Elisandra was to spend the solstice holidays at Halsing Manor, as she did every year. I was always invited, but I had always refused in the past, because I thought my grandmother would resent this defection even more bitterly than my summer absence. This year, I had an additional reason for not going: to avoid Hennessey of Mellidon, who had also been invited to share the holidays with my uncle. Not a chance I would join him there.
Our own winter solstice passed quietly enough, although, since this was my grandmother’s favorite holiday, we spent a great deal of time baking and lighting candles and reciting blessings on the slumbering spirits of the world. On the night of the solstice itself, we did not sleep at all, but stayed awake with fires at the four corners of the house to drive away the darkness of winter. Then we ate a huge breakfast when the sun came up, wished each other luck and good fortune in the following year, and slept the whole day away.
The next news I got from Castle Auburn came from Angela.
Not until recently had we become correspondents—the year before I had gotten my first intermittent letters from her full of gossip and idle speculation. She was a terrible writer but a wonderful source of information, and I wrote her back often just to encourage her. I had less to tell, of course, but at least I could put words together in an entertaining fashion.
This letter began simply enough in her usual, rambling style. The solstice holidays had been dull; there was no one at the castle to talk to, for even Doreen was gone. She was looking forward to Elisandra’s return, and Bryan’s, of course, though there was very sad news out of Ouvrelet House, where Bryan had spent the solstice.
For that’s where Matthew had sent that awful girl—Tiatza, you remember her? Apparently she tried to see Bryan while he was there, but, of course, he didn’t want to—I mean, we all know he shouldn’t have done what he did, but, of course, he wouldn’t want to see her now after all that happened and even though she’s a silly girl, you’d think she’d understand that. And she must have gotten very upset when he wouldn’t talk to her because the day before he left she took that little baby and the two of them jumped off the top of the manor house and died. It was the middle of the night and no one found them till the next day, and so they were all broken and horrible and then it had snowed, too, right on top of them. I thought it was just the saddest story. They say Bryan won’t talk about it at all.
Did I tell you about the new dress I’m having made? All in green andblue because, of course, those are the Faelyn colors, not that I have any real hopes in that direction, but Lester will be here in a couple of months. . . .
The letter went on for another two pages, but my mind had stopped processing the words. Image after image flashed through my mind, complete with appropriate sounds: Tiatza screaming and writhing upon her birthing bed; Bryan twirling me around and around on the dance floor; Kent telling me, “Bastard girls are not likely, when they are twenty years old, to try to win support for a bid for the throne. . . . Bastard boys are much more troublesome.”
It was barely possible that that wretched girl had chosen to fling herself off the roof of Ouvrelet House, her luckless child in her arms. But I could think of other scenarios, more horrifying, more violent—more practical, if you were an ambitious man whose future was looking a bit questionable anyway.
I put the letter down without finishing it, and went out into the weak winter sunlight to absorb what warmth I could.
A WEEK LATER, Hennessey of Mellidon showed up at my grandmother’s house.
The three of us were in the kitchen, preparing a poultice for a sick child, when we heard the knock. I was counting out a complicated series of measurements, so Milette went to answer the door. She returned three minutes later, looking dazed and uncertain.
“Someone’s here to see you,” she told me.
My grandmother looked over at me sharply. “Some of your fine castle friends?” she asked. “Be sure and invite them to dinner.”
I finished counting the seventh teaspoon of tiselbane and pointed to my place on the recipe page. “These are the ingredients I’ve already added,” I told Milette. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Then I went to the door and saw Hennessey there, and felt my whole body grow tense with dread.
“Lady Coriel,” he said, bowing with his usual, imperfect style. Milette had left the door wide open and he stood awkwardly inside it, one foot on the stair outside, one foot on the threshold. He was dressed in travel woolens and was no fashion plate at the best of times, but in this plain place he looked gorgeous enough to be dazzling. I smoothed down the folds of my brown dress and was glad it had been clean when I put it on that morning.
