At least her husband the captain stayed back, as one who was not fully ennobled. Colar didn’t want to see him. He didn’t want to see anyone.
Salt chivvied them over to the high table for the wedding feast. The food tasted like dust, and Colar ate little, drank little. Janye kept her face turned away from him, speaking only to her father or the other lords who sat at the table. He saw the other young men carousing at the low tables, laughing and shouting, their faces red from the wine and brandy.
Suddenly Janye was swooped away by a group of ladies, their faces bright with laughter, their fine clothes fluttering like bird wings. Everyone exploded into shouts and applause, the sound almost a physical blow. The young men rushed the table, and Colar braced himself for the onslaught.
They grabbed him much as the ladies grabbed the bride. Someone forced a goblet of wine into his hands, but that was taken away and he was given something stronger, a fiery drink that made Terrick brandy taste like vesh. Colar forced it down, feeling it burn like liquid sunlight down his throat and into his belly.
He was buffeted by them, dragged here and there, the alcohol making him stagger and nonresistant. Colar let them pull off his cloak and throw it into the crowd to roars of approval. Then his jacket was removed, leaving him in fine breeches and his white shirt.
“Take his trousers! Take his boots!” the young men chanted. One went to oblige and Colar elbowed him hard, catching the young Camrin man in the nose. For a second the man looked at him, confused, then tried to laugh it off when he saw Colar’s expression. Colar was filled with fury and drunkenness. Someone else pawed at him and he shook them off as well. Sobered, they backed away a little.
“He’s ready! Take him to her!” He was hauled up the stairs to the wedding chamber.
Janye was already there. The women stood outside and made as if to defend the door against the men. There was laughter, good-natured shouting, and a few kisses and some fondling between the men and the ladies in waiting, but finally he was pushed through the door and it was closed behind him.
After a few bangs on the door the sound from the revelers muted and died away. Colar stood there, disheveled and tattered, his shirt loose and his breeches almost undone. He swayed a little, a bit drunk, but at the same time his head was never more crystal clear than at that moment.
Janye remained seated in a chair by the fire in her nightgown, hands folded in her lap, her dark hair uncovered and unbound. Her nightgown was cut low and a pendant nestled between her breasts. She was beautiful, her face clear and her eyes bright. Colar hesitated by the door. She waited, and now an expectant, mocking look came across her face.
He said, “I hope to suit you, Janye.” He meant to say more, that they would come to like one another, that he would strive to be a good husband, that he hoped–he didn’t know what he hoped. It all flew out of his head when she interrupted him.
“You have no reason to be here. You may go. Send my girl in when you leave.”
He waited a moment more, and then bowed and walked out. At least the men were gone. At least she had not thrown him out in their midst. The girl sat on a stool next to the door and jumped up when she saw him. He jerked his head at the door and she ducked in.
Except for him, the hallway was empty. He could hear the revelry far away as the wedding feast continued down in the Council hall. Colar thanked whatever god watched over him that no one saw his humiliation.
He found a back way out of the rambling old House, slipping past householders and servants. The cold helped clear his head, although it did nothing to settle his anger. A fine mist blew, soaking him through. Colar went down to one of the lower taverns in the winding street at the foot of the palazzo and was enveloped in warmth, light, and the smell of people and beer.
He didn’t recognize anyone, and he was relieved again. They were men at arms from various Houses along with townspeople and traders. It was a volatile mix, with tensions running high as the drink flowed. There would be trouble later on and the city guard would be cracking heads to keep the peace.
Colar fished out a few coins from his pocket and stood at the end of the bar. He was catching attention in his wedding clothes, which had become increasingly bedraggled. No one said anything to him though. The bartender pushed over a foaming cup and he drank deep and looked around. There were plenty of street girls sitting with the men. None were as pretty as his wife, or even as pretty as Kate, who wasn’t truly beautiful, he had to admit, except for the beauty that came from being who she was. Not that it mattered. Kate was true, real, intelligent, and when she smiled or laughed she made him laugh too. She knew him well. She was a part of his life he couldn’t ever forget and didn’t want to forget. They had a history together. What did it matter that he felt grateful to her? He was ashamed that he had thrown her over so easily. Just like that, for a chance to be lord of Favor.
