Sabina sat between Will and Nate and barely said a word, though she smiled the whole time as if at a particularly enjoyable party. She’d had scarcely a rag of decent clothing to change into, so Kiernan’s wife, Chelley—five inches taller and forty pounds heavier than Sabina—had scrounged up some hideously ill-fitting, outdated, but expensive castoff gown for Sabina to wear to the dinner table. Senneth thought it might even be something that had belonged to
her
when she was seventeen, which meant it was way too long on Sabina but just about the right size through the bust and shoulders. Still, Sabina was not complaining. She looked happy merely to be alive, safe—and sitting next to Nate. Every once in a while she would glance at him, blush, and glance away.
For his part, Nate could not have been more considerate toward the runaway marlady, offering her more food, asking frequently if she was too hot, too cold, too tired to be sitting at the table. Had she tried this dish? It was a delicacy rarely found outside of Brassenthwaite—he was sure she would like it. More wine? From Brassenthwaite vineyards. It had a delicate flavor she would certainly appreciate.
Senneth glanced from Nate to Kiernan and lifted her eyebrow just a fraction. His lips turned up in the slightest smile, and then he looked away.
Oh, there would be a match between Gisseltess and Brassenthwaite yet. If only they could get rid of the inconvenient marlord. . . .
Kiernan addressed Tayse as directly as he might address Reesen. Kiernan was highly aware of class distinctions but firmly believed that every individual had a role to play and deserved the respect of his position. “Have you been to Merrenstow to see what success Romar Brendyn is having at training new troops?”
Tayse looked up and nodded. “They’ve brought in another thousand men, mostly from the northern regions, and split them into divisions. The regent has farmed them out to some of the top vassals of Merrenstow, but he rides between properties every week, checking that the training is going smoothly.”
“Does the king plan to keep them all in Merrenstow?”
“At the moment. The thinking is, if there’s a war, it will come immediately to Ghosenhall. And Merrenstow is close enough to allow a quick deployment.”
“What about the royal guard in Ghosenhall? Have those numbers been increased?”
“To some degree. But there is limited space to house more soldiers in the royal city. Baryn has been looking into renting land on the eastern edge of Storian and making that another training camp.”
“Not a bad idea,” Kiernan said. “That would give Rafe Storian a reason to think twice before siding with any rebels.”
Tayse smiled. Wearing the full black of the Rider livery, relieved only by the parade of golden lions across his sash, he looked wickedly lethal. The smile somehow only enhanced that impression. “That consideration was not lost on the king,” he said.
“Set up a base in Tilt, too, while he’s at it,” Nate suggested. “Gregory Tilton is a sure bet to change sides a half dozen times before this war is over, but he might be more wary if there were guards in his backyard.”
Chelley leaned forward. She was a plain-featured, strong-willed, absolutely imperturbable woman whom Senneth had come to greatly admire during the few times they had been together. But Senneth was impressed with the imprints of grace and ease that Chelley had left on Brassenthwaite. She was impressed with the well-behaved children. She was impressed by the fact that Kiernan actually seemed to listen to her.
“Let’s talk about something other than war,” she said now.
“It’s all anyone is thinking about,” Kiernan said.
She said gently, “Because that’s all anyone is talking about. Let’s discuss something else at least for a few minutes, just to prove to our guests that we can.” She turned smoothly to Cammon. “I understand you’ve been traveling with my sister-in-law. Tell me a little about your own family.”
Cammon never minded being the focus of attention and was never intimidated by anybody else’s rank and title. He shook back his shaggy hair and smiled at her. “My parents were wanderers,” he said. “I spent a lot of time in Arberharst and Sovenfeld. Have you ever been to either of them?”
No one at the table had. “I hear they’ve got good soldiers in Arberharst,” Kiernan said.
“Kiernan,”
Chelley reprimanded.
“I don’t know if they’re any good, but there are a lot of them,” Cammon said. “But I never had any dealings with them. Mostly my mother and I worked in the honey spice fields while my father did business deals.”
“Honey spice! It grows in Arberharst?” Chelley asked.
Cammon nodded. “Great fields of it. In the spring, every plant has about ten bright red blossoms and the fields just stretch on forever. You can stand in the middle of a honey spice field and everywhere you look, all you see is red.”
Between Chelley’s promptings and Cammon’s willingness to talk, much of the rest of the meal passed in a travelogue of sorts. Senneth was fairly certain that her brothers were bored with the conversation, but the children were fascinated, and even Sabina seemed to like the tales. But it wouldn’t have been a meal with Cammon if he hadn’t then started asking questions of his own, guilelessly and with complete sincerity wanting to know where Chelley was from, what the children were learning, who was the oldest, where they had traveled. Soon enough, Cammon, Chelley, and the heirs to Brassenthwaite were chatting happily among themselves, while her brothers and Tayse began a sotto voce discussion of war strategy again.
Worse ways to spend an evening, Senneth supposed. She was not particularly interested in either conversation, so she played with her food and thought over the prospect of a trip to Danalustrous. Well, it would be good to see Kirra again, if indeed the flighty serramarra could be found there. She was even more restless than Senneth and could hardly be counted on to spend two nights in the same location. But Malcolm Danalustrous would make Senneth welcome, and so would Casserah, in her cool way.
