Knight or Knave

One
 
 
In the capital cityof Rendelsham, a steady drizzle had been falling for days, keeping all inside whose duties did not require that they venture out. Also it was unseasonably cold. Servants kept fireplaces stoked and the damp, green wood they were forced to use--all the seasoned having been used during the winter--sent clouds of smoke over the city. Inside houses where chimneys were not efficient, a similar veil of smoke hung in he air, making people cough and sneeze as they huddled into warm clothing they had thought to put away until winter.
The forced idleness had its uses, however, for there seemed to be no one at court who was not occupied with the problem of what to do with Ashen, daughter of the late Kind Boroth, newly come to Rendel from the Bale-Bog where she had spent most of her life. This was an illegitimate daughter, to be sure, but one possessing a strong claim to the throne, perhaps enough to topple the new King, Florian, if only the lady herself had been of a mind to undertake such a thing.
Thus, in many residences this topic was the subject of much conjecture, and prominent among them were the households of the Dowager Queen Ysa, who consulted frequently with Lord Royance, Head of the Council of Regents, and Count Harous, now officially the Lord Marshal of Rendel, who consulted with no one. Rather, he was given to action and it was obvious that the action upon which he was now embarked was the wooing or Lady Ashen herself.
This day Lady Marcala of Valvager--in reality, Marfey, Queen of Spies--had come seeking audience with the Queen, who granted it willingly. "Welcome!" she said when Marcala came into her privy chamber. She turned to her ladies. "Being heated wine and spice cakes, and then leave us."
Marcala let Lady Ingrid take her rain-dewed cloak to hang near the fire where it might dry. She approached the fireplace gratefully, rubbing her hands. "Even with gloves lined with rabbit fur the cold seeps through and pinches my fingers," she said. "I've forgotten the last time I saw sunlight."
"I welcome your presence, but I know the errand must have been urgent to bring you all the way from Cragden Keep. Come, take a seat by the fire. You'll soon be warm enough."
Lady Ingrid hurried in with the flagon of wine and two goblets, and a plate of cakes on a tray. Marcala poured for both herself and the Dowager and waited until Ingrid had left again before taking up her tale.
"If I could draw upon the heat inside me, I would not need a cloak," the younger woman said, a bitter note in her voice. She drew up the low chair the Dowager indicated and sat down with the air of one on intimate terms with the actual ruler of Rendel. "Instead, I am left to molder in Cragden, while Harous dallies with Ashen here in the city."
"Surely our good Count is not behaving improperly."
"As to that, I do not know. But, to be fair, Ashen lived for many years in the Bog, and defended herself from what threatened from any quarter. Surely she is not so bedazzled that she would yield to Harous's blandishments before marriage for all that he was the one who rescued her and brought her here."
Ysa looked keenly at her noblewoman, her own creation, the supreme spy she had set to be her human eyes and ears in the household of one who might be a threat or a danger to her plans. She did not miss the reference to marriage, nor did she miss the unmistakable resentment in Marcala's voice. This resentment, Ysa knew, came from jealousy--and this jealousy came from the spell Ysa had herself performed to make sure Marcala's interest focused on Harous. With Marcala enthralled by Harous, Ysa knew she could keep her Queen of Spies under her complete control, first advancing and then retracting her approval regarding. Harous. Also, she had seen to it that Harous was in love with Marcala, according to the spell. His ambition, however, was not subject to any such weakness as matters of the heart and therein lay the weakness in this scheme. Ysa thought again about what Marcala had said.
"But you have yielded to the Marshal," the Dowager remarked, trying to keep her tone neutral. She was rewarded by seeing Marcala blush to the roots of her hair.
"He has visited my apartment on occasion. It seemed the appropriate step to take," she said defensively.
"To what effect?"
"He says he loves me. When we are in private he acts like he does. But he is wooing Ashen. And he says he is making good progress."
Ysa kept herself from frowning with an effort. She had enough to worry about concerning King Florian and his latest escapade, without this added. It was all well and good for Harous to pay suit to Ashen, as long as the wench stayed aloof. But if she seemed to be yielding--No, it would not do at all.
"Have you spoken to Lady Ashen?" Ysa said.
"I have not. Though Harous has given me no direct orders, my feeling is that he wants me to stay away from his residence here in the city, where he has installed her. And so I have had no opportunity to visit the lady. Besides, I do not think that she would confide in me." Marcala's lips twisted. "A Princess--so much better than I am. Bog-Princess, that's all she is."
