by Carol Berg
“Thank you, Goodman Castor,” said Gerick, with a polite bow of respect for the senior tenant, surprising me almost as much as he surprised the farmer. Then the man was gone, and another stood in his place, eyeing me anxiously.
Many of the tenants I knew, heads of the families that had worked the Comigor land for generations, whose children had grown up alongside me, though our paths had never been allowed to cross. Others were new to the estate. A few refused to open their mouths even in response to my questions. Their reluctance might just have been unfamiliarity, but more than one made the flick of the fingers that was supposed to call the Holy Twins’ attention to a bit of the evil from which they were supposed to be guarding us. One after the other the tenants came. All morning, only a few moments apiece, and it was necessary to greet each one as if he were the first.
“Goodman Phinaldo, I welcome you…”
“… an honor, my lady…”
“… no wine this morning…”
“… a healthy winter, and a prosperous year…”
Two hours into the long day, a footman brought me a note written in Nellia’s threadlike scrawl.
The duchess is full into her labors and does not fare well. The lady aunt has been removed and the midwife brought in as you directed.
“Goodman Helyard, I welcome you…”
“… a new scythe, as the old one has been sharpened until naught but a nubbin…”
“… quite robust, thank you…”
There was nothing to do. We couldn’t stop. In between tenants, I passed the note to the boy, for he had the right to know. His grave expression remained unchanged after he read it, and he nodded graciously to the next man. I felt inordinately proud of him.
“… and for the lord and his family…”
“With seven children, you surely have a goat. No? Giorge, please make a note. Goodman Arthur must have a goat.”
“… quite robust…”
At midday, the footman returned.
The duchess has been delivered of a daughter. The child is frail. The duchess sleeps and seems well.
I passed the message to Gerick, and he reacted exactly as before.
“… many thanks for your good service…”
“… my son is ready to take a wife…”
“… a note, Giorge. Goodman Ferdan’s son, Gerald, should be next on the list for a plot. If we reopen the western fields as we plan…”
We did not stop for a midday meal. I had nagged at my mother unmercifully about how unfair it was that the tenants got to go home after their duty was done, but we had to sit all day with neither a drink nor a bite. She never dignified my complaining with anything but a single comment. “Someday you will understand, Seri, that asking a man to hold his year’s work so that you may fill your stomach is unworthy of one in the position you have been given in life.” Gerick did much better than I had done at ten, looking each man in the eye as he thanked him for his payment. Tomas had taught him well. I smiled as I welcomed the next man.
“… loathly ashamed, my lady. ‘Tis the drink what done it… makes me a madman it does… and the thieves took advantage…”
“… but this is the third year with no rent, and we have five young men waiting for land. It is time you yielded your place to those who will work honestly.”
“But where will I go? My wife… my kindern…”
“You should have thought of your family when you drank away your responsibilities. They will not reap the bitter harvest you have sown, but you will work your own portion no longer. You will serve Goodman Castor who works two plots while his son-in-law is away. He is to give you only a common laborer’s sustenance. Pay him heed, and he’ll teach you honor and duty.”
So passed Covenant Day until the last brushed and scrubbed man departed the great hall hours after the last shreds of daylight had faded. The glowing Giorge directed his assistant to pack up his ledgers and the plain steel box that now held the wherewithal to repair the forge and the west wing roof, to pay royal tax levees, the servants, the soldiers, and the wine merchant, and to ensure the security of the young duke and his family for another year. When he had sent the pale clerks on their way, the steward bowed deeply.
“A good day, my lady, young master. Properly done.” High praise indeed from the taciturn steward.
The carafe of wine sparkled deep red in the light of the candles that had been set out to illuminate the steward’s business. On a whim, I poured a little into each of the two glasses that had sat so neglected all through the day, and offered one to Gerick who slumped tiredly in his chair. He sat up straight, took the glass, and put it to his lips.
“Your father would have been proud of you today,” I said, smiling.