Will and Casserah . . . it might work. Among the serramar and serramarra, sometimes the best you could hope for was that an arranged marriage would not be disastrous.
As a wedding between Halchon Gisseltess and Senneth would have been. Senneth didn’t even want to think about what Sabina’s life had been like these past fifteen years. Although Sabina was no mystic. She would not feel, as Senneth did, her sense of magic drain away the moment Halchon put his hand anywhere on her body. Sabina might hate him for his cruelty, for his coldness, for his driven ambition, but any wife might hate a husband for those reasons. Senneth had had other reasons to fear and despise the man who had been heir to Gisseltess. . . .
Kiernan pushed his chair away from the table. He was done with the meal. “So!” he said. “We have no entertainments planned, since we weren’t expecting your arrival. You can make yourselves free of the house, of course. But if you have no further need of me, I’m going to retire to my study and go over accounts.”
Tayse rose deliberately to his feet, and everyone reflexively turned to look at him. He appeared relaxed, but Senneth noted the placement of his hands—lightly resting on his belt, inches from his sword and dagger—and the way he was balanced on his feet. Ready for combat if combat came. She stared at him, completely nonplussed, then glanced at Cammon. Who was looking down at his plate to hide his expression and trying hard not to laugh.
What, by the Bright Mother’s golden hand, was Tayse planning to say?
“Marlord Kiernan,” Tayse began formally. “A minute of your time, please.”
Kiernan, never caught off guard, merely nodded. “We can withdraw to my study, if you like.”
Tayse glanced around the room. He met Senneth’s eyes fleetingly and returned his attention to his host. “I would like to speak before the entire family, if I may.”
“Certainly.”
“I’m forty years old. I have spent the last twenty-two years as a King’s Rider, like my father and his father before me. The king would trust me with his life, and every man who knows me would tell you I am honorable. There is not a chapter in my life that I would be embarrassed to have you read. But I do not come from noble stock.”
Senneth was motionless in her chair. Her body was alternately weighted like stone and blazing with fire. She could not lift her hand to hide her face; she could not have spoken no matter what the incentive. Around her, she could hear the others shifting in their seats, could catch the quick looks that passed between Will and Nate, between Kiernan and Chelley. But she could not move. She could not look away from Tayse’s dark, stern face.
“I realize that it would benefit you to arrange a marriage between your sister and a son of the Twelve Houses,” Tayse went on. “I believe you tried such a match some years ago, and it did not succeed, and that you might be hoping to persuade her to consider another marriage now. I understand that any lesser match degrades her in the eyes of your world. I understand that I am not good enough to marry her.”
Now Senneth was able to move one hand, and she used it to cover her mouth. In a minute, she would be using it to wipe her eyes. She still could not speak.
“And yet I love her, and she loves me,” Tayse continued. “And I will marry her if she will agree. But you are her brothers. You are her family. You are all of a noble House. Before I ask her, I would want to know that you look upon my suit with favor. I know you will not believe I deserve her, but perhaps you will agree to let me have her even so.”
He stopped, and there was absolute silence in the room. From the corner of her eye, Senneth could see Nate’s black frown, Will’s delighted smile, and Chelley’s look of surprise and pleasure. Not often anyone got to witness such a declaration; almost any woman would let it melt her heart.
Kiernan, as befitted the marlord of the most powerful House in Gillengaria, carefully thought over the proposition before he replied. He did not look either surprised or offended; Kiernan never bothered with pointless emotions. He was actually, Senneth thought with some indignation, considering the advantages and disadvantages.
“When the king dies, what happens to you as one of his Riders?” Kiernan asked.
Inquiring into job prospects!
Senneth thought, repressing the urge to laugh hysterically.
As if I needed someone to feed me and take care of my household expenses!
Tayse nodded, as if this was a fair question. “Princess Amalie, upon becoming queen, dismisses all the Riders. That is tradition. And those she wishes to reengage, she then hires back. Thus they make their oaths of fealty directly to her. I have no way of predicting if I would be among the Riders she would choose to keep. My hope is that I would.”
“And if you are not?”
“I have some skill with a sword. I would be able to sell my services elsewhere.”
“Besides the king and your fellow Riders, who would vouch for your character and your ability as a fighter?”
“I believe the regent, Romar Brendyn, would speak of me highly.” Tayse inclined his head slightly. “And you yourself have had a firsthand opportunity to judge me. I have stayed in your house and eaten at your table. You must have formed an opinion.”
“Indeed, I have been most impressed by your intelligence, your steadfastness, and your loyalty,” Kiernan said.
“Then will you allow me to wed your sister?”
“Serramarra do not marry King’s Riders!” Nate burst out, unable to contain himself any longer. “Not even the best of the Riders, as we all know you to be!”
Kiernan gave Nate a quelling look. “But we have long ago given up any notion of marrying Senneth off for political gain,” Kiernan said.