Ysa had to bite her own lips to keep from laughing out loud. Bog-Princess, indeed! And yet, she understood. "It is only natural that you would not be able to summon up much warmth toward her. After all, she is standing in your way."
"If you could but find someone else, another nobleman--"
"Do you know of anyone suitable?" Ysa sipped at her wine, keenly aware that Marcala was not telling everything that was on her mind. It was a delicate problem. Ashen, last known heir of the House of Ash, in ancient times the cradle of Kings, and the late King Boroth's acknowledged bastard daughter at that, had become much more than an annoying Bog-brat or even, in Marcala's amusing phrase, an annoying Bog-Princess. Unmarried, she was the center of a political faction opposed to King Florian, whether she willed it or not, and a temptation to every hedge-knight eager to improve his station in life. Too lofty a marriage and she was a danger to Florian and even to his heir, when he should have one. Too base a marriage, and she was still a danger, because of those who would become angered at the insult and glad to have this matter as an excuse for opposition to the Crown.
She wondered if the rumors about Rannore, the new Rowan heiress since Laherne had died, were true. Well, time would tell if there was going to be another heir to dispute Ashen's claim.
"Perhaps I could think of a suitable candidate," Marcala said. She set the empty goblet on the tray and did not move to refill it. "But my strong feeling is that Ashen will marry no one at all, if she does not want to. She has not been trained to set aside personal feelings, the way she would have had she been brought up properly."
"And what do you suggest?"
"Ask her."
Now the Dowager raised one eyebrow. This was something she had not anticipated having to endure--bringing the bastard child of her late husband into her very home, speaking to her face to face. She had not laid eyes on the girl since that awful day when the King was dying. Royance had brought her into the very death chamber, giving Ysa a chance to throw her support to this sturdy Ash twig rather than the spindly, gawky, unworthy product of her union with Boroth.
And now, this new King, Florian, was creating his own share of personal mischief with Rannore. Her cousin Laherne had died in childbirth, so the story went, only a few months after a visit to Rendelsham. The gossip was that Florian was responsible and also that the aged Erft's passing had been hurried along because of the shame. His younger brother Wittern, a contemporary and friend of Royance, now governed in his place. Ysa had thought to address this matter today, rather than the question of Ashen and a potential marriage. The Dowager sighed. One unpleasantness versus another. Both must be dealt with, but each in its time. Marcala was here present, and Rannore and her guardian, Wittern of Rowan, had not yet arrived at the city.
"Send for Ashen," Ysa said. "Tell a messenger to go and fetch her while you wait with me."
Marcala inclined her head. "Yes, Madame." Then she arose and went to do the Dowager's bidding.
* * *
Obern flexed his arm, the one that had been broken in a battle with giant birds atop a cliff at the edge of the Bale-Bog. It was whole and well again, though it ached a little in the damp weather, and this day he wanted nothing more than to go back home. He missed his Sea-Rover companions, missed the freedom of being able to go out in a ship where the sea air blew away the miasma of city life.
That, however, would be as Count Harous pleased. For the moment at least, Count Harous pleased to keep Obern as his "guest" and Obern still did not know why.
Once in a great while, since the doctor had decreed that he no longer needed to keep his arm in a sling, Obern had been allowed to go out on a patrol. As long as it did not involve ranging a great distance from Cragden Keep or actual skirmishing with the Bog-men, who still kept up their campaign of raids on honest Rendelian farmers, he could ride with the soldiers as he pleased. Even that break in the routine was denied to him now, however, since he and Ashen had been removed to Rendelsham and Harous's great house at the foot of the rise where the castle perched.
Still, this part of his sojourn had been interesting. Before now, he had never really learned to handle a horse, and now he was counted more than adequate. He had never been among a group of land nobles, so that he could observe their ways. He had never before attended a royal funeral, or a coronation, when the new King Florian was crowned.
Obern studied Florian appraisingly. So this was the one who had come, as the report had it, to his father, Snolli, with his little private treaty paper in his hand. Obern almost laughed, but that would have interrupted the ceremony. Oh, the King looked good enough stripped to the waist for the anointing but that was merely because he had not yet begun to show the effects of dissipation. He could have had the nicely muscled body of youth, but King Boroth, his father, had gone to fat in his later years and this stripling looked fair to follow. Obern and Ashen, at the insistence of Count Harous, stayed well back in the crowd. Ashen's presence, so Harous said, could be a disruption but it would also have been an unthinkable discourtesy for her not to attend. And as for Obern, well, he was practically highborn himself, so his presence was almost as mandatory as hers.
