“Do you have your reading-glass?”
“I don’t. It’s in the clothing chest. Here, you’d best read this.”
Mavva cracked the seal on the message and shook it out.
“It’s an invitation to the fête this afternoon from Rhonalla of Abernaudd.” Mavva tossed the curled pabrus onto the table, then laid the tube more decorously beside it. Amara handed her a cup of wine.
“Things are going to be fraught,” Dovina said. “With both Tewdyr and my father here.”
Amara sighed. “True spoken. I’m assuming that he and your father still hate each other.”
“I doubt if they’ll ever stop, not after all these years. They talk about the honor of the thing, but it all comes down to revenue, doesn’t it? Tewdyr will never forgive my father for building the second harbor.” She glanced at Mavva. “There was quite a lot of boring intrigue around him getting that royal charter.”
“Everyone in town assumed that, truly,” Mavva said. “The gossip ran wild.”
“Father got it, Tewdyr didn’t, and the coin has flowed into Aberwyn ever since. But it’s the honor of the thing. Of course.”
The three of them laughed.
“And so Rhonalla’s slinking around like the cat she is.” Amara glanced at Mavva to include her. “The lady of Abernaudd, Tewdyr’s second wife. She’s related to the Prince Regent, you see, through her birth clan, the Sun, the gwerbretion of Cengarn, y’know. Royalty’s a distant connection, but I’m sure she’ll work it for all she’s worth.”
“Indeed,” Dovina said. “This matter of the law courts is bound to interest her and her wretched husband.”
“Ah. That.” Amara hesitated. “You really must talk with my son about that, Dovva. Once you’ve gotten to know him a bit better. Which reminds me. We’ve not got much time to sit and gossip. Rhonalla’s fête looms.”
“I gather we really must go.”
“Truly, you should. Now, it’s a perfectly normal thing to do, to give the free city some coin and have them give your reception or feast for you. A nice sign of gwerbretal generosity and all that. But I suspect she’s doing it for reasons.” Amara emphasized the word “reasons” with a twitch of a well-plucked eyebrow.
Dovina turned to Mavva, who was looking confused. “She doesn’t have much of a position, you see. Tewdyr has his sons from his first wife. All Rhonalla has is that one daughter and what influence she can scrape together. Her dowry wasn’t all that much, either.”
“Ah,” Mavva said.
“No doubt she’s a bit put out that you arrived in time for the fête,” Amara continued, “but she could hardly fail to invite you. Oh well, we can make some use of it. You can meet Merryc then, all properly in public.”
“We’d best wash and dress,” Dovina said to Mavva. “I’ve brought some silk dresses for you. One’s a sort of red wine color.”
“That will be lovely with your dark hair, Mavva,” Amara put in. “I see your maids are busy shaking out your clothes and the like. I’ll leave you now, but rest assured, I’ll be looking for you at the fête, and I’ll come join you immediately.”
By the time Dovina and Mavva were ready, the fête had begun. As they hurried down the long hallway to the grand marble staircase, they could hear laughter and chatter. Now and then the sound of harps reached them as well. They went down one floor, then stood hesitating and looking down from a safe distance.
Guests in their finery thronged the great hall. The women wore silk dresses, bright as a flower garden as they sat on cushioned chairs and gossiped. The men looked equally as grand in tartan waistcoats over linen shirts and fine deerskin breeches. Silver and gold glittered in the afternoon light streaming through the glass windows. Buttons, brooches, sword hilts, the women’s hair ornaments, the clasps of belts and reticules all sparkled as their owners moved across the black and white tiled floor. At the far end of the enormous room a pair of harpers played near a well-laid buffet.
“At least there’ll be food,” Dovina said. “I’m starving.”
“I’m not surprised. What did you eat on the trip? A handful of salted biscuits, that’s all.”
At the top of the staircase Dovina and Mavva waited to be announced. Dovina’s page darted forward to speak to the chamberlain. Mavva’s nerves had finally failed her. She trembled as she stared at the grand reception below.
