by Sharon Green
"I can see, Father, that you took Duke Verid's criticism to heart," I said by way of greeting, sheathing my sword as I walked toward him. "He was the one who claimed your welcoming hospitality wasn't as exciting as his in the east, wasn't he? If I ever meet him again, I can now tell him how wrong he was."
"I can see, Daughter, that you haven't changed after all," he came back, a grin breaking through the disapproval he was trying to show for my flippancy. "I would much rather have seen Verid partaking of this … 'exciting welcoming,' and then I, too, would have found some amusement in it. Have you gotten to be so excellent a Blade that you're now beyond a proper greeting for your father?"
He held his arms out to me as I laughed, and then I was in them, hugging as hard as I was being hugged. I would never be beyond needing that sort of a greeting, and somehow my father seemed to know it. It had felt good to be home before; now it was wonderful.
"Let's leave this mess for Traixe to see to," my father said after a moment, loosening his hug but still keeping one arm around me. "You and I have some things to discuss before we join our guests in the feasting hall. Come with me."
Just because my father had taken over as my escort and guide didn't mean Traixe was satisfied. We hadn't taken three steps before there were sounds behind us on the carpeting, sounds of following boots. The boots were filled with six of Traixe's Fighters, and rather than being annoyed my father seemed grimly contented. I suppose that should have given me a hint of some sort, but as it was I put it down to the scare of a close call and forgot about it.
The door to my father's study stood open, apparently as he'd left it when he'd come running out, but the two House Guards were still at their posts to either side of it even though they looked as if they wished they'd gone along. We left our six shadows outside with the guards and father closed the door on all of them, then he went to a silver tray and began filling two silver cups from a crystal pitcher.
"I've been saving this wine for a long time," he said, replacing the pitcher and turning to me with the cups and a smile. "I must admit I was upset at first to learn that your aunt had let you become a Blade, but now I mean to write her at once and express my profound thanks. If not for that, I might have saved this wine to no purpose at all."
"Really, Father, they weren't anywhere near good enough to worry about," I assured him, taking one of the cups with an answering smile. "If I hadn't been a Blade, they would have gone down by tripping over their own feet."
"Of course they would," he said, his agreement more a refusal to argue than a belief in what I'd said. "I bid you welcome on your return home, Daughter, and ask Evon to continue guarding you for the short while you remain in danger. To alertness till then, and a speedy end to the need for alertness."
He had raised his cup for the formal welcoming toast, with me, of course, doing the same, and then we drank. The wine really was excellent, but I couldn't help wondering about the odd way he'd put the toast.
"Are you trying to say you have a plan to finish off our enemies, Father?" I asked once the cups were down, the sudden inspiration making me eager. "Whatever it is, I hope you know you'll have my blade to add to the showdown. When do we get started with it?"
"Patience, child, patience," he said with a laugh, obviously enjoying what he saw in my face. "One day we'll have those shadow-skulkers on their knees before us, all their crimes about to be paid for. What we're doing now is only a stopgap, but one that will give them a blank wall to raven against, a wall that will have you safely behind it. Then they can plot and plan to their hearts' content, and it won't do them any good."
"I have the feeling I'm missing something," I said slowly, finding it impossible to follow him. "But I also have the feeling I ought to tell you about the plan I came up with after getting your letter. I was going to wait to see if the same thought already occurred to you, but now I think it's better if I mention it first. After what just happened, I don't want you thinking you'll be taking advantage of me or putting me in danger I'm not fully prepared to deal with."
I broke off then to take another swallow of wine, finding it a lot harder talking about my plan than thinking of it had been. My father looked at me with raised brows, just as he always had when I'd been very young and trying to ask for something he would probably consider inappropriate, and that helped to make it worse. To the rest of the world I was a grown woman and a Blade, but I had the definite impression he still saw me as nothing more than his little girl.