Obern liked standing next to Ashen in the mass of people filling the nave of the Fane of the Glowing. He liked putting himself between her and the possibility of her being jostled by a rude stranger. Most of all he liked looking at her, at the beauty of her face and form, and her silver-gilt hair falling like pure treasure down her back.
He liked also those rare times when they walked together through the grounds of Rendelsham Castle, and when they passed the high lords going about their business. One he recognized, Lord Royance of Grattenbor, the Head of the Council of Regents, who had questioned him in the Hall at Harous's residence the night the old King died. Others Ashen pointed out to him--Gattor of Bilth; Valk of Mimon; Jakar of Vacaster; Liffen of Lerkland and another, whom Ashen had not met that memorable evening, Wittern of Rowan, lately come to the guardianship of that high House. Of those Obern formed no particular opinion one way or the other except to acknowledge that Lord Royance seemed an able, experienced, and stoutly honest man.
The city of Rendelsham interested Obern because of its strangeness. He was used to the Sea-Roves' way of life, and a much more casual--one might even say cruder--approach to city building. Here, instead of a cluster of small, sturdy huts, all was whitewashed stone, with carvings and decorations in profusion, and at every corner of the rooftops fabulous creatures rendered so lifelike that they seemed ready to leap down upon the unwary passerby beneath. From the mouths of these creatures the rainwater poured into the streets, away from the walls where it might cause damage. It seemed an ingenious arrangement.
Together he and Ashen made a small pilgrimage to the forecourt of the Great Fane of the Glowing, to view the four great trees that represented the Four Great Houses of Rendel. A courteous priest, passing by, informed them of the history, of how Rowan was rallying and even Ash was making a miraculous revival, with new growth crowding through the dead old twigs. Oak still continued a slow, steady decline, however, and Yew throve, as always. Obern gave the priest a coin, one he had won at gambling, and the grateful fellow then took them inside and showed them the interior wonders, even to the three mysterious windows, hidden away where casual visitors might not notice. One window was shrouded from view by a curtain that, the priest informed them, no one touched on fear of death by Her Majesty's orders. Another showed a Bale-Bog pool, with something just beginning to break the surface. But Ashen gazed longest on the third, a depiction, the priest said, of the Web of Destiny.
"They move," she said, as if to herself. "The hands of the Weavers move."
But Obern could not see it.
These pleasant excursions had been cut short, however, with the arrival of the wet, cold weather. Obern was used to a chilly climate, but this was unnatural, occurring as it did in the middle of the summer. Gratefully he accepted a fur-lined tunic and cloak from the stores of clothing at Harous's residence, and stayed inside as much as his free spirit could bear. He began wearing a cap indoors, the way the Rendelians did, and learned that it, too, contributed to keeping him warm.
Ashen was of a similar mind to him, and fretted when she was kept too long indoors. And so they were drawn together even more than might have been their usual wont, because of he discovery of her high birth and the enormous changes it would be bound to bring to her life. And sometimes they talked about it.
On this day, Lady Marcala had come to Rendelsham from Cragden Keep, visiting the Dowager Ysa. Marcala never entered Harous's town house, but nevertheless Ashen took the opportunity to hide in Obern's quarters while she was in the city.
"I never desired any of this," she told him as they sat close to a fire, sharing a hot drink that Harous's chef had created out of the juice of pressed apples and an assortment of sweet spices. "And if I could, I would let it pass me by. My guardian and Protector, Zazar, predicted that I would have a different road to walk, but I never dreamed it would be so complicated."
"You do look far different from the first time I saw you." Obern smiled. "Though those hide breeches--"
"Lupper skin."
"Yes, lupper-skin breeches--they looked much more practical for the life you were leading then."
"You are somewhat changed, yourself."
He glanced down at the clothing he was wearing--doublet and tunic and a warm cloak over all, with no cross-gaitered hose or fur vest heavy enough to stop a dagger. He straightened the velvet cap on his head. "They took away my old garb. Said it made me stand out as an Outlander."
Ashen laughed at that. "Youarean Outlander! All who are not of the Bale-Bog are Outlanders, for that matter." She grew sober. "Even I am an Outlander, now. I am not of this world, either. I feel that I have no place."
"You will always have a place, at my side."
She glanced up at him. Her silky eyebrows rose. "When does that mean?"
