The Duke's Decision

Avery stood in front of the fireplace in the sitting room. He'd come up after breakfast, intending to tell Sabine to pack up and leave. Instead, he'd found her still asleep on the couch in the sitting room. She'd looked so peaceful and vulnerable.

He hesitated for a moment before touching her, gently pushing her hair out of her face. Her skin was warm, and she smelled of a mixture of perfume and stale sweat. She mumbled something unintelligible in her sleep and shifted slightly, rubbing her cheek against his hand. He sighed and went to a small desk in the corner of the room.

He withdrew a blank section of parchment and started to write, then paused. Sabine had been nominally chaperoned by her brother in her visit to the castle. He mentally reached out. Isolde, where is Stephen? he sent. I didn't see him at breakfast, he's not in the sitting room with his sister, and he hasn't departed by the front door, either.

I don't know, Metalface. I haven't seen him either. Not since last night. I'll start searching the keep, Isolde sent back. There are not so many places he could hide.

Thank you, Avery replied. He picked up the pen again and resumed writing, slowly and deliberately. There was a knock at the door. He ignored it. After a few moments, several louder and more insistent knocks followed. Avery set down the quill and walked over to the door. One of his intended brides was on the other side. Light brown hair, blue eyes – Rose.

“Your Grace,” she said, bending in a curtsy. “I apologize for disturbing you, but I felt I needed to talk to you and not just Lady Maude. She said if I didn't marry you, she would find me a position, and you could make me a baronetess in my own right.”

Avery quirked an eyebrow. “Granting ducal baronies is within my power, and if she promised such on my behalf, I am willing to fulfill that promise. If you'd rather give up being a married duchess for being a single baronetess, you will have my blessing on that.” Avery paused cautiously. “You are a lovely young woman, graceful and honest and worthy. And while you are not the first to seek to break off your engagement, you're the first to come directly to me about it, which means you have uncommon courage. I would feel honored either to marry you or have you as my vassal holding an estate in my duchy.”

“You flatter me, Your Grace,” Rose said, dropping into another curtsy. “May I think on my decision longer?”

Avery nodded. “Take as long as you like,” he said. “Is there anything else?”

“No, Your Grace. Thank you, Your Grace.” Rose dipped again, and scurried out of the room.

Avery returned to writing slowly and carefully on the parchment. Then he stopped, looking at it carefully. The ink obediently dried as the parchment warmed under his gaze. He smiled, and walked across the room, laying the parchment on the chessboard. He turned to look at Sabine on the couch. Her eyes were open.

“How long have you been awake?” Avery asked.

“Not very long,” Sabine replied. “I woke up feeling a bit disoriented. I've been having nightmares, and I don’t know where my brother went. Have you sent for Stephen?”

“Yes,” Avery said. “I don't know where he is.”

“I heard some of your conversation with Rose,” Sabine said. “I don't think I really understand you. If she wants to get out of the marriage, you should be the one demanding concessions from her. I think you're too generous.”

“Does that mean you've changed your mind about wanting to marry me?” Avery asked.

Sabine laughed. “Of course not, Your Grace. I'm still willing to marry you. I just don't think it matters anymore, does it? If you're resorting to bribery to get rid of your brides, you clearly don't need an extra one.”

“So you do want to marry me,” Avery said. “Good, because I'll have made myself sound a pompous fool otherwise in my letter. I will have some breakfast sent for you while you read and make your decision. I feel enough of an ogre after last night, so I won't loom over you while you decide. I will be in the great hall. Unless something urgent requires my attention.”

He bent over and gently kissed Sabine's forehead. She stared at him in surprise as he turned and left; when he opened the door, he found Merilda standing there, shifting from foot to foot. An inane thought popped into his mind. Hopefully she didn’t just hear me disparage ogres, he thought to himself. She was little shorter than himself and powerfully built; considering the cruelties of youth, she probably had been called ‘ogre’ more than once by her peers. “Merilda, did you want to speak with me?”

Merilda nodded, her downcast eyes fixed on a spot halfway between her feet and Avery’s feet.

“Let us walk and talk, then, if you don't mind?” Avery stepped through the doorway and politely offered Merilda his arm. She hesitated, and then took it delicately, as if his arm was a delicate blown-glass ornament. After a moment, he realized Fiona was following quietly behind them. The elfblood didn't make much noise when she didn't want to draw attention.

“Do you want me?” Merilda asked. “Or would you rather get rid of me?”

Avery patted her hand. Apparently it was the morning for his fiancées to get cold feet. “If you don't want to marry me, you don't have to. I won't be angry,” he said. Behind Merilda, Fiona shook her head vigorously, and closed her lips with her fingers. Was she trying to tell him something?

“Oh,” Merilda said. They walked in silence for a minute.

Out of the corner of his eye, Avery could see Fiona's frustration mounting; she clearly wanted to communicate something to him, but was not willing to speak it aloud when Merilda would hear. He reached out mentally, feeling for Fiona's mind. It was bright, crackling with magical knowledge. Gently, he established a link between them as he walked down the stairs. Once the three of them reached the ground floor, he sent a mental message to Fiona. What were you trying to tell me with all those gestures and looks?

Fiona was startled enough to trip over her own feet. “Sorry,” she said, catching herself inches short of planting her face into the stone floor.

