not be marrying again would I? Arvane was a good man, but he was also a good soldier. And good soldiers often die. I am not the first young widow in the world, and I wish dearly I could be the last. But I am one among many.” A touch of fragility entered her voice. Her kohl-lined eyes moistened. She blinked her tears back and smiled. “Look at me! Weeping on my wedding day. If you’ve five minutes to spare for me, will you walk with me?”
They relaxed into each other’s company and talked of this and that, greeted relatives both loved and disliked, they watched Irricans play tunes upon silver trumpets that stirred the heart, they took drinks from Tyn, and clapped at several clever tableaux vivants.
After a time, Katriona had to go. “I have a bride’s responsibilities, brother, and I am neglecting them,” she said. She kissed Guis on each cheek.
“Who is that strange woman, the one in the mannish clothes with the pipe?” asked Guis.
“Her?” said Katriona, looking around. “I’m surprised at you. That, dear brother, is the Countess Lucinia Vertisa of Mogawn.”
“She’s the Hag of Mogawn?” said Guis, mildly surprised.
“Yes. Her father and Demion’s were close. There are good relations between the Morthrocks and the Vertis. Relations, brother, I wish to keep in good order,” she tapped him on the arm with her fan. “I would appreciate it if you were not your usual offensive self around her.”
From anyone else but Katriona, Guis would have fallen into one of his traps of despair. Frankness defined their relationship, and he took no offence.
“I have no intention of saying anything unpleasant to her. I’ll willingly mock a man for his foibles, but it is the worst thing in the world to mock someone for their physical characteristics. They cannot help them.”
“Saying that to her would be precisely the level of bold tactlessness I wish to avoid,” she said reproachfully.
“I won’t even allude to it. She is not a beauty by any yardstick, and her clothes and manner are a little out of the ordinary, but I think ‘hag’ is unwarranted, sister. I have heard some colourful descriptions of her. I do not recognise the woman from them. She seems... lively.”
They watched her awhile, as she laughed without restraint.
“People are cruel, and foolish. They call her that because she does as she pleases, and will take no man as a husband. She is thirty-five and not yet married. She was educated at the academy of Goodlady Halyonaise in Perus, apparently she was quite the favourite.”
“A yellow sash?”
“A frightful one!” said Katriona mischievously. “Rumour has it they were lovers. Half the stories they tell about her are nonsense, but the other half are true. Generally the more shocking they are, the greater the truth, so says Demion.”
“He told you that? I thought the man never spoke around you.”
“He is rather awkward, but he did ask me to marry him.”
“He must have worked up to that over months!”
“Guis!”
“Come on, he’s been besotted with you for years.”
Katriona frowned a little. “Leave him be, Guis. For today, if you can. He is a good man.”
He is not Arvane, thought Guis. He felt compelled to say it, to speak the truth no matter how hurtful. He fought to keep it in.
“What do you think of her?” he said, returning his attention to the Hag.
“I find her fascinating. I intend to get to know her.”
“Kindred spirits, and all that,” said Guis. “But I’d advise against the pipe.”
Katriona gave him a sisterly shove.
“Watch the wine!” he said.
“I’ll spill it if I desire. It’s my wedding.”
“She’s fascinating.” The hag joked with a pair of young blades, all dressed in ribbons at the principal joints of the body, as was the fashion for the youthful this year. Guis was disdainful of them, he doubted they could use the swords at their belts. His disdain grew as they laughed with her, only to speak to one another behind their hands once she moved on. “Tell me sis, how are you going to preserve your independence?” He nodded at Morthrock. “I see him there politely listening to Great Aunt Cassonaepia, he’s managed five minutes and his smile is yet to crack. There’s steel in that man. Even you might not be able to master him.”
She elbowed him sharply. “Don’t you worry about me, brother,” she said sweetly. “Nobody may rule the mind of this woman, no matter how much steel he has.”
“A certain steeliness is a man’s friend on his wedding night.”
“Behave yourself,” said Katriona. “Show a little decorum.” She gave him a peck on the cheek. “Thank you for everything.”
“For what?” he said, taken aback. “What have I done?” Guilt clouded his mood. He had done very little for his sister in recent years.
“For being my brother, you arse!” she said, sotto voce. “All of you, the whole brawling, arguing, stupid gaggle of men I had to grow up with. I love you all. You better find fitting wives or I shall be most unpleasant to them.” Her face softened. “And you particularly. Were it not for you I do not think I would have survived Arvane’s death. I thought my life over before it had begun. You showed me it was not.”
“Well,” said Guis. “He was my friend. I miss him too.”
She touched his cheek softly.
Guis forced jollity into his voice. “And now perhaps you should attend to your other guests. I am going to introduce myself to the countess.”
“Be good!” she called after him.
He turned back to face her and gave a self-deprecatory bow.
“GOOD DAY, COUNTESS,” he said.
The young men courting Lucinia Vertisa’s attention looked daggers at him, but she turned and welcomed him warmly. “And here comes the eldest son! Guis, is it not?”
Guis nodded. “It is. You know your Kressinds well.”