“You look so lovely in that color,” Dovina said. “You’d best remember that you’re betrothed.”
Mavva smiled, touched the brooch pinned at her clavicle, and grew a bit calmer.
The chamberlain cleared his throat and bellowed. “Lady Dovina of the Western Fox. Honored Scholar Mavva of Aberwyn.”
Mavva took a deep breath. Dovina linked her arm in hers and together they descended to the first landing. Down below, Lady Amara made her way toward the stairs through the crowd. Accompanying her was a short, slender woman with black hair. She was wearing a silk dress of rich green, kirtled with the plaid of Abernaudd. Something sparkled just above her left breast. As they descended, it came into focus, and Dovina could see a circle of gold set with rubies and emeralds.
“That brooch!” Mavva whispered. “It’s splendid.”
“She wears it everywhere,” Dovina said. “That’s Lady Rhonalla.”
“She looks so young.”
“Tewdyr’s second wife, remember.”
They all met at the bottom of the stairs. Lady Amara made the introductions. Mavva and Dovina curtsied, and Rhonalla smiled. She was a pretty woman with raven-dark Eldidd hair but deep brown eyes, shrewd eyes that she was using to study every bit of their clothing and general air. Veccan was right, Dovina thought. We need to put on a display here.
“My dear Dovina! Your arrival was so fortunate!” Rhonalla spoke with little shrieks at the end of each utterance, but to be fair, Dovina thought, the great hall did ring with noise. “So kind of you to grace my little fête!”
“Oh, but it’s a splendid affair.” Dovina raised her own voice to be heard, though she omitted the shrieks. “You have my thanks for inviting us.”
They stood smiling without another thing to say. Fortunately a servant came rushing up to Rhonalla with some problem about the refreshments. In a wave of regrets Rhonalla allowed herself to be swept away. Mavva let out a sigh of relief.
“Indeed,” Amara said. “Find a quiet corner if you can. I see Merryc over there, and I’ll just fetch him.”
While she fetched, Dovina and Mavva searched and finally found an embayment near a Bardekian statue in black marble. A nearly naked warrior brandished a bronze spear as if he were keeping the worst of the noise away. In a little while Lady Amara hurried to join them. Behind her came a young man and woman, both with dark hair and facial features that were pleasant without being beautiful.
“That’s Lady Belina, Amara’s daughter,” Dovina said. “I’ve met her. She’s a collegium woman like us, but from Queen’s up in Dun Deverry.”
“Wonderful!” Mavva smiled in obvious relief. “Someone we can talk with.”
“Indeed, and Goddess help, that must be Merryc.”
Merryc it was. Amara made the formal introductions. Merryc bowed, Dovina curtsied, everyone smiled. Conversation lay dead while Merryc and Dovina stared at each other until Amara stepped in.
“Belina, my love,” Amara said, “both Mavva and Dovina are scholars at the collegium in Aberwyn.”
“We are indeed.” Mavva took up the burden. “It’s a very interesting course, centering around the works of Prince Mael. Do you know them, Lady Belina?”
“At my collegium we did read some of his books,” Belina said. “But I fear me that the language was so old-fashioned that some of the meaning escaped me.”
“You’re in luck, then.” Dovina recovered her manners at last. “Mavva’s special study has been Mael’s language. She’s preparing an annotated word list, in fact,
to help students. It’s really well done.”
Belina smiled in sincere pleasure, and Mavva blushed.
“I should so like to see that when you’ve finished,” Belina said to her. “Perhaps my collegium could acquire a copy?”
“Of course! But I’m not quite finished. As soon as I am, I can make one for you.”
“You don’t have a collegium scribe?”
“Us?” Dovina rolled her eyes. “Luxuries like that are only for the men’s collegia.”
“Oh, Goddess help! That’s so old-fashioned!” Belina turned to her brother. “I wonder if summat might be done, a subsidy of some sort?”
“It might.” Merryc smiled at her and made a half-bow in Dovina’s direction. “Allow me to see what’s possible.”
“Gladly!” Dovina curtsied to him. “And my thanks.”
