Alcander gulped down the last of his coffee, made a face as if it had burned his tongue, and pushed back from the table. “I’ll just…I’ll see you later, Sienne. Father.”
Sienne nodded to him and scraped up a final bite of porridge.
“And she’ll expect you to be properly dressed,” her father said as if Sienne had answered him. “I’m sure you’ll find something you like in the wardrobe we assembled for you.”
Sienne drained her glass and set it precisely at the twelve o’clock position above her bowl, dropped her napkin to drape across the bowl, and shoved back from the table, all in silence. She was at the door before her father said, sharply, “Sienne.”
She was too accustomed to responding to that note of command, and stopped despite herself, but managed not to turn around.
Papa said, “Sienne, this is the way things have to be. We’re trying to make it easy on you. If you keep fighting us, you’ll just be miserable. We don’t want that for you.”
Her hand closed on the knob so tightly the blood wasn’t flowing through her fingers. She couldn’t think of a single response that wouldn’t end with her trying to scratch his eyes out. She left the room in silence and didn’t slam the door.
She went back to her cell and lay on the bed, staring at the canopy and trying not to think of how much the color looked like fresh blood. That much blood would have overpowered the room with its smell. As it was, the room smelled of lavender, pleasant but not overwhelming, from the clothespress. If she were home, she’d probably be out negotiating for the sale of the summoning spell. Would they let her name it? Drajanek, “companion,” that would be good. Or prajatela, “friend.” Or maybe it already had a name, and she’d match it to a lost spell, and wizards everywhere would celebrate.
Someone knocked at the door. Sienne waited, but the person didn’t enter. That meant it wasn’t her mother. “Come in,” she said.
The door opened. “Mother told me you were here,” Felice said. “I’m supposed to get you to see sense, but I’m sure you don’t see anything sensible about this situation.”
Sienne sat up. “Rance asked me to marry him.”
“Of course he did. He’s gone back to his parents’ house. Left last night in a huff. Really, I don’t know what you ever saw in him. No offense.”
“None taken. I don’t understand it either. How shallow was I?”
“Not shallow. Young and inexperienced.” Felice sat on the bed beside her. “What will you do now?”
“Ask the king for an audience. Let him make the decision.”
“Sienne—”
“It’s not just about me. My last job left us with something only the king can rule on. I have to speak to him about that. And if that puts me in a position to plead my own case, so much the better.”
“I see.” Felice frowned. “I’m not sure Mother and Papa will agree to it.”
“When I can stand to speak to them, I’ll make them a bargain. I’ll be an obedient daughter and heir if they give me this one thing. And I’ll abide by whatever the king decides.”
“That might work.” Felice hesitated, then said, staring at the doorknob, “You’ve really upset them. I don’t think they realized how angry you’d be about the situation.”
“How could they not? I stayed away from home for a year because I was happier where I was than I ever was in Beneddo!”
“Because it’s hard for them to believe anyone would prefer to live in squalor—”
“I do not live in squalor!”
“As far as they’re concerned, living anywhere but in a mansion might as well be squalor. And they can’t believe you don’t miss all the privileges and luxuries of a titled existence.”
Sienne blew out her breath in an explosive pah. “That probably explains the wardrobe.”
“What wardrobe?”
Sienne pointed at the clothespress. “Mother has never accepted the fact that I don’t care about clothes the way she does. I bet she thought it would break down all my resistance.” She shook her head. “I suppose I should have expected this. After all, they were completely clueless about my attachment to Rance. Why should they understand me any better after a year’s absence?”
“All I’m saying is you might try to be a little understanding of their position. Or do you think they want you to hate them and fight them on everything?”
“I don’t hate them. I know they’re doing what they think is right. But they’ve given me no opportunity to make it my choice.”
“Because you wouldn’t choose them.”
“Children are supposed to leave home and strike out on their own! It’s not about choosing sides!”
