A Choice of Secrets

by Barb Hendee

  Within moments, an entire retinue pounded into our courtyard, led by four men—one out front and three riding behind. This quartet was followed by at least thirty guards. I wondered where we were going to house them all.

  Then my attention focused entirely on the four men at the front.

  Although I had never met any of them myself, and neither had Helena, she’d been provided with a good deal of information, and before falling ill, she’d spoken of little else in the last weeks of her life.

  It wasn’t difficult to note Jarrod, the father, riding at the lead. As he drew closer, my trepidation began to grow. He appeared in his late forties, tall and hawkish. His head was shaved. He wore chain armor over a faded black wool shirt that had seen many washings. My eyes dropped to the sword sheathed on his hip.

  My own father never wore a sword.

  As Jarrod pulled his frothing horse to a stop, I turned my gaze to the three men behind him. Again, it wasn’t difficult for me to name them by gauging their age.

  Rolf was the eldest, in his late twenties. Like his father, he wore his head shaved and he wore chain armor, but there the resemblance stopped. There was nothing hawkish about Rolf. He was muscular and wide-shouldered with broad features and a bump at the bridge of his nose. Every inch of him exuded hardness and strength.

  I shivered in the summer air.

  Next came Sebastian, in his mid twenties. He was smaller than either of his brothers, with neatly cut black hair. Noticing my attention, he flashed me a smile. He was handsome, and the only one not wearing armor. Instead, he wore a sleeveless tunic over a white wool shirt. I had a feeling Sebastian cared about his appearance.

  Last came Kai—wearing armor and weapons. He looked only a few years older than me. In many ways, he resembled his father, tall and slender with sharp features. But he wore his brown hair down past his shoulders. His gaze moved to the front of the manor, which was constructed of expensive light-toned stone.

  As Kai took in the latticed windows, whitewashed shutters, and climbing ivy vines, his features twisted into what I could only call an expression of resentful anger. If hardness rolled off Rolf and vanity rolled off Sebastian, it was anger that rolled off Kai.

  Jarrod jumped down from his horse and strode up to my father.

  “Chaumont,” he said shortly, not bothering with my father’s title or given name.

  Both men gauged each other in mild discomfort, and it occurred to me that this was their first meeting. All marriage negotiations had transpired in writing or by proxy. Under normal circumstances, a family as lowborn as the Volodanes would never be invited to Chaumont Manor—and they knew it.

  My father nodded and responded in kind. “Volodane.”

  Then Jarrod’s dark eyes swept the courtyard, stopping briefly on me before moving onward, and he frowned.

  My father leaned forward, speaking softly. I watched Jarrod’s expression flicker in surprise, and to his credit he said, “Oh . . . my condolences.”

  A few more quiet words were exchanged, and I heard my father say, “daughter, Megan.” Jarrod’s eyes turned to me again, this time in cold assessment. After all, he had never seen Helena and only heard the tales of her beauty. He had nothing with which to compare her. I struggled to look back and hold his gaze. After a moment, he nodded his assent.

  “Good, then,” my father agreed, sounding relieved. “You must be tired from your journey. We’ll all meet again at dinner.” He seemed equally relieved this initial meeting was over and he was now able to extract himself.

  But the knot in my stomach tightened at the thought of leaving my home and going with these men, with a warrior for a father and one of his sons for my husband.

  Trapped or not, I couldn’t do this.

  I would refuse.

  * * * *

  My father and mother both went to the room he used as his study, and without asking permission, I followed them in and closed the door. They were both taken aback by my boldness. This was certainly something Helena might have done, but not me.

  “I can’t do it,” I said instantly. “And I cannot believe you would force me.”

  Mother’s eyes narrowed in caution. I had never spoken to either of them like this. My father’s face turned red in anger, but my mother held up one hand to stop his tongue.

  “Megan,” she began slowly. “Of course I understand your reticence. It is beneath us to even have them in the house, but this must be done, and the middle son . . . Sebastian? He looks less savage than the others. Could you not consider him?”

  I stared at her. “Less savage? You would have me in his bed merely because he seems less savage than his brothers?”

  She flinched at the indelicacy of my question and then drew herself to full height. “And would you have our situation exposed? Our debts known publicly? Would you have bailiffs in the manor taking our paintings and tapestries and furniture? Would you have your father disgraced from his seat on the Council of Nobles?”