"I shouldn't have said that." Obern stared at the fire, and then shrugged. In for an egg, in for the clutch. Did he love her, or merely desire her? He thought of her entirely too much and now this day seemed as good as any to decide that it was love that drove him on. "It means that, in other circumstances, I would be bringing you gifts and bargaining with your--your Protector, for the bride-geld I would have to pay for you."
Ashen's face grew pink, and, Obern suspected, not from her nearness to the fireplace. "'Other circumstances'?"
"I have a wife."
"Oh."
"We were pledged--handfasted--when we were both very young," Obern added hastily. "I never knew her beforehand. She is a good woman, and showed herself to be brave enough on the journey south from our ruined land."
She had pulled back from him a little. "Tell me about your journey."
And so Obern recounted for her the tale of the Sea-Rovers' battles with the invaders from the North, of their flight from their homeland, and the great voyage that had brought them to New Vold. He left out the part about his first encounter with the giant birds or the hideous monster that had tried to climb from the sea onto his ship. No sense in frightening Ashen; let her think that the huge birds were a singular anomaly, and not what he had come to believe they were--harbingers of worse to come as the frozen evil of the North awakened and began to stir.
"Your people must all be very courageous," Ashen said.
Obern shrugged. "Some more than others, like people everywhere."
"What is her name? Your wife."
"Her name is Neave. While we were on the ships on our journey here, I missed her warmth in the night. She was on a different ship from mine, of course, for I could not afford to have her presence be a distraction. Also, if one ship went down the other might be saved. That was the way with all of us who had wives still living after our city was destroyed. And then she became ill shortly after we arrived. I have scarcely been in her company. Since I met you, I have seldom thought of her."
Again, Ashen's cheeks grew pink until she was blushing to the roots of her hair. "I cannot encourage you in this."
"It is not in your power to encourage or discourage. It is as it is," Obern told her. "I love you."
"It is only gratitude speaking. After all, I saved your life when you were so sorely hurt, before we came here."
"I recognize that this might be part of it," Obern said. "But nevertheless, I do love you. Can I be faulted for that? I don't think so."
Ashen arose abruptly. "It is not decent, or honorable, that you speak of such matters. Or that I listen. I like you well, Obern, but please believe that is all--all it can be. When I have the opportunity, I will speak to Count Harous and Petition that you be allowed to return home."
"Where I will live on with Neave. But I will think of you in the night."
Then Ashen fled the room, closing the door behind her. Obern knew that, according to Rendelian custom, he must have overstepped his bounds. But Ashen had not been brought up as a Rendelian bred, and neither had he.
Oh, if only--He did not allow himself to complete the thought. It was not Neave's fault that he no longer loved her, if, indeed, he once had. And it was nobody's fault that he loved Ashen or that--he hoped with every fiber of his being--it was only her modesty that made her speak of friendship and not of love in return.
* * *
For once, Ysa was mistaken. Wittern of Rowan, the heir to his elder brother Erft, full of years but in much better health, had arrived earlier than expected. Even while she had been consulting with Marcala, Wittern was being admitted to the presence of King Florian. With him was Rannore, her head downcast and her entire bearing radiating shame.
"Oh," said the sovereign lord of Rendel when the two had been brought to where he lounged by a fire, playing a board game with one of his courtiers. A pile of coins lay beside the board, the stakes the players had wagered. "It's you."
"A word with you in private, Your Majesty," Wittern said. "I crave it as a boon."
The King drummed his finger on the board his hand on the piece he had been prepared to move. Then he set it down and waved his retinue away. "Stay within calling distance," he said.
The group of fawning courtiers bowed and withdrew to a far corner of the room, where they pulled their fur-lined surcoats about them and huddled together for warmth. One of them gestured to a servant, and presently a brazier was brought and lighted so that they could be more comfortable in their exile.
"Yes, well, what do you want?" Florian said. He lounged at his ease, and did not invite the elderly noble or the young woman with him to sit down.
"I think you know, Your Majesty." Wittern took Rannore's hand and made her step forward. "This day is with child, and it is by you. It is not enough that you debauched Laherne who died in delivery of your child and it with her, but now you would do the same with her cousin. It is not to be borne, sir!"
"And what will you do, to make me marry if I do not choose?"
Wittern's eyes flashed. "I am not my brother, Your Majesty, and Rannore is not her cousin. We are both of sturdier stock than they. I have resources in this land. If you will not of your own accord, then you shall be compelled."
