She turned away. “Oh, Dalton, stop. You’re being silly. All the women are wearing such dresses nowadays.” She twirled to him, the flirt back on her face. “You aren’t jealous, are you? Having other men admire your wife?”
She was the one thing he had wanted more than power. Unlike everything else in his life, he entertained no invitations for understandings where Teresa was concerned. The spirits knew there were enough men at the estate who were admired, even envied, because they gained for themselves the courtesy of influence, inasmuch as their wives made themselves available to Minister Chanboor. Dalton Campbell was not one of them. He used his talent and wits to get where he was, not his wife’s body. That, too, gave him an edge over the others.
His forbearance was rapidly evaporating, leaving his tone less than indulgent. “And how will they know it to be my wife? Their eyes will never make it up to your face.”
“Dalton, stop. You’re being insufferably stodgy. All the other women will be wearing dresses similar to this. It’s the style. You’re always so busy with your new job you don’t know anything about prevailing custom. I do.
“Believe it or not, this dress is conservative compared to what others will be wearing. I wouldn’t wear a dress as revealing as theirs—I know how you get—but I don’t want to look out of place, either. No one will think anything of it, except that perhaps the wife of the Minister’s right-hand man is a tad prissy.”
No one was going to think her “prissy.” They were going to think she was proclaiming herself available to invitation.
“Teresa, you can wear another. The red one with the V neck. You can still see . . . see enough of your cleavage. The red one is hardly prissy.”
She showed him her back, folding her arms in a pout. “I suppose you will be happy to have me wear a homely dress, and have every other woman there whispering behind my back at how I dress like the wife of a lowly assistant to a magistrate. The red dress was what I wore when you were a nobody. I thought you would be happy to see me in my new dress, to see how your wife can fit in with the fashion of the important women here.
“But now I’ll never fit in around here. I’ll be the stuffy wife of the Minister’s aide. No one will even want to talk to me. I’ll never have any friends.”
Dalton drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He watched her dab a knuckle at her nose. “Tess, is this really what the other women will be wearing at the feast?”
She spun around, beaming up at him. It occurred to him that it was not so unlike the way the Haken girl, down in the kitchen, had beamed at his invitation to meet the Minister of Culture.
“Of course it’s like what the other women are wearing. Except that I’m not as bold as they, so it shows less. Oh, Dalton, you’ll see. You’ll be proud of me. I want to be a proper wife of the Minister’s aide. I want you to be proud. I’m proud of you. Only you, Dalton.
“A wife is crucial to a man as important as you. I protect your station when you aren’t there. You don’t know what women can be like—petty, jealous, ambitious, scheming, treacherous, traitorous. One clever nasty word to their husband, and soon it’s on every tongue. I make sure that if there is a nasty word, it dies quickly, that none dare repeat it.”
He nodded; he knew full well that women brought their husbands information and gossip. “I suppose.”
“You always said we were partners. You know how I protect you. You know how hard I work to make sure you fit in at each new place we go. You know I would never do anything to jeopardize what you’ve worked so hard to gain for us. You always told me how you would take me to the best places, and I would be accepted as the equal of any woman.
“You’ve done as you promised, my husband. I always knew you would; that was why I agreed to marry you. Even though I always loved you, I would never have married you had I not believed in your future. We have only each other, Dalton.
“Have I ever made a misstep when we went to a new place?”
“No, Tess, you never have.”
“Do you think I would recklessly do so, now, at a place as important as this? When you stand on the brink of true greatness?”
Teresa was the only one in whom he confided his audacious ambitions, his boldest plans. She knew what he intended, and she never derided him for it. She believed him.
“No, Tess, you wouldn’t jeopardize all that. I know you wouldn’t.” He wiped a hand over his face as he sighed. “Wear the dress, if you think it proper. I will trust your judgment.”
The matter settled, she shoved him toward the dressing room. “Come on, now, change your clothes. Get ready. You will be the most handsome one there, I just know it. If there is any cause for jealously, it is I who will have it, for all the other wives will be green with envy that I have the prize of the household, and it is you who will get the whispered invitations.”
