Oath of Fealty

by Elizabeth Moon

  “Exactly,” Paks said. “The king told me that most judge not by actual deeds, but by reputation. Remember, when you were there, how the master of horse in Chaya believed grays were dangerous because of their color?”

  “Yes,” Dorrin said. “But I thought, sending my family to Vérella, as ordered, would prove my loyalty. I see now that someone might argue I had a grudge against those I sent, and did not capture those I liked.”

  “Yes. If you are at the coronation, if you present the king with these things—especially the crown—and explain that you found them hidden—and give your oath in front of all, that will go some way toward gaining the trust of those who have long distrusted Verrakaien.”

  Dorrin saw the logic of that, and yet—“These things belong somewhere else,” she said. “Not in Tsaia at all. I feel I must find out where, and—and take them there, maybe.”

  “Not stay in Tsaia?”

  “Not forever, I think. Kieri said—the king said—he thought the Tsaian king did not intend me to hold Verrakai forever, but to name an heir, one of those Verrakai who is found innocent of taint.”

  “I met such a one,” Paks said. “On my way from the Duke’s Stronghold to Lyonya. Ganarrion, his name was; he’s in the Royal Guard. You might seek him out.”

  “I am past bearing an heir of the body,” Dorrin said, “even if I wished to do so. I thought of one of the children here, but they have spent their whole lives in the influence of my uncle and his kind.”

  “How are they now?”

  “Better, I think, but who can tell, with children? Having none of my own, I never studied how best to train them; I must leave much of that to the nurserymaids, and trust I have weeded out the vicious from among those.”

  “Another reason to let me ward this place for you while you’re in Vérella,” Paks said, grinning. “I am closer to my own childhood, as you said, and I had younger sibs—I like children.”

  “But never wanted some of your own?” Dorrin asked.

  “No. Wiped too many dirty bottoms, and saw my mother’s birth pangs too many times. A soldier’s life is thought hard, and it is, but that day-by-day watchfulness and worry—I was not meant for that.”

  “Indeed, you were not,” Dorrin said. “Nor was I. Well. I don’t want to go, but I see I must.” Another thought struck her. “Oh gods above!”

  “What?”

  “I have no court clothes.” Paks looked blank. “Tsaian court clothes. For the coronation and everything else; everyone else will have them. They’ll expect—it will be an insult if I turn up like this—” Dorrin gestured at her plain shirt and trousers. “And it’s too late to get anything made in Vérella; every tailor will be racing to finish things ordered at the Evener or before.”

  “Did your relatives take all their clothes with them?”

  “No, but—” Dorrin shook her head. “It is a jest, but a bitter one. I was so disgusted with their finery … I threw them out, all those fancy things, or most of them. Told the house staff to cut them up and make clothes for themselves, or give them to their families. And besides, nothing would have fit me—the ladies of this house had magery, not muscles.”

  “Must you wear skirts at court? You were titled duke, not duchess.”

  “I suppose—” Dorrin thought about it. “If I’m going to be an outcast anyway, and the only female duke, I might as well be outrageous in my dress. That’s good; I hate skirts. Men’s dress at court is still court dress, but I might contrive something more easily. I wonder if Verrakai House in Vérella has been sold—”

  “Your family has two houses?”

  Dorrin nodded. “Verrakai had more than two houses, if any are left to us, if the Crown did not confiscate them for my uncle’s treason. A house in Vérella, where family attending court lived. Houses here and there for family members who wanted to live apart for a while.”

  “Perhaps your uncle left court clothes there, and you could use them.”

  “I would not want to wear anything that had touched his body,” Dorrin said. “The touch of his magery—”

  “Falk will protect you,” Paks said with such confidence that Dorrin felt her own doubts vanish.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Dorrin left the next morning, escorted not by her Phelani troops, but by five Verrakai militia chosen by Selfer for their progress toward soldierly qualities. They looked nothing like the ruffians she’d first encountered; now their badges and buckles gleamed, their boots shone, their hair was clean and trimmed. Their saddlecloths were authentic Verrakai—that much had been found in the stables—though the horses were Phelan’s. Dorrin had signed another note to Selfer acknowledging the debt.

