Pearl Beyond Price

by Claire Delacroix

  Thierry wanted to laugh aloud. “Aye, a kiss would be in order.”

  “Perhaps more than one.”

  “Perhaps more than a kiss,” he murmured, then had a thought. “If you think it wise.”

  “I see no reason to abstain, if we are careful.”

  “And I see less reason,” Thierry agreed with pleasure. “We have much to celebrate this night, indeed, my Kira.” He would prove to her that his word was as good as his deed. He would find a way to build a future for them both—and in the meantime, he would ensure Kira’s every pleasure.

  They rode south for three weeks, neither hurrying nor lingering in any one place. Eustache had shortened their daily ride at Thierry’s request, for Kira’s sake. Kira rode with Thierry and slept beside him, color returning to her cheeks with each passing day.

  When they halted in the afternoon, Thierry taught Kira how to fight with the knife, attempting to correct his earlier omission. Nogai taught her to throw it. The Mongol had no immediate intention of returning to the East and gradually he made acquaintances in Eustache’s company. More than one knight was encouraged to play cards with him, and most of them lost, thereby ensuring that Nogai collected an ample supply of coin. He spent most of it on food and fodder for the ponies.

  Thierry consulted with Eustache, learning the history of Montsalvat and its prospects for the future. Kira sat beside him when the men talked, and often they two discussed what they had learned in private later. Thierry thought long into each night, trying to puzzle out a solution. The land grew drier and the days became hotter as they rode into Languedoc, the hills becoming more bare. People had goats, if they had any livestock at all, and the taste of goat milk opened a tide of memories for Thierry.

  When Eustache pointed to the stone fortress perched on the peak of a hill far ahead, calling it Montsalvat, Thierry felt a profound sense of homecoming. The next morning, they passed through the village at the foot of the winding road, and the people came out of their homes to greet the returning party. More than one surveyed Thierry and seemed to know his identity without learning his name. More than one bowed low before him and welcomed him home.

  “Do you favor your father?” Kira whispered.

  “Some would say as much.”

  “Because they know, even without seeing your mark.”

  “Aye. It seems they do.” Thierry looked back to find that the entire village trailed behind the party, making the climb to the fortress. No one had said a word, but they were united in purpose in a way that thrilled him to his marrow. Eustache only smiled as he held back his destrier and gestured for Thierry to lead the company.

  Then he bowed his head. “Welcome home, my lord.” He took the signet ring from his finger and offered it to Thierry, his gaze downcast in deference.

  Thierry stared at the older knight, even as he understood the import of the gesture. “But Montsalvat is your holding,” he protested.

  Eustache shook his head. “’Twas never mine. I defended it in trust for its rightful lord, and now that you are returned, it is yours as ever it was.”

  Kira gasped with delight, her eyes shining as Thierry took the ring. His throat was tight when he gripped the ring, then he turned the destrier to address the company and the villagers who had gathered behind him. “I thank you all,” he said simply, overwhelmed.

  “They will come to pledge fealty to you,” Eustache said. “At Montsalvat, as is tradition. And I will be first, my lord.”

  “And I will declare my hope for the future first,” Thierry said. “So all will know whether they wish to pledge to me or not.”

  Eustache frowned, but Thierry knew what he had to do. He turned the horse and rode toward the keep that towered above them, his heart thundering. The road was steep and took a twisted course to the gates. The hills were almost bare on either side, and both goats and goatherds watched their progress. Kira’s features lit as they approached the keep and she clutched his sleeve. “Wind and walls,” she whispered, reminding him of their discussion and Thierry smiled.

  All those who lived in the keep were gathered in the courtyard there. They were few and their garb was simple, but their gazes were steady. Thierry dismounted and greeted them all, then guided Kira to one end of the courtyard. He stood there, her hand in his, the signet ring warming in his palm, watching the people file into the space. The sun was fiercely bright and the wind was chilly, but he loved the keep as he had loved no others. Even Nogai smiled as he watched birds turn overhead and the wind ruffled his hair.

