Icestorm

by Theresa Dahlheim

  The ambassador stood to take the dog from his servant, and he sat down with it on his lap. “Hold out your hand, my lady. He needs to learn your scent.”

  It was actually a very cute puppy, with a black muzzle and ears and the rest of its fur golden brown, and its odor was not too strong. Tabitha held out her hand as she had done many times with new guard dogs, but instead of just sniffing her and backing away like the other dogs always had, the puppy licked her fingers with so much slobber that Tabitha could not help yanking her hand back with a cry of disgust.

  “My apologies, my lady.” The ambassador smiled indulgently behind his long beard. “He is only four months old. I searched a long time for a purebred Kussener. They are difficult to find in the north, since it’s a Telgard breed. They are very well behaved if trained properly.”

  “Then I will have the kennel masters train him, my lord,” Tabitha said, furtively wiping her fingers against the seat cushion. She remembered something she had heard her father say about a horse, and added, “He is a very fine specimen.”

  “Oh, my lady, you really should train him yourself so he can get to know you.” He lifted the wriggling dog, apparently about to drop him in right into her lap.

  Tabitha shrank back into the deep chair. “My lord, please! My gown!” Surely he could guess that she was wearing a new gown for this occasion, one that she did not want ruined with dog hair and slobber.

  “He is already house-trained, my lady.” He still wore that condescending smile. “And he would never hurt you. He only wants love. You might find it difficult to keep him off your pillow at night.”

  Her pillow? Was he joking? Was this a test? Did Telgards not like people who did not like dogs? “Unfortunately, my lord, I don’t believe I could keep him with me.” She looked at her father, hoping he would rescue her. He knew that throughout her entire life, she had never been able to sleep with any people sharing her bedchamber, let alone a smelly animal.

  But her father was still smirking, and he said, “Of course you can keep him in your bedchamber. I am sure all your friends will love him too.”

  Then he can sleep on their pillows. “Why, thank you, Father,” she said in a syrupy voice. “I am sure you are right. In fact, I am sure they would love to meet him right away. Lise?” She lifted her hand, and Lise stepped forward and curtseyed. “Take the little puppy up to my sitting room and introduce him to Marjorie and the others.”

  “Yes, m’lady.” Lise promptly and easily took the dog from the ambassador, inclined her wide, pale forehead to them all, and left the room.

  The ambassador seemed surprised at how swiftly Tabitha had outmaneuvered him. “But, my lady,” he said after an awkward pause, “he does need a name.”

  “My friends and I will decide on a name together, my lord. He will be almost as much theirs as mine.” More, if she had her way. “Thank you for all your wonderful gifts, Lord Warrich.”

  The ambassador regained his smile. “I hope that they ever please you, my lady.”

  They all spent some time chatting about the weather, the ambassador’s journey, and other small matters. At her father’s suggestion, Tabitha spoke to the ambassador in Telgardian, and he was amazed at her skill. He complimented her profusely, and Tabitha in turn praised Baron Louard, who protested that it was the student, not the teacher, who deserved the credit. In due time, Aime appeared in the doorway to announce supper. The ambassador stood and held out his arm to Tabitha, and she allowed him to escort her out to the green receiving room.

  She sat on her father’s left, the ambassador on his right, and the two men carried the table’s conversation. They often looked at her but seldom required more than a smile or a nod. Lord Daniel, on Tabitha’s left, tried to talk to her a few times, but he soon gave up. Tabitha still had not forgiven him, and anyway, she was concentrating too hard on the ambassador.

  When the ambassador’s ship had been sighted on the horizon and the servants had started running all over the castle with final preparations, Tabitha’s father had sent for her. “I want you to listen to everything the ambassador says,” was one of his instructions. “I want you to listen even when he is talking to me instead of you. If he asks you a question and you don’t know the answer, smile at him and tell him that you are just a young girl. But if he sees you listening to everything, then he will know that you will be a wise private counselor for your husband.”