“Lord Hennessey,” was my witty response.
He straightened and looked swiftly around the room. “I did not think—I understood that you lived with your grandmother, but I did not realize—Forgive me for staring.”
I almost felt sorry for him, but I have to admit my heart was beginning a tentative jig. He was not as proud as, say, Bryan, or even as well connected as Kent, but he knew what honor was due his family, and none of it could be found in this cottage. Perhaps he would not offer for me after all.
“Yes, we lead a simple life here,” I said easily, as if I did not realize how shocked he was. I did not want to embarrass him further by showing outrage or mortification myself. “Have you traveled far? Could I invite you in for refreshment? My grandmother and her apprentice are busy in the kitchen or I would introduce them to you.”
“No, I—well, yes, if refreshment is available,” he said, seeming to gather his courage in one determined clutch. “Do you have—cider, perhaps, or ale?”
I smiled. “The best cider in the eight provinces,” I said. “Do come inside.”
As I closed the door, I glanced out to see a cortege of perhaps ten men clustered on the road leading to the cottage. Good, he had an escort; he would not want to keep them waiting long.
“Have a seat,” I said, gesturing to a rather dilapidated chair. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
I hurried to the kitchen and there, under Milette’s astonished eyes, poured out two goblets of cider for my guest and myself. My grandmother watched with a cynical smile.
“Not what he’s used to in Auburn, I take it,” she said.
“Far better, in fact,” I said, and returned to the parlor.
Hennessey had seated himself gingerly on the old ladderback chair; I handed him a glass and took my own place in the rocker. “Have you traveled far?” I asked again.
“Thirty miles today. More than a hundred since I left Auburn,” he said, sipping at the cider. His expression changed to admiration. “This is excellent!” He took a bigger swallow.
“Made here in the village. It’s famous all over Cotteswold. I can send a bottle with you, if you like.”
“Or perhaps I’ll stop in the village and buy some for myself.”
“A good idea. Stop at Darbwin’s tavern. The building is white and red—you’ll see it as soon as you ride in.”
“I’ll certainly do that.”
“So, you were in Auburn for the holidays?” I asked. “What brings you this far south?”
As soon as I asked the question, I knew it was a mistake, for he took the opportunity to answer baldly, “You do.”
Into the strained silence that followed I said faintly, “That’s flattering.”
He set down his empty glass and leaned forward, but I was not quite close enough for him to take my hand. “Lady Coriel, I have never so greatly enjoyed any woman’s company as I have yours. I have missed you since I returned to Mellidon—I have thought about you often. I hoped you would be at your uncle Jaxon’s for the holidays, but you were not. And I had to see you.”
“Lord Hennessey—” I said gently.
He would not be interrupted. “I know you are young. I know I am not romantic. But I’m a good man with good property, and my brother will be viceroy in a few years’ time. That makes me a good match for any woman—and I wi
sh you would be that woman. I would like to ask your uncle Jaxon to let you be my bride.”
I have to say, I had never liked the man so well as when he offered this unpolished, rather businesslike proposal that managed to be completely uninsulting. I would not have thought he would have been able to pull off such a thing. But even that feat made me no more eager to marry him.
“Lord Hennessey,” I said even more gently. “I’m honored. And I know that my uncle and the regent would both be pleased to see me make such a match. But I am not anxious to marry anybody right now. I am not overfond of court life—either in Auburn or in Mellidon, where I assume things are much the same. I believe you are a good man, I truly do. But I don’t think you’re the man for me.”
He sat back in his chair, looking more disconsolate than angry, and I liked him even more. “Mellidon has far less pomp than Auburn, if that means anything to you,” he said. “We go whole seasons without seeing a soul outside the immediate family.”
“That does sound attractive,” I said with only the faintest trace of irony.
“You could do what you wanted. Spend months with your sister, months with your—your grandmother here. I wouldn’t interfere much with your life.”