  When all had gathered and quieted, Thierry lifted his hand so that the signet ring in his grasp caught the sunlight. “I am honored to wear this ring and to accept its burden, for I never imagined that such a holding might be mine. I bear a legacy in my veins, a history of honorable men who have battled for justice. I was born in this keep and named in this courtyard, and I would not deny the import of the past. I would change the future, though, and I would speak to you of that before you pledge fealty to me, if indeed you choose to do as much.”

  A murmur passed through the company and Thierry waited, knowing that he had to accept his legacy his way or not at all.

  For Kira’s sake, and that of their child.

  “There is no honor in taking what another man has built. There is no justice in claiming that of another and making it one’s own. If two men battle over a piece of land and one is triumphant, the loser might have a claim to the land, but he has none to the house the victor built there, to the horses that grace the victor’s stables, to the wealth in the victor’s treasury. I take this ring with the expectation of building my own home, of growing a village of wealth and learning here, on these lands. And in so doing, I would abandon those claims made by my forebears.”

  There was a gasp, but they did not leave.

  “I would build here,” Thierry said, pointing his finger to the ground. “I would defend this land and administer justice here. I would cultivate wealth here, amongst all of us. I would create a home for each and every one of us, a place where we are safe and we have neighbors and we have food and gardens and wine. I would build a holding where we have wind in our hair and walls on our borders and joy in our hearts.” He raised a hand. “I would invite you to join me in this quest, but if vengeance is your aim, I would ask you to leave this place of peace.” He held the ring out to Eustache. “You have administered this holding in my stead, in trust for me and my kin, and I offer its return if you think my intention is wrong.”

  Eustache stepped forward, handing his helmet to Beauregard, and dropped to one knee before Thierry. “I would be first to pledge my fealty to you, my lord Thierry.” He nodded once at Thierry, smiled, and bowed his head.

  The company cheered. Kira’s smile was brilliant and Thierry took her hand in his, holding it high. “And on this day, I will take a bride, in the chapel of this keep. Please greet my lady and welcome her as one of your own.” There was a roar of assent from the company, then Thierry made to place the ring on his own finger.

  “I will do that,” called a man, his tone imperious. ’Twas a voice Thierry remembered well and he stiffened at the sound, despite the passage of years since that last fight.

  It simply could not be.

  But a man strode through the company, his long hair threaded with silver amongst the gold, his eyes the same grey hue as Thierry’s own.

  It seemed that Thierry could not take a breath.

  Here. Now. He had never decided what he would say, what he would do, what he would ask when he confronted his father again, having fully expected to have the width of a continent to summon his thoughts. But the moment was upon him already and all he could do was face its demands as well as he was able.

  All fell silent. An expectant silence filled the courtyard, but Thierry could neither speak nor look away from the recollection in his sire’s eyes. Dagobert’s expression was forbidding when he halted before Thierry and he put out his hand in silent demand for the ring.

  ’Twas rightly his f
ather’s possession, as was Montsalvat. The sole man who could stand in the path of Thierry’s dream was before him. That his father had heard his words was as evident in his hard expression as was his disapproval.

  Thierry knew he would have to be the first to speak. He cleared his throat, the rush of his disappointment making it difficult to find fitting words.

  “Hello, Father,” he said simply and surrendered the ring.

  The quiet words hung between them and it seemed the very earth held its breath. His sire’s expression remained stony. Thierry noted the signs of his father’s aging and endeavored to calculate how long it had been since they had exchanged heated words. Five years? Six? Thierry could not be sure, but he knew his sire’s memory of that day had not faded, either.

  He had been young when he had ridden out of Khanbaliq in anger. He had sworn he would never return and he had not—though his father had insisted he would. Their gazes, each so similar to the other, locked and held. The hostility simmered between them as surely as if the argument had only just ended.