He was getting drunk again. He didn’t care. He signalled the barkeep for another beer. He caught a girl’s eye and crooked his finger at her. She gave him an appraising look, assessed his fine clothes, and made a decision. She pushed away from the man she was with, despite his protests, and hurried over. She wore a low-cut dress, showing off her breasts and tiny waist, and she plunked herself heavily onto his lap. He oofed at the sudden weight, which brought on a fit of laughter.
“Hello, my lord,” she said giggling.
“Hello, my fine lady,” he said, his words just the slightest bit slurred. “Do you know, you suit me better than my wife does right now?”
She giggled again, and they kissed.
And this, Colar thought, as if from far away, is my wedding night.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Lord Terrick returned home with the snows of winter driving at his heels. He dismounted from his gray gelding, Storm, and his men carried his belongings into the house while the rest of the train were sent off to the stable and his entourage to the men’s quarters. The air was thick with snow, graying out the sky.
Kate watched from the window of her room, holding back the thick drapes. Colar was on his wedding journey, first to Kenery to winter there, and then to Terrick when the spring thaw came.
I’ll be gone by then.
Kate smoothed her hair and straightened her clothes, and took a deep breath. She wasn’t going to wait for Lord Terrick to summon her. She went down to meet her foster father.
All the householders were gathering in the hall to greet the lord, and she could hear the voices of the children already, Eri and Yare clamoring for their father’s attention. She stood on the bottom stair, at the back of the crowd.
Lord Terrick greeted the younger kids with gruff kisses and Aevin with a handclasp. He took Lady Beatra’s hands and bent over them, reciting ritual words of homecoming. He spoke to a few of the older householders, Torvan especially, and accepted their greetings. Kate waited on the stairs, knowing he would look up at her eventually.
He did.
The hall grew quiet as everyone turned to her. For a long moment, Kate and Lord Terrick took each other’s measure. Then, she gave a curtsey, much as Eri would bob to her mother.
“Foster father,” she said. “Thanks to the high god on your safe journey.”
“Thanks to the high god to be in your sight once more,” he said automatically.
Lady Beatra grabbed his arm. “Come, you must be hungry, my husband. We will take our meal in our chambers. Samar, please.”
The housekeeper bowed and gestured to one of the younger servants, who ran off to the kitchen to prepare a meal for the lord and the lady.
“Be good, children, and eat in the kitchens tonight,” Lady Beatra told the kids. “You will see your father later.”
That was always a treat, not to have to dine under the gaze of parental discipline. Kate felt relief. She didn’t think she could stand to break bread with Lord Terrick. Then again, eating in the kitchen, among her enemies, was hardly any more fun.
The householders had not failed her in their malicious glee at her down
fall.
Lord Terrick and Lady Beatra had to pass Kate on the stairs when they went to their chambers. Kate stood aside to let them pass. Lord Terrick looked at her but his expression told her nothing except that he was as dour and impassive as usual. Lady Beatra looked anxious. Kate wondered if they were going to have sex and immediately thought, Ewwwww.
When they were gone and the hall emptied out, she heaved a sigh and sat down on the worn stone. She leaned her head against the wall. Someone caught her attention. It was Ossen, carrying an armload of wood for the kitchen. She had gotten swept up in the homecoming. Now she dumped the logs on the floor and sat down next to Kate, still covered in bits of bark and splinters. She cocked her head at Kate. Kate waved a weary hand in greeting. After all, she had no more reputation to lose. Ossen was a warm presence next to her.
“So that was the lord,” the crow girl said at last.
“That’s him.”
“He looks like he has a poker up his backside.”
Kate snorted a laugh that was full of tears.
