“The king will wish to decide; I’m supposed to find several possibilities. I was thinking of you.”
“No,” Serrostin said without hesitation. “I am not stepping in that wasp nest between Beclan and Lady Mahieran. I would not be able to keep my temper.”
“He should go for knight’s training soon,” Dorrin said. “He would rather the Bells, and the king has said he’ll think about it. There’s always Falk’s Hall. I have already spoken to the Knight-Commander.”
“In Lyonya, that would be,” Serrostin said. “If he’s with the Bells, he’ll be expected to visit his home.”
Lady Serrostin shifted in her seat. “Parlan, if he’s not with his mother—”
“Is she still so …” Dorrin let that trail off; she had no polite words to describe Lady Mahieran, now confined to the Mahieran country house.
“According to Sonder, she’s a very angry, bitter, and confused woman,” Serrostin said. “He thinks she will never recover. The younger children are still living here in Vérella, in the Mahieran house. Sonder says he’s afraid to let them be around his wife unless he is there.”
Dorrin left shortly after, and spent the afternoon in the same kind of tedious business as the morning. She was glad when it was time to go to the Marrakai house for dinner. The Duke had indeed arrived and explained to Dorrin about his errand.
“Aris and Camwyn were close friends, as Juris and the king are. He was first into the scene and did his best to treat Camwyn’s wounds. Camwyn’s injuries and then his absence have been hard for him. He’s continued to do his duty as a senior page, but he’s struggled. Juris suggested it was time to let Aris raise and train his own horse. I agreed. So I brought up a mare near foaling, and she’s in the royal stables now. We Marrakai are all horse-mad. If anything can help Aris over this, it’s a horse. But come into my study. What’s this about Gwenno leaving your service?”
Dorrin explained again. Marrakai nodded.
“I understand. Yes, of course you can cancel the contract. And if you’re sure she’s ready for the Bells, I’ll talk to the right people—though she would be the only girl at present.”
“What about the Company of Gird in Fin Panir? Aris was there, wasn’t he?”
“In the junior school, yes. But I’m not sending any of my family to Fintha. Too dangerous. I don’t suppose you’ve seen any mage-hunters over where you are.”
“No, none. But surely not in Fin Panir itself. The Marshal-General spoke out against it, didn’t she?”
“She did. She’s been physically attacked—seriously wounded is what I heard—in Fin Panir itself. Riots in the city. Children taken, tested for magery, and the ones that the mage-hunters believed are mages killed.” He shook his head. “No, no daughter of mine is going to Fintha. It’s the Bells or nothing. She won’t like it if they refuse, but I can send her down to the country, where she can ride horses and play at being a soldier without causing talk.”
Dorrin opened her mouth to say that Gwenno was far beyond “playing” at being a soldier, but … it was not her concern anymore. This was between Gwenno and her parents.
At dinner, Gwenno appeared in a dark green gown with her hair up: a proper daughter of the house. She did not look happy, but neither was she openly rebellious, as the Gwenno of two years before would have been. With none of the younger children there—all were at the country house for the season—the meal was quieter than the one Dorrin remembered so well, the day Gwenno had become her squire.
After dinner came the ceremony: the salt, the tearing of the original contract, the token gifts back and forth. “I have one gift I did not expect to give you at this time,” Marrakai said. “But you say you are going a long journey. I have seen your horses, of course. Good horses, well-trained, useful mounts for an officer. But not Marrakai-bred. Next to the Windsteed’s foals, I would place Marrakai horses best. Will you accept one? Not just for the care you have given my daughter while she was your squire but as a friend?”
“I may have to journey by sea,” Dorrin said. “I cannot risk a Marrakai-bred on such a journey. But I thank you for the offer.”
“Ah. I understand. If by chance you should travel by way of Lyonya, you might do me a favor, then. Kieri Phelan favors Marrakai-breds, as you know. He has with him two stallions, but he has bought a mare. I brought her along with the one in foal and was going to ask Juris to take her to the border at Harway. But if you are going that way, you could deliver her for me.”