Merryc smiled at her, Dovina smiled at him—both of them vacantly, two people who had just met, two people at the mercy of their family’s arrangements. Dovina wondered if he, like her, was deciding if they could bear to sleep together. At least he has nice muscles, she thought, where he should. She knew perfectly well that her father had political reasons for insisting on this match, and no doubt Lady Amara had them as well. Clan Daiver could not afford sentimental motives.
“You must let us introduce you to some of the people here,” Belina said. “Look, my ladies! There’s Master Daen!” She pointed to a portly bald fellow wearing the checked waistcoat of a merchant house. “He has a splendid bookhoard down at the Advocates Guild.”
“You’ll have much in common, I should think,” Merryc said.
“I should love to meet him.” Dovina picked up the hint. So. This pair had a horse in their race, did they? Or was she reading too much into this exchange?
“I would, too,” Mavva said. “I do so love books.”
The rest of that afternoon passed in a whirl of important introductions, more or less sincere congratulations on the betrothal, and a great deal of idle chatter. Clan Daiver was land-poor by gwerbretal standards, but coin they had and, even more importantly, influence. Merryc’s elder brother served in the High King’s court along with the gwerbret’s own son, one the Master of Protocol, the other the equerry. Their various sisters had all made good marriages, most to important nobility, one to a favored cousin of the High King himself. Dovina found herself courted so strenuously that she felt like screaming, “Go away all of you!” Instead of course she smiled and made small talk while Mavva did her best to answer questions and fend off the most insistent.
The afternoon finished at last with a formal banquet and speeches that rambled on while pork grease and fruit juices congealed on the official Free City of Cerrmor plates and cutlery. Dovina and Mavva fled to their suite as soon as they possibly could. They flopped down on the cushioned chairs.
“So quiet in here,” Mavva said. “Lovely!”
“Indeed. I hope and pray that we’ve heard the last of the speeches.”
“Still, meeting everyone like we did, that’s bound to be important.”
“Very! We’re established. Now to ferret around and learn all the gossip we can.”
Gossip came to them, however, in just a few moments, and not in a pleasant way. Polla came out of the bedroom and curtsied to Dovina and Mavva, whom she and Minna insisted on treating like a lady. Her bright Eldidd smile had vanished.
“What is it, Polla?” Dovina said.
“Summat happened, my lady, while you were at that there fetty. Do you know who Lady Rhonalla is?”
“Alas, I do.”
“Well, me and Minna, we were helping the cooks set out food. And Lady Rhonalla’s maid come up to me and drew me aside, like, out in the corridor, where it be quieter. She said that her lady wanted to speak with me. I was that startled! So I asked her why. Seems like her lady wanted to ask about you and your dealings and such. So I said I wouldn’t do such a thing. And so she said there’d be coin in it for me if I would, like.”
“Good gods!” Mavva broke in. “What did you say to her then?”
“Naught, because one of the cooks did come out, then, and I went back to my work. But I’ll wager this maid, she’ll hunt me down later.”
“You’d win that wager most handily,” Dovina said. “Hmm, what do you think of this, Mavva? Polla, you take her offer and then come tell me all about it. You can keep the coin.”
Polla grinned and curtsied.
“If she makes you promise not to tell,” Mavva said, “it won’t count. Because you’re really spying for us, not for her. So any mighty oaths or such won’t matter to the gods.”
“Well and good, then, my lady. That did trouble me a fair bit, but you’re the ones who know all about the laws.”
“And the same will apply to Minna, should they approach her, too. Where was she during the fête?”
“Serving behind the long table, my lady. So no one could’ve talked to her there.”
The very next morning Rhonalla’s maid approached Polla and Minna while they were carrying out the chamber pots to dump into the latrines behind the guesthouse. They came rushing back with the news and the freshly washed pots, which Minna put away before joining Polla for the report.
“We got a Cerrmor penny each, my lady,” Polla said. “And the promise of more. Now, the lady has decided she’d best not risk speaking with us herself, but her maid’s been with her for years, like, and so she’ll ask us the questions when we get a proper chance to talk, like.”