  With them, on Farin the cook’s advice, were two of her assistants. “Efla can cook, passably,” the cook said. “Jaim’s too young, but you’ll need an errand boy to help fetch and carry from market and the like. None of those militia I’d trust to boil water and make sib, let alone cook for the lot of you, and you don’t know if any of the servants are still in the city house.” A single pack animal carried only a light load—the royal regalia, now wrapped piece by piece in clean linen and then packed into a padded sack—and what she’d found that might be turned into court clothes later. Another carried supplies they might need in Vérella “in case the house was robbed after the old duke …” The cook laid her finger on her throat. Dorrin had the prince’s invitation in her own saddlebags, along with the pass to travel to and from Vérella.

  They reached Harway just at dark after a long day’s travel, and found rooms at the same inn where, at the end of winter, she had lodged. “How many nights?” the innkeeper asked.

  “Two or three,” Dorrin said. “I need to find a tailor here, or somewhere on the road to Vérella. I’m summoned to the coronation and have no court attire.” She laughed, making a joke of it. “I did not anticipate needing any—do you know someone who might—”

  “A court dress for a lady of your rank?” he said. “Even the best I know of cannot do that in one day or two.”

  “Not a dress,” Dorrin said. “I know that is impossible. But the prince named me duke, and I’ve worn soldier’s clothing since I was a young girl. Something suitable for a duke—shirts with ruffles or lace or something. A doublet—”

  “Oh, that.” His face cleared. “You’ll want Durgeon & Sons for that. Pili Durgeon’s an excellent tailor, and I’m sure he’ll be able to find something to suit. It’s from him your men got that blue cloth when you were here before, and since then he’s had a shipment from the south. ’Tis late tonight, but I can send a lad to let him know you’ll visit in the morning, shall I?”

  “Thank you,” Dorrin said.

  She spent the next morning with the tailor. “I’ve got work I cannot put aside, even for a duke,” he said. “But that will be finished this afternoon, and I can take your measurements and requirements now. Court clothes—yes, of course I know what’s needed. As for the materials—look here.” He led her to the back of the shop, past men and women busily at work in the light of wide windows, to a locked chamber. Inside, rolls of cloth filled shelves, but for a small section holding bundles wrapped in muslin.

  “This—” He lifted a muslin-wrapped bundle and began unwrapping it. “The previous duke ordered this two years ago, to make up a robe for the coronation this year. Drew the design for the brocade and all, and I sent to the south, to the weavers there, to have it woven just for him.”

  Dorrin’s skin prickled. What kind of design would her uncle have chosen? Something evil no doubt. Durgeon unwrapped the last layer of muslin and lifted out a long roll of blue and silver brocade. “I washed it and stretched it square, then made it up, but when the Order of Attainder came, I was sure I’d lost by it—for he never paid me; said he would pay when he took it to court. Crowns a span, it was, all my cost, but he was not to argue with …”

  The cloth shimmered. Against a background of blues shading from dark to pale, star shapes that Dorrin recognized from the cloth around the
crown. Those were done all in pale gray and silver. She touched it lightly and felt nothing, no evil at all.

  “It would suit you, as well,” Durgeon said. “With your height, and your dark hair. He chose a dark blue lining, you see, but if you chose dark for your formal doublet, I could change that out to pale gray in no time.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Dorrin said. She touched it again, lightly. Durgeon began to unfold it on the table.

  “You see the wide band of fur on the sleeves. Silver clasps in front. The Verrakai arms embroidered on the back—”

  “Is that necessary?” Dorrin asked, stroking the fabric.

  “Have you not seen formal court dress—?” he began.

  “No, I was never at court,” Dorrin said. “If the stories you heard about me include exile, being disowned by the family, that’s the truth of it.”