“Your father is a man of great repute.”
Closer to, the Hag was even less hag-like. She had an unfortunately masculine face, square shoulders and a thick waist. That she was dressed in barely feminised male clothing of garish colour with a matching fan in a man’s style did not help her. She lacked many womanly charms, but she was not repulsive. He had seen far uglier women pursued ardently, ordinarily those attached to large fortunes, and no one called them hags. Despite her plainness there was a vibrancy about her that was attractive.
“I thank your family for inviting me,” she said.
“On behalf of my family, I am glad you came. In truth, I lack the authority to make any representation on their part.”
She smiled. “Naturally. I hear of your estrangement from your father.”
“We are all gossiped about, countess.”
“That we are!” she agreed. She took a fresh glass of wine from the tray of a passing Tyn and handed it to Guis. “I trust you do not mind me defying convention, but you appear to be running dry.”
“And I trust you refer to my glass and not my conversation.”
“My my! Are they all as dry as you?”
“Not quite. Katriona is drier.”
“She has it all then, I see,” the countess said. “She is quite the beauty. The breasts, the lips, the hair... All those attributes that so trouble the gaze of men.”
“Quite. She is well aware of all that, but refreshingly reluctant to abuse her gifts. Do not judge her by her looks, she is a modest woman.”
“We are all judged by our looks, goodfellow.”
“That we are, countess.”
She looked at him curiously.
“She is—I have often remarked—the perfect balance of our mother and father’s humours and intellects. Beauty ensnared, I am sorry to say. I fear marriage will be hard on her. Morthrock dotes on her, but she never had any time for him before his proposal, although he has been besotted with her since we were children. She is very spirited. I cannot quite pu
zzle out why the change in heart.”
“Perish the thought! What will they say?” The countess watched Katriona for a while. “She will be well. She lights this room. Look at her husband.”
“Morthrock? What of him? Tell me what you see. I am intrigued.”
“A sound fellow. Our fathers were friends, you know. But he has always been a mild sort. Observe how he is less noticeable than your sister.”
“It is only right, it is her wedding day.”
“Ah, but his charisma is of a meaner measure. She’ll outshine him any day of the week. Let us look at him.”
They drew together like spies. Guis was a head taller than the countess, and had to bend a little. She leaned scandalously close to him.
“See now,” she whispered behind her fan. Demion was still stolidly absorbing Aunt Cassonaepia’s viperish conversation. “He is not ugly, nor is he handsome. He has a passable enough physique and face. He is a little thick around the middle, perhaps, but no more so than others of his generation.”
The countess was correct, he thought. “Morthrock has always struck me as flabby, not so much in body, but in mind and habit.”
“Once, I had a cat,” she said unexpectedly.
“Oh?”
“My father wished to have him castrated, for he feared the cat might grow wilful and scratch me. I was against it. The kennelmaster was to do it. He explained how his drive for sexual relations might turn him against me, and that if he were relieved of his stones then he would not. He would, in the goodman’s words, remain ‘an affable little chap’.”
“What a sinister phrase.”
“Just there,” she said, “stands an affable little chap. Whereas there,” she indicated Katriona, “is a cat whose stones are very much attached.”
Guis laughed loudly. The Hag smiled at this response, becoming energised by it. “Why do you find him objectionable?” Guis said.
“I did not say that I found him objectionable, goodfellow. What I intended to convey is that your brother-in-law is entirely unremarkable. Do you see, he possesses no great passions, and can rarely be stirred from a position of distracted geniality. He is the sort of man who is easy to overlook. You can see it in his face, and in his bearing. Today he is outshone by his bride, you say. But anyone with half an eye can see it will always be so. He is a candle against the sun.”
“As is polite to say of all brides on their wedding day.”
“It will be said of her much longer.”
“I suppose that is true. Still, he will be happy. Demion had been besotted with my sister for years.”
“That is all the more reason she will dominate him, mark my words.”
“I can only agree. Well read. You describe the boy I knew, and doubtless the man he is. You really are a magister.”
“Simple observation, goodfellow. I work no magic, and would not be accepted as one even if I could.”
“Being a person of the female persuasion?”
She performed a mocking curtsey. “I follow the latest treatises of course, but theory is all I might muster. I have no talent for the esoteric arts, and no desire to employ someone who has so that I might experiment with the greater magics. There are plenty of magisters falling over each other in their desire to build bigger and better machines to ape the Morfaan and Old Maceriyans.”
“Like my brother,” said Guis.
“I content myself with gazing at the stars. There are mysteries among them enough to satisfy the most inquiring of minds. And I do have an inquiring mind, sir.”
“As I said, a magister.”
“Not as the common usage of the word would have it,” she insisted.
“There is little common about me, countess. Nor anyone here. I will speak properly.”
“I am but a talented amateur,” she said with mock humility.
“That is not what I have heard.”
“People talk a lot about me.”
“They do.” There was no point pretending otherwise.
“It is you, I hear, that is the magister. You are mageborn, are you not? But you are neither mage nor magister.” Her manner became sharply appraising.
