Ashen was of a similar mind to him, and fretted when she was kept too long indoors. And so they were drawn together even more than might have been their usual wont, because of the discovery of her high birth and the enormous changes it would be bound to bring to her life. And sometimes they talked about it.
On this day, Lady Marcala had come to Rendelsham from Crag-den Keep, visiting the Dowager Ysa. Marcala never entered Har-ous's town house, but nevertheless
Ashen took the opportunity to hide in Obern's quarters while she was in the city.
"I never desired any of this," she told him as they sat close to a fire, sharing a hot drink that Harous's chef had created out of the juice of pressed apples and an assortment of sweet spices. "And if I could, I would let it pass me by.
My guardian and Protector, Zazar, predicted that I would have a different road to walk, but I never dreamed it would be so complicated."
"You do look far different from the first time I saw you." Obern smiled. "Though those hide breeches—"
"Lupper skin."
"Yes, lupper-skin breeches—they looked much more practical for the life you were leading then."
"You are somewhat changed, yourself."
He glanced down at the clothing he was wearing—doublet and tunic and a warm cloak over all, with no cross-gaitered hose or fur vest heavy enough to stop a dagger. He straightened the velvet cap on his head. "They took away my old garb.
Said it made me stand out as an Outlander."
Ashen laughed at that. "You are an Outlander! All who are not of the Bale-Bog are Outlanders, for that matter." She grew sober. "Even I am an Outlander, now.
I am not of this world, either. I feel that I have no place."
"You will always have a place, at my side."
She glanced up at him. Her silky eyebrows rose. "What does that mean?"
"I shouldn't have said that." Obern stared at the fire, and then shrugged. In for an egg, in for the clutch. Did he love her, or merely desire her? He thought of her entirely too much and now this day seemed as good as any to decide that it was love that drove him on. "It means that, in other circumstances, I would be bringing you gifts and bargaining with your—your Protector, for the bride-geld I would have to pay for you."
Ashen's face grew pink, and, Obern suspected, not from her nearness to the fireplace. " 'Other circumstances'?"
"I have a wife."
"Oh."
"We were pledged—handfasted—when we were both very young," Obern added hastily.
"I never knew her beforehand. She is a good woman, and showed herself to be brave enough on the journey south from our ruined land."
She had pulled back from him a little. "Tell me about your journey."
And so Obern recounted for her the tale of the Sea-Rovers' battles with the invaders from the North, of their flight from their homeland, and the great voyage that had brought them to New Void. He left out the part about his first encounter with the giant birds or the hideous monster that had tried to climb from the sea onto his ship. No sense in frightening Ashen; let her think that the huge birds were a singular anomaly, and not what he had come to believe they were—harbingers of worse to come as the frozen evil of the North awakened and began to stir.
"Your people must all be very courageous," Ashen said.
Obern shrugged. "Some more than others, like people everywhere."
"What is her name? Your wife."
"Her name is Neave. While we were on the ships on our journey here, I missed her warmth in the night. She was on a different ship from mine, of course, for I could not afford to have her presence be a distraction. Also, if one ship went down the other might be saved. That was the way with all of us who had wives still living after our city was destroyed. And then she became ill shortly after we arrived. I have scarcely been in her company. Since I met you, I have seldom thought of her."
Again, Ashen's cheeks grew pink until she was blushing to the roots of her hair.
"I cannot encourage you in this."
"It is not in your power to encourage or discourage. It is as it is," Obern told her. "I love you."
"It is only gratitude speaking. After all, I saved your life when you were so sorely hurt, before we came here."
"I recognize that this might be part of it," Obern said. "But nevertheless, I do love you. Can I be faulted for that? I don't think so."
Ashen arose abruptly. "It is not decent, or honorable, that you speak of such matters. Or that I listen. I like you well, Obern, but please believe that is all—all it can be. When I have the opportunity, I will speak to Count Harous and petition that you be allowed to return home."
"Where I will live on with Neave. But I will think of you in the night."
Then Ashen fled the room, closing the door behind her. Obem knew that, according to Rendelian custom, he must have overstepped his bounds. But Ashen had not been brought up as a Rendelian bred, and neither had he.
Oh, if only—He did not allow himself to complete the thought. It was not Neave's fault that he no longer loved her, if, indeed, he once had. And it was nobody's fault that he loved Ashen or that— he hoped with every fiber of his being—it was only her modesty that made her speak of friendship and not of love in return.
For once, Ysa was mistaken. Wittern of Rowan, the heir to his elder brother
Erft, full of years but in much better health, had arrived earlier than expected. Even while she had been consulting with Marcala, Wittern was being admitted to the presence of King Flo-rian. With him was Rannore, her head downcast and her entire bearing radiating shame.
"Oh," said the sovereign lord of Rendel when the two had been brought to where he lounged by a fire, playing a board game with one of his courtiers. A pile of coins lay beside the board, the stakes the players had wagered. "It's you."
