Guardians Of The Keep

CHAPTER 2

When I arrived at her room, Philomena was yelling again, but not for pain or fear of dying. A stooped, middle-aged man, soberly dressed and unremarkable, was the recipient of a diatribe being laid on like a flogger’s cane. “How can there not be enough silver to pay the wine merchant? You’ve likely put it all in your own pocket. I’ll have you hanged!”

“But my lady-”

“Comigor is the richest hold in the Four Realms, and you are paid exorbitantly to manage it. Perhaps if we were to take your wage out of your flesh, you would find what’s needed.”

“But, if you please, my lady, we have spent… prodigiously… in the past year: the new furnishings, the gem dealer, the dressmakers. And now the roof is leaking in the west wing and the forge is unusable since the fire, and we cannot even hire laborers-”

“How dare you accuse me! My husband denied me nothing, but my steward dares tell me ‘no more’? I suppose you would have me wear rags. I suppose I am to suffer completely.”

“But my lady, the rents are eight months overdue.” The steward blotted his forehead with a wide kerchief.

“Then get them, fool. Must I hold your hand?”

“Duke Tomas-may blessed Annadis write his name- left instructions at the first of this year that my lady must see to collecting the rents, as he was to be away on the appointed day. The Lords of Comigor have honored their covenant with the tenants for more than five hundred years. Only the lord or a member of his family may receive the rents. The tenants are not permitted to deliver their coins to anyone else.”

The bruised patience in the steward’s voice gave me the sense that this was not the first time for such an argument.

“You insufferable prig. It was certainly not my choice to rot here while my husband went charging all over the Four Realms, but of course he never consulted me in this or any other matter. ‘For Gerick’s inheritance,’ he said. ‘To keep the vultures in Montevial from getting any ideas.’ As if I knew nothing about inheritance and ambition. At least he can’t pester me about it any longer. A new lord rules here-though he listens to me no better than his father.” The painted fan that Philomena had been napping like a pennant in a gale fell still, and her rosy face beamed with sudden inspiration. “Of course! My son can do it! He is the castle lord now. I’ll command him to collect the cursed rents.”

The long-suffering steward replied patiently. “Until he comes of age, the young duke cannot collect the rents, Your Grace. He is too young to be held to account, and therefore he cannot fulfill the terms of the covenant.”

Philomena uncorked a silver vial she had snatched from her bedside table, inhaled deeply, and closed her eyes for a moment, then motioned to one of her maids. “Even if I could escape from my bed, I would not spend an entire tedious day nodding and smiling to filthy peasants. I care nothing for their nasty children or their cows or their wheat. Find some other way to get the money. Send the soldiers. Take hostages. I don’t care.”

“My lady, please… the dishonor of it…”

The steward seemed on the brink of tears, but Philomena turned her attention to a silver-backed mirror a maid had brought her, instantly rapt as the girl began to brush her golden hair. The steward stood his ground for a few moments, but when the lady began directing the maid in how to braid her tresses, he bowed and slunk out of the room.

I knew well of the Comigor Covenant. How many times had I been forced to dress in my stiffest clothes and sit in endless boredom beside my mother and Tomas as my father collected his rents? The ceremony played out like an elaborate dance figure. On the first day of every year, Covenant Day, the line of tenants would stretch through the great hall, across the outer ward and far into the outer bailey. One by one they would step forward, and my father would graciously invite the man to sit with him at a small table, offering him the glass of wine that sat on the table. Inevitably, the man would refuse the wine. The tenant would inquire politely after the health of the lord’s family. We were always “quite robust,” even when my mother was so weak from her last illness that she had to be carried up the stairs at the end of the day. Then my father would inquire after the health of the tenant’s wife and his parents and the progress of his children, each of them by name, and ask whether the man needed new tools or a new goat. After a suitable time, the tenant would stand and bow, and, almost as an afterthought, offer his coins to his lord. My father would salute the man and wish him a good season, then turn his full attention to the next man and begin the dance again.