“Lord Hennessey,” I said in a kind voice. “I do not wish to marry you.”
He gazed at me a long moment in silence. His close-set eyes looked unhappy enough to make my heart feel a little pain; I would have done anything to have this interview at an end.
“And is that your final word?” he asked at last.
I came to my feet, laying aside my goblet and holding out my hand. He rose reluctantly and took my hand in his. “No,” I said. “My final word is that I wish we could always be friends. If that is not too much to ask of you.”
“I doubt I’ll be seeing much of you,” he said with a shrug. “I don’t get to Auburn often.”
I struggled not to laugh at this ungracious reply, though I still felt sorry for him. “Well, then, I’d like to know you did not think harshly of me for this day’s work,” I said.
“I’ll be sad, I think,” he said. “You can’t change that.”
“I would if I could,” I said.
He dropped my hand. “I must be going,” he said. “I don’t believe I’ll stop in the village after all.”
“Then allow me to do this one last favor for you,” I said. “We have two kegs of cider out back. Let me fill a jug for you to take on your way as a parting gift.” He hesitated, clearly wanting to refuse. I added, “So that I can be sure you are not angry with me.”
“Very well,” he said. “And then I must leave.”
I hurried back to the kitchen, pulled down one of the empty jugs that lined the shelves, and filled it almost to the brim with cider. Then I rummaged through the dried herbs on the pantry shelves till I found a bottle of rue-bane. I shook a handful of this into the jug before stoppering it. Finally I shook the container vigorously to mix the ingredients.
Grandmother and Milette watched me without speaking.
“A gift for my friend to take on the road,” I explained with a half smile. “A sort of remembrance.”
“Not with rue-bane,” my grandmother retorted. “That’s for forgetting.”
“I know,” I said. “That’s the point.”
Hennessey was already at the door, impatiently waiting, when I returned to the parlor. He crooked his finger through the loop at the bottle’s neck and thanked me gravely for the gift.
“Travel safely,” I said. “I wish you well.”
He nodded, gave me one last hopeless stare, then turned and strode to his horse. I watched the whole cavalcade ride away, and I was depressed for the remainder of the day.
THE NEXT NEWS I received from Castle Auburn was even worse.
It was a letter that came from Elisandra three weeks later, which, as was my habit, I ripped open as soon as it fell into my hands. The first few sentences expressed an interest in my health and a response to some minor observations I had made in my own last letter. In the second paragraph, she mentioned how she and Daria had detoured to Faelyn Market for a few days on their way back from Halsing Manor, and how they had done nothing but shop, to my infinite delight and weariness.
The third paragraph was what made me stand stock-still in the middle of the parlor and devour the rest of the words on the page.
After considering the matter carefully, and having some long, secret meeting with Uncle Jaxon, Lord Matthew has decided that my marriage to Bryan should go forward as planned this summer. He has waited so long to make the announcement, I think, because of protracted negotiations with Dirkson of Tregonia, which have somehow fallen through. Even Kent wasnot too specific on what went sour in the arrangement with Dirkson, but Matthew returned from there in a rage not three days ago. And yesterday he made the announcement about my wedding.
Everyone here is in a flutter, because he has set the day for the summer solstice, which only gives us a few months to prepare. And every bride knows that that is scarcely enough time to pull together a wedding! Fortunately, Matthew himself is taking responsibility for the guest list. All I have to worry about is my gown. My mother has some plans for teas and breakfasts and balls to accompany the event, but I will leave that to her. She is in transports, of course; this is the day she has dreamed of for so long.
I have told Bryan that I would like the ceremony to be as simple as possible, and he has agreed that we should each have two attendants apiece. He has chosen Kent and Holden of Veledore. I, of course, want only you by my side, but I have decided that your friend Angela should be my second bridesmaid since I must have two.
