The Falcon Throne

  “I’ll drop you, boy!” he said, still wheezing. Refusing to look at the gorged and bloated bloodsucker plopped from his cheek to the floor at his stinking feet. “Not in love? What mumfoolery is this?”

  “It’s not unheard of, that a man should love his wife,” said Roric, defensive.

  “It’s unheard of he should think of love first instead of last! Especially when that man is a duke!”

  Still defensive, and resentful with it, Roric took to pacing. Kicked a box of bones in passing, and cursed.

  “Mind your temper,” Humbert growled. “Arthgallo sets great store by his leechcraft.”

  Roric’s withering glare scorched him head to toe. “I can tell.”

  Another blood-fattened leech lost its hold and plummeted. He wrestled with the urge to pulp it under heel. “Roric…” Wheedling now, because the boy was curdled and needed a light touch. “Is it you’ve got some misgivings about the notion of matrimony?”

  “Of course I do!” Roric snapped, goaded. “When I take a wife it’ll be to sire sons upon her, no better reason. The least woman in Clemen deserves more kindness than that.”

  “You think you won’t be kind? Don’t be a fool, Roric. You’re no Harald. Guimar and I between us raised you more knightly than that.”

  “Yes, you did.” Sighing, Roric fetched up at the leech’s work bench and leaned his hip against it. “But…” He pressed thumb-and-fingertip against his closed eyes. “For all the pitfalls in wedding with Ardenn, I think there are as many to dance around when choosing a homegrown wife. Past plagues have winnowed Clemen of its daughters.”

  Yes, and its sons. As if he needed reminding, with both his boys lost to the last ravaging foul pestilence. Ailred and Collyn. The lack of them was a never-healed ache in his heart.

  Roric blinked at him, belatedly remembering. “I’m sorry, my lord. I didn’t mean to–all I meant was that it’s meagre pickings among our best houses.” Disconsolate, he slumped. “I might do better casting a wider net.”

  “Ha!” Humbert flicked a third sluggishly wriggling leech from his flesh. “Like Harald did, in catching Argante? No, Roric. Be taught by your bastard of a cousin in this. What man in his right mind puts his best warhorse to a common carting mare, even if her hide is glossy? You can’t do it. One Ercole at court is enough.”

  Roric grimaced. “True.”

  And now they’d come to it. Mouth suddenly dry, and not because of the heat and stink, Humbert scratched under his armpit, where Arthgallo’s congealing slop prickled his skin. But there was no use beating about the bush. Best simply to say it, in the voice of authority that Roric had obeyed since he was seven years old.

  “There’s only one answer to this puzzle, boy. You’ll marry Lindara.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Lindara?” Roric slid his hip off the bench. “Humbert, are you touched? Should I summon the leech?”

  Chin jutting, beard bristled, Humbert slitted his eyes. “D’you tell me there’s a girl better bred anywhere in Clemen? You can’t, for you’ll not find one. And she’s comely enough, if I say it myself. Takes after her mother, spirits be thanked. Why not wed with Lindara, when your heart’s not given elsewhere?”

  “Why not? I’ve just told you! I must be careful to put some distance between us or turn the other lords sour!” Roric dragged a hand down his face. “You should find another leech, Humbert. Arthgallo’s cures are addling your wits.”

  “Fine,” he said, hands fisted. “Marry Lindara and I’ll step down from the council. Will that answer? Make my daughter your duchess and I’ll not set foot in Eaglerock again.”

  All the temper in Roric’s eyes cooled. “What?”

  “You heard aright. Name Aistan your chief counsellor and pasture me like an old nag. Or if Aistan chafes, name someone else. Anyone save Ercole. I’ll go lambish, Roric, my vow on it. Only wed with Lindara.”

  “Humbert, I don’t want you to go lambish, or naglike, or in any animal fashion! What use to me will you be cooped up in Larkspur castle? I need you in Eaglerock.”

  Touched by Roric’s heartfelt dismay, Humbert pretended interest in the sole of his foot. Arthgallo’s muck had dried hard, and was itching.

  “Didn’t you just say I’m a cause of trouble to you, boy? Surely you’ll be better off if I’m not here for you to stumble over.”

  “That wasn’t my meaning! I can’t have Clemen’s nobles think you lead me round by the nose, but of course I need your counsel. How else can I be duke?”

  “You can be duke however you choose,” he said. “And wherever I am, boy, you’ll still be duke. This time tomorrow, or by the end of next week, I could be dead from my weight of years. One day I will be. D’you tell me you mean to stop being Clemen’s duke when I die?”

  “Don’t talk rumption, Humbert,” Roric snapped.

  He salted his foster-son with a glare. “There’s no rumption in plain truth. And I’d die a happy man if my Lindara was your wife.”

  Groaning, Roric again slumped his hip to Arthgallo’s bench. “Does Lindara know you’re offering her to me?”

  “She knows it’s her duty to marry. And she knows the obedience owed her father.”

  “Ha! You mean she doesn’t.”

  “Never you fret about Lindara.” He raised a warning finger. “Listen well, Roric. You must wed. Soon. Before those lords who do have eligible daughters start dangling them in front of you. If you’re promised before ever they raise their hopes you’ll save all of us much grief.”