Lord Dardan Tarian reined to a stop on the crest of a stony ridge, gazing southwest toward the pale walls of Callaston. The morning haze had lifted and Dardan could see acres of farms and cottages laid out between him and the city. The little homes, smoke wafting from their chimneys, looked pleasant and inviting, but Dardan had to go into the city itself. Callaston was crowded, and it stank. He’d spent more than enough time here as a boy.
His valo, Liam Howard, rode up beside him, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun. “Looking for something, m’lord?”
“An excuse to avoid visiting this foul city.”
“Surely your lady mother isn’t such unbearable company,” Liam deadpanned.
Dardan snorted. He kicked his horse to a safe walk down the hill, toward their one-wagon caravan below. He thought about the sheaf of parchment in his satchel, a pile of contracts and documents from his father, destined for the Tarians’ trade agent in Callaston. As usual, he would have to spend tedious hours overseeing the details.
They still had to reach the city first. A handful of guards bracketed the wagon, keeping a watchful eye, though there was little risk of banditry this close to Callaston. Dardan came up alongside their captain, a young, chiseled man with flinty eyes.
“M’lord.” Captain Reed bowed slightly. “Will we be accompanying you in the city once we arrive?”
Dardan shook his head. “Escort the wagon to the warehouse, then return to the manse. You can quarter there for the night. Mother may have letters to send back with you. Then I think you can return to Hedenham. I’ll be in the city a few days, and we’re taking nothing back but ourselves.”
“Your mother the countess will insist on an escort,” Liam interjected.
Of course she will. Countess Besiana fretted for Dardan’s safety every time he left the city, though he’d made the trip back to Hedenham a dozen times with no escort save his valo. This time would be no different: she’d insist, he’d decline. All part of the routine. He shrugged at Liam, ending the conversation.
Dardan eyed the wagon once again. All the cargo looked undisturbed, the wax seals still intact on the crates of raw iron and copper, smithed tools, and bales of wool and flax. Dardan’s father the count always insisted he take some goods with him on his trips to the city, if for no other reason than to keep up appearances. Arriving in the capital with freight in tow reinforced the image of Hedenham’s prosperity.
The ashstone walls of Callaston loomed ever closer. The Festival Gate stood wide open, and a steady stream of wagons, horses, and travellers issued forth, but a long line waited to enter. Royal inspectors examined all cargo entering the city, to extract import duties on the relevant goods. Dardan’s wares had already been inspected, taxed, and sealed at a royal trading house in Hedenham. Still, it was a long line. I hate waiting.
When they reached the end of the queue, he nodded at Liam. The valo rode ahead, looking through the line. He returned shortly. “Men with Duke Visail’s colors guard a wagon near the front. All else are commoners.”
“Is Visail with the wagon?”
“No, nor his kin, that I could tell. Just guards and servants.”
Dardan considered. It was a noble’s privilege to skip to the head of the queue, but a duke far outranked the son of a count. “We’ll wait,” he said, irritated at the further delay.
Finally, Visail’s wagon made it through the gate, and Dardan motioned to his own driver. They pulled out of the line and cantered to the front, bypassing all the commoners. Dardan empathized with their envious looks, but he wanted to get this over with. The men at the gate made a cursory inspection of the seals and the manifest, and waved Dardan and his men into the city.
Captain Reed bowed to Dardan and led his men after the wagon, which had turned down toward the river and the warehouses there. Dardan trotted away toward the north of the city, Liam at his side.
Callaston reeked, and it would only get worse as summer approached. Dardan was used to the open fields and heath of Hedenham; here all the people and buildings and waste were packed too tightly together. Not to mention the tendency of Callaston’s nobles to embroil him in their tiresome intrigues. He especially did not relish the memory of Countess Rambul’s last dinner party, and its aftermath. Nonetheless, his duty brought him here, and he would see it discharged. Quickly.
The main avenues of Callaston formed a rough grid, though even the widest streets curved around ancient inns, trading houses, shops, malthouses, and manses. The city was more than four hundred years old, having grown from a small riverside trading post in Garova’s early days, and it showed. Some past kings had tried to impose more order on the city, but Callastonites had more than once rioted against attempts to demolish their favorite malthouses for the sake of straighter streets.
