“As for the rest of my solution, I’m going to end this feud by ending the reason for it.” He turned to Brand’s father, his face filled with an implacable anger. “All of this was over a rejected marriage proposition. I’m going to rectify that right now. Lord Kaltar, you will be marrying your son to the eldest of Lord Leverance’s daughters, and this will be accomplished within seven days, because I am going to start locking up one of each of your people every day after that if there is not a marriage, starting with Talbot and Brand.”
Lord Kaltar went white, then red, then white again.
Sedric turned to Leverance. “Lord Leverance, I do not give a horse turd what your plans were, the eldest of your girls marries Brand, and it happens within seven days. Make your excuses if you’d started a betrothal, or send them to me and I’ll inform them of the royal edict. You will do this. End of subject.”
Leverance went purple. But he didn’t even open his mouth to say a word.
Sedric’s Companion stamped his hoof twice, to punctuate the order.
“And because your women aren’t as stupid as you are, and I see no reason to punish them, the Crown will bear the cost of the wedding, the Crown will help make it happen, and the Crown will bestow on the new couple a fine estate of their own.” He paused; Amily suspected he was conferring with his father in Mindspeech. “It appears that the land and manor of Abendale Hall are unclaimed, as Lord Abendale died this spring and no heir has been found to claim it. It is conveniently located between your two holdings, so that, should either of you idiots decide to march over and molest the other, you’ll have to fight your way through the property and people of your own offspring.” Sedric’s eyes glinted wickedly. “You will now be escorted one by one back to your manors. Until a Guardsman taps you on the shoulder to let you know you may rise, you will remain on your knees in the snow.” He looked to the Captain of the Guard. “See to it. Anyone who can’t follow orders, clap in irons and take down to the city gaol and we’ll see what effect a night in straw among petty thieves has on their temper.”
His Companion reared up on his hind hooves and pivoted in place. Rolan and the rest did the same a heartbeat later. And they all trotted back up the Hill to the Palace. Sedric did not look back, and Amily followed his example.
But once they got out of earshot, Sedric broke into angry speech. “What in the name of all the gods happened?” he demanded of Amily.
“Two nights ago Lord Leverance held a fete,” she said, as she waited for Rolan to confer with Mags, who presumably knew exactly what had happened. “Brand got taken up by some maskers, and slipped in. Mags was with them, and he tells me that Talbot was in a murderous rage at the supposed ‘insult,’ although so far as I or anyone else knows, Brand was perfectly well behaved, danced a few dances, and left.”
By this time, Rolan was able to tell her the rest, which she relayed to the Prince. “So this morning, evidently, with his temper not at all improved by a hangover, Talbot gathered up a gang of his cousins and went looking for Brand. And as bad luck would have it, he encountered Brand with a lot of his cousins coming down the Hill, heading for the city, as he and his lot came up, looking for them. There were a lot of insults. Mags says Brand was actually pretty conciliatory, mostly, although he also says it was a sort of ‘sneering conciliatory,’ so I suppose Talbot didn’t take any of it as genuine. Then someone pulled a knife, and someone pulled a sword, and Talbot came for Brand.” She swallowed hard. “And if Mags hadn’t managed to jump in and deflect the first blow, and keep Talbot off Brand, Brand would be dead right now.”
The sound of hooves on snow was all there was for a moment as Sedric digested that.
“Or at least wounded,” Sedric said, sourly. “Idiots. Bloody idiots. I have no idea if this wedding is going to fix things or make them worse.”
:I don’t think it can make them worse,: Rolan observed.
“Rolan doesn’t know about the fixing part, but he doesn’t think it will make things worse,” Amily told him. “There’s lots of precedent for this. I can think of at least three feuds that former Kings and Queens ended with marriages, just off the top of my head without looking anything up. Of course,” she added pensively, “in at least two of them, the families had managed to decimate each other to the point where it was hard to get a proper wedding party together. . . .”