When Tomas and I got restless and speculated between ourselves on the dire consequences to the state of the universe should one of the tenants actually drink the glass of wine, our mother whispered that we were being disrespectful. For many years, I believed that she meant we were disrespectful to my father-a terrifying prospect that instantly corrected my behavior. Only later did I understand that our behavior was disrespectful to the tenants, who fed us, clothed us, and kept us in comfort in return for the use of the Comigor land and the protection of its lord.

When my father was away on campaign, my mother sat at the little table with Tomas and me beside her. Tomas had been awkward the first few years after his coming of age, when our mother was dead and our grieving father too drunk to do his duty, but he had grown into it. Until my banishment from Comigor, I had sat with him as always. To change the practice had been unthinkable.

I entered my sister-in-law’s bedchamber in great disturbance of mind. “Did you rest well, Philomena?” I said.

Philomena’s aunt lurked glowering on the far side of the bed, half hidden behind the bed-curtains. The duchess’s attention remained focused on her mirror. “I don’t know what was in my head this morning, Seriana,” said Philomena, smoothing a strand of her hair. “I should have told you to go immediately. My husband didn’t want you here and neither do I. I’ve only your word that he sent you.”

“You may accept what I say as truth or lies. But your son has a right to know how his father died, and there’s no one else to tell him of it.”

“For all I know, you may have killed Tomas yourself,” said Philomena, more from annoyance than conviction. “You were married to a sorcerer and conspired with traitors. My husband caught you at it and called down the law. You’re probably here for revenge.”

“I told you, I hold neither you nor your child responsible. Tomas is beyond knowing, so vengeance has no purpose. Nothing will bring back my son.” I pulled a small gray silk bag from my pocket and laid it on the bedclothes in front of Philomena. “I brought this for you. It’s not dangerous.” I smiled at the old woman, who had backed away from the bedside as if the little pouch might conceal a snake.

From the bag Philomena pulled out a lock of Tomas’s red-brown hair tied with a green silk thread. She twined it about her fingers thoughtfully.

“Let it make peace between us,” I said. “If for nothing else than this-your son is the Duke of Comigor. I’ve brought him the Comigor signet ring. I have no child to rival him, and I’m not likely to. This is the house of my father and his fathers before him for thirty generations. I’d not see it destroyed for pointless revenge.”

“I think that’s what Tomas was most angry about,” said Philomena. “That you would do what you did and risk bringing ruin to this decrepit pile of rock. I never understood it.”

My conviction that Tomas had been controlled by the Zhid, the ancient enemies of Karon’s people from the magical world across D’Arnath’s Bridge, was unsupported by physical evidence. But I would have wagered my life on it. “If Tomas had been allowed to think on his own, he would have known that I’d never take such a risk lightly. He might have tried to understand what I told him about my husband and his people. Whatever else, I think he believed me at the end. Will you summon the boy?”

Philomena tossed the lock of hair onto her coverlet and picked up her mirror, first polishing it with a lace handkerchief and then observing her pretty face twisted into a flirtatious pout. “He might not come. He was so much nicer when he was small and the nurse would bring him to us for an hour in the evening. We would dandle him about and then send him off to bed. Now he says such awful things when he’s angry, and he’s angry so often and for no reason.” She pursed her lips, pinched her cheeks, and smoothed the skin over her brows, but she also dispatched one of the maids to find the young duke and tell him his mama most urgently requested him to wait on her.

Philomena continued her self-absorbed activities while we waited. I wandered to the window, unsure of how to broach the subject of the rents. Managing Philomena would be a full-time study. I was delighted that I didn’t have to cope with her for more than a day.

The expansive view from the window behind the heavy draperies was serenely beautiful. The southern face of Comigor fronted wheat fields, a golden ocean that lapped at the stone walls and stretched into the midday haze as far as I could see to east and south.

A glance over my shoulder confirmed that the hissing sound was Philomena’s aunt whispering vehemently in the duchess’s ear. Philomena was not so circumspect with her replies. “She was not the sorcerer. She was only married to one-” When she found my eye on her, the old woman paled and stepped away from the bed. Astonishing how many people believed that marrying a sorcerer must surely imbue a woman with magical powers of her own. I had often wished that to be the case. “-and he’s long dead.”