“That I could do, and gladly,” Dorrin said.
“When are you leaving, do you know?”
“Tomorrow I have another meeting with the king, so at the earliest, day after tomorrow. Perhaps even a day or so longer.”
“Good. Send me word tomorrow if I do not see you.”
That night, Dorrin’s ride back to her house was uneventful. The next day’s conference with the king completed all the official business of transferring her title to Beclan and freeing her from her ducal oath to King Mikeli. On the matter of guardianship, the king surprised her with his decision: he would give Beclan the choice of returning to his own family name while remaining Dorrin’s heir or staying a Verrakai, and in either case he would appoint Beclan’s father, Duke Mahieran, and two other dukes as guardians of the estate until Beclan reached majority. They could not refuse him, he said with a smile.
When she left the palace at last, nothing now held her to Vérella—or Tsaia—but a lifetime of memories and the people she’d known.
She and her escort set out for the Verrakai estate the next morning. Nostalgia sat heavy on her shoulders, reminding her at every turn that she might never see the city again … the familiar inns on the road south … the houses, the fields. The young Marrakai-bred mare she rode, a handsome chestnut, and the regalia’s palpable joy at being with her and on the way were all that kept her from an even darker mood. The mare was everything claimed about Marrakai-bred horses but inclined to spook at surprises for the first day or so.
Once back on her own land, the new-made road reminded Dorrin how much more she had planned to do. Even if Beclan chose to complete the work, she might never see it. Those fields and orchards would be his accomplishment, not hers. But it was a road where no road had been for generations. A road with the signs of travel on it—footprints, hoofprints, even cart tracks.
By the time she arrived back at the house, she was resigned to leaving and ready to explain to her people—including her remaining squires—what she could of what the king had said and what would happen next. She gathered the household in the front hall, the only room big enough for all of them.
“Grekkan will remain as steward here, and Master Feddrin will continue to supervise the children. The rest of you will retain your present positions. All the plans I had made, the works begun for roads, quarries, and so on, will continue.” She paused; no one said anything, though Farin had gone red in the face, which meant she was about to explode into speech. Dorrin went on quickly. “The king felt it best, since the duration of the task he gave me is uncertain, to assume that my heir succeeds to the estate. I brought with me copies of the papers that complete this transaction.”
“But—” Beclan had gone as white as salt. “I’m not ready—” He stopped as she held up her hand.
“As my heir is indeed underage to manage all affairs, the king appointed guardians to oversee its management. When Kirgan Verrakai is of age and has become a knight, he will then be invested with a title and the guardianship will end. In the meantime, as I said, the situation will remain as it is, including the plans for improvements and the settling of incomers.” She took a deep breath. “I will speak to many of you individually. At this time, however, I will speak to my kirgan and to Daryan Serrostin in my office. Grekkan, please hold yourself in readiness. The rest of you should return to your duties.”
In her office, she handed Daryan a letter from his father. “He’s seeking another squire position for you, Daryan,” she said.
Daryan held the unope
ned letter and said, “I could go with you—I could be a help.”
“I cannot take you, Daryan. Nor would your father consent even if it were possible. Your father will send an escort for you in a few days, he told me. Go read your letter.”
Daryan left the office. Beclan, still pale, said nothing. “Your situation is more complicated, Beclan. Two of the people approached as possible guardians suggested that Duke Mahieran should be named instead.”
“They must know I’m not supposed to meet my father,” Beclan said, shifting in his chair.
“They do. Not everyone was in favor of how your situation was handled, and after magery began to appear in others, including the king’s brother, more took the position that you were being treated unfairly. The king … made two suggestions.”
“You said he had decided—”
“He decided to make two suggestions. The most important, for you, is that you may choose to be restored to your family—and your name—”
“No!” Beclan jerked upright. “No, I will not!”
Dorrin stared. She had not expected this reaction whether he took that choice or not. “Why?” she said, folding her hands on her desk.
