by Carol Berg
The three from the kitchen appeared, carrying trays loaded with toast, jam, oranges, and tea. “What’s this about Evard’s wrath?” asked Martin.
“I’ve found a way Seri can refuse him and choose”—he glanced up at me—“a life she might prefer.”
“Tell me, Tennice,” I said.
“There’s a codicil buried in the Westover Codex about petitions put before the new king on Coronation Day—the Favored Ten. To violate the Westover Codex is to violate the very basis of his own power. Evard won’t do it. Can’t do it. The Council wouldn’t stand for it, and he needs them to support his war. And if he accepts the Westover Codex, then he must grant the first ten petitions on the day of his coronation. If you’re willing, Seri, you can petition him to marry whomever you will.”
When Tomas escorted me from Windham that morning, I told him that I wished to be presented to Evard as soon as he was crowned.
“He’ll send for both of us soon enough,” said my brother.
“But I should be the first to acknowledge his authority, should I not?” Now I knew of the Codex codicil, there was no stopping. I would not let myself consider what the future might bring; all would depend on Evard’s reaction. But, whatever the consequences, I could live with them. Evard, I could not.
Evard, Duke of Doncastre, was crowned King of Leire and Protector of Valleor that afternoon in the presence of the Leiran Council of Lords, every Leiran noble of importance, the high priests of Annadis and Jerrat, and every resident of Montevial who could bribe, wheedle, or sneak his way into the palace precincts. One sullen group of guests dressed in sober finery were noble hostages from Valleor and Kerotea, kept under house arrest in Leire and now forced to witness the succession of their conquerors.
Sharp angles of purple and green light from the stained-glass windows streaked the gray stone floor of the Great Hall of Leire. The carved capitals of the soaring columns were lost in the dim and smoky heights, as were the frescoed ceilings. I stood among the most favored guests to the right of the throne, trying to avoid having my eye put out by the women’s stiff headdresses, my skirts snagged by the men’s jeweled sword hilts, or my breath choked off by the cloying perfumes. But I squeezed and smiled and elbowed my way to the front where I could see.
The ceremony began with a priest’s long-winded recounting of the War of the Beginnings, and most especially of the part where Arot had retired to his mythic palace of Cadore with his wife Mana. While his twin sons guarded the world against the fiends of air and sea, those of us on earth were commanded to defend our own lands and welfare by serving strong, faithful warrior kings. By the time the chancellor was halfway through a recounting of our new king’s life, Martin had dozed off. Evard was only twenty-five. This part shouldn’t take so long.
For my part, I was neither sleepy nor anxious. In truth I was more concerned with Tomas than Evard, for what I was about to do would be a grievous offense to my brother. We had been our parents’ only children, close in age and interests, and forced into constant companionship by the remote situation of Comigor, our father’s keep. I loved Tomas dearly, honored him as a warrior and a swordsman, and respected his authority as the head of our family. But he had never once asked me of my wishes, hearing my objections no more than he would hear a complaint from his horse that the flies were becoming a nuisance. To do so had never occurred to him, though I had been frank about my declining opinions of his friend. But Martin had taught me that my opinions were worthy of consideration.
When the chancellor’s droning ended, the Council of Lords came forward one by one to swear fealty to Evard. Martin winked at me as he took his place in the queue. I nodded, unable, even in my own anxiety, to forget the pain which had led to his moment of desperation the previous night. If Annadis and Jerrat truly favored Leire as our priests assured us, then somehow Martin would have a say in our kingdom’s future.
After the twelve nobles had kissed the new king’s hand and sworn their oaths, Evard named Tomas Champion of Leire, the most coveted honor in the realm. The Champion answered any personal challenge made to the king. It was perhaps the only royal office awarded on merit alone. My heart swelled with pride. How I wished my father had lived to see him so honored.
