The following morning Lord Dorias was as good as his word, and set out immediately after breakfast for the short trip across the river, through the village, and up the hill to Lord Allutar’s estate. He traveled in the company of two of his four footmen, leaving his family at home.
Valin announced his intention to pursue some errand of his own, which left Anrel and Saria in each other’s company for much of the morning.
Saria did not share her uncle’s fascination with the court schools, nor Valin’s interest in politics, but she did want to know what the fashionable ladies of Lume had been wearing. Anrel did his best to satisfy her curiosity, but eventually he was forced to remind her, “I did not spend much time among the elite, dear Saria. I was, after all, only a student and a commoner.”
“I do wish you would stop reminding us that you are technically a commoner.” Saria pouted.
“I wish you would not make it necessary to remind you,” Anrel retorted.
“So you did not go to fancy balls at the palace?”
“By no means. Generous as your father’s stipend was, by the time I paid for my room, my books, and my professors’ fees, I had enough trouble keeping food in my belly and shoes on my feet. I attended no cotillions, danced at no balls, and never set foot inside the emperor’s palace. On those occasions when my funds extended to anything beyond necessities, I generally made do with a glass of wine at one of the taverns in the courts, and perhaps a few songs with my fellow students.”
“You did not entertain the ladies of the capital, then?”
“I am afraid I did not.”
“Really, Anrel, have you no interest in the other members of my sex?”
“Oh, I assure you, dear cousin, I watched the women of Lume with great interest, but with my limited funds I could do little more than watch.”
“And here I had wondered whether you might not bring home a wife, or at least inform us of a betrothal.”
Anrel snorted derisively. “I think you have a very unrealistic idea of my circumstances in Lume—and for that matter, anywhere. Much as I might wish otherwise, I am a young man without magic, and with no family trade but sorcery; what do I have to offer a bride?”
“A charming manner, when you trouble to use it, as well as a quick wit, and a face that is pleasant enough to look upon.”
“But no employment, nor any great prospects. No lands, nor mastery of any art or trade. A family of some note, true, but one from which I am of necessity outcast.”
“Anrel! You are no outcast.”
“You asked me to stop reminding you that I am a commoner, yet once again you force me to do so. In all our extended family, whether Adirane or Murau, is there another commoner to be found? How can I not be considered an outcast?”
That could hardly be argued, but Saria was not to be deterred so easily. “That doesn’t make you an outcast—but I concede it does alter the situation somewhat. Still, you are an educated man, one whom several sorcerers look upon with favor even if you are no sorcerer yourself—what young woman would not be willing to at least look at you?”
“A great many, to judge by my experience in Lume.”
“They are all fools in Lume, it would seem.”
Anrel decided he had had enough of defending his own position, and that the time had come to turn from defense to offense. “And you, Cousin—do you have some young man you hope to wed?”
He had an idea of what answer he might expect, so her blush was not a great surprise, but her words destroyed his theory completely.
“Not a young man,” she said.
Momentarily at a loss, he stared at her for a few seconds before asking, “Who might this fortunate man be, then?”
“Can you not guess? After all, Anrel, if I am to avoid scandal I must marry a sorcerer, and I have had little opportunity to travel beyond the limits of my father’s burgravate.”
“Indeed,” Anrel said. “I had thought that the obvious match would therefore be yourself and our own Lord Valin.”
The blush vanished, and Saria’s jaw dropped. “Valin?” she said. “You thought I might marry Valin?”
“I fail to see why this should so astonish you,” Anrel said.
“But he’s been like a brother to me!” she protested. “I could no more marry him than I could marry you!”
“On the contrary,” Anrel said. “There is no legal impediment whatsoever to marrying him, whereas I am quite out of the question. He is a sorcerer, as I am not; he is unrelated by blood, while I am your first cousin, a degree of consanguinity that would require an imperial decree of license to allow marriage. To marry me is twice impossible; to marry Valin would be entirely permissible.”
“But we grew up together!” Saria said. “You don’t really think I could stand to share my bed with him, do you?” She shuddered with disgust.