More time passed. Philomena tapped her teeth with the corner of the silver mirror. “I think you should give the ring to me,” she said abruptly.

I perched on the narrow window seat, where I could both enjoy the prospect and keep an eye on the bedchamber. “I’ll give it only to its proper owner.”

“Why would you care who has it? He’s too young to wear it, and I can take it from him as soon as you leave.”

“If I give it to him, and you take it away, then he will know who has it and who does not. There’ll be no misunderstanding.” I trusted Philomena no further than I could see her.

Philomena sulked until the boy strode into the room. “Gerick, my darling boy. Have you come to brighten your poor mama’s day?”

Philomena didn’t wait for an answer, and the boy didn’t seem inclined to provide one. I didn’t think his answer would be to his mother’s liking anyway. His thin face was contemptuous and aloof, and I would have thought he cared about nothing in the world, except that he so studiously avoided looking at me. Though I stood in a direct line with the door, he proceeded directly to his mother’s bedside and allowed her to peck him on the cheek.

“Gerick, this woman has brought you something that belongs to you. She insists on giving it directly to you, as is her right, but Mama must keep it for you until you come of age.”

The boy turned to me and bowed politely, his eyes devoid of emotion, even curiosity. I waited for Philomena to make a proper introduction, but she said nothing more. So I motioned for the boy to join me on a settle padded with thin red velvet cushions. He positioned himself, stiff as a starched collar, in the farthest corner of the bench.

“I was with your father when he died,” I said. The boy’s eyes grew large, their chilly disdain melted in an instant. “I want to tell you something of that day…”

I had prepared carefully what I would tell him of the strange, fog-bound cavern hidden in the snowy peaks of the Dorian Wall, and of the cruel, empty-eyed warriors who had sought to ensure their dominion over the Four Realms as well as their own far-distant lands by luring the finest swordsman in Leire, the King’s Champion, to fight the Prince of Avonar. I told the story sparingly, so that all I spoke was truth, yet withholding the parts a child could not understand or that it would be dangerous for him to hear. The boy’s attention did not waver through all my telling.

“… And so, you see, they never intended for your father to win the match. They made him confused and angry and didn’t tell him what they planned, for the Prince was pledged not to slay anyone from our lands. It was a most sacred vow that his ancestors had made, and the wicked men wanted to corrupt the Prince. But despite their tricks, your father discovered how he’d been deceived, and he refused to fight the Prince any longer. He told the evil men that there was no honor for King Evard in the match.”

Now came the most difficult part to explain. I dared not touch on the subjects of sorcery and enchantment and D’Arnath’s magical Bridge that linked our world to the world called Gondai and its royal city of Avonar. How could I explain that a soulless warrior Zhid had raised his fist and with terrible enchantments had driven Tomas to madness so that he impaled himself on D’Natheil’s sword? How could anyone, adult or child, comprehend that Prince D’Natheil was truly my husband, Karon, who had once let himself be burned to death rather than betray his Healer’s principles?

“These men were so wicked,” I said, “and their leader so lacking in honor and truth, that they drove your father to fight once more. It was difficult-impossible-for him to see in the fog and the dim light, and when he charged, thinking to slay the evil warriors, he ran right onto the Prince’s sword. The Prince was furious at what the wicked men had done, and he fought the villains until they could do no further harm. The Prince and I tried our best to save your father, but his wounds were terrible, and we could not, I held your father in my arms, and he told me he didn’t suffer. And then he spoke of you.”

The boy’s great eyes were shining, flecks of blue and amber in their rich brown depths, displaying a child’s pain that tugged at my heart no matter my disinterest or resentment. I was pleased that Tomas’s son mourned him. It should be so.

“He said that you were fair and had his looks, and so you do. And he said you were intelligent and opinionated, and that he wanted very much to tell you what a fine son you were. He was very proud of you.”

The boy took a shallow breath with the slightest trace of a quiver in it.