"Father, now that Rymar is gone you have no heir," I plunged in, turning from him to look around at the wood and silk-draped walls of his study. There were weapons on those walls, weapons that the dukes of our family had used each in his own day, and sight of them, I discovered, was also doing more harm than good. "In times like these you need an heir who's skilled with weapons, one who won't be put out of the way as easily as Rymar was, one who will be of your blood and make you proud of that blood. With all my brothers gone or missing, there's only one person left who fits those qualifications. I'm asking you to name me your heir."
I just had to turn back to look at him then, but there was no change in the expression I'd turned away from, unless his brows had gone even higher. He almost seemed frozen in shock, and then he suddenly began chuckling, as though at a particularly good joke.
"Your sense of humor certainly hasn't changed, Sofaltis," he said, raising his cup to sip from it, even his eyes amused. "For a moment there I thought you were serious."
"Father, I am serious," I said, trying very hard not to show the abrupt and intense insult I was feeling. "How can you think I'm not?"
"Girl, no one with any sense could seriously propose something like that," he answered with a snort of lighter amusement, gesturing aside the entire concept. "My barons and counts would be up in arms so fast it would take our breath away, and who could blame them? No sane man would make a woman his heir, even if it weren't against the strictest traditions we've always lived by. Women's heads are too easily turned by pretty words and a handsome face, and the fool who named a woman his heir would soon have a common-born stranger in that place. And in this instance, it would only serve to plunge you even more deeply into danger. No, child, under no circumstances will I name you my heir."
"Father, that's unfair!" I protested, hearing the beginnings of anger no matter how hard I fought against it. "I've met enough men to know how I react to them, and I haven't seen one yet who's been able to 'turn my head.' And I'm more than willing to put on a demonstration of Blade skill to keep your counts and barons prudently quiet, the sort that will let them know I'm no stranger to war. As far as being plunged more deeply into danger goes, that's utter nonsense. They're already coining after me with what seems like everything they have, so what more could they do?"
"By my calculations, quite a bit," he answered, turning away to seat himself in a deep leather chair before bringing his eyes back to me. "The one named my heir will be targeted for assassination at all costs, and that one won't be you even if you pout and throw a tantrum the way you used to when you were small. Only a man can survive against something like that - and convince them to try their luck elsewhere rather than here - and that's who my heir will be. A man."
"Really," I said, so flatly furious that his eyes narrowed just a little. "A man. Rather than a helpless, empty-headed female. So which of my brothers have you located?"
"My agents have been able to find neither one of them," he said with a headshake, something of an edge to his voice in reaction to my less-than-docile attitude. "The key to my current problem is my eldest daughter Sofaltis, who will not dig her heels in and demand her own way. She will obey her father as she's duty-bound to do, and everything will continue according to the very careful planning her elders have made. Do you understand me, girl?"
"Father, I haven't understood a thing since we first began talking," I said, finding that the least incendiary answer I could think of. "If you don't believe I'm good enough to be your heir, why did you call m
e home?"
"If you weren't so set on having everything your own way, you'd scarcely need to ask," he returned, leaning back in complete comfort in his chair. "You're a good number of years beyond the time a girl of your station should properly be settled, but that's worked out for the best. As soon as he gets here, you'll be married to the man I've chosen as my heir."
Pleased anticipation shouldn't have the ability to drop a ceiling on your head, but that's what I felt my father's words had done to me. I stood and stared at him in silence for a moment before quickly draining the cup I held, and only then did it come to me that I had nothing to worry about.
"For a minute there you had me going, Father," I said, snorting my amusement the way he had done. "I'd almost forgotten I'm of age, so I thought you were serious. You can't complain about not having gotten back at me, because you have."
I shook my head as I turned to the wine pitcher, wondering if he'd been as shocked as I had felt. Hearing something like that out of the blue is enough to rattle anyone, but I felt a good deal better. Better, that is, until I turned back with my cup refilled to find him grinning faintly and shaking his head.