Beclan did not relax; he stood rigid, breathing hard. “They—he—threw me away. You saved me—you made my father bring you there the night they attacked; you saved my life. And then you accepted me as your kirgan and gave me your name. I could tell you didn’t want to, but you did. You didn’t hold it against me that the king forced you. You made it as easy for me as you could, and … I am not a Mahieran. I am a Verrakai. I am proud to be a Verrakai and your heir. You brought honor to this name, and I swear I will bring honor to this name.”
“Beclan—” She paused. What could she say, in the face of such vehemence, that would make a difference? What would calm him and help him come to rational thought? “Sit down, Beclan,” she said. “You’re shouting.”
“I am determined.” Beclan sat down. “I’m sorry I shouted. But I am determined. Unless you tell me differently, that you don’t want me as your heir now—or the king commands that I must not be—”
“You are my heir,” Dorrin said, “as long as you want to be; the king did not command you to give it up. But I could wish you were less angry with your family. And the king.”
His color had returned, and he no longer looked ready to leap on someone. “It is not so much—now—that they did what they did back then. I understood it then; the good of the realm comes first, and that seemed best, to prevent unrest. But to make that offer now—it’s an insult. An insult to you, and an insult to me.”
“It wasn’t intended as one,” Dorrin said. “Let me tell you of the other suggestion. All the dukes would be guardians to ensure that no one of them could take advantage of you in your minority and also because they are all busy and one—Arcolin—is also out of Tsaia and does not know about any of this yet. When you come of age and inherit the title, you must be at court, of course. The king agrees that you should no longer be isolated from the family of your birth, or from Vérella. There is still a question about admittance to the Bells, because the new commander is a very conservative Girdsman, somewhat at odds with the notion that mage talent does not necessarily mean a breach of the Code.”
Beclan scowled at that. “When is the Marshal-General going to change the Code?”
“She’s trying, but the Marshalate does not entirely agree with her. Unrest in Fintha has spread. So there’s some opposition to your being in the training hall. The king is unwilling to allow you to go to Fin Panir because of the unrest there, with mage-hunters seeking out mages and killing them. That leaves Falk’s Hall, but I know you would rather train with Girdsmen.”
“I’m not sure,” Beclan said. “I didn’t know they could be like that … killing children just for making light. If that’s their idea of Gird—” His voice rose again.
“Not all of them,” Dorrin said. “The king’s protecting them as best he can. Some Marshals agree with him … so do others. Even in Fintha. You’ve been Girdish all your life, and your family has been for generations—that’s not something to give up easily.”
“I gave up my name,” Beclan said, but without heat.
“And perhaps you gave up enough and need not give up more,” Dorrin said. “You said Gird helped you fight off those brigands—and I believe that he may well have, even if that meant giving you mage-powers.”
“So you think I should wait until the Bells will accept a mage?”
“I think you should discuss it with your guardians,” Dorrin said. “They need to know what you want and why you want it. They’re all men you have known from childhood.”
Beclan nodded. “I wish you weren’t leaving.”
“So do I. But I trust that you will be a good duke, a good lord for this domain, when you come of age. I will talk with you again before I leave, but now I need to talk to Grekkan, your steward.”
Beclan stood and bowed. “Yes, my lord. I cannot yet think of Grekkan as my steward.”
“You will,” she said.
When he had left, Dorrin called Grekkan in and explained how the guardianship would work. “Duke Serrostin and the other guardians will come soon. Though I left them a general account of the estate, they must see for themselves. You should have a detailed account ready for them, a copy they can take back. You will contact the same man of business and banker, sending accounts there you have been accustomed to giving me directly. You can also contact the guardians—any one of them. I expect they will give Beclan some limited power to make decisions here, and I expect he will seek your guidance.”
“Yes, my lord.” Grekkan’s expression was sober but not distressed. “When are you leaving?”
“In a few days. I will go east first, but though many may guess at that direction, no word should come from here.”
“Of course not, my lord.”