To Sienne’s surprise, Felice put her arm around her shoulders and hugged her. “I’m truly sorry about all this. You never were intended to inherit. Mother and Papa never made the slightest effort—no, that’s unfair. I remember the day you manifested magic. They were so proud of you. They never wanted anything but a wizard’s education for you—never bothered giving you the lessons I had in ruling a dukedom because it was clear what your destiny was. I think they’re struggling with this as much as you are, trying to do the right thing by everyone. But you’re the one who’ll sacrifice your life for their dream.”
Sienne remembered looking up at Kitane’s statue and thinking the same thing. She wiped her eyes and said, “I discovered a lost spell. It’s amazing. It ought to be grounds for celebration. And all I can think is that I’ll never do anything like that—” She covered her face with her hands and let out a sob. Felice’s other arm went around her as she cried.
When she finally ran out of tears, she hugged her sister. “I’m happy for you,” she whispered. “You’re free to do whatever you want. Free of Rance, free to be with the one you love.”
“I wish it hadn’t come at so high a cost,” Felice said. “I’d like you to meet Violette, eventually, when Papa and Mother aren’t quite so rabid about keeping you locked up so you don’t run away.”
“I’d love that.”
Felice hugged her once more, then released her. “Are you coming with us to pay calls?”
“No. And if Mother were thinking clearly, she wouldn’t ask me to. Even if I didn’t jaunt away, I’d just be sullen and rude to whoever she wanted me to impress.”
“That’s what I told her. I wish…but it doesn’t matter.”
Someone knocked on the door. “Lady Sienne?”
Sienne rose and opened the door. A servant in Beneddo livery stood there, wringing her hands in agitation. “Lady Sienne, you have a visitor.”
A force bolt of excitement struck her. Alaric. Of course he’d come. But—they wouldn’t let him in, it was impossible. “Who?”
“A divine, my lady. An actual divine, here to see you.” The woman’s voice shook.
“A divine?” Felice said. “Why would a divine come here?”
The only divine Sienne knew was Octavian, and Felice was right—why would he come to see her? For that matter, how would he know where to come? “Did you tell my parents?”
“Yes, my lady. He’s in the drawing room.” The woman’s voice said clearly that she couldn’t believe a divine could possibly be comfortable in anything as mundane as a drawing room.
“I have to go,” Sienne said. “Please…make my apologies to Mother.”
“It won’t help, but I’ll try,” Felice said.
On her way down the stairs, Sienne wished briefly that she’d changed into something nicer than her rumpled scrapper’s clothes. Then she reminded herself that divines were beyond such petty concerns. Unless…oh, by all the avatars, it wasn’t a divine of Gavant, was it? Was her father capable of dragging a holy man into his house to lecture Sienne about her familial duty? He wouldn’t be that desperate.
She slowed her steps as she approached the drawing room, anxiety gripping her heart. She didn’t know what to hope for—that it was a stranger, come to bid her obey her parents, or Octavian, come to do the same thing. That would feel like betra
yal.
She opened the door. Her mother sat on the sofa opposite Octavian, and withdrew her hands from his as Sienne entered. She looked awed, which made sense; she might have a tame priest of Kitane on call, but even she didn’t have frequent contact with the divines of her own avatar. Octavian smiled and rose to greet Sienne. “It’s good to see you,” he said. “I take it your last expedition was successful?”
“It’s not finished yet,” Sienne said, “but yes, thank you.”
Octavian gestured for her to sit beside her mother. Sienne did so, perching on the edge of the sofa and sitting as far away from Mother as she could manage without being overtly rude. “I received a visit from a very distraught young man this morning,” Octavian said. “He was under the impression that you’d been kidnapped. And he said his friend, a priest of Averran, had been given direction that he should seek me out. I’ve never been the answer to another avatar’s prayers before. It was…oddly satisfying, actually.”
“Averran told Perrin to contact you?” Sienne’s anxiety turned to confusion. “I’m surprised he was awake enough to tell Perrin anything.”