"I'm afraid you've spent too long a time in the north, my child," he said, sounding anything but afraid. "Here in the South only men come of age, a tradition which is also supported by King's Law. As my daughter you're bound to obey my wishes, and would be bound so even if you had just begun your true-tenth decade. Your betrothal to Lord Kylin of the House of Torain, son of Trame, Duke of Arthil, has already been registered at the King's court. Which means you'll be married to him as soon as possible after he arrives here and we've all met him. Now that you've been given formal notice of the arrangements, you may consider yourself bound by Law as well as tradition."
"Bound to marry someone even you haven't met," I said, so furious it was all I could do to keep my hand from my hilt. "Is that why you got me back here without telling me why you wanted me so badly? To trap me with the Law in case I wasn't loyal enough to the family to do things your way after simply being asked? Am I too … female for anyone to expect rational cooperation from me?"
"No, no, girl, it isn't that at all," he said, finally disturbed enough to put his cup aside and rise again. "Of course I was prepared to ask and expect your cooperation, it's just that your attitude made me feel this was the better approach. And it's best, of course, if you understand you have no choice in the matter - "
"Is that so?" I asked, stepping back from the arms he tried to put around me. "You think I have no choice in the matter? Well, it so happens that if you'd asked rather than told me, you would have been right. I would have had no choice but to agree, but you didn't ask so I have a very definite option. Call the King's Fighters and have me arrested."
This time I was the one who turned away to a chair to sit, and when I looked back at him he was simply standing and staring at me. He wore a very faint frown, as though he were trying to figure out a puzzle, and finally he shook his head.
"I don't understand," he protested, his tone showing he was definitely not used to not understanding. "What could King's Fighters possibly have to do with any of this?"
"They're the ones who enforce the King's Law, aren't they?" I asked in turn, sipping at my wine while being very, very reasonable. "Since I'm about to break one of the King's Laws, you'll need them to arrest me. I don't care how many times that betrothal was registered, I'm not marrying anyone. Stuff that in your traditions and broil it."
My father had been a duke for many years, running everyone and everything to suit what he considered right, but he hadn't gone entirely without various kinds of opposition. He had experience dealing with that opposition in all ways including diplomacy, and that, despite the anger smoldering in his eyes, is what he tried on me next.
"Sofaltis, a refusal like that would do nothing more than bring ridicule down on our family name," he said, working hard to "out-reason" me. "Your agreement to the marriage isn't required, you know. The contracts already have my signature, which leaves nothing but the formality of the ceremony to complete the legalities. Why make a fuss when you really have no choice but to accede to my wishes?"
"Ah, yes, the formality of the ceremony," I drawled, smiling at him over the rim of my cup. "The meaningless formality during which a priest of Evon asks if the bride is truly willing. Since I'm not willing and would not hesitate to say so, I wonder what would become of that unimportant little formality? Would a priest of Evon try pretending he hadn't heard my refusal? Especially with my point to his throat?"
I think it wasn't until right that moment that my father actually understood what sort of female he was dealing with. He seemed to be very used to the sort who trembled and wept and tried desperately to refuse, but ended up obeying anyway. I had never understood that sort of woman, no matter how hard I'd tried. As long as you were willing to accept the consequences of refusal, how could anyone force you away from your chosen stand? With pain? With the threat of death? If forced capitulation isn't the worst of pain, if death isn't preferable to living life to the tune of someone else's flute, then why bother protesting in the first place?
"So that's it," my father said softly, nodding his head as he looked down at me. "I couldn't see it at first, but now I do. You're using not having been 'asked' as an excuse. You wouldn't have agreed to a marriage no matter how it was presented to you, no matter how it made the family look. You're not interested in responsibilities, only in rights, and now that you're a Blade you think you can overlook duty entirely. I'm very glad you weren't a son rather than a daughter, Sofaltis. My sons may not have earned Blade status, but I never had difficulty being proud of them."