Dardan wended his way through that haphazard plan, eventually reaching the Grainway, and then Willbury Street. Many of the city’s streets lacked trees, but Willbury was well-shaded. He was almost able to forget he was in crowded Callaston at all.
The Tarians’ manse sat at the bottom of the curving road, sheltered from the bustle of the city, though alas not entirely from the smell. Dardan saw the house major, the prissy and gray-fuzzed Bertram, waiting impatiently out in front with a pair of stableboys. Dardan dismounted and gave the old man a friendly nod which was returned precisely. Liam greeted the major with a jocular bellow and a clap on the shoulder. Bertram’s face turned a soft shade of purple.
“Mother, I’ve arrived,” Dardan called out in the foyer. He tossed his hat onto the demilune table by the door. He was sweaty from the ride, and the countess would no doubt insist he clean himself up at once.
“Dardan, my dear boy!” came his mother’s squeak from the top of the stairs. She glided down, trailed by her vala, the perpetually nervous Rose. Spending a lot of time around Besiana could do that to a person. “It’s so good to see you.” She pecked him on the cheek, then sniffed. “Mister Howard, have you been letting my son sleep in barns the whole way here?”
“No, m’lady, that’s how he always smells,” Liam said. Dardan fought down a grin.
“Off to a bath, I won’t have your foul stench permeating the house. BERTRAM!”
“Yes, m’lady?” The major nearly leapt forward, hands clasped expectantly.
“My son will be hungry, of course. Prepare a snack for us at once.”
“It’s good to see you as well, mother,” Dardan said, not waiting for her to pause, as that could mean quite a long wait.
“Off with you. I shall be in the sitting room.” Besiana strode away. Rose followed, although not before giving Liam a besotted grin. The valo winked at her.
Dardan snorted once she was gone. “I thought I told you to stop tumbling the maids.”
“Perhaps I remind them of your father, m’lord,” Liam said. He was more handsome than Dardan, they were both well aware. Dardan had lost count of the times someone had assumed that he was the valo, and Liam the lord.
A small suite of rooms had been made ready for him. He washed from a painted porcelain vase, ignoring the bar of lavender-scented soap that sat beside it. A man should not smell like flowers. Liam helped him dress in garments that had already been laid out for him: linen shirt, waistcoat, breeches, hose, and velvet slippers. Besiana insisted he dress like a city dandy whenever he was here. Whether he matched the furniture seemed more important than his own desires. Would she never realize he was a grown man, almost twenty years of age?
Dardan found his mother in the sitting room, chatting with the family’s trade agent, Mister Dobbs. The room was as absurdly ornate as everything else in the house, with golden sconces along the walls, plush chairs for lounging and reading, a high plaster ceiling carved with children and flowers and painted in garish colors, and a narrow cherrywood table that had once belonged to his great-great-grandfather.
Bertram brought in plates of fruit and cheese while they went over the trade contracts. Goods in, money out, the endless wheels of commerce. Dardan paid close attention the whol
e time, but wished he were somewhere else.
By early evening, the trade agent had gone. Captain Reed returned with his men, and Besiana insisted they stay in the city several days, overriding their objections. It seemed Dardan would have an escort back to Hedenham regardless. He caught his mother fluttering her eyelashes at the handsome Captain Reed, though, and his stomach turned. No wonder.
Once the guards had gone off into the servants’ hall, Dardan settled down to a simple dinner with his mother: robin’s-egg soup and roast lamb and garden greens, cold crab bisque, warm soft nut bread with honey and butter. He’d given Liam an evening at liberty, deciding that at least one of them should get a bit of entertainment while they were in the city. Dardan let the envy wash over him as he thought about Liam having a drink with the lads in a malthouse somewhere.
Besiana nattered on about the usual noble trivialities. Upcoming marriages, who was cuckolding whom, news from points west and south. Casually, she mentioned the young widowed lady who lived next door. Besiana brought her up every time Dardan visited, and he was growing tired of hearing about her. Tonight, Besiana lamented that the lady had gone on a sudden trip that very morning.
Dardan sighed as he tucked into his second helping of lamb. “Yes, mother, I’m sure she’s quite lovely. Should we ever chance to occupy the same city at the same time, I would be glad to meet her.” If only to shut you up.