  My husband. The prince. She was anxious to ask the ambassador about the prince, but a lady could not introduce topics of conversation. She hoped that her father would bring it up, but he was apparently having too much fun torturing her today, and he did not speak a word about his future son-in-law. It occurred to her that her father and the ambassador had probably discussed the prince during the hours she had been pacing upstairs, and that just made it worse.

  Since she wanted the ambassador to talk about the prince, naturally everything he did talk about bored her. The heretics, of course. No one could seem to stop talking about the stupid heretics coming from the east. Her father, of course, was loyal to the Theocracy and had expelled the heretics from the Betaul Marches months ago, but Elder Frederic and everyone else at the table still droned on and on and on about them. Then, as usual, talk of the heretics led to talk of the rogue magi. They, too, apparently infested the kingdom of Adelard like wasps, and her father never lost an opportunity to rant about them. It was a relief when Lord Daniel steered the conversation toward the new copper mines in the north, for which everyone had high hopes.

  She ate even less than she usually did. The flavors that everyone else exclaimed over were so strong. Cook must have used every single spice in her pantry, and too much of each. Her father talked about the hunt where he had taken down the ducks and geese that they were eating, and when the ambassador praised his skill, he talked about the abundance of waterfowl on his holdings. Tabitha had heard it all before, and she could almost recite it like a meat-thanks as she pushed food around her plate. Everyone in the kitchen knew that Tabitha did not like bird meat. Or asparagus. Or most of the other dishes either. Not even the pea soup was tolerable tonight.

  It was a long ordeal. Her shoes pinched her feet, her sleeves kept exposing her wrists, and the fabric of her gown grew more and more itchy. But at last came the brandy, the final course, after which ladies traditionally retired for the evening. Though she was glad when it was served, the brandy itself tasted horrible to her, much worse than the last time she had dared to try it. But all the men complimented her father on its quality, as if he had made it himself, and they spent a lot of time sniffing and sipping it rather than drinking it down and letting her escape.

  She was furtively pushing her feet in and out of her shoes to relieve the pinching when her father caught her eye. While everyone else went on talking, he leaned toward her and murmured, “Lord Warrich asked to speak with you alone. Are you up for the challenge tonight, or should I tell him to wait until tomorrow?”

  She said what she knew he wanted her to say. “I am ready, Father.”

  He nodded at her, then nodded at the ambassador. He finished his brandy and rose to his feet, which prompted everyone to do the same. “Such wonderful company tonight, my lords,” he said grandly. “Would anyone care to join me for Medean tabac? I just received a shipment.”

  The ambassador politely declined, as did Lord Daniel and Baron Louard, but Elder Frederic and everyone else agreed, and each one bowed to Tabitha before following the duke to the council chamber. Lord Daniel and Baron Louard claimed to need a little bit of air, and they went to stand by the window that Lise had opened. Tabitha and the ambassador were left at the table, and he thanked the servants as they cleared away the brandy glasses. Tabitha said nothing, her hands folded on her lap as she waited.

  When the servants had left, the ambassador leaned back in his chair and pulled at his beard. He looked across the table at her for what felt like a long time. Tabitha sat calmly, though sweat was trickling down her back and her fingers ached to fidget.
Here, at last, was her chance to truly impress him, to prove that her intelligence matched her beauty, to show him how fine a lady she was and how perfect she would be for the prince. If he would only say something!

  When he finally did speak, it startled her by its suddenness and by the language. It was Telgardian, but too fast for her to understand, and she just stared at him until he repeated himself more slowly: “And so the fate of your father’s house rests on you, my lady.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “How did it come to this?”

  Though the words were clear, the question was not, and Tabitha was forced to her fallback position immediately: “Forgive me, my lord, but I don’t know.” She wished she knew what he was asking. How had what come to what?

  “Who was your mother?”