  “You have grown taller,” his father said and his frown deepened. Thierry’s mother appeared beside his father and touched her spouse’s elbow as if to encourage him. Dagobert cleared his throat, turning the ring in his hand. “You know well enough that we share a mark in common,” he said quietly. Thierry nodded. “’Tis a mark of our lineage and the heritage of our bloodline.” His voice dropped and Thierry had to strain to hear the words, even though they stood but an arm’s length apart. “You might have heard tell of the lost kings of Rhedae, the forgotten kings whose line was divinely chosen to rule.”

  “Aye. Eustache told me of them.”

  “Did he? It seems my trust was well placed in him, then.” Dagobert’s gaze grew serious. “A line of kings wrongfully displaced by usurpers and overthrown from their rightful role. Long centuries have passed, each with their attempts, some noble, some covert, to regain that which we have lost, to regain that which is our rightful legacy. Each attempt has been a failure. I watched my own sire die in such a battle and took the pledge at his hand that very day.”

  Dagobert sighed. “I, too, failed at the task and nearly lost all I held dear in the fight. ’Twas then I knew the price of this birthright was too high.” He cleared his throat and met Thierry’s gaze once more. “When we had retreated to Montsalvat and were besieged, we knew the fortress would fall to the invaders. Alienor and I decided to stay just long enough to see you named. ’Twas then you should have been granted the burden of your legacy according to family tradition, but I—” Thierry watched in amazement as his father shook his head “—I could not commit you to a path I feared to be folly. That night, beneath the stars at Montsalvat, I claimed you as my son, granted you my name and bestowed upon you the choice of whether to take up the family quest or not. No man of our line had ever done this for his heir, but I would not see you pay a high toll for the sake of tradition.”

  There was silence between the two of them again, for Thierry still did not know his father’s intent and he did not wish to interrupt him. “Even so, I erred and I failed you,” Dagobert continued. “I did not tell you of your legacy. I thought I could protect you if you did not know of it, but I should have told you. I should have let you choose for yourself.”

  His gaze rose to the high walls and Thierry watched his father’s throat work. “But in the end, you prove yourself more than I could have wished you to be. You speak well, Thierry.” When their gazes collided again, his father smiled. “The fruit of the vine is a marvel indeed and I for one support his plan.” Dagobert lifted the ring between them and indicated that Thierry should kneel before him. “Kneel, my son, that I might surrender your due.”

  Thierry heard Kira exhale and assumed she shared his wonder. He dropped to one knee and bowed his head, closing his eyes as his father laid one hand upon his head. “I grant Montsalvat and all it holds due to Thierry...”

  “De Havre,” Thierry injected and felt his father start.

  “To Thierry de Havre,” his father continued after the merest moment. “A valiant knight who will see our future secured.” And he pushed the ring onto Thierry’s finger. It was of considerable size and more heft than Thierry had expected, and he knew the weight of it would remind him daily of his responsibility to those who pledged to him.

  ’Twas an obligation he welcomed and an opportunity that filled his heart with hope. The courtyard erupted in cheers and applause, but Thierry felt a shadow of fear.

  “Why do you ride home now?” he asked his father. “Is something amiss? Are you ill?”

  Dagobert shook his head, his calm expression soothing Thierry’s fears as nothing else could. “Nay,” he admitted. “’Twas a dream that set us on our way west.”

  “A dream?”

  “Aye,” Dagobert confirmed and he reached to grip Thierry’s shoulder. “A dream that the time to regain what we had lost was upon us again.” He turned to Alienor, who revealed that she carried something red. ’Twas a banner graced with a unicorn and surrounded by vines, the insignia of his family and a token he had only seen on occasion.

  His mother pressed it into his hands and kissed his cheeks.

  “You cannot fly it above the keep and escape the king’s wrath,” his father said. “But you must have it as your own.”

  “I thank you, Father,” Thierry said and embraced them both. He introduced them to Kira and saw his mother’s gaze drop to Kira’s stomach, which was more round.

  “His woman,” Eustache said with a shake of his head.