“Very well,” Dovina said. “How much does a Cerrmor penny buy, do you know?”
“A hair riband or some sweets at the big market fair.”
“Not a bad bribe, then,” Mavva said.
“Indeed,” Dovina said. “Now, let me think. I know! I’m very tired after the long journey, and I wish to sleep the afternoon away. So I won’t need your services for some while.”
“Excellent!” Mavva said. “And I need to study a book I brought with me, so Minna will be free, too.”
Polla grinned and curtsied to both of them.
The afternoon’s spying went well. Out behind the guesthouse were gardens, which included a small grassy area for the servants’ use. While Minna and Polla were innocently taking the air and sun there, Rhonalla’s maid, Corra, had joined them with a basket of mending.
“We talked about this and that,” Polla reported, “and then the questions started.”
“A fair flood of ’em,” Minna put in.
“It was, indeed. What were you doing here? Who was this Lady Mavva? Was it really all about your betrothal? Had you said aught about whether or not you’d take Lord Merryc? What did we think of the gwerbret himself?”
“Which was quite wrong of ’em, I must say!” Minna said. “As if the likes of us would know aught about the gwerbret. So we made up a tale or two, just to fool her, like.”
“Good for you!” Dovina grinned at her. “What did you say?”
“Everyone in Aberwyn knows about His Grace’s awful temper, my lady. So we told her about that, and some things about his fine-blooded horses, not that she was much interested in the stables. So we said that he kept getting mysterious messages from the north, and no one knew who they were from, because he took them away from the great hall to read them in private, like.”
“Excellent! That’ll keep her going,” Dovina said.
“Better yet,” Mavva put in, “if we hear that tale somewhere, we’ll know it comes from Rhonalla, because no one else will know it.”
“So we thought. And so Corra gave us five pennies apiece.”
“Good.” Dovina had prepared for this moment. “And here’s two more pennies each to go with them. There’ll be a market fair three days from now, and of course you’ll both have leave to go.”
“My thanks, my lady! We’ll have a splendid time, but we’d best be careful.” Polla glanced at Minna.
“We’ll need a good tale to tell as to how we came by so much coin.”
“Taking messages back and forth between our lady and her betrothed, if she’d not mind?” Minna looked at Dovina.
“Not at all,” Dovina said. “Lots of secret messages! Fit for a bard’s tale. My thanks. You can go now. We won’t dress for dinner till later.”
Once they were alone, Dovina turned to Mavva. “Well, we’ve made a good start on our ferreting. Let’s see what else we can do while we wait for Alyssa.” Dovina paused for a grin. “And of course, for the Prince Regent.”
* * *
During their long ride down to the coast, Alyssa had been wondering if she would ever reach it, much less find a ship to take them to Cerrmor. Eventually, on a sunny day that made the ocean sparkle, her small caravan reached the low rise that overlooked Mandra. Back in the Dawntime, when the People of Bel first arrived in their new world, the Westfolk had lived in splendid cities up in the far western mountains, but a horde of Horsekin invaders had laid waste to them. Some survivors had fled across the ocean to islands south of Bardek; others had taken refuge on the grasslands to the east of the mountains. The islanders did their best to reproduce the rigid society they’d lost. The grasslanders became nomads, raising their horses and traveling where they willed. Over time, the two groups found each other again. These days, many folk came back and forth between the Southern Isles and the Westlands. Westfolk towns flourished once more.
For some moments Alyssa studied the view. “It really is different from Deverry towns, innit?” she said.
“Indeed,” Travaberiel said. “Both places follow their own ways, too.”
Below them the town of some two thousand Westfolk spread out around a shallow cove that lay just west of the river’s swampy estuary. Inside the cove a long breakwater of dwarven concrete protected the actual harbor. The town itself had struck Alyssa as foreign because all the perfectly straight streets met in a tidy grid instead of rambling along in curves.
“I have friends here,” Travaberiel told her. “They run an inn. Another friend lives close by, and she’s someone I very much want you to meet.”
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