Tomas, dressed in white and gold, quite looked the part. He was as tall and commanding a presence as our father had been, who had been considered the epitome of the gallant soldier. My brother’s hair was the same deep red-brown color as my own, shining and thick as it framed his handsome features: straight nose, dark brown eyes, and a battle scar on his jaw just large enough to make court ladies sigh at his bravery. Maybe there was a little too much of the indulged boy-child in his curling lip, but he was intelligent. He would grow into his power and see Evard’s flaws. Perhaps his influence with the new king would help moderate those flaws.
When Tomas took his place beside Evard, he leaned over and whispered in his friend and liege’s ear. Evard smiled indulgently. He sprawled on the gilded throne as if it had been his from the moment of his birth instead of for a mere quarter of an hour. He waved his hand to get the attention of the assembly, then nodded in my direction. “This fair young lady has asked for public audience upon this occasion, and it is our delight to hear her.”
Now to me. There would be no turning back. I could be queen if I wanted. I could submit to the authority of my brother and the desires of his friend, and no one would ever take me to task for it. It was the singular expectation of a woman of privilege—to marry according to her family’s wishes rather than her own. I would not be held responsible for Evard’s character except in my own mind. After a few years I could most likely take a lover. Evard wasn’t single-minded in that regard even now, and I knew how things worked in royal circles. But that was not the life I wanted. Martin had opened up the world to me, and I was not willing to abandon his gift.
So I stepped forward and curtsied, pulled a manuscript from my sleeve, and proclaimed to the assembly that I was making petition of His Most Gracious Majesty King Evard upon his Coronation Day, according to the provision of the Westover Codex known as the Grant of the Favored Ten. Because my parents who would guard the welfare of their only daughter were dead, and because my brother, whom I honored, was almost of an age with me, I petitioned that I be freed from the traditional duties of a subordinate female and be allowed to choose my life’s partner for myself.
Evard had to grant my petition. No one at court could fail to know that I had been intended for him and that my petition was a product of my disdain. But for that very reason, he had to be magnanimous. Better to be thought spurned by a proud and willful female than to let anyone know he cared. Many a man in the same position would bully the woman he desired into marriage, but I knew how Evard’s mind worked. He would get his revenge some subtler way.
With strained good humor, the king proclaimed, “It is difficult for us to imagine a determined young lady such as yourself ever entering into an arrangement counter to your desires. The unlucky gentleman would rue the day, we have no doubt.” The assembly laughed uneasily. “As an impartial observer and your longtime friend and well-wisher,” he continued, “we would caution you to heed the advice of your brother, who is perhaps wiser in the ways of the world than a sheltered young lady such as yourself. Whims such as this one can have consequences beyond a moment’s gratification. But we can see no reason to deny your petition. Let it be so written.”
With a flick of his hand I was dismissed. It was a good thing I had no designs on any courtier. Evard had surely dampened my prospects with his remarks. I had a gracious response prepared, but someone else was already making his obeisance, speaking of dispatching messengers to the Leiran troops to pass on the joyous news of King Evard’s ascension to the throne. The line of petitioners, grovelers, and well-wishers stretched all the way through the hall and into the outer ward.
My eyes cast down, I curtsied deeply and backed away into the murmuring crowd. I felt like flying to the ceiling with the pigeons, like leaping a
top the long, curved Council tables and crowing like the gold and russet hawks who soared above the roofs at Comigor. I dared not look at Martin or Tennice, lest I burst out laughing or fling myself into their arms and bless them for their gifts. After a suitable time of humble attention to the proceedings—of which I heard not a single word—I worked my way to the back of the crowd and slipped out one of the many side doors to the hall. People were jammed up to every door, willing to suffer crushed toes and bruised elbows to provide themselves with a glimpse of history to carry though their lives— or at least through the next dinner party. I had scarcely made my way through the door when I felt a firm hand on my elbow. “Darzid!”
“Your brother requires your presence, my lady.” To my surprise, the dark, deep-set eyes of Tomas’s aide glittered with amusement. Did Tomas know his aide took so light a view of my rebellion?