“He died in my arms soon after that. I buried him by that lonely lake with a sword in his hands as was proper for the King’s Champion. When you’re older, if you wish it, I’ll take you there.”

From a green silk bag much like the gray one I had given Philomena, I drew the heavy gold ring with the crest of the four Guardian Rings on it, and I placed it in the boy’s hand. “This is yours now. When the time comes, wear it with the dignity of your father and grandfather. They were not perfect men, but they always did what they thought was right. Great responsibilities come with such a fine thing as this, and you must learn of them as your father would wish.” But, of course, as I watched the boy wrap his slender fingers about the ring so tightly that his knuckles turned white, I wondered who would teach him. Not his mother or her aunt or her fluttering maids.

The child looked up at me as if seeing me for the first time. His voice was no more than a whisper. “Who are you?”

“My name is Seri. I’m your father’s sister. That would make me your aunt, I suppose.”

I thought I was prepared for whatever his reaction might be to the story I had told him, whether childish tears or controlled sorrow, confusion, or the more common disinterest of an aristocratic child whose parent was preoccupied with great events, but Gerick caught me entirely by surprise.

“The witch!” he screamed, as he jumped up and ran to his mother’s bed. “How dare you come here! How dare you speak of my father! He banished you from Comigor for your crimes. You’re supposed to be dead. Mama, make her go away!” Never had I heard such abject terror. Beasts of earth and sky, what had they told him?

“Hush, Gerick,” said Philomena, nudging him aside and smoothing the bedclothes he had rumpled. “Calm yourself. She’s leaving right away. Now, give me the ring before you drop it.”

The boy clung to the red coverlet, shaking and completely drained of color. His voice had faded to a whisper. “Go away. You shouldn’t be here. Go away. Go away.”

Philomena’s aunt looked triumphant.

I didn’t know quite what to do. Controlled retreat seemed best. “I am certainly not a witch, and the last thing in the world I would want is to harm an intelligent boy such as yourself. Your father and I were strangers for many years, believing terrible things of each other, but by the time he died, we had learned the truth-that the evils in our lives were done by the wicked men who killed him. All was made right between us then, and that’s why he sent me to you. But I know it’s complicated. I hope that as you learn more about me, you’ll not be afraid. And if there comes a time when you would like me to tell you more about your father, what he was like when he was your age, what things he liked to play and do, I’ll come back here and do so. For now, I’ll leave as you’ve asked.”

They must have filled the child with all the worst teaching about sorcery. Even so, I would never have expected Tomas’s child to be so dreadfully afraid. I nodded to Philomena, who was paying more attention to the signet ring than to her trembling child, and left the room. A wide-eyed Nancy stood outside the doorway. Unhappy, unsatisfied, I asked her to bring my cloak and summon my driver. It was certainly not my place to comfort the boy.

As I descended the stairs, I met a small party coming up. Nellia was leading a gentleman so formidable in appearance that you could never mistake him once you’d met. His dark curly hair and tangled eyebrows were streaked with gray, but his cheerful, intelligent black eyes, giant nose, and drooping earlobes, heavy with dark hair, had changed not a whit since the last time I’d seen him.

“Lady Seriana, have you met the physician Ren Wesley?” asked the housekeeper.

“Indeed so,” I said. “Though it was many years ago.”

“My lady!” said the gentleman, his bow only half obscuring his surprise. “I never would have thought to find you here. I was not even sure- Well, it is a considerable pleasure to see you in good health.”

Ren Wesley had once been my dinner partner at the home of a mutual acquaintance. The animated conversation with the well-read physician had turned a dreary prospect into a stimulating evening. On the day of Karon’s trial the sight of the renowned physician among the spectators had prompted me to argue that a healer’s skills were not usually considered evil, but rather marvelous and praiseworthy.

“I’m surprised to find you here also, sir, a full day’s journey from Montevial. My sister-in-law is fortunate to have such skill at her call.”

“Her Grace is difficult to refuse,” said the physician. “And, indeed, she is in need of care.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “May I ask-I never expected to have the opportunity-but I would very much appreciate a few words with you once I’ve seen to the duchess.”