“Oh, but you must remain here until the royal summer ball,” she replied. “I’m certain Lady Amira will be attending. Perhaps you could accompany her.”
He hesitated. “I had only planned to be here long enough to handle our business affairs.”
“My dear boy, you have missed the summer ball the last two years. Your absence is spoken of.”
His last nerve frayed. “By whom? Anyone whose opinion I care about?” he snapped.
Besiana recoiled a little and slowly put down her fork. “I am only thinking of your future happiness, my dear boy.”
“You’re only thinking of the family legacy. You couldn’t give two coppers about my happiness.” He felt righteous saying it, but regret crept in as soon as he saw his mother’s hurt expression.
“Dardan! I care about nothing more than the happiness of my children. But that happiness is tied intimately to this family’s legacy.” She leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering. “You are almost four years a man, and it is past time you married.”
“I will consider it in my own time,” he replied, stabbing at a morsel of lamb on his plate. “Besides, this girl is no maid. You’ve told me about her late husband, and her wealth. I don’t care how amazingly beautiful you claim she is, it’s obvious you only want her for her money.”
Besiana narrowed her eyes. “Money is what keeps us in robin’s-egg soup and two houses full of servants. It may be enchanting to pretend that our lifestyle is by the divine grace of the Caretaker, but you are old enough to know better.” She picked up her fork again. “And so what if she is not a maid? Neither are you, unless I miss my guess.”
Dardan choked on his wine, spraying droplets onto the table. He coughed, dabbing his napkin at the purple spots soaking into the silk tablecloth. “Mother!”
“Well? You are almost twenty. Your father had bedded his first girl by the time he was fourteen.” She shrugged.
Dardan was shocked. He would not discuss bedroom affairs with his mother. It was perverse!
Besiana went on, unruffled. “Petulance does not become you, Dardan. Lady Amira is young, beautiful, childless, wealthy, and was married barely half a year before her noble husband passed on. She is of common birth, true, but she is a commoner no longer.”
Dardan’s jaw set. “I will not be forced into a marriage.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, dear. Unlike your sister, you have shown no congenital hostility to the idea of marriage, merely the reluctance common to young men. But you are also your father’s eldest son. You have a duty to this house to—”
“I know my duty!”
“You have a duty,” she rode over him. “Strong unions between nobles are strands in the web that keeps us safe. Things are simpler in Hedenham, I know, but here you can barely go a day without the dogs nipping at your heels. Think, for once, what might happen to this family if you were to eschew your duty for a year, or a month, or even a day too long.”
She would not be content until he gave in. The woman was indefatigable, and he did not want to simply walk out of the room. “I have said I would be happy to meet the lady,” he bit out. “When will she return?”
“Most likely a few days hence. She did not see fit to inform me of her plans in detail.”
“Father expects me back within a week.”
“I will send a message that you are staying for the summer ball. He can argue with me if he likes.”
Count Asmus Tarian did not like arguing with his wife. They’d had some barn-burning screaming matches when Dardan was young, with the eventual result that Besiana spent all her time in Callaston, while Asmus stayed in the country. Asmus came to the city a few times a year to do his marital duty, and spent the rest of it chasing girls all over Hedenham County.
Besiana seemed satisfied by Dardan’s capitulation, and changed the subject. Once the meal had ended and the dishes were cleared away, she led him to the sitting room and gave Bertram explicit instructions that they were not to be disturbed. The old major frowned disapprovingly, but he nodded and shut the doors. Even Rose was left outside.
Mother and son settled onto the couch. Dardan was glad that the evening candles muted the room’s garish color scheme. His mother seemed focused inward, which was unusual. “Is something amiss?”
Besiana sighed. “A most terrible thing occurred. Lord Keller Skarline fell to his death four days ago.”
Dardan stared. “What?”
“From the front wall of Elibarran, right into the Great Square. He almost flattened an apple cart, if the story is accurate.”
Dardan had met Keller Skarline once or twice, at this function or that, but had not really known much about him. Except that he was the king’s spymaster, a fact which was supposed to be secret but which everyone knew anyway. “I assume he was pushed,” Dardan said.
“He did not seem the type to walk absently along the merlons,” Besiana said. “The crown is investigating, of course. They even have a pair of Wardens looking into the matter, so I hear. The first question is, who would benefit from his death?”
