Eight
The Duchess Ysa watched contentedly as Elin NordornPrincess enjoyed herself during four of the five days the celebration was due to last. She might as well have been born a coquette. But then, considering the grandmother she had been named for—her husband Boroth’s unlawful mistress—perhaps this was not surprising. On alternate days, Elin favored Prince Karl and Duke Bernhard, with the most satisfactory result that the two young men glared daggers at each other on every occasion when they met.
This did not go unremarked by the ladies of the Court, even the visitors. Ysa bided her time and, when she judged the situation was becoming critical, invited Ashen, Hegrin, Mjaurita, Elibit, and Rannore to tea in her apartment. Skillfully, she guided the conversation in the direction she wanted it to go.
“Princess Elin is growing up fast,” Ysa remarked. “She is turning into a very lovely young woman.” To hide any telltale expression she might have had, she bent over to place a plate of spice cake crumbs on the floor for Alfonse. The little dog began gobbling the treat greedily.
“And too aware of it, if you don’t mind my saying so,” Mjaurita stated. “I am taking full advantage of my greater years and experience, Ashen NordornQueen, so please forgive me if I give offense. Your daughter is behaving, well, rashly. One would think that she was deliberately playing with those two young men.”
“Oh, surely not,” Rannore protested.
“Oh, surely so,” Hegrin said as she helped herself to another sugary spice cake. “She’s just as bad in her way as I was when I was her age, only I was more interested in fighting with the boys and beating them than I was in flirting with them.”
“Alas, I fear Queen Hegrin knows her sister very well,” Mjaurita said. “You have a gentle heart, Rannore my dear, but none here save the Duchess and I have lived long enough to see clearly what is happening. Or the remedy.”
“And what would that be?” Elibit asked.
“Well,” Ysa said judiciously, “it seems to me that if Elin were betrothed—”
“No!” Ashen exclaimed.
“Betrothed,” Ysa repeated. “If Elin were betrothed, that would possibly settle both Prince Karl and Duke Bernhard enough that they don’t start a war between their two countries. Such a war would be sure to involve both Rendel and the NordornLand as well! And we all know that betrothals aren’t the same as marriages. Elin, for all her precociousness, is far too young for that.”
“But who would make a good match for her?” Rannore asked.
The ladies, to Ysa’s immense satisfaction, then virtually repeated the conversation she and Elin had had on the subject earlier, and to her even greater satisfaction, after they considered every possible suitor of noble or near-noble blood, came to the same conclusion. If Princess Elin was not to be bestowed upon a commoner or sent to another kingdom, the only real candidate was Mårten.
“My great-nephew is a very intelligent young man,” Mjaurita said. “That is not just a doting aunt’s claim. He shows every sign of growing up to be as long-headed as his father. Mårten may be young, but I am certain his father and the Countess Ekla will welcome the opportunity to ally themselves even more closely to the royal house of the NordornLand.”
Before someone could point out that the House of Mithlond stood to become even more powerful than it currently was, what with Mjaurita’s marriage to Earl Royance, Ysa voiced her approval. “Yes, I agree, my dear. Mjødulf has always been one of Gaurin’s most loyal supporters. Now, given Princess Elin’s disposition at times, especially when she does not have her way in all matters, this match between them might not be a totally unmixed blessing—” She laughed at her own jest, and the other ladies, save Ashen, joined in a little uncertainly. “No, not totally unmixed, but not a match that would be seen as grotesque, such as a liaison with, say one of Arngrim’s sons.” She shuddered delicately. “Their manners at table—well, those young men are most unsuitable in every particular, as I sure all here will agree.”
“I am still not in favor of a betrothal at such an early age,” Ashen said.
“How old is she? Twelve? And how old were you, Hegrin my dear, when you married Peres?”
“Thirteen,” the Rendelian queen said, a trifle defiantly. “Closer to fourteen.”
“I think not. Closer to twelve, I think. Nor were you betrothed. Peres announced that you were to wed, and so you did at once. And you gave birth to Boroth the Younger at fifteen?”
“Yes.” Hegrin’s face flamed.