"Father, you're wrong!" I protested as he turned his back and simply stood there drinking his wine, undoubtedly aware of just how upset he'd made me. "I know the meaning of duty as well as anyone! You're trying to force me into doing things your way, into agreeing to something you have no right - "
"No right?" he interrupted, turning back quickly to look at me with the intensity of anger. "I do beg your pardon, my lady, but those who are lowborn may not have the right. Those who are nobly born have not only the right but also the responsibility. The people of my lands may be unimportant to others, but to me they're very precious and must have the best I'm able to give them. My family and I are bowed to and enabled to live well so that we, in turn, will watch over our people and allow no harm to come to them. Now my people are about to come to harm through my having no competent heir for my place, and you tell me I have no right? Say rather that I have no choice, and would not betray honor even if another choice was possible. I do as I must, child, and so shall you."
"Then what I must do is be sacrificed to your honor?" I demanded, putting my cup aside so that I might stand and face him. "How I feel about marriage isn't the point here. What is the point is that I'm expected to give up every say in my own life, just so that you and your people can all go your merry way. What makes it my duty to do that, the accident of my birth? What makes me less important than you and your precious people? The fact that I'm not a male heir and therefore expendable? It's your honor and your problem, so go ahead and solve it yourself. If you want that duke's son so badly, go ahead and adopt him and then name him heir. That way you can leave me the hell out of it."
I began to turn away, wanting nothing more than to go back to my apartment, but suddenly my father's hand was on my shoulder, holding me where I was.
"Sofaltis, the Law won't allow that," he said quietly, a trace of compassion in his voice. "As long as I have a daughter of marriageable age, that daughter must be married to whomever I choose as my heir. In that way my own blood can't be disinherited, our family line forced to die out. The Law was meant for your benefit, girl, not to trap you into an unwanted match. Despite what I said, I know you won't refuse to do your duty. I told Traixe your loyalty to our family has never been in question, and you, yourself, will prove me right. And now I think we've been closeted together long enough. We've a fe
asting and guests awaiting us."
Rather than answering I simply pulled away from his hand, strode to the door and threw it open, then headed back in the direction of my apartment. I was so upset I barely noticed the six Fighters who scrambled after me, or the servants who were trying to clean the blood out of the carpeting in the hall where the attack had taken place. All I wanted was solitude, and when I finally reached my bedchamber I slammed and bolted the door, took off my swordbelt, then threw myself face down across my bed.
"Damn him!" I whispered fiercely, my fists pulling at the red silken cover I crushed under me. "Evon take him and broil him to a turn!"
I was so miserably angry I would have torn the silk if I could have, into small, tiny, insignificant pieces. Not the same sort of insignificant as I was, however, because according to my father I was very important as far as insignificant goes. I had a duty to perform, and family obligations to complete, and all that was being asked of me in return was to give up everything I was. I turned onto my back and stared up at the canopy above my head, its dark gold color even darker in the dimness of lamplight. I'd pretended to myself that my father would welcome the idea of naming me his heir, but even when I'd considered the possibility of his refusal I hadn't pictured him laughing. And what he'd done to me after that, using his ability in ruling people to twist me into agreeing with what he wanted! He'd taken advantage of his own daughter for the sake of people who were almost all strangers to him, people he claimed he had a responsibility toward. Would a peasant father have traded away a daughter just that easily, or was concern like that reserved only for the nobility? My father loved his people more than he did me, and I was supposed to rejoice and join him in his sacrifice?
I put an arm over my eyes to block out vision of the world, but inner pictures refused to stop forming. I probably would have agreed to the marriage if I'd been asked, but I hadn't been asked, no more than any other female was asked. Did anyone care that I didn't want to be married? That the very thought of being trapped like that for the rest of my life made me more afraid than I'd been just before my first battle? My mother had been glowingly happy in her marriage, but only because being married had brought her more freedom than she'd had in her father's house. What marriage would bring to me was the exact opposite, a slavery most fathers seemed endlessly eager to consign their daughters to.