Sedric waved that away. “Never mind that. The Council is going to want to know on what authority I ordered this wedding to take place, and I need all the precedent you can dig up.” He turned to Amily, some of the anger drained out of him, reached across the space between them and patted her on the shoulder. “So, King’s Own, tell me what you know.”
—
Mags returned to Amily’s rooms after seeing the Healer for the long, shallow cut on his collarbone and the other along his ribs. They weren’t bad, but they stung even after actual Healing sessions that sealed them up so they wouldn’t keep breaking open and bleeding all over his clothing. He was fervently blessing the reflexive movements he had “learned” from his cousin Bey; all that fancy assassin-technique had kept him from a lot worse. He’d managed to evade Talbot’s blade more times than he cared to think about; the man was infernally quick, and had reflexes like the King of the Cats. I’m lucky I got away with a couple of scratches is all.
But if he hadn’t kept engaging Talbot, the man would have run Brand through, of this much he was certain.
He opened the door, already sensing that the rooms were empty. He felt a sudden surge of depression that Amily wasn’t there, although realistically he knew she must be up to her eyebrows in the consequences of today’s near-battle. He felt himself sagging a little as the door closed behind him.
:She’s with the King, Sedric and her father,: Dallen informed him. :They’re dealing with all of the repercussions of this nonsense. Lady Dia is going to join them shortly. I told Rolan to tell her you’d seen the Healers and you are all right. She’s—:
There was a knocking at the door, and Mags turned back around, just as he had reached his comfortable chair, and went back to it. But his sigh turned into a smile when he saw that there were three Palace servants there, all of them bearing trays with dishes, bottles, plates, bowls and baskets on them.
Without any prompting or directions on his part, they went straight to the largest table in the main room and began setting up their burdens on it. It didn’t take them very long at all, for which he was grateful, for the entire mess had wound up with him kneeling in the snow well past lunchtime. Of course he hadn’t dared try and get any special treatment. That would have given him away entirely. So he got treated as what he was, a lower-level courtier, somewhere around the lesser cousins in importance. No one asked him why he’d gotten involved, he was treated as just as guilty as the rest of them. Which at least not only maintained, it strengthened his persona, but still. . . .
The servants hurried back out again, hardly waiting to hear his thanks. He sat himself down in a chair and reached for the nearest plate. It was good. It was more than good. It was fantastic. Bread so fresh it steamed when he broke it open, a stew that made him sigh with pleasure, baked squash with honey . . . lovely little iced cakes . . .
When he had finished, he carefully moved everything left over to the hearth to keep it warm for Amily, and went to lie down on the bed. He hadn’t expected to doze off, but it had been a very long day, he’d spent a lot of energy out there shivering in the cold, and his wounds more or less stopped hurting as much when he got flat. He didn’t realize he was still cold until he pulled a heavy blanket over himself and felt himself relaxing in the warmth. And the next thing that he knew, Amily was shaking his shoulder, and the westering light was coming in the windows, showing it was at least a couple candlemarks later than it had been when he’d stretched out.
“Much as I hate to do this to you,” she said apologetically, “I need the eyewitness recitation of events before i
t gets any dimmer in your mind.”
“’Sall right,” he said, rubbing his eyes and wincing as his cuts burned again. He sat up slowly, and perched on the edge of the bed. “It happened like this. . . .”
His account differed substantially from any other she might have gotten in this much: He’d been near enough to Brand—he’d been protecting Brand—that he could see the smug expression on Brand’s face, and hear some of the low-voiced taunts that Brand had been delivering. Brand had, in fact, been hiding behind him, but egging Talbot on.
“What—what was he thinking?” Amily gasped. “Was he trying to get you killed?”
Mags shook his head. “I don’ think so. I don’ think ’e intended anythin’ worse’n having some’un t’ use as a shield whilst ’e poked at Talbot. Not sure ’e even knew it was me.”
Brand had been utterly focused on Talbot—as focused on Talbot as Lord Kaltar had been on Lord Leverance. Mags truly did not think that Brand saw anyone other than Talbot—and Talbot had been just as obsessed with Brand. It had been—almost the polar opposite of a lifebond. Like they were bound from birth by hate.