He turned her around and grasped her by the shoulders, waiting until she looked up into his eyes. “You just stay away from a man named Stein—Bertrand’s guest of honor. Keep your . . . your new dress out of his face. Understand?”
She nodded. “How will I know him?”
He released her shoulders and straightened. “It won’t be hard. He wears a cape of human scalps.”
Teresa gasped. “No.” She leaned closer. “The one you told me about, come from beyond the wilds to the south? From the Old World? Come to discuss our future allegiance?”
“Yes. Stay away from him.”
She blinked again at such startling news. “How stimulating. I don’t know that anyone here has ever met such an interesting foreigner. He must be very important.”
“He is an important man, a man with whom we will be discussing business, so I’d like not to have to slice him into little pieces for trying to force you to his bed. It would waste valuable time, waiting for the emperor to send another representative from the Old World.”
It was no idle boast, and she knew it. He studied the sword as intently as he studied the law. Dalton could behead a flea on a peach without disturbing the fuzz.
Teresa smirked. “He need not look my way, and he’ll not sleep alone tonight, either. There will be women fighting over the chance to be with so outrageous a man. Human scalps . . .” She shook her head at so astounding a notion. “The woman who wins his bed will be at the head of every invitation for months to come.”
“Maybe they would like to invite a Haken girl to tell them how exciting and grand it was,” Dalton snapped.
“Haken girl?” Teresa grunted dismissively at such whimsy. “I think not. Haken girls don’t count to those women.”
She turned once more to the important part of his news.
“So, no decision has yet been made? We still don’t know if Anderith will stick with the Midlands, or if we will break and join with Emperor Jagang from the Old World?”
“No, we don’t yet know how it will go. The Directors are divided. Stein only just arrived to speak his piece.”
She stretched up on her toes to give him a peck. “I will stay away from the man. While you help decide the fate of Anderith, I will watch your back, as always, and keep my ears open.”
She took a step toward the bedroom, but spun back to him. “If the man has come to speak his side of matters . . .” Sudden realization stole into her dark eyes. “Dalton, the Sovereign is going to be here tonight, isn’t he? The Sovereign himself will be at the feast.”
Dalton took her chin in his fingertips. “A smart wife is the best ally a man can have.”
Smiling, he let her seize him by his little fingers and tug, pulling him into the dressing room. “I’ve only seen the man from afar. Oh, Dalton, you are a marvel, bringing me to such a place as I would get to break bread with the Sovereign himself.”
“You just remember what I said and stay away from Stein, unless I’m with you. For that matter, the same goes for Bertrand, though I doubt he’d dare to cross me. If you’re good, I’ll introduce you to the Sovereign.”
She was struck speechless for only a mo
ment. “When we retire to bed tonight, you will find out just how good I can be. The spirits preserve me,” she added in a whisper, “I hope I can wait that long. The Sovereign. Oh, Dalton, you are a marvel.”
While she sat before a mirror on her dressing table, checking her face to see what damage he had wrought with his kisses, Dalton pulled open the tall wardrobe. “So, Tess, what gossip have you heard?”
He peered into the wardrobe, looking through his shirts, looking for the one with the collar he liked best. Since her dress was a golden color, he changed his plans and decided to wear his red coat. Best, anyway, if he was to put forth an assured appearance.
As Teresa leaned toward the mirror, dabbing her cheeks with a small sponge she had dragged across a silver container of rose-colored powder, she rambled on about the gossip of the house. None of it sounded important to Dalton. His thoughts wandered to the real concerns with which he had to deal, to the Directors he had yet to convince, and about how to handle Bertrand Chanboor.
The Minister was a cunning man, a man Dalton understood. The Minister shared Dalton’s ambition, if in a larger, more public sense. Bertrand Chanboor was a man who wanted everything—everything from a Haken girl—who caught his eye to the seat of the sovereign. If Dalton had any say, and he did, Bertrand Chanboor would get what Bertrand Chanboor wanted.
