Summers at Castle Auburn

  I could not help but doubt her.

  The wedding was set for the morning following the summer solstice, which meant we would have the longest day of the year to pass in revels to celebrate the event. There was to be an entire week of festivities preceding the actual ceremony, including formal balls, hunts, dinners, contests, and fairs. Representatives from each of the eight provinces were to be present; this was to be a show of unity such as the country had not seen since the funeral marking the death of Bryan’s father.

  In the weeks leading up to the ceremony I divided my time between helping Elisandra as much as I could, and renewing my old friendships at the castle.

  I was not staying out quite as late as I had during my previous visit, but I did manage to spend a couple of convivial evenings at the main gates swapping stories with Shorro and Cloate. The two of them were proud to inform me that they had been assigned night gate duty for a second year in a row—a high honor, they said, though I asked innocently if perhaps it was Kritlin’s way to avoid seeing their unprepossessing faces by the light of day? I had also asked, the very first time I saw them, how Cloate’s romance was progressing, and was thrilled beyond measure to learn that he was planning to marry that very summer.

  “Because she’s accepted me, Kritlin’s already given me an apartment in the family barracks. We’ve decided on the day a week before the prince’s marriage. It seeming a very good season for weddings,” Cloate said. He was beaming. I had never seen the dour man so elated, and it gave me a little hope. Some folks, it seemed, could still marry for love—and even if that love had been assisted by magic, it still seemed a positive omen.

  “Let me know when you’re ready to settle down,” I told Shorro. “I’ll mix up a special potion just for you.”

  “Not till the moon falls,” he said with a grin. “Not till the world ends.”

  I did not go by the aliora quarters at night anymore, though I dropped by during the afternoon hours more than once. Andrew had formally introduced me to the young girl named Phyllery, who was so changed I almost would not have known her. She was shy but smiling, and she sidled forward to meet me, giggling behind her hand. Someone had plaited her hair back with flowers and ribbon, and she was dressed in a pretty pink gown hung with all sorts of lace and bows. She looked—arms and braids and sashes all aflutter—like so many banners dancing in the wind; she was nothing but long thin streamers of color. Still laughing behind one palm, she laid her free hand in mine, and I felt that shock of delight that the touch of an aliora so often brings.

  “She seems to have recovered nicely,” I said to Andrew.

  “In most ways,” he said.

  “How are you? How do you like living in the castle?” I asked the girl. She just blushed, giggled again, and pulled her hand away.

  “She doesn’t talk,” Andrew said.

  “She hasn’t learned human speech?” I asked.

  “She doesn’t talk at all.”

  I looked at him sharply. “Could she talk before? In Alora?”

  He nodded. “Oh yes. And when she arrived here, she told us—many things. But since then—” He shrugged. “We are grateful for the smiles, at least. And Angela talks enough for three, so there is no reason Phyllery should need to speak.”

  So, this little bashful child had been sold into Angela’s service. That was good news, at least; Angela’s only spite was verbal, and even then, there was no real malice in her. She was always carelessly kind to her servants. This child would fare well enough at her new mistress’s hands.

  Nonetheless, I sighed, and Andrew gave me a sympathetic smile. “You seem sad, Coriel.”

  I nodded. “The world makes me sad these days. Things I would not have noticed a year ago seem dreadful to me now. Is that a function of growing older? And will everything seem more dreadful every year, from now until I die?”

  Andrew smiled again and held out his hand to me. I let him draw me into his embrace, and rested my head against his flat, warm chest. His arms came around me, straw-thin and weightless as reeds. It was like being hugged by cattails and bird feathers, and yet it was incredibly comforting. I could not remember the last time I had received solace in Andrew’s arms. I closed my eyes and allowed the sweet scent of his skin to lull me to calm.

  “Aren’t you very young to be seeing the world as such a bleak place?” he asked in a soft, chiding voice. “What has happened to make you so fretful and unhappy?”

  “Everything,” I said, my voice muffled against his shirt. “Phyllery. Elisandra. Yes, and Roderick and Hennessey and everybody else, too. What’s to become of any of them?”

