The Duke's Decision

Avery, the new Silver Duke, was clad in a long silk nightshirt as he stared at the rising sun, the slit pupils of his golden eyes narrowed to thin black lines and his hands resting on the wall around the edge of the tower. Behind him, the door to the ducal chambers stood open. Hesitantly, a servant appeared for a moment, framed by the doorway, then disappeared.

Three minutes later, with the sun now above the horizon and spilling its rays into the streets of York, the servant reappeared, carrying a tray. Avery’s inhumanly-shaped ear twitched. The unseen servant tentatively advanced, placing the tray on the wall next to him. From this vantage point, neither could see the guards gathered around the front of the Golden Fleece. It seemed an ordinary morning thus far, as ordinary as any since Avery had claimed the ducal chambers as his own.

“Thank you,” Avery said, glancing sideways as the servant bowed deeply. He picked a teacup off the tray and sipped as he reached inside himself to find certain channels of communication that conventional wizards seemed blind to. Marcus was deep asleep; Isolde was – oh, he had woken her. Sorry, he sent.

Gregor was awake, but seemed quite tired, almost too tired to sustain his own end of the connection. Your Grace, I have important matters to report, but I think it better to tell you in person, after I have finished my investigations. A blur of muddled emotion washed through the connection.

Avery set his teacup down with a frown. There were times when ignorance was bliss, but he doubted this was such a moment. Gregor, he sent sternly, and then his thoughts were interrupted by a loud voice.

“There you are,” Maude said. “I’d heard you took breakfast upstairs in your chambers, but I didn’t realize you were taking it outside. I had two things I wanted to tell you straightaway. Someone tried to kill Johanna’s father last night. The hounds killed his assailant and herded him into the castle – he was too drunk to give any useful details, but we may know more once he wakes from his rest.”

“You’re smiling. I thought you disapproved of my engagement,” Avery said, unconsciously matching her expression. It seemed clear that the attempted murder of Johanna’s father was Gregor’s important news; and if Johanna’s father was safe in the castle, then matters were well in hand.

“Given the folly of your plans, marrying Johanna is sensible. She was the first to stand to claim your hand, and is the granddaughter of a prosperous baron.” Maude sighed. “While I wish you were only marrying Elizabeth, I wish neither Johanna nor her family ill.”

Avery nodded gravely. “You said you had two things. What is the second?”

“You’re to be fitted today for new ceremonial armor,” Maude said.

Avery felt keenly sensitive to the way this sounded like an imperative from his foster mother. “On your orders?” Avery looked down at Maude with a frown.

Maude shrank back, sinking into a curtsy in a show of overt obedience. “If Your Grace wills it, I will send the armorer home, along with his cousin the jeweler, whom I engaged to fit your entirely too numerous duchesses-to-be for appropriate circlets. But Your Grace did ask me to assist with planning your wedding. Or joint coronation of duchesses, if Your Grace prefers to call it that.”

Every word was true, but delivered in an unkindly tone. Avery shook his head. “Yes, I did ask for your help.” He paused, then laid a hand on his aunt’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I spoke in anger. You are right to think of that… what I wore to the coronation did fit me ill.”

“As well it might after lying disused for the better part of a century,” Maude said. “My grandfather found little cause for high ceremony after the last of his children died. If you outlive your own children, you might find yourself of a similar opinion, but save those worries for a time when you have children to worry about.”

“So, you will be wanting me to make one for each bride?” The dwarven jeweler sipped his tea from a perch on a couch. The sitting room of the inner keep was quiet, occupied only by Maude, Isolde, the visiting jeweler, and a pair of servants.

Maude, seated in her familiar beige chair, nodded, her left pinky finger absently tracing its way along a worn spot in the upholstery. “Yes, Master Lew. It is not strictly necessary that they be identical, as the brides are not all of equal rank, but I can't have all seven of them wear Duchess Jennifer's diadem at the same time.”

“Seven, ma'am? My cousin Herbert had word from Lord Marcus that we would need twelve.” The jeweler frowned. His cousin was half-dwarven and half human; but while short in stature, his halfling cousin was quite reliable with numbers.

Lady Maude paused. “I’m not sure how your cousin would get such a number. Lord Marcus’s information was out of date. I have been more closely involved with the negotiations surrounding the duke’s engagement, and I can tell you the number is now but seven.”

“I believe the number is eight.” Gregor, the master of hounds, stood in the doorway of the sitting room.

Maude frowned at the rude interjection and uninvited intrusion. “Please do explain. Yesterday afternoon, Marie and Giselle told me they had agreed to withdraw from their engagements in favor of other considerations. Which of them has had second thoughts?”

The houndmaster sighed, shaking his head heavily as he seated himself next to Isolde, who wrinkled her nose for the briefest moment. Then Gregor looked up at Maude and spoke. “You and Marcus need to talk to each other more often. Marcus convinced three more families and their daughters to swear fealty to the duke yesterday. You didn't tell him about Marie and Giselle; he didn't tell you about Ivette, Gelle, and Merilda; and I have the sorrowful news this morning to report to you that late last night, Ivette and Gelle were murdered in their sleep. The Golden Fleece was… as best as we can tell, flooded with a poisonous vapor of some kind, killing everyone inside. The dogs didn't think it was safe to enter until this morning.”

“That's horrible,” said Maude. “Who did it?”

“We don't know,” Gregor said. “Two of the hounds spotted the killer, but he – or she – was covered up and smelled strongly of substances not familiar to either dog. The killer was either a smaller-than-average man or a larger-than-average woman with extraordinary physical fitness. Because the killer evaded the hounds' pursuit by entering the river, we can rule out the possibility of a vampire, though not the Scottish variety of zombie.”