  “Well, then, my lord—” Durgeon turned the robe, showing her the back. “Every peer displays the family crest on the most formal of court robes—for such ceremonies as this. Every rank has its own required style. Dukes, for instance, have a fur cuff twice as wide as counts, and barons have but a finger-width edge. Your shirts, as a duke, should have wider lace, with gold or silver ribbon threaded through; your doublet will be embroidered on the heart side with the crest, in silver, and the slashes bound in silver cord. Your capelet, for the formal dinners, will have full four fingers of silver braid. And your shoes—” He looked at her boots, the plain black leather she had considered her dress boots, and shook his head. “You were right to stop here, my lord. In Vérella you will not find tailors or cobblers able to fit your work in, but Liam the cobbler can make you court shoes and boots.”

  Two days later, Dorrin set off for Vérella with many fewer coins and many more clothes. Shirts, semi-dress trousers, the short trews she would need for the coronation itself, doublets, jackets, capelets, capes, and the formal court robe. Shoes, hose, boots. Her escort had new blue velvet caps with the Verrakai badge to wear when they accompanied her in the palace.

  As she neared Vérella, traffic on the road thickened, with wagons and carts bringing in supplies, merchants, travelers. At the city gate, she presented her pass and invitation once more. “There’s no more lodging in the palace,” the officer said. “I’m not sure, my lord, where you’ll stay—the inns are crowded.”

  “Do you know if the Crown took over the Verrakai residence?”

  “No.” His mouth twisted with distaste. “You can look, I suppose.”

  Verrakai House, when she came to it, had no guards out front and no sign of life. It was on a corner; a busy street in front, a narrow alley down one side. Dorrin tried the door; it didn’t move. She knocked. No answer. She became aware that some in the busy street were slowing to watch. She laid one hand on the door itself and one on the latch, and spoke the command words that came to her.

  The door swung open silently. “Well,” she said. “It looks empty enough. There should be stabling for the horses somewhere near. Wait; I will find the entrance.”

  Inside, the house smelled a little musty but had also the feel of a place enchanted, watchful. Dorrin touched her ruby, then her ducal medallion. “Verrakai!” she said. She sensed a relaxation. Wary of traps, she went down the passage ahead of her; it opened at the far end to a walled yard with stalls across the way; a closed gate to the left led, she was sure, to the alley. She unbarred the gate and went back through the house.

  “Go down that alley—I opened the gate to the mews, I’ll take this—” The padded sack, on top of everything else. She had not risked having it out of her sight on the whole journey. It had made a most uncomfortable bed companion.

  Two of her escort came inside with her. The house was oddly shaped, not the simple square or rectangle its front suggested. Four stories above ground … Dorrin eyed the iron-bound cellar door that stank of blood magery and decided not to open it, at least not yet. The ground floor had two kitchens, large and small reception rooms. Above that, a large study, lined with shelves, very like her uncle’s study on Verrakai land. She suspected it had many of the same traps. Bedrooms, also furnished with traps for the unwary. Above that again, more bedrooms, and in the attic, what had clearly been servants’ quarters.

  Evidence of her uncle’s connection to the Thieves’ Guild and the Bloodlord were everywhere. The Horned Chain above the fireplace, barbed whips in a stand in the corner, bloodstains on the floor, smeared into words. She was sure she would find worse in the cellars.

  “Let’s get these windows open,” she said to her escort. Both hangings and windows were trapped; she disarmed them. Afternoon light and air rolled into room after room as she threw the shutters wide. When she glanced down, she saw people in the street below, looking up gape-mouthed. One took off at a run.

  Within a half-glass, someone pounded on the front door. Dorrin had left one of her people in the front hall to answer; now she came down the stairs to find a troop of Royal Guard in the street, and an officer standing on the doorstep.

  “—By what right are you here?” the officer was saying.

  “I’m Duke Verrakai,” Dorrin said, coming forward. “And this is Verrakai’s house in Vérella.”

  “I know whose house it is,” he said. “But I do not know you, and I know that Verrakaien are under Order of Attainder. Come forth, and face the justice of the Court.”

  “I am not under that order,” Dorrin said. “I was summoned here for the prince’s coronation, and I have a pass from the prince himself.”

  “You can explain that to the Court,” the officer said.