"A word with you in private, Your Majesty," Wittern said. "I crave it as a boon."
The King drummed his finger on the board, his hand on the piece he had been prepared to move. Then he set it down and waved his retinue away. "Stay within calling distance," he said.
The group of fawning courtiers bowed and withdrew to a far corner of the room, where they pulled their fur-lined surcoats about them and huddled together for warmth. One of them gestured to a servant, and presently a brazier was brought and lighted so that they could be more comfortable in their exile.
"Yes, well, what do you want?" Florian said. He lounged at his ease, and did not invite the elderly noble or the young woman with him to sit down.
"I think you know, Your Majesty." Wittern took Rannore's hand and made her step forward. "This lady is with child, and it is by you. It is not enough that you debauched Laherne who died in delivery of your child and it with her, but now you would do the same with her cousin. It is not to be borne, sir]"
"And what will you do, to make me marry if I do not choose?"
Wittern's eyes flashed. "I am not my brother, Your Majesty, and Rannore is not her cousin. We are both of sturdier stock than they. I have resources in this land. If you will not of your own accord, then you shall be compelled."
Florian threw back his head and brayed with laughter. "You?" he said at last, wiping tears from his eyes. "You would compel me? Oh, I suppose that I must admire your presumption, but hear this, old man. I will do as I please, when I please, where I please, and with whom I please. And you are not man enough to stop me. Now begone."
Tears had begun running down Rannore's cheeks. She spoke up for the first time.
"You claimed that you loved me," she said brokenly. "And I know I loved you. I would never have allowed you near me, otherwise. Now I love you not, but honor binds me. I will not bear another kingly bastard. There is talk enough of the one your father sired and the trouble she has brought without willing it."
Florian sat bolt upright in his chair. "You will not speak of that matter," he said. His command was spoiled a little by the break in his voice. "Leave my presence, at once!"
"We will speak of tha
t, and more," Wittern said. "You tell us to begone. And so we obey. But be sure that we will meet again, and soon."
Then the white-haired noble and his granddaughter left the chamber. The courtiers came back and took up their former spots by the fire. Florian completed the move on the board game that he had been contemplating when interrupted.
His opponent, a minor noble named Piaul, grinned. "You lose, Your Majesty," he said as he made the countermove that ended the game. He scooped up the coins as everyone laughed, except King Florian.
Ashen, unsure of herself and wondering why the woman who was her bitterest enemy in Rendel had summoned her to her presence, entered the Dowager Queen's privy chamber. She felt like her heart had lodged somewhere in the vicinity of her stomach and was fluttering like a captive bird. The girl's heart sank even lower when she saw Lady Marcala standing by the Dowager's chair. But Ysa smiled, a little stiffly perhaps, and held out her slender, elegant hands in greeting. The
Four Great Rings glinted in the firelight.
"Come closer, Lady Ashen, so we can have a look at you." Ashen obeyed, hoping that her knees would hold her up, glad that her maid Ayfare had taken pains with her appearance. Also, Ayfare had had the good sense to insist that Ashen not wear the dress in which she had been clad on the occasion of her appearance in the old King's death chamber, but another. This one was made of dark blue velvet, the court color, its warmth welcome in the unseasonable chill of midsummer, and her indoor slippers matched. The wooden pattens every woman wore to protect their fine footwear from mud and mire Ashen had left at the castle's doorway, according to custom.
Of her own accord, Ashen had decided not to wear the necklace
Harous had given her that was a badge of the House of Ash, but another of his gifts, an ornament of silver and lapis beads. Her hair flowed down her back in maidenly simplicity. She curtsied deeply, as Marcala had taught her.
"Thank you, Your Majesty," she said to the stern-faced lady who sat so implacably, waiting. She also wore velvet, but a deep, rich green, and her jewels, except for the Four Great Rings, were of gold and emeralds. Her countenance was beautiful, but her hands verged on the edge of gauntness, though they were still white and elegant. Nevertheless, it was there that she showed her age. "I am honored at being in your presence."
The Dowager nodded slightly. "I have a reason to send for you," she said. "Come and sit, and Lady Marcala also, for your answers coacern her as well." She indicated a pair of low chairs that had been set nearby.
Marcala took one with a rustle of skirts and a cloud of the lily-scented perfume she always wore. Ashen, glad that Ayfare was enough of a gossip that she knew of the significance of the perfume made of blue flowers, had chosen one with a citrus tang instead. The Queen, Ayfare said, hated the blue-flower one because it had been the favorite of her great rival, Ashen's mother.