Isolde blanched. She'd thought that the idea of bringing Avery's brides into the keep before the wedding was an unnecessary and irritating imposition. She tuned out whatever her mother was saying and reached out to her cousin mentally. Avery, has Gregor given you the latest news?

What happened to calling me 'Metalface'? You never call me Avery this way. A pause. Gregor said he had some bad news that he wanted to deliver in person. Is it news that can wait? I'm in the middle of getting fitted for a new ceremonial breastplate. This is a bit distracting.

Two of your prospective brides were murdered last night, Isolde sent.

A loud crash sounded from upstairs, and footsteps thumped quickly down the stairs. The temperature in the room dropped suddenly. Isolde could see her breath steam out in the cold air. Maude shivered. Master Lew watched in wonder as frost formed around the edge of his teacup.

Avery entered the room, his eyes flashing. “My apologies for interrupting,” he began, then paused and turned to Gregor. “Have guards sent immediately to wherever any of my fiancées are staying in town. I want them moved into the keep before morning's end.” Avery turned to Isolde. “Your guests – make sure they go nowhere outside the keep without an escort. I want a man or a hound with them even in the castle bailey, and if they should need to go into town, at least one reliable man and one of the hounds.”

Isolde jumped to her feet. “Yes, Your Grace,” she said reflexively. “They're having breakfast downstairs. I'll go tell them.”

You're reminding me of Grandpa, she sent as she went off down the stairs. It's a little scary, Metalface.

Sorry, Avery replied.

Don't be sorry. You need to be scary to be a good duke right now. Isolde wiped away a single tear, composing herself as she stood outside the door.

Elizabeth put her teacup down carefully in the center of the saucer, shifting on the hard wooden bench as she looked across the table at her companion. “So why did your father miss the ball and Avery's big announcement?”

“He was indisposed,” Johanna said, frowning. “Too much ale.”

“Really?” Elizabeth asked. “That's a shame. My brothers get rowdy when they're in their cups, but they would never let me down like that.”

“I didn't mind,” Johanna said. “I'd rather he didn't go off and get monstrously drunk, but it's better for him to not be there than to be there and too far gone. It's embarrassing.”

“I suppose it is,” Elizabeth said. “But he was supposed to be there.”

“I know,” Johanna said. “I love him dearly, but sometimes he doesn't take responsibility seriously. He acts like my grandfather will always be around to take care of things – pay off the bills and damages, buy him new clothes to replace the ones he's ruined, and so on. We're lucky he's not dead. One of the guards told me there was a killer waiting for him in an alleyway last night. We still don't know why.”

Elizabeth took a sip of tea. Johanna's father had sworn his belated oath to the duke dressed in finer clothes than any she'd ever seen her father or brothers wear. Johanna's grandfather must be very wealthy, she thought to herself. She self-consciously smoothed her dress.

“What made you want to marry the duke?” Elizabeth asked.

Johanna gave a shy smile. “The usual,” she said. “He's tall, handsome, and well-titled. I've had a fancy for him for a long while, but my grandfather told me to stay away until after the succession dispute was resolved.”

“Does it bother you? That you claimed him first and will have to share him with the rest of us?” Elizabeth said.

“You're the daughter of an earl,” Johanna said. “Most people would say you're the one having to share him with the rest of us lesser women.”

The blonde girl flushed pink. “I don't feel greater than you,” Elizabeth said. “You're taller and older.” And so very much richer, she added silently, trying not to feel jealous.

There was a tap at the door, and then Isolde emerged, not waiting for a response. “Good. You're both here. I was worried you might have gone down to the city. I have terrible news.”

“What is it?” Johanna asked.

“Two of the duke's intended brides were murdered last night. Gelle and Ivette.” Isolde’s face was nearly expressionless, except that one of her eyes was a little bit red.

“Murdered?” Elizabeth repeated. “By whom?” She didn't want to admit not remembering who Gelle and Ivette were.

“We don't know. They were poisoned in the Golden Fleece inn. All the patrons were killed. Two of the hounds caught a glimpse of the killer, but they couldn't identify him or her,” Isolde said.

Elizabeth paused, then shut her mouth, her thoughts coursing at a mile a minute. Why is Isolde talking about the hounds as if they could have reported the identity of the killer? The duke's hounds are eerily well-trained, but they can’t talk, can they?

“Was anyone else hurt?” Johanna asked. “Is the duke all right?”

“The duke was unharmed,” Isolde said. “He was here at the keep. But he was furious when he found out this morning. We've got men and hounds out searching the city. So far, no one has been found.”

“Why would anyone want to kill the duke's brides?” Elizabeth asked. “And why poison?”

Isolde gave the younger woman a look. “Living in Northumbria, you haven’t really had much experience with intrigue, have you?”

“Not really,” Elizabeth admitted. “It's a quiet county. Every so often we get Scottish cattle raids, and then my father goes out and rides around looking fierce and writes a letter complaining to the emperor’s court demanding recompense for the lost animals.”

“Well, I'll try to explain it to you as simply as possible,” Isolde said. “The reason could be nearly anything. Jealousy… a desire to make the duke look weak and incompetent… it could even be one of the other brides to be, looking to eliminate some rivals and frighten off others.”

Johanna and Elizabeth looked at each other with sudden concern.

“I'm not saying I think it's one of you two,” Isolde clarified politely. “What I am saying is that you shouldn't leave the keep without an armed escort.”