The Duke's Decision

Gregor leaned against the wall next to the back entrance and folded his arms, focusing on the telepathic connection between himself and his liege lord. I don't like this, Your Grace. We still don't know who was behind the Golden Fleece attack.

Avery glanced at the master of hounds from his elevated throne. They were almost alone in the great hall; a handful of servants and dogs wandered around the room, clearing away tables, benches, and scraps and getting the hall ready for the duke to hold court.

I agree, but we must move forward. Postponing the wedding only puts us at greater risk. We can't afford to be seen as weak. Avery sighed and shifted uncomfortably on his throne. Besides, once we hold the wedding… the murder of a sitting duchess would routinely become a matter of imperial investigation. The threat of imperial involvement might deter the killer.

Yes, Your Grace, Gregor sent. I just wish we had more information. I'm trying my best, but I'm not James.

You know James is somewhere in Cornwall right now, Avery replied as an older hound – Manfred – settled between the two of them on the dais, next to the throne. As best as I can tell, he thinks that a civil war could break out in the south at any time. He's asked me to send him any texts I can find on old Arthurian legends for some reason – which makes me nervous. Don't say a word about that aloud, by the way, we could be watched by crystal ball. The possibility the empire could dissolve in the next month is another reason to move forward with solidifying our alliances.

Gregor frowned. Are we even sure how many brides to plan for at the wedding?

Avery shook his head, reaching down to scratch Manfred behind the ears. No more than nine, even if Sabine decides to accept the terms I wrote for her this morning. Maude is working on all of the rest except for Elizabeth and Johanna, trying to get them to back away.

She likes those two? Gregor asked.

She does, Avery replied. Elizabeth, because the alliance with Northumbria is too important to ruin. Johanna… her grandfather is very wealthy, but only a baron. It might be because she was the first to step forward; if she walks away from me, it'll look bad.

If you ask me, I think she just likes those two because she can push them around, Gregor sent. Maude has been the woman of the castle for a long time. So, what are you going to do about the other girls?

Nothing, Avery sent. If they don't back out, then I'll marry them. They can make their own decisions on the subject, as far as I’m concerned.

Minor nobles and a few commoners were filtering into the great hall, some hoping to petition the duke and others present simply to see and be seen while the duke held court. Many of the latter drifted up to the balcony, while the former soon formed a queue, ordered partly by arrival time and partly by status, a process encouraged by meaningful looks from the duke’s hounds and the occasional whispered hint from a servant.

We should start, Avery sent, stirring on his throne. “Send the first petitioner forward,” he said aloud as Gregor slunk away.

The man who stepped forward was a well-dressed man with a small patch of gray hair above his ears and spurs jingling at his ankles – a landed knight. He bowed low, and the tedious but important business of being the final arbiter of justice in the duchy began for the day.

By the time Sabine joined a diminished line of petitioners, it was halfway to sext, and a middle-aged man with a drooping mustache was several minutes into describing the history of a bridge over the River Aire.

Your Grace, do you want me to send her forward immediately? Gregor asked.

That wouldn't be fair to the petitioners who have been waiting their turn patiently, Avery replied distractedly. But do have the guards start turning away any other late-comers outside the door with instructions. I will not be minded to continue holding court after she gives her answer, whether it is affirmative or negative. I will be cutting this case short, and I do not think the next two cases are likely to be long.

“The petitioner has committed perjury by lying in my courtroom,” Avery said aloud. “I do not need to hear the rest of the evidence; his appeal is denied. He may count himself lucky that the old duke's crystal sword is not present in court today. Next.”

The next two cases went quickly, the petitioners keeping their statements unusually brief; then Sabine came forward and bowed deeply. A small cloth bandage was wrapped around her left pinky finger, and she held a rolled-up piece of parchment in her right hand.

“Your Grace, I agree to all you have written, and have signed my agreement in blood. May this oath bind me,” she said, her voice ringing true in his ears. She walked forward to the edge of the dais, and then knelt, her head bowed, holding up the parchment in both hands. A startled murmur filled the room.

Avery stood, and the murmurs died down. He raised his voice so that it carried through the hall. “I accept your oath, Sabine. We will marry.” He paused, and stepped forward, taking the rolled parchment out of her hand. “You may rise.”

