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For most of her life, Penny had been deathly afraid of her Aunt Muriel. She knew this wasn’t an entirely rational response. Muriel was often quite generous. She sent gifts for Penny’s birthdays and for Seefest, as well. Some of those gifts were more welcome than others. In the last three or four years, for instance, Muriel had sent a number of dresses that blatantly showcased Penny’s new physical development in ways that made Penny uncomfortable.
“Don’t be ashamed of your assets,” Muriel would say, whenever she caught Penny slouching or wearing something that concealed her figure. “Use what you have, while you still have it.”
This was annoying, but not really frightening. Penny could leave those dresses in her wardrobe when her aunt wasn’t around. No, it wasn’t the dresses that made her fear Muriel. The fear went back much further than that. And it had nothing to do with Muriel’s treatment of her. It had to do with the way Muriel looked at other people when she didn’t think anyone was watching.
Sometimes there was something so venomously, inhumanly cruel in her eyes that it made Penny want to run away. It reminded her a bit of how cats looked at a mouse after they had caught it, but wanted to play with it for a while before killing it. So, from an early age, Penny had tried to steer clear of her, whenever possible.
Of course, there was the matter of that assassin Muriel had sent to Atherton to kill Edwin Sigor. The assassin had ended up torturing Penny with magy. That certainly hadn’t improved Penny’s view of her aunt.
Unfortunately, there was no getting away from her now. Penny’s father was staying in Keneburg for the time being, but he had insisted that she return to Formacaster immediately. And since her aunt, the queen, was heading back that way herself, Penny got a ride on the royal barge.
Penny had never spent so much time alone with Aunt Muriel, and to her shock, she discovered the woman wasn’t scary at all. She was entirely pleasant, in fact.
In an attempt to clear the air, the queen brought up the assassin, Kishori, on the very first day of their trip. “I do apologize for that, my dear girl. That was a bad mistake. She proved unreliable, and I was obliged to...let her go. I hope she didn’t hurt you too badly.”
“Not too badly,” said Penny. “It was more frightening than painful.”
“True. Fear is often worse than pain. I’ve found that to be true, as well. Now here, have some fortified wine. It’s good for your soul.”
Penny was trying to avoid strong drink, but her aunt was most insistent, and by their second day together, they had settled into a routine of getting pleasantly tipsy at breakfast and staying that way for the rest of the day.
Muriel made Penny tell the complete story of getting trapped on the battlefield at Erstenwell. Muriel found it all very funny, and under the influence of the wine, Penny did, too. This was strange, because Penny often had nightmares about that experience. But when Muriel laughed, it somehow seemed like a jolly adventure.
They also spent a great deal of time talking about the Byrnes. Muriel was curious what impression Penny had formed of them.
“I like Sister Morwen,” Penny said. “But the rest of them I don’t really know well enough to have an opinion.”
“Oh, don’t let that stop you,” said her aunt. “Uninformed opinions are often the most entertaining. Did you like Andras?”
“He seems very nice. I hope he’s a good husband for Donella.”
“I hope so, too. What did you think of Pedr?”
“I don’t really...,” Penny paused, halfway through the sentence, as she remembered that Pedr Byrne had been her aunt’s lover at one point. Not that this was a very exclusive position—Aunt Muriel always seemed to have a different handsome young knight for every season of the year. “I, um...don’t know him the way, er...other people do.”
“The way I do, you mean,” laughed Muriel. “Yes, I have fond memories of the boy. Don’t you think he’s handsome?”
Penny could feel the blush warming her cheeks. “I suppose so, yes.”
Muriel gave her a slightly dubious look. “H’m...Penny, have you ever spoken to your half-brother Sir Halvor Ingridsson about the Byrne family?”
The question was so unexpected and seemingly random that Penny assumed this was one of her aunt’s strange private jokes. “I try to avoid talking to Halvor whenever possible. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, no reason,” said Muriel, chuckling. “One hears things and wishes to know where they got started. It’s nothing, really. You’re probably wise to avoid him. I do the same thing myself.”
Penny had a feeling there was something she wasn’t being told, but she was used to that feeling from her family.
After nearly a week on the river, the royal barge arrived in Formacaster. It was late August now, and Penny knew she and her governess would have to leave almost immediately to make it to Atherton by the start of the term. In fact, even if they left that very day, they would probably get to school late. Not that she cared much about the school itself anymore, but she did want to see Eleanor and Corrine again. This would probably be the last year they were all together, and it would be a shame to miss out on that. And who knew? Maybe her scandal would be forgotten finally, and the rest of the student body might be willing to speak to her again.
She no sooner set foot in Wealdan Castle, however, than she was intercepted by her mother. “Your father’s letter reached me two days ago,” she snapped. “Where have you been? Dawdling on the river, I suppose?”
“That would be my fault, Carrine,” said Aunt Muriel. “Penny has been with me the whole time.”
Penny’s mother didn’t like her royal sister-in-law very much. Usually, she managed to hide that fact. This wasn’t one of those times.
“Well, Muriel, I’m sure you did everything you could to make the trip...educational. I think I smell wine on someone’s breath, but let’s set that aside for the moment.” She dropped a very slight curtsy. “If you don’t mind, I need a word alone with my daughter.”