“Anyone who wanted the post of spymaster to open up, but I can’t think of anyone who’d want it that badly. But you have your ear to the court, of course,” Dardan admitted. The one disadvantage to spending most of his time in Hedenham was its distance from the political machinations of Callaston. He despised court politics, but could not deny their importance.
“Many rumors fly. The one that piqued my interest was that Lord Keller favored a more subtle approach toward the Vaslanders, a position shared by our own Duke Loram Arkhail.”
“The Vaslanders? What of the Vaslanders?” Dardan asked. They hadn’t crossed the mountains in twenty years, since King Viktor had thrown them back when Dardan was just a babe in arms.
“Their warriors gather across the northern border,” Besiana said darkly. “Duke Faroa favors an immediate attack against them. So does Prince Edon, it seems. Our own Duke Loram, however, calls for restraint.”
Dardan’s stomach roiled. Only a few counties stood between the Black Mountains and Hedenham. Dardan’s home hadn’t seen fighting in the last war, but some towns not terribly far to the north of Hedenham had been sacked and burned. If the Vaslanders did invade again, Hedenham—his father, his sister, his brother, his people—might suffer.
But Count Asmus Tarian owed his direct allegiance to Duke Loram Arkhail of Thorncross. If Duke Loram favored a subtle approach, then Asmus must perforce agree. He couldn’t understand why Duke Loram would be so cautious; Loram’s seat at Thorncross was even closer to Vasland. Loram hadn’t fought in the last war, though. His f
ather had been the duke then, and Loram had been away to the south somewhere. Perhaps he’d never seen the destruction with his own eyes.
Dardan had. When he was ten, his father had taken him north to Cold Hills County, in Seawatch. The land had begun to recover by then, but they still saw the ruins of countless destroyed towns and burned farms. Count Asmus had wanted Dardan to see with his own eyes what the Vaslanders had wrought.
Pieces fell into place in Dardan’s mind. “Faroa might have wanted Skarline out of the way, if Skarline’s reports supported Loram’s position. And Blackwall suffered badly in the last war.” Dardan had been to the Dukedom of Blackwall once as well, along the northern hills where the Vaslanders had held Garovan territory for a long part of the war. The destruction hadn’t been as severe there as in Cold Hills, since the Vaslanders had used it as a base of operations rather than just pillaging it, but the few Garovan folk who lived there had all had a permanently haunted look. Dardan had seen them cast their eyes up the towering mountains as if expecting a wave of Vaslanders to sweep over it at any moment. “House Faroa lost some family in the fighting as well. Though perhaps there’s a simpler explanation. Blackwall is renowned for its mines and smithies. Perhaps Faroa has a surplus of blacksmiths who need employment turning out swords and shields.”
Besiana shrugged. “Well. Whatever his goals, I hardly think murdering young lords is an effective way to achieve them.”
But Dardan cared nothing about Keller Skarline or Terilin Faroa now. Visions of Vaslander berserkers rampaging through Hedenham Town filled his mind. “Father must know of this,” he declared. “Although… he may insist on readying the garrison.”
“I thought your father always kept the garrison readied,” she said. Your father, Dardan noted, not my husband.
“Father directs them in hunting down brigands and poachers, yes. But mobilizing them for war is another story entirely. Only by the king’s authority may that kind of order be given. The king will not be pleased if that happens without his approval. They are the king’s soldiers, not father’s. Too many dukes and counts have suborned garrisons in the past for the king to ever turn a blind eye to that sort of thing.”
“Then I will petition his majesty at the next court, to send such an order to the Hedenham garrison. The next court session is the day after tomorrow, I believe.”
“What if the king doesn’t listen? Father may try to convince the garrison commander to mobilize anyway.”
Besiana started. “What? He couldn’t do that! Could he?”
“Father and the garrison commander get along quite well,” Dardan said, “which you would know if you ever spent any time there.”
“Hm,” Besiana said, eyeing him coolly.
“This is delicate, but… Do you recall Baron Parvis Stanton?” he asked.
“Of course. Wretched, selfish little man.”
“Well, the other week he was accused of raping a farmgirl.”
“How horrid! Oh, dear. Though I can quite believe the charge.”