  “I can’t imagine what their troubles are,” he began, his voice warm and amused, “but I think—”

  “Andrew! Coriel! Stop that!” The sharp voice broke us apart in astonishment, and I whirled around to face a sight I had never seen: Cressida in a rage. She strode forward and actually grabbed my arm, and her grip hurt.

  “Cressida! What—”

  She yanked me from Andrew’s side and glared at us both impartially. “Bad enough that the human girl comes up here to consort with aliora—bad enough when she was a child that she would go to you for comfort. But now—” She pulled her implacable gaze from Andrew’s face and frowned at me instead. “And you, Corie. You’re an adult, you know better than to lounge in the arms of men—”

  “I was just—”

  “Don’t tell me your innocence! You’re a noblewoman in the royal castle, and you know how every gesture is watched! To stand embraced like that with someone who is no better than a servant—if Lady Greta should see you, or the lord regent—”

  “Neither of whom has ever climbed these stairs,” Andrew murmured.

  “Or anyone,” she added, ignoring him. “You’ve your own reputation to think about, that should be foremost in your mind, but you jeopardize Andrew, too. What do you suppose happens to servants caught loitering with the castle gentry?”

  “They get thrown off of mansion tops,” I said in a low voice, thinking of Tiatza. “But I did not think—I was just—”

  Cressida’s voice softened as her face lost its harsh mask of rage. She dropped my arm. “You have to start thinking, Corie. All the time. You cannot make foolish mistakes.”

  I spread my hands. “I’m sorry. I won’t come up here anymore.”

  “That would be best,” she said.

  I had not meant it; it had just been a conciliatory gesture. “But I—” I began.

  She nodded. “I know. But the prince becomes king this year, and the whole world changes. Now be good. Go back to your room. I’ll see you when I come to dress you for dinner.”

  And like that, my best refuge was taken away from me. I did not really believe that I was jeopardizing the aliora by spontaneous displays of affection—I had often seen Elisandra hug Cressida and Bryan would sometimes hang upon Andrew’s arm—but Cressida was right; I was no longer a child. If I wanted to keep a sterling reputation at the castle, I had to guard my actions carefully from here on out.

  But did I want to keep that reputation—?

  I went back to my room and, not for the first time, pondered what might become of me.

  THE OTHER FRIENDSHIPS were easier to maintain. Angela shrieked with delight the first time she saw me, and insisted on drawing me back to her room to tell me everything that had happened in the past nine months. Kent made a point of taking me riding three times in my first two weeks back, merely, it seemed, for the pleasure of my company; he did not once say he had missed me. He seemed relaxed and amiable as ever, but a little withdrawn, as if cares that he could not discuss lay heavily on his mind. This miffed me a little, for once or twice last year it had seemed that he had chosen me for a confidante. I, at least, had thought we were closer than his remoteness suggested.

  But I did not question him about his silence.

  It was harder to get a chance to speak with Roderick, though I saw him continually. As Bryan’s personal guard, he accompanied the prince everywhere w
hen Bryan left the castle confines. During formal dinners and dances, when there were many strangers present, Roderick also followed Bryan indoors from room to room. During dinner, the guard would stand at alert attention just behind Damien’s chair, watching the servants, the visitors, and the prince. I tried to catch his eye from time to time, and occasionally he would give me an infinitesimal nod, but he never once smiled.

  I could not imagine that he felt much like smiling. I could not imagine that he enjoyed his new position. For his sake, I was glad the wedding was drawing so close, because I knew he planned to leave Bryan’s service once the prince was married. For my own sake, I would be sorry to see Roderick go—and, of course, for Elisandra’s sake, I wished the wedding day would never dawn.

  As it turned out, there were other weddings to celebrate first—a strange wedding, a strange celebration, and the beginning of more changes than I could count.