And Dalton would have the power and authority he wanted. He didn’t need to be Sovereign. Minister of Culture would do.
The Minister of Culture was the true power in the land of Anderith, making most laws and appointing magistrates to see them carried through. The Minister of Culture’s influence and authority touched every business, every person in the land. He held sway over commerce, arts, institutions, and beliefs. He oversaw the army and all public projects. He was the embodiment of religion, as well. The Sovereign was all ceremony and pomp, jewels and exquisite dress, parties and affairs.
No, Dalton would “settle” for Minister of Culture. With a Sovereign who danced on the cobweb Dalton thrummed.
“I had your good boots polished,” Teresa said. She pointed to the other side of the wardrobe. He bent to retrieve them.
“Dalton, what news is there from Aydindril? You said Stein is to speak his peace of the Old World, and the Imperial Order. What about Aydindril? What has the Midlands to say?”
If there was one thing that could spoil Dalton’s ambitions and plans, it was the events in Aydindril.
“The ambassadors returning from Aydindril reported that the Mother Confessor has not only thrown her lot, and that of the Midlands, in with Lord Rahl, the new leader of the D’Haran Empire, but she was to marry the man. By now, she must be wedded to him.”
“Married! The Mother Confessor herself, married.” Teresa returned her attention to the mirror. “That must have been a grand affair. I can imagine such a wedding would put anything in Anderith to shame.” Teresa paused at her mirror. “But a Confessor’s power takes a man when she marries him. This Lord Rahl will be nothing but a puppet of the Mother Confessor.”
Dalton shook his head. “Apparently, he is gifted, and not subject to being destroyed by her power. She’s a clever one, marrying a gifted Lord Rahl of D’Hara; it shows cunning, conviction, and deft strategic planning. Joining the Midlands with D’Hara has created an empire to be feared, an empire to be reckoned with. It will be a difficult decision.”
The ambassadors had further reported Lord Rahl a man of seeming integrity, a man of great conviction, a man committed to peace and the freedom of those who joined with him.
He was also a man who demanded their surrender into the growing D’Haran Empire, and demanded it immediately.
Men like that tended to be unreasonable. A man like that could be no end of trouble.
Dalton brought out a shirt and held it up to show Teresa. She nodded her approval. He stripped to the waist and slipped his arms into the crisp, clean shirt, savoring the fresh aroma.
“Stein brings Emperor Jagang’s offer of a place for us in his new world order. We will hear what he has to say.”
If Stein was any indication, the Imperial Order understood the nuances of power. Unlike all indications from Aydindril, they were willing to negotiate a number of points important to Dalton and the Minister.
“And the Directors? What have they to say about our fate?”
Dalton grunted his discontent. “The Directors committed to the old ways, to the so-called freedom of the people of the Midlands, dwindle in number all the time. The Directors insisting we stay with the rest of the Midlands—join with Lord Rahl—are becoming isolated voices. People are tired of hearing their outdated notions and uninspired morals.”
Teresa set down her brush. Worry creased her brow. “Will we have war, Dalton? With whom will we side? Will we be thrown into war, then?”
Dalton laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “The war is going to be a long, bloody struggle. I have no interest in being dragged into it, or having our people dragged into it. I’ll do what I must to protect Anderith.”
Much hinged on which side held the upper hand. There was no point in joining the losing side.
“If need be, we can unleash the Dominie Dirtch. No army, not Lord Rahl’s, not Emperor Jagang’s, can stand against such a weapon. But, it would be best, before the fact, to join the side offering the best terms and prospects.”
She clasped his hand. “But this Lord Rahl is a wizard. You said he was gifted. There is no telling what a wizard might do.”
“That might be a reason to join with him. But the Imperial Order has vowed to eliminate magic. Perhaps they have ways of countering his ability.”
“But if Lord Rahl is a wizard, that would be fearsome magic—like the Dominie Dirtch. He might unleash his power against us if we fail to surrender to him.”