“I had not thought the matter so obvious as you do, to say the least,” Anrel said. “It would seem I badly misjudged the situation.”
“I should say you did. Marry Valin! Augh! Why not just auction me off, like some old-fashioned peasant?”
“I scarcely think marrying your father’s fosterling is equivalent to a bridal auction. In any event, if not Valin, then who is your intended spouse?”
“Anrel, don’t play the fool.” She glared at him. “What other sorcerer is there in the vicinity of Alzur?”
Anrel stared at her in dawning horror. “Surely, you don’t mean Lord Allutar?”
She lifted her nose. “And why not? Do you think me unworthy of him?”
“On the contrary, I think him very obviously unworthy of you. He is twice your age!”
“What of it? Do you think I would prefer an untried boy to a mature adult?”
“He is a vile, unmannered lout!”
“He is plainspoken at times, perhaps.”
“He intends to murder a young man four days from now—does that not trouble you at all?”
“He is attempting powerful sorcery. That is entirely fitting for a landgrave of the empire. And he is dispensing justice, which is also appropriate.”
Anrel could find no further words, but merely stared at her in awkward silence, marveling at how little he really knew her. Had she changed so much in the four years he was gone? Perhaps she had; four years was a significant amount of time, after all, especially for one as young as Saria. Those four years were a fifth of her life.
This, at least, explained some of her behavior in the previous day’s debate over Urunar Kazien’s impending doom. Anrel had taken that for a means of trying herself against Valin; now he saw that she had instead been defending the man she hoped to wed.
He tried unsuccessfully to grasp the idea. She really wanted to marry Lord Allutar? Had she not once shared his own loathing for the man? Allutar was arrogant, heartless, condescending—but perhaps not to her. Anrel thought back, reviewing his contacts with the landgrave that had formed his opinions, and realized that Saria had not been present for most of them. Lord Allutar had often been rude to Anrel—but Anrel was an orphan and a commoner. Saria was the burgrave’s daughter, and a competent sorceress.
Lord Allutar was wealthy, powerful, respected, and inasmuch as Anrel was any judge of such things, not unpleasant in appearance—his skin was clear, his hair and beard clean and well maintained, his shoulders broad, his belly flat, his features regular and well-balanced, and he was tall enough to be commanding without being freakish. Was it really so strange that Saria might find him desirable? Anrel’s own dislike of the man was so strong that the possibility had never occurred to him, but now that he thought about it he could see nothing unreasonable about it.
He could not even be sure he found the idea entirely disagreeable. Allutar was going to continue to live on the hill above Alzur in any case, and Saria might prove a moderating influence upon him. On a purely instinctual, emotional level the notion of Saria sharing Allutar’s bed was nauseating, but on a rational level Anrel had to admit that was her concern, and not his own.
This might also explain why the constant rivalry between Valin and Saria had acquired a sharper edge—Valin and Allutar despised each other.
The silence had grown awkward, but it was Saria who broke it. “How long do the ladies of Lume wear their hair these days?” she asked.
“Shorter than those out here in the countryside,” Anrel replied, relieved to have the conversation once more on safe ground. “Indeed, scarcely past the collar, in some cases, but tightly curled.”
Some minutes later, to Anrel’s relief, a footman called them to lunch.
After they had eaten, Saria retired upstairs, while Anrel took a book to the parlor. He had read several chapters when he looked up to see Lord Valin marching in.
“Ho!” Anrel said. “The conquering hero has returned!”
“I am in no mood for your badinage,” Valin replied.
“Then I shall not trouble you with it,” Anrel said. “Is there something you would like to say, or shall I continue with my reading?”
“By all means, read on,” Valin said. “I will not be fit company for some time yet.”
Anrel’s curiosity was aroused, but he did not ask for explanation; instead he shrugged, and opened his book anew.
Valin found a volume of his own on the shelves, and sank into a chair.