“Even though you were discouraged from beginning the intimate part of your marriage until you were sixteen at least.”
“Yes.” Hegrin flushed even deeper.
“Well, then,” Ysa said, turning to Ashen, “it would seem that Elin could be betrothed to Mårten now, and no one—save you—would find reason to object. I daresay that after a little thought, you will see the wisdom in this course of action.”
“I suppose that I am being a little overprotective, as I was with Hegrin,” Ashen said reluctantly.
“Then it’s settled!” Ysa turned to the other ladies. “Shall we all agree, to preserve peace between Writham and Yuland enough that the two countries don’t declare war on one another here in the Castle of Fire and Ice, and also to rein in the NordornPrincess a bit for her own good and the NordornLand’s, that Elin and Mårten’s betrothal shall be announced tomorrow evening. Yes?”
“Well, it might be considered polite if we notified Mjødulf of our plans for his son,” Mjaurita said a bit tartly. “Not that he’ll have any objection, of course. Still.”
“Of course, my dear. We are just arranging matters among ourselves, as women do. I would never overlook that courtesy. With Ashen’s permission I will give that assignment into your capable hands. And, since Elin and I have grown close these last weeks, I will inform her of the plans for her future.”
“It seems to me that this is all proceeding too hastily,” Elibit said. “Do these two even like one another?”
“Of course!” Ysa said. “Or, if not, they will grow to do so. Mårten might be a little young yet to appreciate the necessity and significance of such a liaison, but Elin surely will. I will send for her this afternoon.”
“Then we should absent ourselves, and leave you to your interview,” said Elibit, rising from her chair.
Ysa did not miss the glance that passed between Ashen and Hegrin. Those two would have some things to discuss in private. Rannore looked faintly troubled, as if events were proceeding far too swiftly for her comfort. She and Elibit would be having a similar discussion, Ysa would wager anything on it.
“Does it have to be now?” Elin asked petulantly. “I had plans to go out riding today with Prince Karl. And if Bernhard happened to be out riding as well, it would have been most amusing when the two of them met.”
“Undoubtedly. And I suppose that you would see to it that he knew when and where to find you. But the game is played out.”
“Oh, I suppose. How did you get Mother to agree?”
“I have my ways, Granddaughter. Now, sit you down at my desk and we will begin composing notes to both Bernhard and Karl, telling them that you regret that you shall not see them again. Don’t give them a reason; we’ll announce the betrothal tomorrow night. And consider that you will have the pleasure of watching both Prince Karl and Duke Bernhard nearly strangle themselves, trying to hide their anger and disappointment.”
Elin brightened. “Yes, that will be nice to see. You are very wise, Granddam.” As she was bid, she took the chair offered. Alfonse stood up, his paws on her knee, and whined to be picked up. She settled the little dog on her lap.
“Never doubt it, girl. There is no other like me. Now, write.”
“I am still heartbroken,” Elin said sadly, as she dipped the quill into the inkwell. “Could you let me wear your emerald ring again tonight?”
“You seem entirely too fond of the Great Signet of Yew.”
“It is the emerald I am fond of. It is so beautiful I can scarcely take
my eyes off it. I wish I had one half as lovely.”
“I have heard that the fire mountains in the Upplands, where your brother is at present, create green gems, just as the fire mountains in the NordornLand produce red fire-stones. When we finally hear from him, shall we ask him to bring back a green stone for you?”
“Oh, yes, Granddam!” Elin exclaimed. “A big one.”
“A bag full,” Ysa promised. “Enough to make rings and bracelets and necklaces—”
“And even a tiara?”
“Yes, even a tiara.”
Satisfied, at least for the moment, Elin applied herself to the task Granddam Ysa had set for her. And truthfully, the game she had been playing with Bernhard and Karl had begun to take on the tinge of too much danger. She was glad to have it done with.
“So Ysa is plotting again,” Duke Einaar said when Elibit had told him of the proposed betrothal.
“She was most insistent. It was almost as if she had reached this conclusion well beforehand, and was all but pushing us in the direction she wanted us to go.”
