"So that's it," my father said softly, nodding his head as he looked down at me. "I couldn't see it at first, but now I do. You're using not having been 'asked' as an excuse. You wouldn't have agreed to a marriage no matter how it was presented to you, no matter how it made the family look. You're not interested in responsibilities, only in rights, and now that you're a Blade you think you can overlook duty entirely. I'm very glad you weren't a son rather than a daughter, Sofaltis. My sons may not have earned Blade status, but I never had difficulty being proud of them."
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"Father, you're wrong!" I protested as he turned his back and simply stood there drinking his wine, undoubtedly aware of just how upset he'd made me. "1 know the meaning of duty as well as anyone! You're trying to force me into doing things your way, into agreeing to something you have no right ..."
"No right?" he interrupted, turning back quickly to look at me with the intensity of anger. "I do beg your pardon, my lady, but those who are lowborn may not have the right. Those who are nobly born have not only the right but also the responsibility. The people of my lands may be unimportant to others, but to me diey're very precious and must have the best I'm able to give them. My family and 1 are bowed to and enabled to live well so that we, in turn, will watch over our people and allow no harm to come to them. Now my people are about to come to harm through my having no competent heir for my place, and you teli me 1 have no right? Say rather that I have no choice, and would not betray honor even if another choice was possible. 1 do as 1 must, child, and so shall you."
"Then what / must do is be sacrificed to your honor?" 1 demanded, putting my cup aside so that I might stand and face him. "How I feel about marriage isn't the point here. What is the point is that I'm expected to give up every say in my own life, just so that you and your people can all go your merry way. What makes it my duty to do that, the accident of my birth? What makes me less important than you and your precious people? The fact that I'm not a male heir and therefore expendable? It's your honor and your problem, so go ahead and solve it yourself. If you want that Duke's son so badly, go ahead and adopt him and ihen name him heir. That way you can leave me the hell out of it."
I began to turn away, wanting nothing more than to go back to my apartment, but suddenly my father's hand was on my shoulder, holding me where I was.
"Sofaltis, the Law won't allow that," he said quietly, a trace of compassion in his voice. "As long as I have a daughter of marriageable age, that daughter must be married to whomever I choose as my heir. In that way my own blood can't be disinherited, our family line forced to die out. The Law was meant for your benefit, girl, not to trap you into an
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unwanted match. Despite what 1 said, I know you won't refuse to do your duty. I told Traixe your toyalty to our family has never been in question, and you, yourself, will prove me right. And now 1 think we've been closeted together long enough. We've a feasting and guests awaiting us."
Rather than answering I simply pulled away from his hand, strode to the door and threw it open, then headed back in the direction of my apartment. I was so upset I barely noticed the six fighters who scrambled after me, or the servants who were trying to clean the blood out of the carpeting in the hall where the attack had taken place. All I wanted was solitude, and when I finally reached my bedchamber I slammed and bolted the door, took off my swordbelt, then threw myself face down across my bed.
"Damn him!" I whispered fiercely, my fists pulling at the red silken cover I crushed under me. "Evon take him and broil him to a turn!"
I was so miserably angry I would have torn the silk if I could have, into small, tiny, insignificant pieces. Not the same sort of insignificant as 1 was, however, because according to my father I was very important as far as insignificant goes. I had a duty to perform, and family obligations to complete, and all that was being asked of me in return was to give up everything I was,
I turned onto my back and stared up at the canopy above my head, its dark gold color even darker in the dimness of lamplight. I'd pretended to myself that my father would welcome the idea of naming me his heir, but even when I'd considered the possibility of his refusal I hadn't pictured him laughing. And what he'd done to me after that—using his ability in ruling people to twist me into agreeing with what he wanted! He'd taken advantage of his own daughter for the sake of people who were almost all strangers to him, people he claimed he had a responsibility toward. Would a peasant father have traded away a daughter just that easily, or was concern like that reserved only for the nobility? My father loved his people more than he did me, and I was supposed to rejoice and join him in his sacrifice?
I put an arm over my eyes to block out vision of the world, but inner pictures refused to stop forming. I probably would
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have agreed to the marriage if I'd been asked, but I hadn't been asked, no more than any other female was asked. Did anyone care that I didn't want to be married? That the very thought of being trapped like that for the rest of my life made me more afraid than I'd been just before my first battle? My mother had been glowingly happy in her marriage, but only because being married had brought her more freedom than she'd had in her father's house. What marriage would bring to me was the exact opposite, a slavery most fathers seemed endlessly eager to consign their daughters to.
Well, I was one daughter who intended fighting those chains! 1 dropped my arm and sat up on the bed, blinking back the multi-colored circles in my vision. I hadn't pledged myself to my father's demands, and no matter how tightly he thought he had me caught up, I wasn't about to. If he forced me to it I would refuse the vows, breaking both Law and tradition where everyone could see it. Sooner than have that happen he'd let me go, to return to the life I never should have left. As a Blade I'd been happy, and no one had tried forcing me into anything I wanted no part of. That's the life I'd go back to, and then I'd be happy again.
1 lay back on my pillows, calmed by the decision I'd made, and tried to imagine what Rull and the others were doing right then. . . .