Sabine rose and took a deep breath. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

The great hall echoed with the sound of dozens of voices talking at once.

Gregor, now that Sabine has made her decision, I want a polite note sent to Sabine's father requesting his formal assent to the marriage, Avery gave the master of hounds a look as he walked down from the raised dais. Also, have a carriage pick up her things from the house. He paused. Actually, see if you can find Stephen, too. I'm still bothered by his sudden disappearance from the keep.

What if her father says no? Gregor asked.

Then I marry her anyway, Avery replied. He offered Sabine his arm. His consent would be nice to have, but by the laws of the duchy, parental consent to a marriage is optional if one has permission from the duke.

“I would like to speak to you privately, Your Grace,” Sabine murmured, her lips close to his ear.

“Of course,” Avery said. He halted in place, reaching out to cradle her cheek, the wooden caps brushing against her hair as he carefully made mental contact. This is as private as possible, he sent.

Sabine halted in her tracks, eyes wide. A whisper escaped her lips. “What sorcery is this?”

If you speak aloud, our conversation will not be private. Try to form the words clearly, as if you are speaking but without moving your lips or tongue.

Answer me! Sabine pressed her lips firmly together. What sorcery is this?

Avery smiled, turning away and tugging Sabine forward with his arm as he walked through the great hall to the front entrance, making a show out of ignoring the whispers. No. Tell me what you wished to tell me in privacy.

You are an utter fiend, your contract is thorough, yet I can't wait to have you in me, Sabine sent back. I find you equal parts frustrating and frightening, and somehow that makes you all the more appealing. I must be going mad.

Avery blinked at her directness, his step hitching for half a heartbeat in surprise. I'm flattered.

Flattered? Sabine sent. I called you an utter fiend.

“Milord Guilbert de Lancaster, a message for you,” said the liveried halfling, bowing politely.

“Thank you,” Guilbert said, taking the folded envelope and tucking it in a pocket. First his son; now the duke’s messenger; it seemed everyone and their cousin knew he had come calling at the Taylor mansion. He turned back to his younger companion. “Alric, I think there could be a real advantage in using a hybrid system. Skeleton power is cheap and reliable, but it does have certain mechanical limitations, such as the amount of enclosed space required.”

Alric gestured at the courier, who was still standing next to them on the balcony of the Taylor mansion. “I'd rather not discuss business plans further in front of a stranger.”

“Off with you, then,” Guilbert said, with all the authority that had been trained into him as fifth in line for the throne of Lancaster.

“I'm to wait for a reply, milord, of some kind.” The halfling clasped his hands behind his back, looking up at the nobleman. “Begging your pardon, milord, but such are the duke's orders to me, and you haven't read the message yet, sir.”

The nobleman sighed in exasperation. “Very well,” he said, taking the envelope back out of his pocket and breaking the seal and unfolding the piece of paper. The message was short, only two lines. He read it silently, then looked over at Alric, and cleared his throat. “His Grace asks my assent and approval of my daughter's marriage to him.”

“Very good news, isn't it?” Alric asked. “Isn't that what she came here for?”

“Yes,” he said. “I thought he'd gotten engaged to several other women, though. Sabine hadn't given up, but I was ready to send her home with Stephen tomorrow. He’s a steady flier.”

“Several? The last I heard, it was at least half a dozen,” Alric said. “I imagine it would be difficult to take his attention away from half a dozen other women.”

“Oh, I can imagine,” the nobleman said dryly. “Sabine's very good with her enchantments, Alric. I shouldn't have counted her out so early." He turned to the halfling courier. “Tell him yes. Do you have anything else for us?”

“No, milord,” the halfling said. “But he'd wanted a written response rather than just my say-so," he added, holding out a quill. “Begging your pardon, milord, if you would be so kind?”

The nobleman paused. “Very well.” He wouldn't trust some courier's say-so either, in the duke's shoes. He took the quill and carefully jotted down a couple of short sentences, and then signed his mark at the bottom.

“He what?” Fiona’s voice rose by an octave from one syllable to the next.

Anna repeated herself. “He's agreed to marry Sabine of Lancaster,” she said, then continued onward as if Fiona didn’t need any additional time to digest that particularly unpalatable bit of news. “The servants have been talking about it all afternoon. Even though her father and brother haven't sworn to him.”