He patted her hand before going back to his dressing. “Don’t worry, Tess. I’ll not let Anderith fall to ashes. And as I said, the Order claims they will end magic. If true, then a wizard wouldn’t hold any threat over us. We will just have to see what Stein has to say.”
He didn’t know how the Imperial Order could end magic.
Magic, after all, had been around as long as the world. Maybe what the Order really meant was that they intended to eliminate those who were gifted. That would not be a novel idea and to Dalton’s mind had a chance of success.
There were those who already advocated putting to the torch all the gifted. Anderith held several of the more radical leaders in chains, Serin Rajak among them. Charismatic, fanatical, and rabid, Serin Rajak was ungovernable and dangerous. If he was even still alive; they’d had him in chains for months.
Rajak believed “witches,” as he called those with magic, to be evil. He had a number of followers he had incited into wild and destructive mobs before they’d arrested him.
Men like that were dangerous. Dalton had lobbied against his execution, though. Men like that could also be useful.
“Oh, and you just won’t believe it,” Teresa was saying. She had started back on the gossip she’d heard. As he pondered Serin Rajak, he only half listened. “This woman, the one I mentioned, the one who thinks so much of herself, Claudine Winthrop, well, she told us that the Minister forced himself on her.”
Dalton was still only half listening. He knew the gossip to be true. Claudine Winthrop was the “perturbed lady” in the message in the secret compartment of his desk, the one for whom he needed to find a plum. She was also the one who had sent the letter to Director Linscott—the letter that never arrived.
Claudine Winthrop hovered around the Minister whenever she had the chance, flirting with him, smiling, batting her eyelashes. What did she think was going to happen? She’d gotten what she had to know she was going to get. Now she complains?
“And so, she’s so angry to be treated in such a coarse manner by the Minister, that after the dinner she intends to announce to Lady Chanboor and all the guests that the Minister forced himself on her in the crudest fashion.”
Dalton’s e
ars perked up.
“Rape it is, she called it, and rape she intends to report it to the Minister’s wife.” Teresa turned in her seat to shake a small squirrel-hair eye-color brush up at him. “And to the Directors of Cultural Amity, if any are there. And Dalton, if the Sovereign is there, it could be an ugly row. The Sovereign is liable to hold up a hand, commanding silence, so she may speak.”
Dalton was at full attention, now. The twelve Directors would be at the feast. Now, he knew what Claudine Winthrop was about.
“She said this, did she? You heard her say it?”
Teresa put one hand on a hip. “Yes. Isn’t that something? She should know what Minister Chanboor is like, how he beds half the women at the estate. And now she plans to make trouble? It should create quite the sensation, I’d say. I tell you, Dalton, she’s up to something.”
When Teresa started prattling onto another subject, he broke in and asked, “What had the other women to say about her? About Claudine’s plans?”
Teresa set down the squirrel-hair brush. “Well, we all think it’s just terrible. I mean, the Minister of Culture is an important man. Why, he could be Sovereign one day—the Sovereign is not a young man anymore. The Minister could be called upon to step into the Seat of Sovereign at any moment. That’s a terrible responsibility.”
She looked back to the mirror as she worked with a hair pick. She turned once more and shook it at him. “The Minister is terribly overworked, and has the right to seek harmless diversion now and again. The women are willing. It’s nobody’s business. It’s their private lives—it has no bearing on public business. And it’s not like the little tramp didn’t ask for it.”
Dalton couldn’t dispute that much of it. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand how women, whether a noble or a Haken girl, could bat their lashes at the letch and then be surprised when he rose, so to speak, to the bait.
Of course, the Haken girl, Beata, hadn’t been old enough, or experienced enough, to truly understand such mature games. Nor, he supposed, had she foreseen Stein in the bargain. Dalton felt a bit sorry for the girl, even if she was Haken. No, she hadn’t seen Stein lurking in the tall wheat when she smiled in awe at the Minister.
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