Florian threw back his head and brayed with laughter. "You?" he said at last, wiping tears from his eyes. "You would compelme? Oh, I suppose that I must admire your presumption, but hear this, old man. I will do as I please, when I please, where I please, and with whom I please. And you are not man enough to stop me. Now begone."
Tears had begun running down Rannore's cheeks. She spoke up for the first time. "You claimed that you loved me," she said brokenly. "And I know I loved you. I would never have allowed you near me, otherwise. Now I love you not, but honor binds me. I will not bear another kingly bastard. There is talk enough of the one your father sired and the trouble she has brought without willing it."
Florian sat bolt upright in his chair. "You will not speak of that matter," he said. His command was spoiled a little by the break in his voice. "Leave my presence, at once!"
"We will speak of that, and more," Wittern said. "You tell us to begone. And so we obey. But be sure that we will meet again, and soon."
Then the white-haired noble and his granddaughter left the chamber. The courtiers came back and took up their former spots by the fire. Florian completed the move on the board game that he had been contemplating when interrupted.
His opponent, a minor noble named Piaul, grinned. "You lose, You r Majesty," he said as he made the countermove that ended the game. He scooped up the coins as everyone laughed, except King Florian.
* * *
Ashen, unsure of herself and wondering why the woman who was her bitters enemy in Rendel had summoned her to her presence, entered the Dowager Queen's privy chamber. She felt like her heart had lodged somewhere in the vicinity of her stomach and was fluttering like a captive bird. The girl's heart sank even lower when she saw Lady Marcala standing by the Dowager's chair. But Ysa smiled, a little stiffly perhaps, and held out her slender, elegant hands in greeting. The Four Great Rings glinted in the firelight.
"Come closer, Lady Ashen, so we can have a look at you."
Ashen obeyed, hoping that her knees would hold her up, glad that her maid Ayfare had taken pains with her appearance. Also, Ayfare had had the good sense to insist that Ashen not wear the dress in which she had been clad on the occasion of her appearance in the old King's death chamber, but another. This one was made of dark blue velvet, the court color, its warmth welcome in the unseasonable chill of midsummer, and her indoor slippers matched. The wooden pattens every woman wore to protect their fine footwear form mud and mire Ashen had left at the castle's doorway, according to custom.
Of her own accord, Ashen had decided not to wear the necklace Harous had given her that was a badge of the House of Ash, but another of his gifts, an ornament of silver and lapis beads. Her hair flowed down her back in maidenly simplicity. She curtsied deeply, as Marcala had taught her.
"Thank you, Your Majesty," she said to the stern-faced lady who sat so implacably, waiting. She also were velvet, but a deep, rich green, and her jewels, except for the Four Great Rings, were of gold and emeralds. Ger countenance was beautiful, but her hands verged on the edges of gauntness, though they were still white and elegant. Nevertheless, it was there that the she showed her age. "I am honored at being in your presence."
The Dowager nodded slightly. "I have a reason to send for you," she said. "Come and sit, and Lady Marcala also, for your answers concern her as well." She indicated a pair of low chairs that had been set nearby.
Marcala took one with a rustle of skirts and a cloud of the lily-scented perfume she always wore. Ashen, glad that Ayfare was enough of a gossip that she knew of the significance of the perfume made of blue flowers, had chosen one with a citrus tang instead. The Queen, Ayfare said, hated the blue-flower one because it had been the favorite of her great rival, Ashen's mother.
Nobody offered to take Ashen's rain-wetted cloak, so she hung it on a peg beside the fireplace beside another one she recognized as Marcala's. Once seated, Ashen's discomfort did not abate for she felt that something in her life had just come to as crisis point, and she did not know what it was. She wished that Zazar, the great Wysen-wyf of the Bale-Bog who had fostered her, could be at her side. But that was like wishing for the moon. Ashen knew that her own wits would have to be her sole weapons to get her through the coming hour.
Her uneasiness must have communicated itself to the Dowager for she smiled again, frostily. "Be at east, child," she said. "We aren't going to hurt you. We only want to know what is going on now in your life."
"Surely I am beneath Your Majesty's notice."
"Your modesty becomes you, but it is misplaced. Let me be open with you. I did not welcome your presence; indeed, for a long time I tried hard to convince myself that you did not even exist. However, here you are, and you cannot be ignored."
"Madame, I apologize for my presence. I know that I am a constant reminder of something unpleasant. But you must realize that I did not request the conditions of my birth. If I could make it otherwise, I would do so, if only to spare you."