  He had to know the answer to that already. He probably knew the answer to every question he was about to ask her. He was testing her. “My lady mother was born Isabelle de Patrise, my lord. She was the daughter of the Count of Ponterose.”

  “She was your father’s first wife?”

  “Yes, my lord. She died when I was born.”

  “And your father married again?”

  “Yes, my lord. Twice. But they did not have children, and the marriages were …” She did not know the Telgard word for “annulled”, so she settled on, “… ended.”

  The ambassador nodded. “I see. They left Betaul?”

  “Yes. One died later. A fever. One is a holy sister now.”

  “Did you like either of your stepmothers?”

  Why does it matter? “I did not truly know them, my lord. My governess raised me.”

  “May I meet her?”

  “She died in early spring, my lord.”

  He inclined his head. “I am sorry for your loss, my lady.”

  “You are kind, my lord.”

  “May I ask how she died?”

  Tabitha hesitated. She was old and she died of it. “It was her time,” she said finally, repeating something she had heard someone say at the funeral.

  “Ah. I am sure she would be very proud of you today.”

  “I want always to make her proud, my lord.” I am docile and dutiful, never unruly or defiant.

  “And to make your father proud as well, I am sure.”

  “Yes, my lord.” I am the Jewel of Betaul. I am as poised and graceful as a swan.

  “He told me all about you before you joined us, and he is very proud of you. I sensed that he would gladly make you his heir, if he could, but ladies are not allowed to inherit lands or titles in this country. Is that not so?”

  Tabitha fought down impatience. The ambassador had lived in Thendalia longer, literally, than she herself had. He knew the inheritance laws. “That is true, my lord. But ladies pass lands and titles to their sons.”

  “Yes. If you marry our prince, and if you have sons, one of them will be your father’s heir.”

  “Yes, my lord.” That was the whole point.

  The ambassador tilted his head a fraction. “Some people believe that different races should not intermarry.”

  “But Tract Twenty says they should, my lord.” She had memorized this carefully. “‘Blood spilled between you shall be joined upon the land.’ It is the way to peace.”

  The ambassador now tilted his head the other way. “That passage is also translated to mean the exact opposite. ‘Blood joined between you shall be spilled upon the ground.’ The grammar is unclear enough to give rise to both interpretations.”

  Tabitha had no idea what to say. No one had ever told her that before.

  “There are people,” the ambassador went on, “who use that very passage to justify their belief that the reason many mixed-race marriages don’t produce children is a sign of God’s displeasure with the practice.”

  “Yes, my lord.” This, at least, she could answer. “I heard of this belief. We Betauls don’t share it. Class is more important than race.”

  The ambassador was still studying her. “If you have only one son, that son will become the king of Telgardia and the duke of the Betaul Marches.”

  “No, my lord. It will not be like that. My father says …” She did not know how to say it in Telgardian. If she only had one son, then a regency, with her at its head, would rule Betaul until a grandson of hers could inherit it as his sole possession. “Forgive me, my lord. I don’t know the words.”

  “That’s all right.” He smiled briefly. He obviously knew the answer anyway. He had helped write the documents. “What does the king of Thendalia think of this possible betrothal?”

  Ask him! You know him and I don’t! “My father told me that our king wants me to marry the prince of Telgardia, my lord.”

  “I see. And how do you think the Khenroxans will feel about it? They also have a crown prince born the same year that you were.”

  Of course she knew that. She also knew that Khenroxans were rough-mannered and ugly, and it was even colder there than it was here. Being their queen would not be nearly as much fun as being the Telgards’. “Yes, my lord. My father said that the Khenroxans might not like it.”

  “And do you know why?”

  Because I am a prize! “I am sure that my father has reasons that he did not tell me, my lord.”

  “Might Cuan Searla be one of them?”

  “Yes, my lord.” It had been a lifetime since her great-grandfather had wrested the island stronghold from the Khenroxans. Her family had repelled them whenever they had tried to get it back. Why could they not just accept that they had lost it?