  Thierry did not give his mother a chance to comment upon that. “My beloved,” he said, taking Kira’s hand and watching her eyes light. “And my bride, if she will have me.”

  “Thierry! Of course!” Kira exclaimed and cast herself into his arms. He kissed her and swung her around, then she flushed as she faced his parents.

  “The bride of whom you spoke,” Alienor said, kissing Kira’s cheeks. “Welcome, Kira.”

  By the time Eustache bent his knee before Thierry, there were tears of joy in Thierry’s eyes and still more on Kira’s cheeks. He stood between his parents and the woman who would be his wife, his heart bursting that all this should be his. The people came forward to pledge to his hand, one after the other, and Thierry vowed he would defend them all to his last.

  ’Twas like an old tale to Kira’s thinking. She had not imagined that so much could come right with such speed, but all her dreams came to fruition at once. She liked Montsalvat and she felt welcomed by the people, whose smiles were warm. Several of the townswomen kissed her hands and the midwife bowed before her, even as Thierry’s mother smiled at her. Kira had never known her mother, but Thierry’s mother was so kind and sweet that she knew they would become fond of each other. Her heart nigh burst with joy when the people pledged to Thierry, for she knew his intentions were noble and she saw the light of possibilities in his eyes.

  They all proceeded to the chapel, which was darker than the courtyard and colder. There was a priest before the altar and windows of brightly colored glass above it, the sunlight streaming through them. Her throat was tight as she and Thierry pledged each to the other, and he lifted the aljofar to slip its chain over her head as a mark of their vows. The gem shone against the wool of the kirtle and Thierry traced the length of the chain with his fingertip.

  “I love you, Kira,” he whispered for her ears alone and she had no doubt of that.

  “And I love you, Thierry,” she confessed in a whisper, watching his eyes glow. “I have not given you a value for the gem,” she said softly and his gaze flicked to hers in sudden concern.

  “Is it not a good pearl?”

  Kira smiled as she reached up with a fingertip to smooth the frown of concern from his brow. “’Tis a wondrous pearl, but its greater value is the vow of the man who grants it. That alone ensures that it is a pearl beyond price.”

  Thierry chuckled and drew her closer. “Nay, Kira,” he murmured. “Since you have accepted the pearl,
it merely graces the richest treasure of all.” He chuckled then, as she had never heard him before, then bent and claimed her lips with a triumphant kiss. The company applauded and stamped their feet, as Kira slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

  Thierry was hers alone, and that was more, far more, than Kira had hoped to possess.

  Epilogue

  After the visit of the Mongol emissaries, the king of France took the cross, pledging to fight the infidel in Palestine. While the king’s company took three years to prepare for their departure, the king was unaware of changes in Montsalvat. Thierry had decided that the keep was too high and too isolated to serve as an abode, so had invited a local company of holy men to make it their own. The windows in the chapel were removed and stored in the cellar beneath the hall, and women in the village made robes for the holy men. Thierry established his home in the village, keeping an arrangement with the men in the fortress that all could retreat there in time of need. The village at the foot of the road that wound to Montsalvat prospered beneath Thierry’s hand, becoming known as a place to trade goats, fleece, cheese and gems.

  When the king’s company finally prepared to leave Paris three years later, Eustache de Sidon sent word, inviting the king to pray with the holy brethren at Montsalvat on his way to crusade. Eustache confessed their hope the king might support their request to the pope to have their establishment approved.

  The king, content with this resolution for a holding that had caused him concern in the past, arrived in June. He found the keep austere yet beautiful in its way, and prayed in the chapel with the men he found there. He had heard over the years of the stained glass at Montsalvat, often in comparison with that of La Chapelle, the chapel he had ordered to house the crown of thorns. To his satisfaction, he found that rumor had portrayed Montsalvat’s windows as much finer than they were. Contrary to his expectation of lushly depicted scenes of the legacy of lost kings, these windows were simply blue with some painting upon them. They suited the simplicity of the place. He willingly signed the petition to Rome.