“I was just leaving.”

“Oh dear. I’m sorry to hear that. I assumed-hoped- that you might be here to care for the young duke while his mother is unable to do so.” The physician’s broad face creased into a disappointed frown, and he lowered his voice. “The boy is in desperate need of some looking after, especially since his father’s death. You’ve seen it, have you not-how troubled he is?”

“I’ve only met the boy today.”

Philomena’s aunt appeared at the top of the stair. “Sir physician, your dallying is insupportable. The duchess awaits.”

Ren Wesley called up to her. “Madam, I have journeyed for most of a day to wait upon the good lady. Inform Her Grace that a portly old man, stiff from a long carriage ride, does not move so quickly up the stairs as sylphlike creatures such as yourself. Only a moment more and I shall be at her side.” His scowl gave way to a raised eyebrow and a twinkle in the eye as soon as he turned back to me. “I would speak to you on the boy’s behalf, my lady. Now, if no other time is available.”

Unlike my nephew, I had never been the master of my own curiosity. “You should go up,” I said. “I can postpone my departure for a little while. I’ll be in the music room.”

“Thank you, my lady. I will rejoin you as speedily as may be.”

I sent word to Renald that our departure was delayed and returned to the music room. Sadly, this room was more neglected than the library, cobwebs draped over a standing harp as if the spiders were trying to add new strings to it. I straightened the portrait of my mother that hung over the hearth. My fragile, lovely mother had brought music and grace to this musty warriors’ haven. She had been afraid of war and hated talk of it. When she had died so young-I was but nine years old-people had said that life as a Leiran warrior’s wife had been too harsh for her. I had vowed to be stronger. Strange how things work out.

I ought to go. No need to concern myself with the child. By spring Philomena would be mobile again and would take her children to Montevial. Though I would be sorry to see Comigor left vacant, perhaps it would be better for the boy. Surely in the capital city some friend of Tomas’s would take him under his wing.

As I picked idly at the strings of a lute that hung on the wall, that consideration led me to think of Darzid, Tomas’s cynical, unscrupulous military aide. Darzid was an enigma, a charmingly amoral man who had attached himself to my family eighteen years before. With only flimsy proof, I was convinced that Darzid’s mysteries were connected with my brother’s terrible deeds, and, ultimately, with the soulless Zhid warriors who had killed Tomas and tried to destroy D’Arnath’s Bridge. Darzid was unlikely to concern himself with Tomas’s child. But the possibility that Philomena might turn to him for the boy’s tutelage kept me in the music room waiting for Ren Wesley. If I could discourage any such association through the good offices of the physician, I had to do so.

Almost an hour later the leonine head poked itself through the music-room door. “May I?”

“Please, come in. I hope everything is well with my sister-in-law.”

Heaving a massive sigh, the physician lowered himself to a high-backed chair that creaked woefully at the burden. “As I expected, the duchess needed only a good measure of reassurance. I’ve recommended that she keep close to her bed this time in hopes we may bring this child into the world for more than a single day. The last two arrived well beforetime, and, as such infants will, they lacked the stamina to survive more than a few hours. Every day we can prolong Her Grace’s confinement gives the little one a better chance. But I ramble. You desire to be off.”

“I do, but it’s not for lack of interest in renewing our acquaintance. I’ve nothing but good memories of our evening’s encounter.”

The physician clucked his tongue. “What dreadful dinner parties the countess concocted! That particular evening was the only one in my memory when I did not return home swearing to renounce society completely. I looked forward to meeting you again. But the next time I saw you, you were in a witness box before the king, vowing it was possible for a healer to bring his patient back from the dead.” Elbows resting on his thick knees, chin propped on his clasped hands, Ren Wesley examined my face as if I were some rare symptom to be added to his store of knowledge. “Ah, madam, do you understand what questions your story raised in me? The appalling truth of my own ignorance…”

“Surely you know that to discuss such matters would put us both in violation of the law.” His frankness was disarming, but I had lived too long to ignore the consequences of unbridled speech. Any door or window could conceal an informer. Only sorcerers were burned alive, but those who countenanced sorcery, even by speech, likewise paid a mortal price: beheading or hanging, according to their rank. So Leiran law had stipulated for four hundred and fifty years.