  “Your father is quite set against giving up Cuan Searla.”

  “Yes,” she nodded. “He fought for it.”

  “Indeed, my lady. His relief force ended the third siege, and the Khenroxans have not tried to attack it since then.”

  “Yes, my lord.” They were too afraid of her father’s fleet. No Betaul warship had lost a fight at sea, small or large, in generations.

  “Has he told you stories about the battle, my lady?”

  “Yes, my lord.” Nan had told her about it, but only what she thought a young lady needed to know about such things. It had all happened before she was even born. “And about his victories in the Thendal Gulf.”

  “Yes, he broke the power of the pirates there.”

  Broke their power? Her father had utterly destroyed those pirates. “None have sailed there since.”

  “Yes, indeed. The king has told me. He always speaks well of your father, my lady.”

  “I am glad to hear that, my lord.”

  The ambassador did not reply. In fact, he said nothing for quite a long time, but his eyes never left her. Finally she could stand it no longer and said, “My lord, I don’t know King Roupert.” She hoped he would consider this to be part of their earlier discussion and not a new topic of conversation. “Will you tell me of him?”

  “He is a quiet man, my lady, and very wise.” Then he said something she did not catch, except for the name at the end: “… Lord Othot of Felcannen.”

  “Yes, my lord?”

  He laughed. Tabitha’s hands tightened against each other in her lap as he said, “My lady, such poison in your voice!”

  “Forgive me, my lord.”

  “Please tell me what you know about Lord Othot, my lady.”

  Tabitha controlled herself and answered calmly. “He is my father’s heir, my lord. For now. He is my third cousin. He visited us one year ago. He was …” She did not know the Telgardian word to mean “arrogant” or “condescending”, and ladies were not supposed to call anyone a “jackass”, though Marjorie herself had taught Tabitha the word, so instead she said, “… rude.”

  “I see.” Still smiling a little, he scratched at his beard. “My lady, I know what I risk by saying this. But your people are known for how quickly they take offense.”

  Her people? Did he mean Betauls, or all Thendals? She had no idea what she should say, and fortunately the ambassador stopped smiling and spoke seriously again. “How exac
tly is Lord Othot related to you?”

  Again, this something that he very likely knew, but that he wanted to see if she knew. “There was my father’s father’s father. He had a sister. She had a son. He had a daughter. Othot is her son.”

  “Ah.” He paused as if to think through that. “He is your third cousin, then? A cross cousin instead of a parallel cousin? Then there are no religious barriers to your wedding him. In fact, it would seem to neatly solve your father’s problem, by bringing a distant heir into the close family. Was this considered?”

  “That was the reason for his visit, my lord. My father wanted us to meet.”

  “But it went badly?”

  “It did, my lord. It was not me. Lord Othot acted like he already was the duke. He insulted my father.”

  “He insulted your father?” The ambassador appeared shocked. “How?”

  How had Lord Othot not insulted them during his short visit? “He said many things, my lord. Each thing was a little insult. But everything together was the true insult. My father told me that I would never marry him.”

  “So, your father would rather see the ancient Betaul lands, fleets, titles, and protectorates pass to the son a foreign prince than to his countryman and heir?”

  “To the son, my lord,” she emphasized. Clearly this was another test of her knowledge. “The Telgard prince himself can’t have Thendal land or titles.” That had been true for many centuries, ever since her people, the Betauls, had driven the Telgards out. “My father’s grandson will. My father’s grandson will not be a …” She searched for the right word. “ … a foreigner.”

  “I see.” He paused again, probably to make her even more anxious. She thought she weathered it well, and eventually he went on, “Why does your father not wed you to one of his loyal vassals?”

  “A vassal might take the Betaul lands and titles for himself, my lord. It happened in other families, when a grandson is the heir.” She wished he would just accept that she did know the inheritance laws, and stop drilling her about them. “A foreigner can’t do that. If I marry a foreigner, the Betaul lands and titles stay with us.”