There has been other news here which I am sure you will be interested in hearing. While he was traveling back from Ouvrelet House, Bryan apparently had some trouble on the road—bandits who attempted to hold him up, not realizing what an august personage he was. He was never in any real danger, since he travels with an escort of twenty men, but the guardsman Roderick (whom I am sure you remember) distinguished himself well in defending the prince. So, now Bryan has named Roderick his personal guard, to attend him at all times. It is a great honor, as you might imagine, though I have not had a chance to ask the Personal Guard how pleased he is with his new appointment.
One final note, and then I really must send this on its way. Hennessey of Mellidon came by Auburn a week or so ago on his way back home after a tour through the southern provinces. Kent told me afterward that his father was very puzzled by the man’s attitude, for you must know that Arthur of Mellidon has been practically insisting upon an alliance with the castle for the past year, and you were the alliance they had settled on. But—according to Kent—Hennessey told Matthew that he had decided to look elsewhere for a bride, and that he realized this upset their negotiations and that he was willing to make some concessions because of it. Kent told me that his father had been afraid you would refuse Hennessey, and had been considering how to coerce you to the match, so this left poor Matthew completely nonplussed.
Kent and I speculated that Hennessey came to see you in the village and was so taken aback at your lifestyle there that he could not bring himself to make the offer. I would commiserate with you, except I know this was not an offer you were hoping for—and I tell you this now merely to relieve your mind. But do not think Matthew has forgotten you! I’m sure he is already scheming to marry you off to some other political ally, so expect to be inundated with suitors at my wedding.
Oh, Corie, I miss you most dreadfully. I count the months and weeks and days until I shall see you again. All my love, Elisandra.
I read this letter three times. So much in it to make me ponder, worry, and shiver! Elisandra to marry Bryan after all—what havoc would that wreak in her life, or would she, like Kent, be able to exert some influence over the wayward prince? Roderick to be Bryan’s personal guard—how galling that news must have been to the homesick soldier who had told me plainly how much he hated the prince.
The only cheer the letter h
eld for me was the news about Hennessey. It was good to know, in this calamitous world, that there was one soul that was not troubled and under siege—and that I had been the one to buy him peace. A small comfort, perhaps, but better these days than none.
FOUR MONTHS LATER I was on my way to Castle Auburn, to spend the summer at the royal court and witness my sister’s marriage to the prince.
PART THREE
Weddings
12
At Castle Auburn, everything was mayhem.
The suites that Elisandra shared with her mother, her maid, and (sometimes) me were filled—every room, every corner—with the items of her trousseau. Formal gowns, casual dresses, petticoats, chemises, shoes, slippers, cloaks, shawls, gloves, hats, bed linens, nightclothes, jewelry boxes, perfume bottles, hair combs, trinkets, vases, books—everything old and new that Elisandra planned to take with her to her new quarters across the castle was laid in piles and mounds and trunks around the rooms. Nothing could ever be found. Daria and I spent one whole day looking for a missing glove, which we never located, which required Elisandra to revise the ensemble she had planned to wear to a formal dinner that night—which required us to spend another two hours searching for the shoes that matched the new dress.
Greta was in a perpetual tizzy, constantly issuing orders to Daria, Cressida, and me, then remanding those orders with her next breath. She looked as if she never slept, spending the night hours instead planning table arrangements, counting guest lists and reviewing all the things that could go wrong at the wedding. It was a real pleasure to me to see her go an entire day with her hair imperfectly combed and her earrings mismatched, and one day the back of her dress was unbuttoned till noon at least before someone mentioned it. That day my happiness was almost unbounded.
Nonetheless, I spent most of these days in a state of low-grade worry, watching Elisandra and wondering what she was thinking. As always, that was impossible to tell. Upon my arrival at the castle, I had taken our first solitary moment together to ask how she was faring and if she was dreading this marriage to Bryan. She had laughed, squeezed my hands, and said, “Don’t be silly. I have prepared for this for years.” She even met my gaze, calm and composed as ever.