  THREE WEEKS BEFORE the solstice, I was in the breakfast room much earlier than my wont, with the result that I had the opportunity to share that meal with Bryan and his uncle. I had not slept well the night before and had decided, when dawn came unforgivingly in, that I may as well get up. The day itself might have more to offer than the restless night.

  The first offering was Bryan, turning away from the sideboard with a full plate in his hands. “Corie!” he exclaimed. He instantly laid his plate on the table in front of Damien, and bounded across the room to kiss me noisily on the cheek. This had been his method of address since I arrived at the castle at the beginning of the summer, and it still made me nervous. He had changed so much in such a short time. His fair skin seemed ruddier, coarser, the skin of a man much older; his red hair seemed too bright to match his own flesh tones. His quick, familiar hug always felt shockingly intimate, and the expression on his face—well, it was hard to describe. My grandmother would say he looked to be full of mischief, but it seemed worse than that to me. He looked feverish, at times. Overexcited. Unrestrained.

  On this morning, I took the kiss and turned instantly to greet the regent, sitting over his own plate at the table. “Bryan. Lord Matthew. Damien. Good morning.”

  Damien, of course, said nothing, merely bobbed his head in a silent greeting. Matthew spared me one quick look from his narrowed eyes. He was a smooth and calculating man, who had always seemed, to me at least, completely unemotional. Was this how Kent would turn out? Was his coolness this summer just a portent?

  “Good morning, Lady Coriel,” Matthew said formally. “It’s rare to have the pleasure of your company so early in the morning.”

  “But delightful,” Bryan amended. “Here, sit by me. Damien will make room.”

  “Let me get some food first,” I said to Bryan. “Well, I woke early, so I thought I’d rise early,” I replied to Matthew as I filled my plate. “I admit, it is a rare hour for me.”

  “We’re happy to see you,” the regent said as I settled at the table, next to Bryan and across from Matthew. “I have learned today that interesting guests will be arriving soon. Ordinal of Wirsten will be attending your sister’s wedding as part of the viceroy’s train. He’s an intelligent, sober man with good property. I think you’ll enjoy meeting him.”

  “I’m sure I will,” I said politely.

  Bryan snorted. “He’s a pompous old man who can scarcely see to shoot a crossbow.”

  “He’s a seasoned and thoughtful veteran,” Matthew corrected him in measured tones.

  “Well, he may know old war stories but he’s forgotten all the skills,” Bryan sneered. “Give me a dagger to his sword, and I’d dismember him every time.”

  “No doubt. However, we do not want you to dismember him,” Matthew said dryly. “You must save that pastime for some less desirable party.”

  Bryan laughed, as if Matthew had intended humor. “I look forward to meeting him,” I said.

  “Your uncle also will be arriving in a day or two,” Matthew pursued. “In his last letter, he hinted at changes he plans to make in his lifestyle. Naturally I am most curious to learn what these are. No doubt you will wish to visit with him as well.”

  “Oh, always,” I said, still in my polite voice, but my heart had quickened. Changes? Jaxon? I had last heard from him in early winter, shortly after the solstice, once Elisandra had returned home. He had sent a brief note, expressing his regret that he would not be able to escort me back to the castle for my summer visit, but promising to see me sometime during the season. Even at the time, his note had made me wonder.

  Matthew touched his napkin to his lips. “And soon, as you know, the castle will be quite filled with other guests. These are splendid times for Auburn.”

  Bryan took his juice glass from Damien’s hand and raised it in a mock salute. “Splendid,” he echoed. “A glorious summer indeed.”

  THE FIRST CHANCE I got, I asked Kent and Elisandra what Matthew had meant. I had not planned to pose the question to Kent as well; he just happened to be in my sister’s sitting room that afternoon when I came in after my ride. The two of them appeared to be in deep conversation, which they broke off the instant I entered.

  “Elisandra, did you—oh. Good afternoon, Kent. Daria didn’t tell me you were in here.”

  He touched his fist to his forehead in light mockery. “Yes, Lady Coriel, and I am thrilled to see you, too.”

  I settled myself next to my sister on her sofa, and she smiled at me. “Did I what?” she asked.