“Yes… well… there are those among us who listen and think somewhat more independently than we have the courage to display. But in the interests of timeliness as well as safety, I will concede. Truly your nephew is of more immediate concern. You say you’ve met him?”

“He’s the reason I’m here…” I told Ren Wesley of my promise to Tomas and the message he had sent to his son.

“They did not get on, you know,” mused the physician. He leaned back in his chair and took out a pipe, proceeding through the rituals of filling and tamping. “Gerick clearly admired his father a great deal, yet from the time the child left the nursery, he would scarcely open his mouth in his father’s presence. The duke was quite concerned. Knowing I had sired six sons of my own, he consulted me several times, even asking me to examine the boy for any sign of disorder.”

“And what did you find?”

“Never had the opportunity to discover anything. Twice I attempted an examination, and twice the child went into a fit, almost making himself ill.”

Just as he had in Philomena’s room.

The physician tapped the unlit pipe in his large hand. “Many children throw tantrums, especially children who are wealthy and indulged and permitted to be willful. But what’s so worrisome is that the boy is not at all prone to such behavior. Your brother was a good father, and unless I attempt to examine him, Gerick is invariably polite and respectful to me, just as he was to Duke Tomas. He is very much in control of himself. Too much so for a child of ten.”

“I noted the same. That’s why I was so surprised at his outburst.” I told the physician about the boy’s terror when I revealed my identity. “I assumed that the tales he’s been told of sorcery and my connections with it were just too frightening for one so young.”

“For any other child you might be correct, but Gerick is not subject to foolish frights. No. The boy has built a wall about himself and will let no one beyond it. When anyone attempts to breach his defenses, he throws himself into this morbid frenzy. It’s not healthy. He needs someone to take him in hand, someone who cares for him.”

I sat on a cushioned stool beside the standing harp and began brushing cobwebs off the tarnished strings. “Why are you telling me this? I’ve just met the child. Though I grieve to hear of his trouble, surely there are better ears to hear of them.” Someone who did not begrudge the boy’s life. “His mother-”

Ren Wesley harrumphed like a volcano belching fire before its eruption. “I wouldn’t trust his mother with the training of my dogs. But the woman isn’t stupid, either. Where it comes to her abiding interests, she’s been known to listen to reason. When I spoke with her just now, I took a great liberty. The duchess was complaining of a problem with the tenants and the rents…”

“I heard it. I hope she can be made to understand the importance of the Comigor Covenant.”

“What she understands, madam, is how painful is her lack of silver and how her own position depends on the security and prosperity of her son’s inheritance. I told her that it was important to her health to ease these worries… certainly true. And I told her that I could see only one solution to her problems.”

“What was that?” A blindly innocent question.

“I told her that you must collect the rents.” His great eyebrows leaped skyward.

“You’re mad! Philomena would never consent to such a thing.”

“On the contrary, my lady; once her eyes were opened, she began to think it her own idea.”

“Then she’s mad.”

“Not at all. Consider. The boy is not of age. The traditions of this house require that an adult, a member of the family or a guardian appointed by the king, carry out this covenant. His mother sees dealing with the rents as tedious and common and would as soon hang the tenants as shake their hands. But by persuading you to stay, she can have money in her pocket at the turn of the year without putting herself out in the least. I told her that your familiarity with the castle could perhaps relieve her of a number of burdens and allow her to concentrate on her health.”

I was not sure whether to laugh hysterically or throw the harp at the monstrous eyebrows that waggled in delight at my discomfiture.

“I apologize for failing to take into account whatever it is that currently occupies your days, but the opportunity presented itself. I cannot but think the boy would flourish in your care.”