But my words seemed to remind him of whatever it was that had worsened the state of affairs between us. With a snarl, he threw the wineglass at my feet, shattering the glass on the floor and splattering my skirts with the ruby liquid. Then, he ran out of the hall. I was beyond astonishment.
The two notes from Nellia lay crumpled in Gerick’s chair, reminding me that I had not yet finished the business of the day. I thanked the wide-eyed servants, who came to clean up the mess and put the hall to rights, and started up the stairs to see Philomena.
Before I reached the first landing, a harried servant accosted me with a message from the chamberlain. A visitor was waiting in the small reception room, asking to see the duchess on urgent business. Perhaps Lady Seriana could see the man. I decided to get rid of the visitor first, leaving me uninterrupted time for Philomena and Gerick. I couldn’t imagine what might bring someone to Comigor so late of an evening, so with curiosity as well as impatience, I hurried into the plain anteroom that was used to receive messengers and low-ranking visitors.
“Good evening, sir,” I said to the cloaked figure that stood by the fire with his back to me. “Please tell me what is your urgent business with the duchess.”
“Only if you happen to be the duchess,” said the man in a supercilious tone that one did not usually hear from those consigned to the small reception room. He turned toward me as he spoke, and my retort died on my tongue. A handsome man of middle years, narrow face, dark, close-trimmed hair, conservatively dressed in garb suitable for a soldier of middle rank with connections at court. He had let his beard grow longer since I had seen him last, but I could not fail to recognize him. “Darzid!”
“You!” He gathered his self-control quickly, but I had seen astonishment, displeasure, and yes, an undeniable streak of dismay before he donned his usual mask of detached amusement. It gave me an unseemly jolt of pleasure to see him discomfited-even if only for a moment. “Lady Seriana. Never in all the vagaries of time would I have expected to find you settled in your brother’s house. Has her ladyship gone mad?”
Wariness kept my loathing on a tight rein. Only hours since Karon and Dassine had walked in a Comigor garden, and now here was the man I believed the most dangerous in the Four Realms. “Her Grace is not receiving visitors this evening, Captain. State your business, and I’ll do what I can for you.”
I had once considered Tomas’s darkly charming guard captain no more than a clever and somewhat amoral courtier, one who found cynical amusement in hanging about the edges of power and observing the foolish antics of those with high ambition. We had been friends as much as Darzid’s nature was capable of friendship. But I had lost interest in Darzid as I became involved with the greater mysteries of falling in love with a sorcerer. And then the captain’s amusements had taken a murderous turn. He had been instrumental in Karon’s arrest, trial, and execution, and those of our dearest friends. Darzid himself had brought my dead infant to show me, observing my grief as if I were some alien creature with whom he had no kinship. And on the day Karon had first returned to this world in the body of D’Natheil, Darzid had come hunting him in the company of three Zhid-sorcerer-warriors from the world of Gondai. Whether he was a pawn, a dupe, or a conspirator, I wasn’t sure, but he was certainly not innoce
nt.
He stepped close, uncomfortably close, for I could smell anise on his breath from the sweets he favored. But I did not retreat. “Oh, this is very amusing,” he said, studying my face, “a twist in the paths of fortune that could never have been anticipated. But my business is quite urgent. A critical opportunity, I might say. The lady duchess will have someone’s head if it passes her by-yours, I suppose.”
“Either I deal with the matter or it will have to wait. The duchess has given birth to a daughter today.”
He smiled broadly, his cheeks flushed. “A daughter, you say. Poor Tomas. His last try at immortality comes only to another girl. And is this one as weak as the others?”
“I don’t see that as any of your business, Captain.”
“A fine thing he got a son the first time, is it not, else who would carry on the holy Comigor traditions?” He burst into entirely incongruous laughter. If he had not been standing so close, I might have missed the unamused cold center of his eye.
“Your urgent business, Captain? The hour is late.”
He flopped on the high-backed wooden bench beside the fire, his thin, sprawling, black-clad legs reminding me of a spider. “I’ve brought the duchess the answer to her prayers, but clearly circumstances have changed. Perhaps my news is out of date, undesired, or unnecessary… Tell me, my lady, how fares your nephew?” His voice was casual, drawling, but his gaze did not waver.