“That was ever Ysa’s way.” Einaar thought back to the days when he had first come to Cyornas Castle, and Ysa had come within a hair of persuading him to seize the throne in the absence of both the NordornKing and NordornQueen, even usurping the rightful accession of Bjaudin NordornPrince. Yes, Ysa could be very persuasive and very forceful as well.
“Furthermore,” he continued, “this proposed betrothal is eminently sensible in a dynastic sense. Even as it would make sense for Bjaudin to marry Laherne, Lathrom and Rannore’s daughter.”
“Is that being proposed? Ysa said nothing about it.”
“I suppose that is because she hadn’t arranged it,” Einaar told her. “Or, alternatively, that she had no objection. The Duchess never does anything, or refrains from doing something, without having a reason. I am not sure, yet, of what Ysa’s reasons are concerning the marriages and betrothals of our niece and nephew, but we can be certain that there are plenty of them. I must go and consult with Earl Royance.”
“The Countess Mjaurita seemed to accept the proposed betrothal between Elin and Mårten without objection—yea, with great approval.”
“As I said, it makes perfect dynastic sense. And also, Mjaurita hasn’t the depth of experience with Ysa that I, or even you, have. Well, we shall see how things play out. Now that we have an inkling of what Ysa’s plans are, if not the reasons behind them, we can better be on guard.”
“I am glad that I brought this to you, my dear lord and husband. You have ever been wise and careful in all matters concerning the well-being of the NordornLand.”
For answer, Einaar folded his wife in his arms. As he held her close, he felt, even through their voluminous clothing, the new child kicking. It would be a vigorous one, and, again, he hoped it would be a boy. No child of Elibit’s deserved to be forced to bear the name of his faithless mother.
Later, he called a meeting with Mjødulf, Royance, Peres, and Gaurin in the Council chamber.
“My good lords,” he said, when all were assembled, “what think you of this newest scheme of the Duchess Ysa?”
“Oh, yes. Aunt Mjaurita has so informed me.” Mjødulf bowed in Gaurin’s direction and, as was his habit, folded his long, slender hands in front of him on the polished tabletop. “I am both humbled and flattered that a liaison between my son and the royal family of the NordornLand is even contemplated.”
“Such a connection would not be unwelcome,” Gaurin said. “You have always been unswervingly loyal. The children are close enough in age that such a betrothal would not occasion whispers and knowing laughs behind hands. I would like to hear the opinion of my brother and of Earl Royance as well.”
“The Duchess Ysa is very astute when it comes to politics and political scheming,” the Earl said. “I have observed her at it for years. Also, it is almost unknown for her to act without having at least one hidden motive. However, in this instance, I cannot fathom what that might be.”
“Nor can I,” Einaar said. “Our thoughts run in the same vein. I said as much to Elibit.”
“In this case,” Gaurin said, “I am inclined to think that her motives are straightforward.”
“Yuland occupies the southeastern boundary of Rendel,” Peres noted. “And Writham provides a not inconsiderable shield for both our lands from the peoples of the far west. It would not be wise to alienate either country.”
“Agreed,” Gaurin said. “My lady Ashen has informed me of what I, a mere man, had overlooked, namely that the Princess Elin was, we must think inadvertently, stirring up a rivalry between Prince Karl of Writham and Duke Bernhard of Yuland. I had thought it just young people’s high spirits. But she assures me that such high spirits could result in unforgivable insult.” He took a swallow of the snow-berry juice and hot wine that had been provided for the participants in the meeting. “I well remember my own feelings when I first met Ashen only to learn that she was freshly wed to another.”
The other men nodded. This tale was well known throughout the land, about how the Sunburst at Midnight had engulfed them both, and how they had nobly resisted yielding to almost unbearable temptation. It was the stuff of legend.
“If I may suggest,” Earl Royance said.
“Of course, my good friend,” Gaurin replied.
“The Lady Anamara is kindred to Ashen NordornQueen, and her husband, Chieftain Rohan Sea-Rover, is a man whose station is not to be despised. Could we propose a match between his daughter—What is her name? Oh yes, Amilia. A match between her and the Duke Bernhard would, I think, be adequate consolation for his rejection as Elin’s suitor.”