The only thing that kept me from laughing at his foolish presumption was the way my heart warmed, even as I accused him of madness. I fingered the rose-colored, thumb-sized stone that hung around my neck. At some time in the coming months, so I’d been told, the stone would glow of its own light, and its unnatural chill grow warm. The next morning Dassine would bring Karon to visit me in hopes I might provide some small help as the sorcerer restored Karon’s memory.

I had no good plan for what to do with myself while I waited. I could not bear to return to the primitive life I had lived for ten years in Dunfarrie, nor, even if I had the means, could I resume the life of aristocratic dabbling that had been interrupted by Karon’s arrest. For the past few months I had been caught up in events that shaped the universe, and now neither sphere felt like home. I hadn’t believed that I belonged at Comigor either. But if I could do some good with the time, shore up Comigor’s neglected future, then staying here might be a decent way to spend my time. As for the boy…

“If I allow myself be talked into this foolishness, whatever would I do about my nephew?” I said. “He was trembling at the sight of me.” And to think that I, of all people, could break down the boy’s unnatural reticence… I could scarcely endure looking at him.

The furrows in the physician’s broad forehead deepened. “A gamble, to be sure. If he cannot come to tolerate you, we’ll have to reconsider. I told the duchess that I would speak to him.” His last words were phrased as a question. He cocked his massive head, waiting for my answer.

I couldn’t seem to think of another argument. “You’re a wicked man, Ren Wesley. You remind me of another I met just recently, a healer, too, who with his conceits sets himself up to order the fate of men and women and worlds. I don’t think either Philomena or her son will thank you for this. Nor will I.”

The physician burst into thunderous laughter. “It should be a match of historic proportions. I might have to set myself a regular schedule of visits just to make sure you’ve not murdered each other.”

So it was that the Duchess of Comigor sent me an urgent message, requesting me to delay my departure so she could set me a proposition. While I stood in the window of a second floor sitting room, waiting for my interview and wondering at the change a few hours could make, I watched Ren Wesley stroll about the inner ward. Hands clasped at his back, he examined the crumbling sundial that marked the exact center of the castle. He was just moving toward the curved border of the well when he spun on his heel. My nephew hurried across the courtyard, bowed politely to the physician, and joined him on his walk. Gerick stopped after a moment and seemed to be making a point, shaking his head vigorously. But he displayed no hysteria, no screaming or other irrational behavior, and soon the two resumed their stroll, disappearing through the arched gate into the fencing yard. A short time later, a maid brought the physician to me.

“Your nephew is greatly disturbed by your presence, my lady,” said a bemused Ren Wesley, “and he repeated his accusations that you are-pardon my frankness-condemned and wicked. He says that his father banished you, and that you have no right to be at Comigor.”

“That’s that, then. He’s absolutely correct. I’ll go at-”

“But when I told him that your stay was in the best interests of Comigor and his mother’s health, he accepted the decision quite reasonably. Unquestionably something about you disturbs him, but I don’t believe he is half so terrified as he acts.”

A bit later, when I was invited to Philomena’s room, my sister-in-law sweetly begged my pardon, claiming that her lack of welcome earlier was due to her anxieties over her health. Her husband had obviously trusted and forgiven me, for she had received word of the royal pardon granted at Tomas’s behest. Truthfully, said the duchess, in blushing humility, she had been quite taken by my words to Gerick about the honor and responsibilities of the family. When the physician had given her the dire news that she must abandon all serious thoughts and occupations such as the running of the household, the only thing that prevented abject despair was the realization that the Holy Twins had sent me to be the salvation of the family’s honor and my nephew’s heritage. After an hour of Philomena’s wheedling and an hour of serious negotiations touching on my rights, duties, and privileges while in her house-the woman indeed knew her business where it came to matters of inheritance and ambition-we agreed that I would stay.

By nightfall Ren Wesley had departed, and my driver had been dispatched with letters to my friends in Dunfarrie, informing them of my change in plans. I had no need to send for my things. The few articles of clothing that I had acquired on my return to city life had traveled with me. By midnight, I lay again in the little room in the north wing where I had slept from the day I left the nursery until the day my brother had forbidden me ever to come home again.