Octavian laughed. “I know little of Averran, but that does seem like him. I’m surprised Alaric listened. He was not in a patient mood when he arrived. I believe he intended to come here next.”
“I told him not to,” Sienne said, just as Mother said, “We wouldn’t have let him in.” They glared at each other.
“I read the letter you sent him and convinced him to obey your wishes,” Octavian said. “And sent him home in a rather more peaceful state of mind.”
“Thank you. I was afraid he’d be upset no matter what I wrote.”
“He loves you very much. Love does tend to disorder the senses.”
Sienne blushed and glanced at her mother, whose face was stony. “And I love him,” she said defiantly.
“I know. But I understand from what your mother has said that you have a duty that trumps your other attachments.”
“Not if I can get the king to disinherit me.”
“She said that too.” Octavian looked at Mother. “Clarie, was there something you wanted to say to Sienne?”
Her mother’s jaw was rigid. “There’s nothing more I can say that I haven’t already said,” she ground out. “We want what’s best for Sienne. She doesn’t understand that.”
“You want what’s best for you,” Sienne exclaimed. “If you wanted what was best for me—”
“And when have we ever not acted in your best interests?” her mother exploded. “We nearly bankrupted ourselves sending you to school so you could be a wizard. We protected your reputation when you disappeared for a year, a year, Sienne, in which we didn’t know if you were alive or dead. We put up with your selfish desires and let you go out on that horrible journey where you were nearly killed. And now, when we finally expect you to do the right thing, you treat us like we’re monsters!”
“I didn’t ask for any of that!” Sienne shouted. “Why do you care what I do, anyway? Just because suddenly your lesser daughter is the important one? That must have killed you, knowing you had to hand over power to someone completely incompetent!”
“Why would you think that? We would never call you lesser!”
“You did!” Sienne balled her fists in her lap, itching to attack. “Did you think that was something I would forget? You said it yourself that you couldn’t offer the Lanzanos the lesser sister when I begged you to let me marry Rance. When I wasn’t crying over Rance’s betrayal of me, those are the words that stabbed my heart, every night for weeks.”
Sienne’s mother gaped at her. Then she closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh. “Sienne,” she said, her voice quiet, “I used the words the Lanzanos would have about you. They’re social-climbing snobs so fixated on gaining a title for their son they would have mocked and belittled you for daring to do anything so gauche as fall in love. They’re the ones who would consider you lesser. If you believed I could possibly consider you less important than Felice just because you were my second born, then I’ve failed you more than I ever imagined.”
“But you…” Sienne couldn’t think of how to end that sentence.
“We should never have made the alliance with the Lanzanos,” Mother went on. “I still haven’t forgiven myself for sacrificing my daughter like that, but we thought…it doesn’t matter. Felice’s infertility was like a second chance. We’re free of the Lanzanos now, and you—Sienne, can’t you see what a difference you can make for Beneddo? Someone well-educated, talented, with a thirst for seeing justice done? You are going to be a wonderful duchess someday. I know we’re asking you to give up so much, but that’s what it means to be of the nobility. You don’t always get what you want.”
“This isn’t so much, Mother, it’s everything I am.”
“I know you think that now. You’re in love and you think that’s more important than anything. But there’s so much more to life. I promise.”
“How would you know? What did you have to give up?”
“My true love,” Mother said.
Sienne blinked. “But Papa—you married your true love.”
“I loved a man named Ged,” Mother said. “He was a servant at our country house, but so much more than that… I intended to run away with him when my parents told me they’d arranged the match with the Verannus family. Then they told me the truth—that they were ruined financially, would be ruined socially, unless I married Pontus. I felt betrayed. Trapped. They’d put me in the position of being solely responsible for our family’s survival. So I married your father.”
“You didn’t love him.”