  Feeling myself begin to deflate, I shook my head. “Of course not.”

  The anger left my father’s face, and he stepped toward me. “Jarrod has already agreed to my provision that Helena choose from among his sons. He doesn’t care which of them marries into the house of Chaumont. He wants only the prestige of the connection and grandsons who carry our blood. You’ll have the same provision as your sister. You can choose.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  His eyes hardened. “Then I will pick one myself, drag you to the magistrate, and use my power as your father to answer and sign for you.”

  Breathing grew difficult as I realized he meant it. He would sell me off like a brood mare rather than face public humiliation and lose his seat on the council.

  In desperation, I played one last card. “But, Father, what will you do without me? In meetings with the other nobles, how will you know who’s honest and who is not?”

  This was something we rarely spoke of openly. I could do something no one else could, something that made me of great use to my father. Would he throw it away so easily?

  His expression flickered once and then steeled again.

  “Do you choose one for yourself, or do I?” he challenged.

  The room was silent for a long moment.

  I somehow managed to answer. “I’ll choose for myself.”

  What else could I do?

  * * * *

  A scant few hours later, I found myself seated at our table in the dining hall.

  Miriam put a great deal of effort into dressing me for dinner. The result was both awkward for me and a triumph for my parents.

  I looked nothing like myself. Miriam had arranged my hair even more elaborately and used a small round iron on the curls around my face. Then she’d put touches of black kohl at the corners of my eyes. I wore an amber silk gown with a low, square-cut neckline that showed the tops of my breasts.

  I don’t know where she’d found the gown. It wasn’t mine, and it was much too small to have fit Helena. I supposed my mother must have had it made at some point while anticipating its need.

  However, at the sight of me, my father beamed. I couldn’t meet his eyes.

  Seating at dinner was equally awkward with my father at the head of the table, my mother and I seated on one side, and all four of the Volodanes seated on the other—so I had no choice but to look at one of them when I raised my eyes from my plate of roasted pheasant.

  None of them had changed for dinner, and with the exception of Sebastian, they all wore armor and swords. Jarrod hadn’t bothered to shave his face and sported a dark stubble. I could almost feel my mother’s discomfort, but she smiled and made attempts at polite conversation.

  Only Sebastian responded to her questions about weather and wild flowers in the northern provinces. Rolf spoke only to his father or mine. Occasionally, he glanced at me as if I already bel
onged to him.

  I wasn’t listening to any of them. My heart pounded too loudly in my ears. But then I did hear Rolf say something about heading back north as soon as he and I were married.

  A long pause followed, and for the first time, I paid attention.

  “It is not settled yet that she will marry you,” my father finally responded. “Per our agreement, Megan will choose for herself.”

  Rolf’s face clouded. “I never agreed to that. I am the eldest. She will join with me.”

  Jarrod turned in his chair. “You’ll do as I tell you! Nothing less and nothing more!”

  Mother, Father, and I all flinched at his tone and his unthinkable manner at the table. Rolf’s face went red, and Sebastian leaned back in his chair, smiling. Something about him was beginning to strike me as sly. He clearly enjoyed his older brother’s chastisement and discomfort.

  “Now, now,” he said, dryly. “We mustn’t seem uncouth.”

  Kai ignored all this. He ignored everything but his surroundings. His eyes were light brown like mine, and they moved from the opulent tapestries on our walls to the peach roses in silver vases on the table to the porcelain plates and pewter goblets.

  Then for the first time, he looked directly at me.

  “I fear you’ll find the furnishings at Volodane Hall somewhat lacking,” he said.

  His voice dripped with resentment, and I knew I’d not been wrong in my first assessment. He was angry.

  His tone was not lost on my mother, who answered him with a strained smile. “Of course, we’ll be sending some household things with her, and Megan will give your hall a woman’s touch.”

  These words made me wonder what had happened to Kai’s mother. I’d never asked and no one had mentioned this, but it seemed I would be the lady of their house. The very thought ensured I would not manage to eat another bite of dinner.

  Kai studied my mother evenly and breathed out through his teeth. “Our hall won’t be good enough for her. Nothing of us or ours will be good enough.”

  Then I realized the source of his anger. He resented the need for this bargain as much as we did. He knew that we—and most of the noble houses—looked down upon the Volodanes, and the last thing he probably wanted was a permanent reminder in his home of their lowly state in comparison to ours.