The queen excused herself to go up to her private chambers, and Penny’s mother led her across the Palm Court into the library. It was dark and smelled of old leather and parchment and centuries of wood polish. Penny had always loved going there, but now it seemed strangely ominous.
“Sit,” said her mother, pointing at one of the overstuffed leather chairs. When Penny was seated, she paced back and forth on the big Sahasran carpet. “I want to know why you lied to me and your father about what you were doing this summer.”
“Lied? Mother, I told you I wanted to work in the hospital at the abbey, and that’s exactly what I did.”
“I was under the impression that you might be there for a week or two. Not for months on end. And then you decided to go to Donella’s wedding without permission.”
“I...I knew Father would be there. I thought you would be, too. It seemed like the most efficient way of getting back—”
“Of course your father was present! There’s no scandal in Myrcia that Lukas doesn’t have a hand in, either directly or indirectly. You should have asked me for permission, Penelope. Or at the very least, deigned to inform me that you were going.”
Her mother had a point there. Penny felt stricken at the thought that she had acted improperly. She always tried to do the right thing, but then, somehow, she would end up doing something wrong, anyway. “I’m very sorry, Mother.”
“I should hope so. I wish you had been here this summer. We have a great deal to talk about, and I would like to have had more time for the conversation.”
Penny eyed her mother warily. “What conversation?”
“Your father feels that you are now old enough to be married.”
“Mother, I’m 15. I still have a year at Atherton before—”
“Oh, rubbish. You can leave the school whenever we choose. It’s not as if they allow girls to take a formal diploma there, anyway. Your father and I have indulged your weird little intellectual hobbies for long enough, and—”
“My hobbies? Do you mean mathematics, Mother? Foreign languages? The wealth of knowledge of all mankind? Is that your idea of a ‘hobby,’ Mother?”
“No,” said the duchess, “my idea of a hobby is music or dancing—something that might actually impress a young gentleman. You, on the other hand, seem to think we should all bow and worship you because you can ponder the meaning of life in five languages no one ever speaks at court. It’s time you grew up, Penelope.”
“But mother, I’m not ready to marry anyone.”
Her mother snorted. “Oh, I see. But you’re ready to lift your skirts for Edwin Sigor, are you?” She stopped, grinning nastily. “Or didn’t you think that little story had made its way to court?”
Penny had always wondered how much her parents had heard about that. It made her cringe with embarrassment. “I will concede that my involvement with Edwin was a mistake, but—”
“Well, thank Earstien you didn’t get pregnant.”
Penny started to object, but her mother held up a hand to silence her.
“Spare me your outrage and your promises that you’re still a maid. I’m not sure I can believe anything you say. And it doesn’t matter what you did, so much as it matters what people think.”
“But what do you think? It matters a great deal to me that you believe what I say!”
“What I think,” sighed her mother, “is that you are a very willful and impulsive girl who thinks she’s smarter than everyone else. And that is a recipe for disaster, I’m afraid.”
Penny would have loved to be able to contradict her mother, but the history of her brief relationship with Edwin proved the point.
Her mother continued. “You are following the same infamous path as your aunt, the queen, as it happens. The only way to preserve whatever remains of your chastity is to get you married as soon as possible. Fortunately, your father has a potential groom already picked out.”
“Oh, no. Who?”
“Well...,” the duchess looked slightly uneasy for the first time. “Well, as it happens, your father and that...natural son of his, Halvor, have gotten it into their heads that you ought to marry Pedr Byrne.”
In an instant, Penny recalled her aunt’s questions about Pedr and Halvor. Muriel had known about this plan. Oh, Earstien. How humiliating.
“Pedr Byrne! Why on earth should I marry him? The Byrnes lost the war. And now Uncle Broderick has a treaty with them again, thanks to Andras and Donella’s marriage.”
“That’s exactly what your father is concerned about.” Penny’s mother lowered her voice, glancing nervously around the library. “It seems your aunt and uncle are going to be dividing up part of the Byrnes’ old estates. And your father is worried that, after Donella’s marriage to Andras, the king and queen will be taking more than their fair share. Your father thinks Severn should get most of that land. If you were married to Pedr, of course, then we would have a much better claim.”
In a strange and horrible way, it made complete sense. Pedr was the Earl of Iver—the heir to the duchy of Keneburg. He outranked Andras, and if Penny married him, she would outrank Donella.
That assumed, of course, that Penny had even the slightest desire to marry him. And she didn’t.
“Mother, this is a terrible idea. I’ve barely ever spoken to Pedr. He’s got to be at least twice my age!”
“Age matters less for men than it does for women.” She tried an encouraging smile. “Come on now dear. If you’d like, we can go back to Keneburg together, and you can spend a month or two getting to know him.”
“If you make me go back to Keneburg, I will run away. I’m not joking.” She had an idea of going to the Erstenwell Abbey again, but perhaps that was too obvious.
Her mother’s smile vanished. “Very well, then. I had hoped you would be reasonable about this. But I can see that was a vain hope. If you will not go to Keneburg with me, then your father and I will negotiate the betrothal without you. And in the meantime—”
“Send me back to Atherton, at least,” Penny pleaded.
“No. In the meantime, you will go stay with my Annenstruker cousins. They can keep an eye on you, and when everything is arranged up here, we will bring you back. With any luck, you’ll have grown up a little by then. But whether you grow up or stay the same, whining little girl you’ve always been, you will be marrying Pedr Byrne very soon.”