Amily shook her head when he said that. “For all I know, they were. Most things have an opposite, maybe there is an opposite to a lifebond. I can’t think of any other reason why he’d be so obsessed with someone he never even met until this Midwinter Season.”
Well . . . Mags could. Brand and Talbot had been taught from their cradles to hate each other. That was reason enough.
Most of the taunts had gone right over Mags’ head; he had no idea what incidents they referred to. All that he knew for certain was that they drove Talbot insane, and he said as much.
But as Amily listened, he saw her eyes widen, and her hand went to her mouth. Finally, when he was done, she let out her breath, as if she had been holding it. “Well. If all that means what I think it does . . . Brand knows that Talbot has been sleeping with Lady Leverance.”
Mags nearly tore open his wounds as he jerked with surprise and shock. “What?” he gasped.
“I’d begun to suspect as much,” Amily went on. “The signs are extremely subtle, but . . . well.” She shrugged. “They have to be very, very good at hiding what they are doing from her husband.”
He shook his head. “Makes me wonder how Brand figgered it out.”
“Same way as anyone else finds out things around here,” Amily said with a shrug. “They paid off the right servant. Or they installed a spy in the form of a servant right in the household. You know you can’t hide anything from the servants.”
“Well, not that sorta thing, anyway,” he agreed. And she was right, of course, that was why he himself was going to cultivate servants in selected households. He rubbed his side. “Didja eat?”
“Yes, and thank you for keeping it warm.” She sat down beside him—on his good side—and gave him a long, loving kiss. “We ended up not eating much. Stuffing our faces in front of Lady Leverance and Lady Dia would have been rude.”
Part of him just wanted to lie back down again. He’d been leading a double and triple life ever since this mess started, and he just wanted to rest. But of course, this was no time to rest. “Anythin’ I need to know?”
She shook her head. “Not much. It was the start of wedding planning. Our main problem is we need a neutral spot that is big enough to hold both Houses for the betrothal feast. The King doesn’t want it in the Palace and neither does the Commander of the Palace Royal Guard; I think they are afraid hostilities might break out and they don’t want that here.”
Well, he could see both sides of that argument. On the one hand, the Palace would be the perfect place. Plenty of Guards and Heralds right at hand to break up anything, and the room could be secured. On the other hand . . . plenty of innocents in the form of servants, other residents of the Palace, and Trainees to get hurt.
But the King had the last word and the King had said “Not in the Palace,” so. . . . “I expect most of the Guildhalls’d have the same objections,” he said, wracking his brain to think of an acceptable venue. Something big. If it were summer, they could pitch a giant pavilion or even hold it out in the open—
“—bloody hell,” he said, realizing he’d just recently laid eyes on the perfect spot. “There’s a theater troupe down in Haven fer the Midwinter Fair. They got a portable theater down there. Plenty of space. Ye kin heat ’er up with braziers. Off in the commons, so if trouble breaks out, well. . . .” he shrugged.
“The King said, rather acidly, that if trouble broke out during the betrothal feast, and there was no need to rescue innocent bystanders, he was inclined to let them slaughter each other and punish whoever was left standing,” Amily informed him.
:I can even hear that in Kyril’s voice,: Dallen observed.
“Well, ’e don’t mean it,” Mags said, with a sigh of resignation. “Or . . . ’e means it, but ’e won’t do it. Anyways, go hev a look at it, I think it might do. ’Tis wood walls with a canvas roof, an’ ye kin pretty it up however ye like. Hellfire, with Crown money, ye kin hang tapestries over ever’ bit of the wall, an’ make it look like th’ Palace.”
“I’ll leave that to Lady Dia,” Amily said firmly. “But it sounds as if you’ve found a good compromise solution. It’s equally inconvenient to everyone, it is on a neutral spot, and it is far away from the Palace. It’s actually quite convenient to set up an outdoor kitchen there, which should make serving the feast easy enough.”