The Queen favored Ashen with a frigid smile. "Spoken well. Your breeding shows; also, Zazar brought you up better than I thought. Perhaps there is more to your than I was willing to credit. Now to why you have been sent for. You must know there is talk in many places in Rendelsham or you, of your place here, of whom you will marry."
Ashen looked up, startled. "I have no thought of marriage, Your Majesty!"
"Nevertheless, marry you must. The only question is, who shall it be?"
"I do not wish to marry," Ashen repeated. "When I do, if I do, it will be to somebody whom I love."
"And you do not love Count Harous?" Marcala said.
"Ashen glanced at her. She fairly glowed in lavender brocade lined with fur, but a frown puckered her forehead. "No, my lady, I do not," Ashen said. "I admire him enormously, and will be forever grateful that it was he and not another who took me from the Bale-Bog, as my Protector said would happen. For he has always been gentle with me, and his behavior entirely correct. I fear that another would have acted ungraciously."
Marcala sniffed audibly and the Dowager held up a restraining hand. "And yet the rumor is that he would marry you."
Ashen felt her cheeks grow warm. All the talk of marriage this day was making her very uneasy. She wanted nothing more than to escape. But she was required to answer. "He has said that he wished it."
"No!" Marcala said, heeldess of Ysa's displeasure. "Are you such an idiot that you cannot see the folly? With you, and what you are heir to, Harous's power would be such that all the other nobles would rise up against him! And that I could not bear!"
"Lady!" the Dowager said sharply. "Marcala! Enough. Your forget yourself."
"Yes, Madame," Marcala said. She bowed her head and bit her lip.
The Dowager turned back to Ashen. "The Lady Marcala, for all her impetuous outburst, is correct. A match between you and the Lord Marshal Harous would not be suitable. And so, the question remains, whom shall you marry."
"I know of someone," Marcala said, though Yas frowned.
"Obern. He is the son of the Chieftain of the Sea-Rovers. That makes him almost royalty. He was once hurt, but now is well, still living in Harous's residence here in the city, by his orders. Obern and Ashen are friends."
Ashen drew in her breath sharply. This, coming so closely on Obern's unwanted declaration, was almost more than she could bear at the moment. Nevertheless, there was a possibility for escape. "But he is already wed. He wants very much to return to New Vold--the old Ashenwold."
The Dowager pursed her lips, thinking. "That is unfortunate news, that Obern already has a wife. He would, in many respects, make an ideal match for you. And we need his people as stronger allies than they are now. A certain treaty that was supposed to have been established between us was bungled by--Well, never mind." Ysa clasped her hands, rubbing the Rings. "There have been marriages set aside for dynastic reason before. Perhaps this one can be as well." "Your Majesty, no--"
The Dowager stared at Ashen and she subsided immediately. "Do youdarerefuse me? Do you forget yourself?"
"I carve your pardon, Your Majesty. I only meant that I would not ruin another's happiness for any sake."
"That is not your decision to make. I will tell you this, however. It is very plain that you cannot stay longer in Harous's residence. You are better kept under my eye. Therefore, you will move at once into the castle. Please see to it. The chamberlain will prepare an apartment for you. Now you may go. I have work to do." With that, the Dowager Queen Ysa dismissed Ashen, who arose at once and started for the door. The other lady made as if to rise as well but the Dowager stopped her. "Marcala, you stay a moment."
But not before she saw a very satisfied look come over Lady Marcala's face. Now, what, Ashen wondered, was that all about? It was as if one of Marcala's schemes had come to fruition, but now could that be?
She set it aside to think about later, glad that she was out of the coils, at least for the moment, of Her Most Gracious Majesty the Queen Dowager Ysa. How she would avoid this formidable lady once she was living under the same roof was another matter. A fresh wave of distaste for the twists and turns of Court life swept over her.
Whomever she married, she hoped he would have similar feelings and they would live in peace and quiet, far away from Rendelsham!
* * *
Obern reacted to the news of Ashen's impending move from Harous's town house to Rendelsham Castle with stoic silence. She was, after all, only obeying the Dowager's command and he could not know what had gone on in the private interview to which Ashen had been summoned. He did doubt that Ashen had told Ysa of his declaration of love for her.
This change of residence took her out of Obern's company but also the change removed her from Harous's influence, and that could not be all to the bad. He knew, in the way that a man who loves a woman recognize when another man wants her as well, that Harous had dark plans somewhere in the back of his sophisticated mind.
 
Copyright © 2001 by Andre Norton, Ltd., & Sasha Miller