Nobody offered to take Ashen's rain-wetted cloak, so she hung it on a peg beside the fireplace beside another one she recognized as Marcala's. Once seated,
Ashen's discomfort did not abate for she felt that something in her life had just come to a crisis point, and she did not know what it was. She wished that
Zazar, the great Wysen-wyf of the Bale-Bog who had fostered her, could be at her side. But that was like wishing for the moon. Ashen knew that her own wits would have to be her sole weapons to get her through the coming hour.
Her uneasiness must have communicated itself to the Dowager for she smiled again, frostily. "Be at ease, child," she said. "We aren't going to hurt you. We only want to know what is going on now in your life."
"Surely I am beneath Your Majesty's notice."
"Your modesty becomes you, but it is misplaced. Let me be open with you. I did not welcome your presence; indeed, for a long time I tried hard to convince myself that you did not even exist. However, here you are, and you cannot be ignored."
"Madame, I apologize for my presence. I know that I am a constant reminder of something unpleasant. But you must realize that I did not request the conditions of my birth. If I could make it otherwise, I would do so, if only to spare you."
The Queen favored Ashen with a frigid smile. "Spoken well. Your breeding shows; also, Zazar brought you up better than I thought. Perhaps there is more to you than I was willing to credit. Now to why you have been sent for. You must know there is talk in many places in Rendelsham of you, of your place here, of whom you will marry."
Ashen looked up, startled. "I have no thought of marriage, Your Majesty!"
"Nevertheless, marry you must. The only question is, who shall it be?"
"I do not wish to marry," Ashen repeated. "When I do, if I do, it will be to somebody whom 1 love."
"And you do not love Count Harous?" Marcala said.
Ashen glanced at her. She fairly glowed in lavender brocade lined with fur, but a frown puckered her forehead. "No, my lady, I do not," Ashen said. "I admire him enormously, and will be forever grateful that it was he and not another who took me from the Bale-Bog, as my Protector said would happen. For he has always been gentle with me, and his behavior entirely correct. I fear that another would have acted ungraciously."
Marcala sniffed audibly and the Dowager held up a restraining hand. "And yet the rumor is that he would marry you."
Ashen felt her cheeks grow warm. All the talk of marriage this day was making her very uneasy. She wanted nothing more than to escape. But she was required to answer. "He has said that he wished it."
"Nol" Marcala said, heedless of Ysa's displeasure. "Are you such an idiot that you cannot see the folly? With you, and what you are heir to, Harous's power would be such that all the other nobles would rise up against him! And that I could not bear!"
"Lady!" the Dowager said sharply. "Marcala! Enough. You forget yourself."
"Yes, Madame," Marcala said. She bowed her head and bit her lip.
The Dowager turned back to Ashea. "The Lady Marcala, for all her impetuous outburst, is correct. A match between you and the Lord Marshal Harous would not be suitable. And so, the question remains, whom shall you marry."
"I know of someone," Marcala said, though Ysa frowned.
"Speak," the Dowager said, a warning clear in her voice.
"Obern. He is the son of the Chieftain of the Sea-Rovers. That makes him almost royalty. He was once hurt, but now is well, still living in Harous's residence here in the city, by his orders. Obern and Ashen are friends."
Ashen drew in her breath sharply. This, coming so closely on Obern's unwanted declaration, was almost more than she could bear at the moment. Nevertheless, there was a possibility for escape. "But he is already wed. He wants very much to return to New Void— the old Ashenwold."
The Dowager pursed her lips, thinking. "That is unfortunate news, that Obern already has a wife. He would, in many respects, make an ideal match for you. And we need his people as stronger allies than they are now. A certain treaty that was supposed to have been established between us was bungled by—Well, never mind." Ysa clasped her hands, rubbing the Rings. "There have been marriages set aside for dynastic reasons before. Perhaps this one can be as well."
"Your Majesty, no—"
The Dowager stared at Ashen and she subsided immediately. "Do you dare refuse me? Do you forget yourself?"
"I crave your pardon, Your Majesty. I only meant that I would not ruin another's happiness for any sake."
"That is not your decision to make. I will tell you this, however. It is very plain that you cannot stay longer in Harous's residence.
You are better kept under my eye. Therefore, you will move at once into the castle. Please see to it. The chamberlain will prepare an apartment for you. Now you may go. I have work to do." With that, the Dowager Queen Ysa dismissed
Ashen, who arose at once and started for the door. The other lady made as if to rise as well but the Dowager stopped her. "Marcala, you stay a moment."
But not before she saw a very satisfied look come over Lady Marcala's face. Now, what, Ashen wondered, was that
all about? It was as if one of Marcala's schemes had come to fruition, but how could that be?
She set it aside to think about later, glad that she was out of the coils, at least for the moment, of Her Most Gracious Majesty the Queen Dowager Ysa. How she would avoid this formidable lady once she was living under the same roof was another matter. A fresh wave of distaste for the twists and turns of Court life swept over her.
Andre Norton - Oak, Yew, Ash & Rowan 2 - Knight Or Knave Page 2