Traixe knocked and entered the study, but Duke Rilfe didn't look up immediately. The lord of the castle was seated in a chair staring into the middle of nothingness, and a full minute went by before he sighed deeply and stirred.
"She isn't in the feasting hall, and she isn't here," Traixe observed, an odd reluctance to his words. "Does that mean it went badly?"
"Badiy would be too understated a word," the Duke returned, looking up wearily. "She offered to be my heir, Traixe, and I had to laugh at her."
"Had to, my lord?" the other man ventured, suddenly less sure of himself. "The Law's rather plain on the point, isn't it? Why would . . ."
"Hang the Law!" Duke Rilfe snapped, clearly in no mood
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to be disagreed with or questioned. "Has a Duchess never been widowed, and then found to be a more competent ruler than her lord was? The Law might have been fought, and win or lose I would have been honored to make the attempt for a daughter like no other man has ever had—but not when the effort would have meant the signing of her death warrant. I had to hurt her, Traixe, and manipulate her, but once the marriage is consummated and we can drop the pretense, she'll know I did it all for her sake. Her life is more precious to me than my own, and this is the only way 1 can be sure of preserving it."
"She agreed to the marriage, then?" the big Fighter asked, his voice gentle out of concern for his lord. "She made no attempt to refuse to obey you?"
"She invited me to call in King's Fighters to place her under arrest for breaking the Law," the Duke returned with a snort, not entirely in amusement. "She is still a hellion, and young Kylin will have his hands full with her, but she's also filled with mat sense of duty all my children have been blessed with. She may fight and scream and rage and threaten, but she'll never go so far as to put her point to a priest of Eve
n's throat in refusal."
"if that's so, I'll be sure to thank Evon," Traixe answered, unable to keep his tone from going dry. "Since I'm the priest of Evon who will be uniting them, i find the assurance of more than passing interest."
"Traixe, you must stop worrying," the Duke said with a grin as he stood, the dark mood having passed from him. "You and I both know she'll be far happier once she's wed, just like any other woman, even above the safety it will bring to her. Right now 1 need your help in apologizing to my guests for the absence of the object of the feasting. Shaft we say she's weary from her long journey, or shall we find another, more likely, excuse?"
"I think, my lord, we would do best using a padding of the truth they all certainly know by now," Traixe answered, returned to sobriety. "Your enemies were so desperate to reach the girl they actually attacked her here in the castle, and although she had no difficulty in defending herself, you've insisted she keep to her apartments until a thorough search might be made for signs of any further skullduggery. Your
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refusal to allow her to expose herself to another attempt would be perfectly understandable."
"Yes, you're right as usual, Traixe," the Duke agreed with a nod, rising from the chair. "And if it should happen that one of them had a hand in this, it may well cause the son of a night house crawler to squirm and worry about what the investigation will turn up. Watch them closely during the feasting, my friend, and we may learn a thing or two."
"I mean to be more watchful than ever, my lord, till the girl is past all danger," the other man agreed, beginning to lead the way from the room. "May Evon grant that the wait for the young lord be as short as possible."
"May Evon indeed grant that," the Duke agreed in turn, and then set his thoughts to the matter of dealing with his guests.
Chapter 5
Lord Kylin of Arthil, son of Duke Trame of Arthil, also known as Kylin Difres, King's Fighter, sat his horse as it moved along the road, wondering if his nerve would hold. Just then they circled the city of Gensea on their way to the Castle of Duke Rilfe, and the nearer they got the more Kylin wished he could simply turn around and ride away.
"Only a coward runs, but what's really wrong with being a coward?" he muttered, keeping his eyes on the ever-shortening road. "Cowards five long, happy lives, I'm told, and never find themselves in danger of dying of mortification."
"Mortification don't hurt more'n a short while. Lord," Strangis said from behind and to his left, the chuckling clear in his voice. "Ain't many who die from it, neither, 'cept maybe a King's Fighter'r two."
"An* mebbe a Duke's son'r three," Frask added from the same position to Kylin's right, also enjoying himself immensely. "You know you ain't gonna run, Lord, so why you been sayin' it for th' last half day?"
"It's possible I made a mistake leaving Jestrion back at that inn," Kylin said, still in a mutter, still not looking at the two fighters who rode somewhat behind him leading the pack horses. "For some reason 1 feel naked without him, and maybe even worse than naked."
"You was right leavin1 'im at the inn, Lord," Strangis assured him, now clearly working on getting rid of his amusement. "You got *im down so good it's like seein' two of 'im, an' that could set folks to wonderin'. Them like Jestrion ain't many, an' they don't take t'each other's company."
"They don't like the competition," Kylin muttered, then
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fell to brooding. Jestrion's sort was rare and unexplained, but everyone seemed to know at least one like him: too delicately horrified to enmesh themselves in anything that involved sweat or strength or war skills, more flamboyant than any female ever to have lived, ridiculously graceful and overly talkative—and almost completely uninterested in the pastimes indulged in by most human beings. It wasn't that Jestrion and the others liked something better than women; they tended to dislike everything with an equal intensity. Women were too flighty and men too sweaty, and their own kind appealed to them even less. It was Evon's way of making sure the mistake was self-correcting, Kylin thought, but that didn't explain why the mistake had to be made in the first place.