“That is well thought on,” Gaurin said. “Rohan should be returning at any hour now. When he arrives, I will ask him.”
“And I will offer the hand of my daughter Gizela to Prince Karl,” Peres said. “That should strengthen our presently shaky alliance with Writham and thus avoid the potential for warfare between that country and Yuland, with Rendel caught in between.”
“How fortunate, then, that the Duchess decided to step in to avert what could have been a very dangerous situation!” Mjødulf observed. “There will be good outcome in all cases, I think.”
Indeed there would, Einaar thought, a trifle cynically. Even though such ideas might never have crossed the scheming Duchess’s mind.
At that moment, the ringing of deep-toned bells in the lookout station atop the Water Tower announced the arrival of Rohan and Tordenskjold.
“Now we can inform Rohan of our plans and get his approval. Go and inform Esander, Einaar, and have him make ready to perform the betrothal ceremonies,” Gaurin said. “We will ask Court ladies to stand proxy for Gizela and Amilia. Let us hope that Rohan brings us good news in turn.”
Nine
Mikkel met the other “younkers” that afternoon. Lucas was about his age; Tark somewhat older; Willin, a frail boy, much younger. The two girls, Petra and Haldon, looked about his age as well. Neither girl seemed inclined to friendliness. Perhaps they had seen too many of Holger’s younkers come and go.
Oddly, Petra’s pale skin bore silver-colored marks apparently tattooed to emphasize the planes of her face and make it seem that her features were chiseled of stone. He recalled that Askepott had said the girl claimed to be a Rock-Maiden. Perhaps, Mikkel thought, it is some kind of tribal marking.
He was glad when Lucas suggested they go outside and fetch water and more wood for the fire. “It will get us out from under foot and maybe save us a scolding from Askepott,” he said. “Always a good idea to stay on Askepott’s good side—if you can find it.”
Mikkel laughed, and followed the other boy out of the kitchen and into the open. The long twi-night made all seem bathed in wet green light. Here and there veils of mysterious colored light ebbed and flickered in the sky. But the boys dared not stay and watch the show. They both grabbed pails and Mikkel followed Lucas up the hill to where the steading’s primary well was located. They passed a cattle pen on th
eir way, with several—Mikkel couldn’t count them in the uncertain light—beasts in it. He supposed these were the snow-cows Askepott had mentioned. They bore a slight resemblance to fallowbeeste. Some of them had impressive racks of antlers on their heads. He wondered if the bits of meat he had devoured so hungrily were snow cow flesh.
Atop the rise, Mikkel got his first good look, despite the twinight, of the steading and its surroundings. Many huts crowded the stockade wall, as if for protection. Higher up the slope, a line of black trees stood at the edge of what passed for civilization below. Low hills created natural boundaries, and lines of smoke from domestic fires marked the steadings of other Wykenigs.
“Do all the villages here have their own docks? Their own ships?” Mikkel asked.
“I think so. Each steading keeps to itself, except when there’s a war. But Holger’s is the best and biggest. His only real rival is Thialfi Hamarwieldar, two steadings over. Some day they will go to war with each other, I think.”
“Do you like it here?”
Lucas shrugged. “It’s better than starving, or freezing to death. Either one would have been my fate if one of Holger’s jarls hadn’t carried me back with him after a raid.”
“Then you’re not from the Upplands.”
“No more than you are. But I’m not a prince, like I heard you are.”
“Whether I am or not, it makes no difference.”
“Why is your hair so red?”
Mikkel self-consciously touched his braids, now sorely in need of attention. “I don’t know where I got it from. My—my mam is very fair, and my da not much darker.”
“Upplanders think red hair is special. I expect that is why Holger decided to send you here when he attacked the ship you were on. That, and your pet krigpus.”
This place is worse for gossip even than the Castle of Fire and Ice. Is there anything, Mikkel wondered, that Lucas doesn’t already know?
The Knight of the Red Beard Page 12