Fiona frowned. “I thought there were to be seven brides,” she muttered to herself. “What am I missing?”

“I'm sorry, seven?” Anna asked.

“No, I'm sorry. There are things you don't know. I need to go talk with Master Warin,” Fiona said. “And then… Elizabeth, I think. If you see her, let her know I want to talk to her. Stay safe. There may be grave danger afoot.”

“Is Sabine dangerous?” Anna grabbed the quarter-elf, her hand wrapping almost all the way around a pale slender arm. “What do you know that I don't?”

“Maybe. More than I can explain. Let me go,” Fiona added. “I need to find out more, and that means I need to talk with my adopted father and mentor. Who, I will remind you, is an archmage diviner.” She met Anna's glaring green eyes stubbornly with her pale blue eyes. “So, let me go. Please.”

Anna tightened her grip. “I don't want to be kept in the dark,” she said. “We go together.”

Fiona sighed. “Fine. You won't understand most of what he has to say anyway.”

“I'll be the judge of that,” Anna said. “Now come on, let's see what Master Warin has to say about Sabine marrying the duke.”

They found Master Warin on the rooftop, performing measurements with a knotted ball of twine. The tower was shaped like a cloverleaf, and the archmage was carefully holding each knot fixed against the top of the stone wall before he set down the next knot, moving along one curved section of wall. The old wizard looked up and greeted them, his finger fixed in place. “How are you, dear?”

“Not well,” Fiona said. “He wants to marry Sabine. What do we do?”

Master Warin shrugged. “We swore an oath to bow to his will. If he says yes to Sabine, then there's little we can do to stop that without breaking our oath. Do you think he's in love with her?”

“I don't know,” Fiona said. “She's beautiful, charming, and clever. But the paper fox still burns green.”

“Probably not, then,” Master Warin said. “If he's marrying her for political reasons, then maybe he sees her as a useful tool. All of you are useful to him.”

Fiona sighed. “I'd almost hoped the paper fox would burn red. Even if it would likely have been her.”

Master Warin shrugged. “Be useful to me and finish taking the measurements of the other three lobes of the tower while we talk. I need to know the perimeter to within an inch, and I will want my hands free if I am to answer questions.”

Fiona silently took the ball of twine from her adoptive father as Anna spoke, a tone of impatience entering the brunette’s voice. “She said she thought there would be seven brides. Sabine makes eight. What does that mean?”

“A bit of oracular prophecy, that,” said the archmage, and shook his head. “Cryptic and nearly useless as always. Usually true, as little as it says. The precise wording is important – in this case, seven true brides. It could mean that one of you will get cold feet before the wedding, or be killed; but it could also mean that one of you will be false to him. Perhaps now, perhaps later. All that tells us is that we should be on guard, and we should already have been on alert. Fiona, if Rose quitting the field led you to relax because of the seven true brides line, then you were foolish. You must always be on guard.”

Fiona's face fell. She fumbled with the twine, counting under her breath. “Sorry, master,” she said.

“Do you know the contents of Sabine's oath?” The archmage stroked his beard thoughtfully, then started fiddling with a bracelet. “I suspect it is not the same as the one the rest of you swore. It will be helpful if we know what she has pledged.”

“No, I don't know,” Anna said. She looked over at Fiona, who shook her head.

“I don't know either,” Fiona said. “I know that it's written down and that the duke has it. I'll try to find out, one way or another.”

“Hmm. And how are you getting along with the other brides? I hear you had a gathering this morning,” the old man said. “Did it go well?”

Fiona glanced over at Anna. “Not very, I think.”

Anna shrugged. “She tried to take charge of things, and then Maude came in and stepped all over everything and handed out room assignments for after the wedding.”

The old man winced. “I think you need someone who isn't marrying the duke to run your meetings without trying to take charge. Someone who doesn't have authority of their own like Maude does, but will help you meet a decision together. Rose, perhaps? You've all met her, she's staying in the palace as a lady-in-waiting, and the rest can trust she's not trying to steal the duke's heart, since she's walked away from marrying him.”

“Rose is staying as a lady-in-waiting?” Anna stared at the archmage in surprise. “That’s great! I mean, that's a good idea.” She paused, crossing her arms over her chest. “Rose is fair-minded. I like her. I don't think any of us have a reason to dislike her.”