A mistake which he now had to mimic.
Kylin sighed deeply, trying to keep firmly in mind the fact that he was protecting the life of the girl who would soon be his wife. She would probably faint when she first laid eyes on him, and not only because of the flouncing he would do. His father had known how difficult—if not impossible—it would be to disguise his size, so he had taken the road leading in the opposite direction. Kylin's clothing emphasized his build, but with so many flairs and folds and drapes that he seemed fat rather than large. Fat and soft and flouncing, covered in yellow and orange and pink and pale green, with red boots and—Evon help us—a red swordbelt and new-seeming sword. The sword, with hilt silvered and rewrapped in new red leather, was really his own in disguise, but it looked so out-of-place on him that no one would believe it was anything more than decoration.
"And I've got to remember not to swear by Evon," he muttered again, this time to himself. Jestrion rarely swore, and then only by all the gods: It would be left to those around Kylin to swear by Evon, and then the Fighter brightened with a thought he hadn't had before: if any of Duke Rilfe's people got upset enough to try attacking him, why, he'd just have to defend himself, now wouldn't he? After that he could protect the girl personally until they went through the ceremony— betrothal allowed him mat and more, if he wanted it—and everything would work out just the way it was supposed to. Why his father and Duke Rilfe hadn't thought of that he didn't know, but since he'd already agreed to do it their way
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he'd have to see if he could push matters over into more pleasant territory. Simply acting like Jestrion ought to be enough, but just in case . . .
By the time the road Kylin and his "escort1' rode joined another coming out of the city and began to wind uphill, the disguised King's Fighter was struggling not to chuckle. Using his pose to shorten the length of time he needed to keep up that pose appealed to his sense of humor, and if just a few minutes earlier he'd been reluctant to reach the castle, now he was just short of being eager. He could see it easily from where he rode, a gray and comfortable pile of stone very much like the one he'd grown up in, so much like it, in fact, that he wondered about its secret exits. And how many of the Duke's household knew about those exits.
Being reminded about the problem into which he rode sobered Kylin, and his eyes narrowed against the afternoon sun as he looked all the way up to the castle's battlements. Getting into a fortification like that was either a matter of being allowed through the entrance tunnel or throwing an army against its walls, but it had been decided by one of the very first dukes that leaving it shouldn't always have to be a matter of record. Although most people didn't know it, the castles of the four Dukes each had their own private exits, accessible from inside the castle but not from without. Normally the arrangement was private enough and safe enough, but those days were far from normal. Once he'd been named heir he'd have to speak to Duke Rilfe about it, to be sure Archil's safeguards were duplicated in Gensea.
Riding up to the castle's main gate was an experience in itself, and Kylin realized it was a good thing he'd unconsciously braced himself. The House Guard unit manning the gate had started to lower their pikes in challenge, and then most of them had stopped to stare and then to laugh and point. Kylin ignored them with the sort of dismissiveness that most people found extremely insulting, and when the unit leader stepped forward, scowling rather than laughing, he made very sure to continue the attitude.
"What'n hell is this, a Celebration Day dress-up parade?" the sergeant barked, mostly to the object of his ire. "What you doin' knockin' at our gates, boy? You sellin' somethin' you think we're hard up enough to buy?"
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"Watch y'r mouth, Sergeant," Frask said from Kylin's right, moving up to sit his horse beside the very obviously bored young gentleman. The men behind the sergeant were snickering, and Frask was coldly unamused by their reaction. "This here's Lord Kylin, son o' Duke Trame of Arthii, come to marry up with Duke Rilfe's girt. You wanna show us th' way in?"
Kylin was prepared for almost any reaction—yells of rage, snarls of disbelief, growls of insult and refusal, even gales of laughter—but what actually did come surprised and confused him. To a man the unit froze and stood staring, even the crusty unit leader, and then the man closed his eyes and covered them with a hand.
"I ain't gonna do it," the sergeant muttered, apparently to himself, his voice faint but determined. "This time I ain't gonna have nothin' t'do with it. Bithit—you take 'em to the hall, then get y'r carcass back here. Move it!"
One man from the unit detached himself as the others moved back and to the side, and then the man was trotting through the entrance tunnel, left hand holding his sword still, possibly trying to outdistance those who were supposed to be following. Frask sent Kylin a startled glance, showing that the fighter didn't understand what was happening any more than his lord did,-and then he moved ahead into the tunnel first, leaving Kylin to follow with Strangis behind as third. That Frask was uneasy was obvious, but the men of the gate unit seemed too deep in their own thoughts to notice.
Frask's suspicions turned out to be groundless; the three riders drew rein in front of large metal-bound doors without anything untoward happening. Granted there had been plenty of stares and goggling, and the Guardsman who had beaten them there was still talking softly but animatedly to a serving man just inside the doors, but there hadn't been anything in the way of attack. Kylin couldn't help feeling the least bit disappointed, but had to admit it was really too soon for his plan to work.
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