  “Quit!” Jarrod ordered him, pounding one hand on the table.

  In obedience, Kai stopped talking and withdrew back inside himself, ignoring everyone again.

  Sebastian looked at me and raised one eyebrow in amusement. I glanced away.

  Somehow—and I never quite knew how—we made it through the rest of dinner.

  By the time my mother rose, signifying the meal was over, my heart pounded in my ears again. I felt the edge of my self-control slipping away and knew that I had to gain a few moments to myself or I might possibly do or say something I’d later regret.

  “Please make my excuses,” I said quietly to Mother. “I will return quickly.”

  She frowned briefly, but then her face smoothed in annoyed understanding, and I realized she most likely thought I needed to relieve myself.

  I didn’t care what she thought.

  Turning, I fled the dining hall as fast as I could without running. Upon reaching the passage that led toward the kitchens, I couldn’t stop myself and broke into a run, racing in my heavy silk skirts until I reached an open archway in one side of the passage, just a few doors from the entrance to our kitchens.

  There, I took refuge in an old, familiar hiding place.

  As a child, I’d come to this storage room whenever I didn’t wish to be found. It was filled with crates, casks, and places to hide. No one ever entered except servants from the kitchens, and none of them ever noticed me secreted away behind a stack of crates.

  I hadn’t come here in years, but now, I breathed in relief at the respite of solitude and the illusion of safety.

  Slowly, I sank to my knees.

  As we were expecting a delivery of goods any day now, the storage room was nearly half-empty. I didn’t even attempt to hide behind crates or casks, as I knew I’d have to return to the hall long before anyone came looking me.

  A dismal prospect.

  What was I going to do? I couldn’t face the thought of my life married to any of those men. Until this afternoon, I’d never faced the prospect of marriage at all . . . but to one of them? I was not a weeper. My parents had never allowed such an indulgence, and I honestly wasn’t aware I knew how to cry, but tears came to my eyes and one dripped down my cheek.

  The water in my eyes made the following moment even more uncertain than it might have been.

  The air in the storage room appeared to waver. Alarmed, I wiped away my tears, but the motion of the wavering air grew more rapid, and then...something solid began taking shape.

  Jumping up to my feet, I gasped.

  There, near the far wall across the storage room, a great three-paneled mirror now stood where there had been only empty air an instant before. The thick frames around each panel were of solid pewter, engraved in the image of climbing ivy vines. The glass of the panels was smooth and perfect, and yet I didn’t see myself looking back.

  Instead, I found myself staring into the eyes of a lovely dark-haired woman in a black dress. Her face was pale and narrow, and she bore no expression at all. But there she was, inside the right panel gazing out me.

  Was I going mad? Had my parents driven me mad?

  “There is nothing to fear,” the woman said in a hollow voice.

  I doubted that statement. I feared for my sanity, but as yet, I’d not found my voice to answer her.

  “You are at a crossroad,” she continued, “with three paths.” As she raised her arms, material from her long black sleeves hung down. “I am bidden to give you a gift.”

  Here, sadness leaked into her voice, especially at the word “bidden,” and my mind began to race. Was this truly happening?

  “You will live out three outcomes . . . to three different choices,” she said. “Lives with men . . . connected by blood. Then you will have the knowledge to know . . . to choose.”

  I shook my head. “Wait! What are you saying?”

  Lowering both hands to her sides, she said, “The first choice.”

  Before I could speak again, the storage room vanished. Wild fear coursed through me as the world went black for the span of a breath, and then suddenly I found myself back in my family’s dining hall, only everything was different.

  Chairs had been set up in rows, and guests were seated in them. I wore a gown of pale ivory and held my father’s arm as he walked me past the guests toward the far end of the hall.

  Flowers in tall vases graced that same end, and a local magistrate stood there with a book in his hands.

  Beside the magistrate stood Rolf, wearing his armor and his sword.

  Turning, he looked at me in grim determination.

  He was waiting.

  About the Author

  Barb Hendee has published twenty-one highly popular fantasy novels, including the New York Times bestselling Noble Dead Saga, co-authored with JC Hendee, and the newer Mist-Torn Witches series, which she penned alone. All twenty-one books are still in print. She maintains a devoted following, has had books on the extended New York Times list and the USA Today Top 150 Books, and is constantly writing and developing new ideas.