  “I will show you the pass.” Dorrin had tucked it into her doublet at the city gate; she took it out again. “Here.”

  He glanced at it, then looked again and read it. “You are not under Order of Attainder … how can that be? Is this genuine?”

  Dorrin waited, saying nothing.

  “Stay here,” he said. “I will take this to the palace and see if it is truly what the prince meant to say.”

  Dorrin looked at the man who was obviously his second-in-command.

  “I have been riding all morning,” she said. “I would rest—have one of my people bring a chair. And you, too, if you will.”

  “I am not going in that cursed house,” the man said. “We could not enter it when the prince told us to make sure it was empty—and now you enter it with a touch, the witnesses say. It is a trap.”

  “Gani, bring me a chair, please,” Dorrin said. “Set it here, where this gentleman can see.” When the chair arrived, she had it placed so the door would not close, and sat down, smiling up at the man outside the door. “I have no intent to harm you, or anyone who does not harm me first. The prince knows why he appointed me Duke; my family disowned me tens and tens of years ago and I have served Duke Phelan for most of the time since.”

  “The one who’s king now?” the man asked. “Did you meet that paladin?”

  “Paks? Yes. She was not in my cohort, but Captain Arcolin’s. She is watching Verrakai Steading while I am here, in fact.”

  “Lord Sir Ammerlin, he said he saw her make light over the whole battle, over there east when he was taking Phelan to Lyonya to be king.”

  “She did indeed,” Dorrin said. “I was there and saw it.”

  His brow furrowed. “You were there. But—how?”

  Dorrin explained, as briefly as she could, and then saw the other captain riding back at a quick trot, as those on foot scattered. He looked both relieved and embarrassed as he dismounted.

  “My lord Duke, I am sorry—we have had such trouble, I did not trust your pass—but the prince says you are welcome here, and not under Order of Attainder, not you nor anyone with you. Please—my apologies.” He bowed.

  “You were wise to be cautious,” Dorrin said. “And fortunate in not being able to enter here, for my relatives who practiced evil left many dangers for the unwary. I know you have other duties, but could you tell me where the nearest grange of Gird is? Or a Falkian field?”

&n
bsp; “There’s a grange not far,” he said. “Do you need a Marshal?”

  “This house must be cleansed,” Dorrin said. “That is why I’m opening the windows, when I’ve untrapped them …”

  “Windows were trapped?”

  “Evil delights in darkness and secrecy,” Dorrin said. “Anyone who tried to let in light, without knowing the dangers, faced certain death. If you like, come inside and I will show you.”

  “No,” he said, backing up a step. “If the prince says you are welcome, you are welcome and I will pass the word. We do believe passages underground lead into the cellars here, but we were not able to penetrate them.” He mounted. “Do you wish me to send a Marshal?”

  “I will go myself and speak to the nearest grange,” Dorrin said. “Though if you wish to tell them I will be coming, they might like to know. But first, when I have cleared enough of the house for myself and these my escort, I must present myself at the palace.”

  “I will tell them,” he said. “Lest they think you are the other Verrakaien come back.”

  “Thank you,” Dorrin said.

  It was evening, the long slow twilight of near Midsummer, before Dorrin had enough rooms cleared for the safety of her escort and her kitchen staff. The boy, Jaim, had been to a market twice. In the stable, oats, hay, and straw seemed untainted by magery, and the horses they’d ridden stood quietly in the stalls, munching as if back home.

  She had to bathe. In the kitchen, Efla chopped vegetables; steam rose from a kettle on its hook over the fire. In the scullery, an array of tubs hung along one wall. Dorrin set the largest on the stone floor and poured in cold water from the water butt and a little hot from the kitchen. It was so like her first days in the country house that she found it funny.

  She was in the tub when a thunderous banging on the front door echoed through the house. It was the Marshal from down the street, her escort informed her, demanding to see her.

  “When I’m dressed,” Dorrin said. Her uncle had left linens in the house at least; she had placed a stack ready and grabbed one when she heard the knocking. “Put him in the safe reception hall; warn him that the house is not yet safe and tell him I will be there shortly.”