“Why would the young duke be of concern to you? When my brother died, so did your relationship with Comigor. Tomas forged no contract with you.”
Darzid smiled broadly. “Have no fear, my lady. I’m not here to insinuate myself onto the Comigor paylist, but only to do a last favor for my late, esteemed master. Deeming me unworthy to tutor a lord’s son, the duchess asked me to make some private inquiries as to proper fostering. Indeed, I have found someone who is both of sufficient rank to satisfy the duchess’s pecuniary ambitions and of sufficient tolerance to take on the task of making a man out of your brother’s, let us say, uniquely difficult progeny.”
“And who might this person be?” As if any selection of Darzid’s might be appropriate!
“Oh, you will delight in this. It is a matter of such delicacy that I shouldn’t tell anyone before I inform the duchess, but the chance to see your reaction is just too amusing. Can you not guess who might agree to such a responsibility?”
I didn’t answer. My skin burned where his eyes rested. I folded my arms tightly, so perhaps he would not notice my involuntary shudder.
“You will not give me the pleasure of a joust? Ah, lady, I do regret- Well, too bad.” He leaned forward. “It is our king himself who offers.” And then he sagged back against the spindled arm of the bench, smiling hugely.
“Evard wants to foster Gerick?” Only the fatigue of the long day prevented my disgust from exploding.
“Who else? His feelings for your brother were quite fraternal, and he wants to do for him as any brother would. I’d say that there’s a good chance young Gerick will get a royal bride out of the arrangement, if he can be made civil. Ironic, is it not? Comigor linked to the Leiran throne-the connection Tomas most wanted, only a generation late. And he is far too dead to appreciate it.”
It was not out of the range of belief; that was what was so appalling about the idea. Evard, King of Leire, had indeed loved Tomas, as much as a shallow, ambitious, unscrupulous man could love anyone. He might well be persuaded that if he were to give a home to his friend’s son and groom the boy as a suitable mate for his only child, the Princess Roxanne, then he would be ridding himself of two irksome responsibilities at once. And there would be no stopping it. The offer was, as Darzid said, the answer to Philomena’s prayers.
Darzid sat awaiting my response like the crowd before a gallows awaits the springing of the trap. No use for artifice.
“You’ll be delighted to hear that I have no say whatsoever in this matter, Captain. But I wouldn’t condemn the most deprived peasant child to life with Evard, so I’ll do everything in my power to convince the duchess that her son needs a mentor with some rudimentary concept of honor…”
“And woe to him who underestimates the Lady Seriana. I’ve come near it myself. Very near.”
“… but the decision, of course, rests with my sister-in-law. She may be able to see you tomorrow, but I won’t promise anything. Are you staying nearby?” I was not going to offer him a billet in the castle.
“I’m at the Vanguard in Graysteve and will return in the morning. The matter cannot wait. His Majesty expects the boy to be in residence by tomorrow night. But then… perhaps the game is changed now you’re here… yes, I think so… Even the soundest strategy must respond to an unexpected play.”
“I’ll have the servants bring your horse.”
Without shifting his languid posture, he gave me a smirking nod. “As you wish, my lady. As you wish.”
Still puzzling over Darzid’s position in the scheme of things, I made my way upstairs to Philomena’s bedchamber. The room was dim, only a few candles sitting on the mantelpiece, casting a pale light on Philomena who slept soundly in the great bed, her cheeks and lips rosy and her golden hair tangled on the fluffy pillows. Lady Verally sat at attention in a straight chair beside the bed, but her chin had sagged upon her black satin bosom, and she snored in a prim and ladylike manner. One could find many faults in the dismal woman, but she was indeed a devoted companion.
I found Eleni, the midwife, in the nursery, crooning softly to a white bundle in her arms.
“How are they?” I asked quietly.