The two of them sat thus, in silence interrupted by the rustling of turned pages and an occasional quiet remark, for the better part of an hour. They were still thus engaged when the master of the house returned, his presence announced by the stamping of feet and the slamming of doors.
Lord Dorias was smiling broadly as he walked into his parlor, which Valin and Anrel took as an encouraging sign. The two of them had both put down their books in anticipation of the burgrave’s arrival.
“What news, then, Uncle?” Anrel asked.
“Ah, my lads, Lord Allutar has agreed to call on Saria on the morrow.”
Valin frowned. “What?”
Anrel glanced at his friend. Perhaps Anrel had not been the only member of the household unaware of Saria’s romantic interest in the landgrave.
“We have an understanding, he and I,” Dorias said. “I have made plain that I have no objections to the match, and he has expressed an interest in becoming better acquainted with Saria. Naturally, nothing is finalized yet—”
“That is not what concerns me,” Valin interrupted. “What of the baker’s son? Were you not going to argue for his life?”
“What? Oh, yes.” The burgrave’s smile dimmed. “I’m afraid I could do nothing. My plea for simple mercy was refused. I did bring up your absurd contention that stealing those herbs indicated an interest in magic, and although the landgrave thinks it ridiculous, he has agreed that if the boy wants to claim a talent for sorcery he may be tested—after all, he must have a true name for the sacrifice in any case, so the test will add little inconvenience. But if he does not make such a claim, or if he fails the tests, the sacrifice will take place at midday on the equinox, as planned. Beyond that, there was nothing more I could say.”
“Nothing? You could devise no threat, no entreaty, that would help? It hardly seems you tried, if you have consented to allow Lord Allutar within these walls tomorrow!”
“Valin, I was not about to risk my daughter’s future on behalf of a common thief!” He looked around. “Where is Saria, then?”
“In her room, I believe,” Anrel said—but just then the door burst open and Saria entered.
“What did he say, Father?” she asked breathlessly.
“He will pay his respects tomorrow,” Dorias told her.
“Oh, wonderful!” She scampered across the room and embraced her father, and his smile was renewed, brighter than ever.
“I will speak with him here, then,” Valin said. “The baker’s son—”
“You will not, Lord Valin li-Tarbek!” Saria snapped, releasing her father and whirling to face Valin. “You will not harass him when he comes courting me!” She turned back to Dorias. “Father, make him stop!”
“But—” Valin began.
“Did you ask him what the spell is, Father?” Saria asked, interrupting Valin.
“Yes, I did,” Dorias replied. “He hopes to bind an earth spirit with the boy’s blood, to restore the fertility of the fields in the Raish Valley from Kulimir to Tereth din-Sal. The yields there have been very poor in recent years; several of the farmers have been suffering greatly. We believe this has contributed heavily to the outlawry and general unhappiness in the vicinity.”
“There, you see?” Saria said to Valin. “He is trying to feed his people, as a landgrave must!”
“But an innocent boy’s life—”
“Urunar Kazien is no innocent,” Saria replied sharply. “He is a thief, a seducer, and a scoundrel, and if his blood can revive the fields of the Raish Valley, it will be well spent.”
Anrel heard her words with an odd sort of relief; since his encounter in the grove he had sometimes wondered whether he should after all have delivered the stranger to Lord Dorias in exchange for Urunar Kazien, but it was clear that at least one member of the household would not think so.
“But to kill a man for a binding—” Valin began.
“Valin, you will not interfere with Lord Allutar when he comes calling!” Saria announced.
Valin stared at her in silent, frustrated fury.
“Perhaps, Valin,” Lord Dorias said gently, “tomorrow might be a good day to visit Naith, for the latest news of the planning for the Grand Council.”
“I do not understand how you can all accept this . . . this abomination so calmly!” Valin burst out.
“Naith. You will leave for Naith at first light.” Dorias’s tone was much less gentle now.
Valin glared at him.
“Perhaps Anrel will accompany you,” Dorias said. “He has not seen Naith in four years.”
“I would be happy to,” Anrel volunteered.
Valin swallowed. “Yes, my lord,” he said.