“I’d have thought Tomas would be too busy with his new duties to have time for family visits.”
“Oh, no. He’s asked me especially to bring you to him. Need I say that he has a most ah… pressing… desire to have a word with you? Would this be a good time for us to run away together, do you think? You will reap his wrath for an hour, but I have to fight beside the man!”
Despite his smiles and mischievous humor, Darzid’s gentlemanly touch brought me back to earth. My visions fled. My wings felt ripped away, my hawk’s feathers plucked. I jerked loose from him and smoothed my gown, disheveled by the press of the crowd. “If Tomas thinks to change my mind, he’s mistaken.”
“I make no estimates of his expectations, my lady. I’ll confess that after this day’s events, I would not set myself up to predict any action of yours. You’re even more interesting than the young woman I’ve come to admire so deeply over the past years.” He swept his hand indicating a path down a broad corridor to the left, and then offered me his arm.
Somehow, I could not bear the thought of touching him again, and so I shoved past him. “Remember your place, Captain.”
Darzid bowed and led me to a small, luxuriously furnished sitting room. “I’d recommend you remain here until the duke is able to attend to you.” His expression did not register my rudeness. His smile did not change, nor the amused glint in his eyes. He bowed again and closed the door behind him.
I was left to occupy myself with an ivory and jade chessboard. Fingering the exquisite pieces, lost in thoughts of Windham and those who played there, I wondered what I might have to do to keep my friends out of harm’s way. If naught else, Darzid had wakened caution. No attention must be directed anywhere near Karon.
An hour later, Tomas burst through the gilded door. “There you are.” His face convulsed with fury. “What damnable perversity has made you do this to me?”
I was prepared to hold my tongue, to do whatever I could to mend the rift I’d caused or at least do nothing to make it unmendable. Tomas and I had no family but each other, no aunts or uncles, no one any closer than distant cousins like Martin. But my brother was not to be placated.
“Have I not let you have your way all these years? Have I been extraordinarily cruel or brutal, that you should humiliate me so despicably? Our father must be crying out from the grave at the disgrace you’ve brought on our house this day.” He strode to the center of the room, spun on his heel, and glared at me. “It’s Martin, isn’t it? He’s put you up to it. The Westover Codex… faugh! The self-righteous prig, thinking he’s got the only mote of intelligence in the universe. This is how he takes his pitiful revenge, befouling all of us because the better man won. He’s not strong enough or brave enough to face Evard on his own, so he manipulates a fool of a girl to do his dirty work for him.”
I thought he would never leave off.
“You meant to do it this way. The culminating day of my life—everything I’ve worked for, fought for, bled for— and what have you done? Turned it into a hill of dung!”
“Tomas! Listen to yourself,” I broke in at last. “All I hear is how you are humiliated, how you will have to wallow in dishonor, how your triumph has been turned to dung. Did you ever consider me for even a moment? Did you ever think what it is to be deemed of no more value than a plot of land or a chest of gold to be paid out because your brother is loyal? You would pledge your sister to a man she despises. For what?”
“For everything. I would have made you queen, you little fool! We would have been the most powerful family in the Four Realms.”
Blast all stupidity, I thought, as Tomas trembled with rage. It was not just for loyalty and friendship. I’d not given Tomas enough credit. It had never crossed my mind that his ambitions stretched beyond Evard.
I tried to soothe him. “You’ll have all the power you wish, Tomas. You’ve been Evard’s most devoted friend; you’ve fought beside him since you were boys. You are the Champion of Leire, and not just because you’re his friend. You’re the finest swordsman in the Four Realms and none in any realm will dispute it. But I don’t want to be queen, Tomas, not if it means being Evard’s chattel or even yours.”
Tomas threw up his hands. “You prefer Martin’s endless Long Night follies and juggling shows. Are you his whore, too?”