After Grekkan left, Dorrin went to the kitchen. As she expected, Farin and Natzlin were both there. Farin pounded a mound of dough as if it were an enemy; Natzlin perched on a stool and looked miserable.
“So you’re deserting us,” Farin said, shoving her fists deep into the dough. Before Dorrin could answer, she went on. “And I know you’ll say it’s the king’s command, m’lord, but it’s a stupid command. Best lord this place ever had and he’s sending you away, and for what? To spy on some foreigner who might invade someday?”
That was an explanation Dorrin had not thought of. “It’s not for me to discuss the king’s command,” she said.
“No, of course not.” This time Farin smacked the dough with the flat of her hand. “You just obey it.” She leaned on the table, a hand on either side of the dough. “I never thought I’d have a master of this house I could respect, and then you came, and now … am I to respect that pup Beclan?” Natzlin stirred, and Farin rounded on her. “He’s a puppy, I say. Respect due to his breeding? Well, his breeding made him a mage, didn’t it?”
“You will respect him,” Dorrin said, “because although he is young, and although he has made mistakes, he has learned from them and he is, as you know well, my heir, who I tell you now will be a man who deserves that respect.”
“And you’re sure of that.” Farin’s tone was less angry but still challenging.
“I’m sure of that.”
“Well.” Farin rolled the dough around until it made a compact ball and covered it with a cloth. “Well, then. I suppose I must give the lad a chance to prove you right.”
“Yes,” Dorrin said. “You must.”
“But I don’t have to like your going away. Neither me nor Natzlin likes it.”
“I understand,” Dorrin said, glancing at Natzlin, whose eyes glittered with unshed tears. “But you two are pillars of this household. Food and safety. None more important. I trust you both to keep the household fed and safe and to teach others to do the same.”
Natzlin’s tears spilled over. “I—I gave my oath to you, m’lord.”
“And I gave mine t
o the king, and he returned it to me. And the same with King Kieri, and it always hurts to have an oath returned. But you will manage, Natzlin, and so will you, Farin. Support each other. Commit yourselves to Beclan and this household.”
Both of them nodded.
“And now,” Dorrin said, “I’m more than a little hungry after all this emotion.”
Farin chuckled. “Thought you might be.” She went over to the warming oven and pulled out a platter. “Now, if your oath to the king is gone, does that mean you’re not a duke?”
“Farin!” Natzlin stared at her.
“I suppose it does,” Dorrin said.
“Then you can eat here in the kitchen if you’d like.”
Dorrin sat down and grinned at Farin. “I’m merely a humble traveler passing through …”
Farin snorted. “Here you are, then.”
Next day, Dorrin took Beclan with her to the nearest vills when she said goodbye to them. That was hard, but the hardest of all the farewells were those to the children she had orphaned, children who now called her “Auntie Dorrin” and were growing up without the fears that had controlled their lives before she came. They clung to her, and most of them cried. She blinked back her tears and hoped what she said to them—that they were safe, that they would be cared for and loved, that Beclan would be to them as an older brother, a protector—would eventually be a comfort.
It was easy to think of reasons to stay one more day … and then another. So many things she needed to tell Beclan, Grekkan, the house staff, the children. So many vills she could visit, so many people and places and projects. She knew she must not linger. On the third day, she set the day for departure and considered what she needed to take with her.
Not her court dress, not her ducal insignia, not her Verrakai-blue doublets or tabard. Her working clothes as a mercenary would be best. Plain shirts, plain trousers, leather doublet, a brown wool cloak. Mail? Yes, the same she had worn in the Duke’s Company, for she might be attacked on the way. Her sword, her dagger, her kit for repairing clothing, her own eating utensils, her sharpening stone and oil, her firestarter—she laughed at that but kept it anyway. She might be places where lighting a fire with her finger would be unwise. She hesitated over her ducal ring. At Kieri’s court, where she was known as Duke Verrakai, it would be noticed if she did not wear it. She did not want to explain to his Siers that she was no longer a duke. Kieri could send it back for Beclan.
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