“Ask me, you are well rid of the whole lot of them. Are you ready to come with me when winter breaks? You can walk the crow’s road with me. Just us two.”
It was tempting, so tempting. She could leave her heartbreak and humiliation behind, travel Aeritan at will... and then she remembered. Crows. Oh yeah. The ones that tried to run you down and kill you and rape you, possibly in that very order. Ossen might be different–Ossen was different, period–but she was still a crow.
She smiled, unwillingly, rustily, through a clogged throat. “Thanks,” she managed. “Maybe. We’ll see.”
Ossen squeezed her hand and they sat for a moment in companionable silence. Then, from the hall, came a bellow. It was Torvan. “Crow!” Ossen jumped to her feet. “Get you to the kitchen with the firewood!”
Ossen gave Kate an exaggerated scowl, and gathered up the logs, scurrying off to the kitchen. Torvan lingered just a moment to give Kate a smirk. Instead of ducking, Kate met his gaze. There was only so much humiliation a person could take when it stopped to matter. The householders were stupid if they thought she was just going to roll over and play the jilted maiden. The life of a wandering crow sounded better and better.
Lord Terrick summoned her a few days later, and she faced Lord Terrick and Lady Beatra in his study on the ground floor, overlooking the front of the great house. The snow had stopped and the sky was ice blue, tree branches poking at the sky in black, stark relief. The sun stayed low over the horizon, a sliver of orange over the gently undulating fields of unbroken snow. A rising moon, a sliver in the darkening sky, hung above it.
Kate took in the view before she sat, as indicated, on the small stool in front of the Terricks. She kept her hands folded in her lap to keep them from trembling.
“Lady Beatra tells me you are angry,” he rumbled. He had aged in the few months he had been at council–or more likely, she just had not noticed his age before. He’s my dad’s age and that’s not that old. Except for all she knew her dad looked just like that now. Weathered, aged, thick in the middle.
“Yes,” she said shortly.
“There was no binding between you.”
“I thought–and I know Colar thought–that you had given your permission. Was your word not binding?”
He gathered himself, a storm personified. Despite herself, she quailed a little.
Lady Beatra broke in. “Ke– child,” she said. “You are our foster daughter. We will not abandon you. You may stay at Terrick for as long as you want. We will not drive you away. And–and there are many fine young men who would be married to the foster daughter of our House.”
“Farmers?” Kate inquired. “Sheepherders?”
She could tell she hit home.
“Not all farmers are smallholders,” Lord Terrick said testily.
“But farmers, nonetheless.”
“You will show respect, girl!” he exploded. Kate held her ground as Lady Beatra put her hand on her husband’s arm to settle him down. She took a breath.
“My parents would weep to see how you have treated me.” She had their full attention now. “Do you know how they welcomed Colar into our home? After the hospital, where they made sure he got the best care? They gave him his own room. They bought him his own clothes. They bought him books, a computer, everything he needed. They made sure that he knew that he was a foster son to the House of Mossland and he was given everything he needed to make a life in our world.
“And look how you have treated me.” She spread her hands, showing them her mean clothes, her dowdy tunic and her hand-me-down, shapeless skirt. Lady Beatra had the grace to look ashamed. Lord Terrick remained as flint-hard as ever.
“It was easy for you to deny Colar and me the right to marry. I’m sure you never meant to allow it from the start, but were only humoring us.” This time Lord Terrick flinched just the slightest, and she wondered if she had hit her mark. “I should have realized it when you couldn’t even be bothered to provide me with clothes as befitted my station.
“It never occurred to me what you were doing. I just thought yours was a poor House and it would be ungracious of me to demand fine clothes when you had none. But that wasn’t quite it, was it.”
Now Lady Beatra looked away.
“I don’t want your respectable farmer. I don’t want your fosterage anymore. I reject it. I request guesting from you for the rest of the winter, and when the spring thaws come, I require an escort of men to take me where I wish as well as provisions and money to stake me while I make my way in the world.”