So much for unmendable rifts. I slapped him, leaving a darker red mark on his red face. “Your tongue is as foul as your choice of friends, Tomas, and just as unimaginative. The only foolish thing I’ve done this day is think that somehow, given time, you might understand.”
My brother answered with cold hatred that was far more terrible than his anger. “I will never understand, Sen.” He opened the door and flung his last words over his shoulder. “Don’t bother returning to Comigor. I’ll have your things sent to the townhouse and set up a means to keep you respectably. I trust you’ll return to some semblance of decorum after this despicable performance.” He slammed the door, leaving me alone in the gilded room.
The anger I had expected. Tomas had been indulged from his first breath, deprived of nothing save the remotest inkling that there were others in the universe besides himself. But the unyielding hatred—that I had not expected. I would have to tread carefully. In one day I had made enemies of the two most powerful men in the land.
Well, I had made my choice and I had no intention of regretting it, though I could see now the painful consequences that must follow. An ornate little desk in the corner of the anteroom housed paper, pens, and ink, so the first thing I did was to write a message to the housekeeper at our townhouse, saying the house must be opened that night, rather than later in the fall as had been the family custom. And then I wrote a letter to Martin.
My dear cousin,
As you have seen, it is done. My fate, at least in the realm of marriage, is in my own hands, and I do not regret my choice. But as with all choices of any significance, especially those which tread on the pride of kings and brothers, certain consequences must temper any celebration of success in my endeavor.
I cannot express too deeply my gratitude for the education and friendship you have given me in the past four years. My view of the world has been irrevocably changed by the enlightened company at Windham, but for now my participation in those pleasant activities must end. Though not my desire, this too, is my own choice.
My brother and I have agreed that I will take up residence here in the city. I am well provided for.
You must tell my friends that they will ever be in my thoughts, and for any who go traveling, may the road be filled with nothing but beauty.
Highest regards,
Your cousin,
Seri
It was not enough, but what could possibly be enough to tell them what I wished? They would read between the lines.
Year 1 in the reign of King Evard
I plunged immediately into the social life of the court, renewing girlhood friendships I had abandoned when I had begun attending Martin’s salons. I found it ironic that I was supposed to find the “decorum” Tomas so prized in the drunken revelry of idle nobles who could converse on no topic more serious than who w
as whose mistress, and what were the prospects for the fall campaign, and weren’t last year’s vintages the most bloody awful in history.
But between afternoon feasts, hunting parties, and evening entertainments, I read and studied furiously. Until the years at Windham I had never been studious, preferring a ride across the downs to reading a book or a game of draughts to composing an essay. Even at Windham, my scholarship had been mostly confined to avid listening, unschooled argument, and persistent questioning. Only Tennice’s challenge had sent me to reading. But now that I was deprived of that company, I discovered a hunger for knowledge that I could ease nowhere but in books. In the back of my mind I held fast to something Tennice had mentioned in passing, that one or two women had been allowed to study at the Royal University in Valleor. To make something different of my life… I liked that idea. Things more unlikely had come about.
I also hired an elderly gentleman to teach me to play the flute. He was a drunkard, but in the rare times he came without spirits on his breath, he could sear the soul with the beauty of his music. He said he drank because no one would listen. I listened, and I learned.
One morning, as I sat in my library studying a history of the Four Realms, Darzid came to visit. “Just to discover how this new life suits you,” he said. “No need to stop what you’re doing.”
He settled in a chair by the window and seemed to mean what he said. He browsed through the stack of books I had left beside the chair: one on law, one on philosophy, one on the history of Valleor that I was devouring with new eyes, hunting any mention of Avonar. The task of opening a conversation was left to me. The trouble was, I was far more interested in what I was reading. The tattered book in my hand purported to recount the history of “the reign of horror and the noble restoration” some four and a half centuries in the past. I purposely did not offer Darzid any refreshment and did not move from my library table to a chair that might facilitate our conversation.