“I resented him at first. Then I grew to love him. And I realized I had so many more opportunities to help people than I would have as a servant’s wife. I made a difference in the lives of the people of Beneddo, and it was a sacrifice worth making. But don’t ever think it didn’t break my heart to say goodbye to Ged.”
“But—then why did you do it to Felice? You knew how she must have felt.”
“I thought it was justified. I didn’t realize the kind of man Rance is until it was too late. We made a mistake, but I still believe the principle is sound—we sacrifice for our families, for our people, and we’re rewarded in the end.”
Her mother’s candor had left Sienne with nothing to say. It was impossible to imagine her as a young woman in love with someone who wasn’t Papa, more impossible to think of Sienne’s grandparents, who’d died a few years back, confronting her mother with the same ultimatum they’d given Felice. Even if her parents had dressed it up in nicer words.
“Sienne,” Octavian said, and she jumped. He was so good at stillness, she’d forgotten he was there. “Do you understand better now?”
“I do. Maybe. But I don’t agree.”
“Sienne,” Mother said, exasperation creeping into her voice.
“I don’t! I understand making a sacrifice for the greater good. But you have eight children! Why do I have to be the sacrifice when there are six others just as good?”
“And that is the sticking point,” Octavian said, forestalling Mother with a raised hand. “Clarie, why must Sienne be your heir? Is it simply an accident of birth? Or is she really the most qualified of your children?”
Mother sighed. “We’ve been through so much turmoil in the last few months. Losing Felice as heir…if Sienne isn’t the heir either, what will prevent Alcander from making the same petition? Or any of our children? The law exists for a reason. It’s sensible.”
“I agree. But I also think having a recalcitrant heir is a mistake. Clarie, I believe you and Pontus meant well, but you must see you’ve hurt Sienne in the way you went about it.”
Mother’s lips pinched tight for a moment. “Yes. I know.”
“Then, if you don’t mind my making a suggestion, I think you should allow her to petition the king.”
“Impossible.”
“It’s not impossible,” Sienne said.
“We’d be giving in to
this fantasy of yours that you’ll be able to keep your new life.”
Sienne shook her head. “Just let me talk to him. I swear I’ll abide by his decision, whatever it is, and I’ll be cheerful about it. At least, I’ll try to be.”
Mother, hesitating, turned toward Octavian. Octavian said, “I think it’s reasonable.”
“But we’ll have allowed her to raise her hopes only to have them dashed.”
“I think it’s better we not anticipate what King Derekian will decide.” Octavian took Mother’s hand again. “I shouldn’t have to remind you that Kitane understood sacrifice better than anyone. And no one ever tried to force her into it. Should we be any less understanding, just because we’re human?”
“I suppose not,” Mother said. She withdrew her hand and clasped them both in her lap. “Very well. You can ask Derekian for an audience. But you will stop being recalcitrant and you won’t try to run away. And when he turns you down, you’ll return with us to Beneddo without argument.”
“I promise,” Sienne said. He wouldn’t turn her down. The king had to see the sense of her position.
“I’m glad everyone can be reasonable,” Octavian said. “But I don’t think you’re finished.”
“With what?” Sienne asked.
Octavian looked from one to the other. “With your apologies.”
“I’ve said I’m sorry,” Mother said.
“You have not,” Octavian said. “And Sienne, you’ve let your distress lead you into behaving very badly to your parents.”
“They nailed the window shut,” Sienne said bitterly. “I think they deserved it.”
“You wouldn’t have found out about the window if you hadn’t tried to escape through it,” Mother shot back.
“Enough,” Octavian said, shutting them both up. “Does this continued argument make either of you happy? By my judgment, you’ve spent years misunderstanding each other and letting that build into festering resentment. She is your mother. You are her daughter. Those things will be true throughout your life, Sienne. If you want to go on fighting with her, no one will stop you, but a corner of your heart will always be bruised. And, Clarie—” He fixed Mother with his sharp blue eyes. “You must stop resenting Sienne for wanting to keep what you chose to sacrifice.”
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