Eleni shook her head and pulled back the wrappings so I could see the child. Never had I seen features so small. My smallest fingertip would cover her nose, my thumb her eyes. Surely even the gentle forces that hold us to earth must crush such frailty. A golden down covered her head. She was beautiful.
“We had a wet nurse in, but the little one has no strength to suckle. We gave her a few drops of milk from a spoon, but it will not sustain her. You can already hear the trouble in her breathing.”
“And what of the duchess?”
“She’ll be quite well, ma’am. The babe gave her no trouble, though the older lady made her believe it so. It’s clear neither one of them ever carried a full-term child to birthing.”
“I don’t believe Lady Verally has any children, but the duchess has a son who is quite healthy.”
The woman looked puzzled. “If I didn’t hear it from your lips and profoundly respect your saying, I’d say you are mistaken, ma’am. The duchess’s womb is weak and will always give way beforetime. I’ve never seen such a womb bear a child strong enough to live.”
“Thankfully her son is a sturdy child,” I said. “I suppose he was from the beginning. It’s good you were here, Eleni. I thank you for your patience and skill.”
The woman opened her mouth as if to argue the point, but instead dipped her head politely. “We’ve sent to Graysteve for a more experienced wet nurse. Another hour should see her here. I’ve been told to wait for her here, though it’s past time I got back to my own brood.”
“Certainly, you should go home. Pick up your payment from Nellia and get some supper before you leave. Tell her to send up the nurse when she arrives. I’ll watch the child until then.”
The infant didn’t weigh anything. Her hand was no bigger than a kitten’s paw and her tiny ringers wrapped themselves about one of mine. I walked her around the room, whispering to her of Tomas, and I shed a few tears for lost lives and lost years and lost promise. Then the wet nurse arrived and took the child, settling into the plain chair that had been left for her in a dark corner of the room.
Despite the late hour I went in search of Gerick, willing to intrude upon his anger so that he might see his sister while she lived and perhaps give his mother some comfort when she woke. James, his underemployed manservant, said the young duke had stopped by his apartments earlier and picked up his cloak. No one had seen the boy since then. Unusual for him to retire so la
te.
I retrieved my cloak and a lamp from my bedchamber and set out for the northwest tower. As a girl, I had often sought refuge there when I was upset. All the way up the stairs and into the secret room, I was unable to rid myself of a vague and growing anxiety.
He was not there. A bitter wind gusted through the doorway leading to the outer steps, the roof, and the parapet. My lamp cast eerie, dancing shadows on the curved walls. Gathering my cloak about me, I climbed to the tower roof. Gerick wasn’t there, either, but someone had been there quite recently. An acrid odor wafted from the firepit. I held my lamp close to see what caused such a vile smell. The smooth stone pit was perfectly clean save for a large, shapeless gray mass still radiating heat. I saw no clue as to the nature of the stuff until I searched beyond the stone ring and found a tiny arm of blue-painted metal. The soldiers. Somehow Gerick had dragged wood up here and battled the wind to set a fire, all so he could melt every one of my father’s lead soldiers. I didn’t know whether to scream or to weep.
CHAPTER 8
I would leave the next morning. Neither screaming nor weeping would be of any use, but removing myself from Gerick’s life might. Even if I had to walk to Graysteve and hire a farm hack to carry me, I would not stay and watch, a child destroy himself and his home on account of me. Nothing I had done in the past four months seemed at all important. Philomena’s baby would die. Gerick desperately needed a firm, kind hand to lead him away from his hatred and isolation. I could help none of them.
Rummaging about my room, I furiously stuffed my things into my traveling bag. What had happened to make the child so angry? For the last few weeks we had lived without warmth, but with tolerance at least. Our Long Night celebration had left me with great hopes. What had changed? I was filled with foreboding that no rational consideration could dispel. Nothing made sense.
I woke in the middle of the night, huddled on top of the coverlet, still in my Covenant Day garb. My lamp had long since burned out. I pulled the blankets around me, letting the darkness drag me back into wild and fearful dreams.