“Fair’ll still be on. Ye could arrange fer a couple of the food vendors t’supply the feast,” he suggested, knowing that there were merchants down at the Fair who supplied surprisingly high priced and highly sought-after goods of all kinds, including foodstuffs.
“Even better. I shall leave that part to the King’s cook and Lady Dia.” She sighed, and put her head on his shoulder. “My poor love, it seems that the one who has had the worst of all of this wretched mess is you.”
“An’ when it was yer pa that was doin’ this job, it was him,” he reminded her.
“I don’t ever remember him coming home stabbed and slashed—” she began, but he interrupted her.
“You was his little girl. Ye think he would’a let you know thet?” He could not help but notice that his low-class accent was very thick at the moment; a sign he was more tired than he thought. Then again, shivering in the cold was actually pretty exhausting. “He prolly figgered part of his job was t’keep ye from knowin’ all the worst parts, so ye wouldn’ be afeerd for ’im.”
Her mouth quirked up on one side in a sardonic smile. “Yes, that would be just like him, too. Promise me you won’t try to protect me that way, please.”
He had to laugh at that. “Ye think I’d hev a chance in hell of doin’ thet, with both of us Heralds? ’Tis a good thing Companions don’t outright talk, they’re the worst at keepin’ secrets of anyone I ever saw.”
:Hey!: Dallen objected, as Amily laughed unexpectedly.
“Rolan just harrumphed in my head,” she giggled. “It’s . . . the most extraordinary sensation!”
He had to laugh himself. “Bet it is. Well, by yer leave, m’love, I’m beat. Jest fer once, I’m gonna not show up t’ keep an eye on Brand. ’E’d prolly be more suspicious of me iffen I did, anyroad, seein’ as I was leakin’ blood all over afore I was give leave t’go see a Healer.”
“Get some sleep, then,” she agreed. “I’ll be late, I expect.”
“Wouldn’ argue if ye was t’send round a couple more pages with vittles,” he suggested, pulling off his boots and wiggling his toes.
She stood up and kissed him, which made his toes curl, and the rest of him regret that she was going out the door in a few moments. “I’ll see about satisfying one of your appetites, anyway,” she smiled.
And then she was gone.
—
Violetta cowered a little in the chair she had been ordered to take.
There was no fire in her father’s study, and she was cold, despite her heavy woolen gown. She, her two sisters, and their mother were all lined up as if they were on trial, sitting nervously in hard wooden chairs in Lord Leverance’s private study. Father strode up and down before his assembled family, his face a study in wrath. Talbot had already been dealt with, and not gently, despite Mother’s attempt at intervention. Now, it seemed, there was something Father needed to impart to his family. She hoped that was all it was.
Really, he ought to count himself lucky that Father didn’t beat him black and blue—or worse, order the servants to beat him, Violetta thought, hoping against hope that whatever disaster had befallen, Father was not going to somehow manage to transfer some of the blame to her and her sisters.
If Mother had anything to do with this, she can defend herself. She indulges Talbot to a ridiculous measure.
At the moment, she was rather vague as to what had actually happened. She had been up in her room, sitting by the window while she worked on her embroidery, and dreamily thinking about last night with Brand, when there had been a commotion downstairs. She had run to the stairs and down to the first floor, only to see Father and some of the cousins hurtling out of the door, armed, while her mother shrieked and wailed at him.
Then there had been a long, long time while her mother collapsed, weeping, on the hearth, and the servants milled about, uncertain what to do.
Then just when everyone was fearing all manner of terrible things, the first of the Leverance household returned. It had been Father, Talbot, and two of the closest cousins. And Father had been in such a perfect rage that Violetta had fled back up to her room with her little dog right at her heels, closed the door, and cowered in her bed, cuddling Star against her chest.
There had been a lot of shouting. Some of it had been quite clear. Things like “You would have been better off if that bastard Raeylen had run you through!” and “You insolent puppy, who do you think is the head of this household, me or you?”
Closer to Home: Book One of Herald Spy Page 30