“That I have put behind me. I was not fit.” He changed the subject. “My sister says that half of what they say about you is nonsense, but that the more scandalous half is true.”
“I very much hope that is correct. Very well, if you must call me something, I prefer the term of empiricist. I measure the world as it is, and do nothing if I can help it to change it. The creator struck an equilibrium in all things. I seek to understand it, not how it might be manipulated.”
“Empiricist it is then, goodlady. You may have heard that I am a playwright.”
“I have, I have even seen one of your plays.”
“Truly?” said Guis.
“Your star is rising.”
“Even as my bank balance falls.”
“We are both seekers of truth, you and I,” she continued. “For what do we do but look into things and attempt to uncover the heart of the matter?”
“You possess a telescope?”
“A very fine one, the lenses are from Marceny. Mogawn is ideally situated. The stars over the sea margin are unobscured by the filth of Karsa’s factories. Tell me,” she said. “Would you like to see it?”
Guis hesitated. “I cannot say I would not. To look at the stars with great clarity... What would anyone with but a little poet in them say to such opportunity? We live in times of great progress. I am fascinated by the new sciences.”
“As your plays so eloquently attest. But?”
Guis shifted uncomfortably. “I am a teller of tales, goodlady. I cannot guarantee that what I witness of you and yours will not work themselves into my plays.”
“So long as what you say is truthful, what matter? In fact, I insist you do write something. Ah!” she said, and tapped his chest with her folded fan as if claiming him for a dance. “I will make it my condition. You may come to visit with me, but you must write of it. Are you happy now? Please, it would be my honour to host you at Castle Mogawn.”
“Countess, I would not wish to impose,” said Guis. His objection was more than perfunctory ritual.
“And what gentleman would? I insist. I am mistress of my own house and offer my invitation unreservedly. If you are as interested in the new as you say, then I have something very special to show you.”
Guis paused. He was a Kressind. His speaking with this woman would fuel the scandal broadsheets for a week on its own. If he were to go to her castle alone the embarrassment to his father would be immense... He smiled.
“Something amuses you?” the countess asked.
“No madam, I am merely pleased at your offer. I would be delighted to visit with you.”
“Very good! Very good. I shall have my servant, Mansanio, contact you and arrange it all.”
Guis nodded. “It is agreed. I will reply within...” He broke off. His eyes narrowed. “Excuse me, but I must ask something of my sister.”
“Oh,” said the hag, disappointed. “Until next time then.”
Guis bowed his head. “Until next time.” Then, with as much haste as was seemly, he went to his sister’s aid.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Revelry
ALANRYS WORE ALL the glory of Karsa upon his left breast in an array of glittering medals. His uniform was an elaborate version of that of the Third Dragoons. Over his brocaded jacket he wore a short overcoat held together at the neck by a gold chain, the sleeves cast over his back and pinned with the cuff facing upward. His right jacket arm was stiff with insignia woven of copper thread. He carried a tall shako under his left arm. A sabre swung from hangars on his belt. His belt, boots, and pistol baldric were of ribbed black dracon leather, polished to a gleaming shine. He was handsome, the very image of a dashing sauralier, his face the subject of a thousand fantasies. His moustache and whiskers were immaculate. Most praised were his eyes, gorgeous pools framed by the handsome crags of his features. I
t was these that Guis liked the least. They were the eyes of a predator, colder than a dracon’s.
Katriona was pale under her make-up. Alanrys had her left hand in his right. He spoke to her quietly, a smile that to anyone else but Guis and Katriona probably looked sincere.
Guis stepped up to the colonel.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he said.
Alanrys lifted one perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Your father invited me. I am an old friend of the family.”
“You are no friend of mine, or my sister’s. Let her go.”
“Or what, Guis?” Alanrys’s smile turned upon Guis threateningly. “I’ll not be ordered about by the family madman. Now, if you were Garten, or perhaps even that drunken sot you call your youngest brother, I might take note. But you are not quite the swordsman either of them are. Do not give me cause to call you out, the world would be such a dull place without your little plays. Besides,” he said, “I’m rather busy of late. I doubt I’d have time free to dispatch you. Perhaps you could save me the bother and drink yourself to death? I hear you are making sterling progress already.”
Guis boiled. Katriona winced as Alanrys squeezed her hand. “I am so sorry Captain Kressind could not be present. His journey would not wait.” He locked his eyes on hers. “I did what I could to keep him here, but the Gates are such an important posting. You should be proud of him.”
Guis pushed himself between Alanrys and his sister. She stepped back, her hand slipped from his. Alanrys made a show of throwing his own up in search of it, a play of regret on his face. He locked eyes with Guis for a long moment. Guis stood his ground.
“As you wish. Good day, Goodlady Morthrock. I wish you all the happiness for your future. Good day, Guis.”
He bowed, sidestepped a chattering pair of lordlings, and disappeared into the crowd.
Guis shook his head. “You’ll be safe from him now.”
“You think Demion can save me from that?” she said. She stared hatred after him. “I fear he’ll dog me for my entire life.”
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