“Are you alright?” Avery asked. Merilda let go of his arm and picked the elfblood up off the floor.

“Fine, fine,” Fiona said, as Merilda helped her brush dust off her robes. “Just clumsy, Your Grace.” She hesitated. Merilda is afraid you want to throw her away, she thought back through their connection. Can you hear what I try to send back? How are you doing this? I didn’t see you cast a spell.

I hear you, Avery said. And thank you. Now I understand that I said just the wrong thing to reassure her. He turned away from the red-haired woman without answering her other question. There would be time for that later. “Merilda, look at me.”

Merilda turned to meet his gaze and swallowed nervously. “Sorry,” she said, eyes flickering back down to the stone floor. “Your Grace, I'm sorry for whatever it is I did wrong.”

Avery shook his head. He reached out, touching Merilda's chin with the wooden cap on the tip of his taloned finger. “You haven't done anything wrong. You'll make a lovely duchess if you let me have you as one. And if you don't want to be a duchess, I'll be happy to have you live here with us for as long as you want to stay part of our family.” Impulsively, he leaned forward and hugged her with his other arm.

“Oh,” the blonde woman said. Bright green eyes blinked under bushy eyebrows as her cheeks flushed, and then she hugged him back.

Avery thought he heard his ribs creak. Over Merilda's shoulder, he could see Fiona smiling.

Althea lingered over the remains of her breakfast, sipping tea very slowly and occasionally eating another crumb. Helen had been late to bed last night. She'd wanted to talk with her friend, but she'd also wanted breakfast. Now it was halfway to lunch, and the extra plate she'd sat next to her was cold. Oh, there she is, Althea thought, spying a strawberry-blonde head in the distance.

“Finally awake, sleepyhead? I saved you a plate,” Althea said, patting the bench next to her.

Helen flushed. “Sorry,” she said. She hesitated, then came over and sat. She made a face as she chewed a spoonful of scrambled eggs. “They're awful when they're cold,” she said. “I deserve it, though.”

Althea picked up her cup and took a sip. “You slept in. It happens. So, what happened last night? I thought we were going to meet up after we finished helping our parents unpack.”

“Nothing,” Helen said quickly. “I got lost and then…” She hesitated. “I was distracted. The castle has, um, interesting architecture. And it's well-stocked with arrows. By the time I got up to the ramparts, you weren't there anymore, and I needed some fresh air to clear my head, so I sat and watched the stars for a long while. I'm sorry. I've been a bad friend.”

Althea frowned. There was something her friend wasn't telling her, and it didn't have to do with architecture. “It's okay,” she said. “Lady Maude had some interesting things to say before we went to bed. I've been thinking about what she said this morning, about whether or not I should go through with this marriage.”

“But you have to marry me! I mean, get married with me!” Helen said. “You wouldn't abandon me to be alone without any friends in this big castle, would you? You seemed so happy about it last night, before I went to go help my parents finish unpacking.”

“Well, you sort of abandoned me last night,” Althea quipped. “The roof was pretty boring without you. Bit too quiet and peaceful.”

Helen winced. “I'm sorry. I'm well and truly sorry. Please forgive me.”

“I was joking,” Althea said. “What's gotten into you this morning? Were you drinking late last night?”

“No. Though I almost wish I had been,” Helen said. She nibbled on a biscuit. Being drunk would have given me an excuse, she thought to herself.

“Maybe you're coming down with something,” Althea said. She held the back of her hand to Helen's forehead. “Any aches or chills?”

“We were pretty giddy last night,” Helen said. “Is there a laughing disease? I jest, but… seriously, is there?”

Althea frowned. “I don't think so. There's at least one laughing curse I know of.”

Helen tapped her chin. “Sabine is a witch, isn't she?”

“Wizardess,” Althea corrected. “The rest of her family is into wizardry, at least. I don't know about her for sure. She was good company last night at dinner. I haven't laughed that much in ages. What, do you think she cursed you?”

“I don't know,” Helen said. “Maybe. I… had some terrible dreams last night. Don't let Maude talk you out of becoming a duchess. Do you really want to go back home and marry someone like John? I don't. I told you, I'd much rather have the duke one night a week and my best friend with me every day. Is it… well… do you now think the duke's terribly ugly?”

Althea snorted. “I haven’t changed my mind since you asked me last night. He's kind of like an elf, only taller with bigger muscles. And shiny and taloned. And his skin is dry and smooth, even if he has all those tiny little scales. Which is weird, but… not bad. Beautiful to look at, in a way. I'm just not feeling sure about this whole thing. Leaving my family, marrying someone I've barely met, being one out of eight wives…”

“I love you,” Helen said. “You haven't barely met me. And we can have a great life together as duchesses. I promise you, if you do this, you'll always have me, and I’ll do my best to see you'll never regret it. And I won't let you down like I did last night. I promise.”

There was a small chime, and Fiona's voice sounded from mid-air. “Althea, would you please come to the sitting room?”

“What?” Althea said. There was no response.

“I think the sending only goes one way,” Helen said. “There's a basic spell to throw your voice to someone, even from leagues away, but listening is harder. My sister Avice uses them to send word home from school sometimes, but we have to write letters back.”

There was another small chime. “Helen, would you please come to the sitting room?”

“Looks like we're both wanted,” Althea said. “I can figure that much out at least.”