To Red Gold Bridge, to the gordath. They had to open it for her. Lady Sarita would do that for her. She refused to think of any other option.
“You don’t make demands, girl,” Terrick growled, low and ominous.
“You owe me this.” This time, despite her best efforts, her voice shook.
Again Lady Beatra put her hand on her husband’s arm.
“Spring is many months away, child. There will be time to make the right decision. I ask that you are not hasty in this matter.”
“Of course, Lady Beatra.”
The Aeritan river ran wide, swift and dark between the snowy shores. Across the water rose the snow-capped headlands of Trieve and beyond that, Brythern. On the near shore, the docks were busy with the oared galleys ready to take the Kenery party home. Over one hundred men from the household, along with Kenery’s wife and daughter, and Colar, rode down to the small harbor where their ships awaited them.
Wind blew off the river, and the waves were high and white-capped. Colar looked out over it and sat his horse uneasily. He had played in boats when he was a kid, and during the war he had crossed the river far upstream, but never in the winter. Never here, where the river was vast and fast-flowing.
“Frightened, young Terrick?” Big, blustery Kenery pushed his horse up beside him. He was a big man anyway, and in his furs and leathers and on his heavy horse he looked like a giant.
“No sir,” Colar said, but Kenery was already talking over him. He had quickly learned that about his father-in-law. When Lord Kenery was happy all was right with his world and he let everyone know it.
“Well, you will soon get used to our ways. We live a little differently than you do in the lowlands away from the river. We’re practically Brytherners. We have a different view of things. We take the long view.”
He smacked Colar on the shoulder and the young man winced. His horse snorted and half reared.
“Eh, a wild one, is he? Not from Wessen, I can tell. Now this big fellow is. Wessen born and Wessen bred. You can tell it in the conformation. Paid Wessen enough for him too. Now listen, my lad.” He leaned close to Colar, his heavy jowls rough with salt-and-pepper stubble. His shaggy hair hung wildly around his head like a mad halo, tossed about by the wind off the water. His eyes were damp and his breath stank of vesh and wine, he was that close.
“She won’t like you at first, but you are a pretty lad, and she will come around.
And if you have any trouble with her, you tell me. Not her mother. She only encourages her disobedience. You tell me. I’ll set her right for you.”
Colar looked at his father-in-law, who looked at him with expectant good humor. The skies had cleared and become bright winter blue, matched by Kenery’s watery pink-rimmed eyes. He looked out at the river and the lading now well in progress. The sleigh that carried Kenery’s wife and daughter was being loaded aboard. The women waited by the docks, muffled in their cloaks and furs. They were standing close together, deep in conversation, their householders standing in a nearby knot.
He knew he should humor the old man, but this time the habit of obedience lay hard on him, harder than ever before. I’ve suffered enough for it, I will not suffer more. He knew that Kenery probably thought he could rule his new son-in-law. Even now, he had to grit his teeth to prevent himself from making his bow and saying yes. It took him a moment to control his voice and when he did his words were clear and steady.
“Affairs between me and my wife are none of your concern, Lord Kenery,” he said. He bowed over his horse’s neck and turned the animal about, moving him toward the dock. He could feel Kenery watching him and the space between his shoulderblades tickled, but he didn’t turn back.
The river smelled like a living thing, cold and wet, rotting and alive. He could hear the creaking of the boat as it rode the waves, sinking lower as the household’s gear and luggage and supplies were stored belowdeck. Colar dismounted and handed off his horse’s reins to a strongholder and walked over to Janye and her mother. They turned to look at him. Janye looked very much like her mother, even as much as she looked like her father.
“Good-day,” he said stiffly.
Janye walked away without a word. Lady Niyani sighed.
“Janye! Oh that child! Please forgive her, my dear Colar. She is so newly widowed, she still grieves for her husband–oh dear. Please, you must give her time. Janye! Come back!” She went after her daughter, still calling out.
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