“Father ordered him to stand trial, of course, and even though father would sit in judgment as befits the noble accused, Baron Parvis chose to flee and hide instead. The baron obviously feels his guilt. Father may be impulsive and brazen, but no one who knows him can rightly accuse him of countenancing injustice. So he ordered the garrison commander, Captain Orrel Stanton, to find and retrieve the baron.”
“Oh my!” Besiana’s hand flew to her breast. “He ordered Parvis’s own brother to find him? I remember that boy!”
“The very same. The spitting image of his brother, in fact, though commendably loyal where the baron is treacherous.”
“Did he do it?”
“Yes, without hesitation. I’ve never heard Captain Stanton speak ill of his older brother, but he took a detachment of twenty men and a Warden and rode without delay. He returned a day later with the baron in chains.”
It pleased Dardan to see his mother, for once, at a loss for words. Finally, inevitably, she spoke. “I had no idea the county was such a hotbed of scandal,” she nearly giggled.
“Yes, well, I’m sure it pales when compared to the daily mischief of the Callaston nobility,” he said dryly. “The upshot is, Captain Stanton respects father and is quite likely to obey if he orders a war footing.”
“Oh, dear,” Besiana muttered. “Then the king’s permission is all the more critical. I shall endeavor my utmost to attain it.” She stood, and Dardan followed suit. “I’m afraid I am quite tired, my boy. We shall speak further in the morning. ROSE!”
The nervous vala scurried in, but was forced to backpedal as the countess swept out. Dardan watched them go, then sat back down, alone at last.
Speaking with Besiana always left him agitated. He stared at the wall for a while, letting his aggravation wind down. He’d just begun to consider searching the kitchen for more dessert when Liam popped his head in. “Evening, m’lord,” the valo said brightly, his face a little flush.
“You’re back early,” Dardan noted.
“Ah, well, m’lord looked so glum when I left, I couldn’t bear to leave you in your mother’s clutches.” He brushed a stray lock of sandy hair out of his eyes. “It seems you’re rid of her already, though.”
“Not soon enough. She harped at me about the widow again.” Dardan supposed he probably still looked glum. “We’ll be staying in the city for the summer ball.”
Liam nodded. “You’ll need a new suit, and all the usual nonsense. We’ll start on that tomorrow, if it pleases m’lord.” He cleared his throat. “You look tired, m’lord. We’ve had long days of riding, so maybe it’s best you go to bed.”
Curse the man, he was right. Dardan trod gloomily up the stairs, and dismissed Liam for the night. He washed again and dressed for bed in a linen nightrobe. He gazed at himself in the mirror, at the broad chin, the too-short nose, the small dark eyes. He’d been told his face had a pleasing symmetry to it, but girls never swooned over him the way they did over some boys. Over Liam. Perhaps they’d all just been humoring Dardan his entire life.
The dinner conversation came back to him. His mother assumed he’d bedded a girl. It spoke well of him, he supposed, but she was wrong. He almost had, a few times. Once was the farrier’s daughter in Hedenham Town, when he was fifteen. He’d followed her around all during the Wintergift feast, drunk on spiced ale, gazing at those long eyelashes, savoring that sweet laugh. She’d snuck him back to her bedroom, but they’d just ended up talking through the night and kissing a little. She’d been so warm and soft. He woke up lying next to her, still fully clothed, in the sober gray light of dawn. When she’d woken, she’d thrown him out at once, fearful that her father would discover him and try to nail horseshoes to his feet in a rage. He’d mooned after her for weeks on end.
Then there had been the night after his sixteenth birthday. Liam had been his valo for a few months already—nobles were only supposed to have valai once they came of age at sixteen, but Asmus had declared there was no sense waiting, and who would care, out there in the country?—and had taken him to a little brothel on the edge of Hedenham Town. Dardan made it as far as the foyer before panicking and running out into the night. Liam had at least had the sense not to mock him openly about it, but for days afterward, the man’s every expression looked like a smirk.
There had been a few opportunities since, this girl or that who fancied bedding a lord. Dardan had resigned himself to the idea that his first bedding would wait until marriage, to whatever woman would have him. Perhaps it will be this Amira, he mused. But if she’s really so beautiful, what would she want with the likes of me?
CHAPTER 3
KATIN