  I had to think back to what I had been saying as I walked in. “Did you—oh! Did you notice anything odd about Uncle Jaxon over the winter? Lord Matthew was hinting at something over breakfast.”

  “If you had breakfast with my father, you must have been up the entire night,” Kent commented. “I’m surprised you’re awake now.”

  Elisandra’s perfect features drew into a slight frown. “Odd? He seemed a little distracted, that’s true. He met with his estate managers for three whole days, but I assumed that he was discussing normal affairs of the property. He didn’t mention anything amiss.”

  Kent’s face had dropped the teasing look; he now wore his new serious expression. I leveled a stare of accusation in his direction.

  “You know something,” I said. “What’s going on?”

  “My father seems to think,” Kent said carefully, “that your uncle is planning to marry.”

  “Marry!” Elisandra and I exclaimed in unison. She added, “Marry who? He never mentioned any woman.”

  “He always swore he would never marry,” I said.

  Kent shrugged. “I think my father is guessing. It seems Jaxon has asked for copies of his brother’s will, and one of the clauses in it concerns the disposition of the Halsing estates if Jaxon marries and has heirs.”

  “And what exactly is that disposition?” I wanted to know.

  “Strange,” Kent admitted. “As it stands now, Halsing Manor is Jaxon’s for his lifetime. After he dies, it goes to Elisandra’s second-oldest son.”

  “Second-oldest?” I asked.

  “Because my oldest will become king,” Elisandra said.

  “But if Elisandra did not marry Bryan—” I began.

  Kent nodded. “Then she and her husband would inherit the estate upon her marriage. She cannot inherit the property herself,” Kent added, “for the will was written on the principles of primogeniture.”

  “And if Jaxon marries and has heirs?” I asked.

  “His heirs receive the property, but an annuity is paid out to Elisandra for the rest of her life. And a smaller one falls to you, I might add, but only until you marry.”

  I sat up straight at this news. “How much of an annuity? I might never marry if the amount is good enough.”

  “Jaxon would have to die before you would receive it,” Elisandra reminded me.

  “He’s an old man. He lives a dangerous life,” I said outrageously. “I can be patient for a while longer.”

  “Corie!” She was shocked, but Kent was laughing.

  “Indeed, my father always s
aid he had expected Jaxon to die before he wed,” Kent observed. “And I’m not sure he’s pleased at the news.”

  “Why not?” I demanded.

  Kent shrugged. “Because if Jaxon was going to marry at all, he might as well marry to oblige the throne. My father long ago gave up trying to rope Jaxon into a political alliance. You can see where this might—annoy him a little.”

  “But you don’t even know for sure that marriage is what he has planned,” Elisandra said.

  “True. It could be some other mysterious ‘change’ that requires the rewriting of the entire Halsing endowment schedule.”

  Elisandra silenced him with a glance. I left the room shortly afterward, looking for information from other sources. But Angela was surprisingly little help, though we spent at least an hour remembering the names of all the women of marriageable age whom Jaxon could have met in recent visits to the castle.

  “Because I don’t think he goes into society much when he’s not here, except locally, and there are no brides to choose from near Halsing Manor,” Angela said positively. “Did he travel much last winter, do you know? Did he visit Tregonia or Chillain? Though I still say Megan is too young for him, despite the tendency older men have to believe young ladies prefer them.”

  “He didn’t mention any trips. He doesn’t write me that often. I think it has to be someone near Halsing Manor.”

  Angela’s eyes grew big with illicit speculations. “Could it be— one of the servant women? Or—perhaps not quite that bad—a seamstress from one of the nearby towns? A lowborn woman? Perhaps someone who works in a tavern—”

  That would certainly explain the secrecy, and I had to admit I could picture Jaxon enjoying the company of a woman not quite so well-bred as the ladies he might find at the castle. But—to marry one? Jaxon had never liked anyone’s company enough to seek it out for more than a week or two at a time. It was hard to picture him choosing a partner for life.