without doubt be presented at court without delay.”
“I shall write to my sister immediately, sire.” Marwick hesitated, rubbing his hands together. “They are keen now, I understand, to make an eligible match for their daughter.”
Vasic steepled his fingers again and surveyed Marwick. It didn’t do to seem too eager. It helped a great deal that his last venture into matrimony – one which he’d anticipated all too keenly – had culminated in disaster. A man did not endure calamities like that without acquiring a certain amount of caution. “If they are keen as you say, then they will let the girl be seen at court that we may judge her worthiness.”
“Then I shall write to my sister, sire.”
“Write by all means. We will discuss her future as we find most fitting.”
“I thank you, sire.” Marwick bowed, his effort less than elegant thanks to lumbago, and backed away from the throne in suitably subservient position before Vasic waved him away.
Marriage. Vasic had developed a certain distaste for that particular institution. Perhaps a fresh-faced innocent from the furthest corner of the Peninsular Kingdoms might cure a jaded palate. And perhaps not. If the girl were unsuitable he would doubtless find other uses for her.
He watched Marwick’s retreating back thoughtfully. The fellow wasn’t so decrepit, acted older than his years. He might be glad of a young bride to lighten his twilight years. With his heir dead, he might be ready to reconsider his unmarried state. Vasic was acutely aware of the need to recover lost ground. A rash of marriages throughout the court might be just the thing to cement his new peace. And to secure funds for rebuilding the damaged bridge, at the very least.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Brett didn’t feel good about following his father like this, but sometimes it was the only way to find out what was happening. From the room he shared with his brothers, deep at the back of the cave, he’d heard his parents talking, long into the night. What with the snuffling of his younger brother and the snores of his older one, he’d not been able to catch many words, but he knew they hadn’t been in agreement over something. And he guessed that something was the Lady Alwenna.
She was the most exotic creature to have been seen at Scarrow’s Deep. He’d been thrilled beyond measure to learn she was an actual royal queen – and true heir to the throne of the Marches, too. His father would set her back on her throne and he, Brett, would become a knight of her court. She would smile upon him for his bravery…
He was pretty sure his stepmother didn’t agree with his father’s plans, and wouldn’t agree with his own plans if he told them to her. But for many years he’d simply elected not to tell her what was in his head, that way his dreams couldn’t be trampled under her proficient feet. Yet she wouldn’t have him travelling about the country with his father, learning the trade, either. He was old enough, and then some – plenty of his friends had been on the road with the caravans since they were twelve. Here he was nearly sixteen and knew nothing of what it truly meant to be a freemerchant. He knew his father went to places other freemerchants wouldn’t venture, and handled business other freemerchants saw no value in. That was why he’d brought the deposed queen here, after all. And Brett was burning to find out everything he could. About her, about his father’s world, about… Well, everything. Everything beyond the arid confines of Scarrow’s Deep.
Brett peered out from behind the pile of boulders. His father stood by their mother’s grave, his head bowed. Brett wondered if he was actually talking to her. His heart sank – it looked as if his father was not after all engaged on some mysterious business. He felt a twinge of guilt for eavesdropping on a private moment, but it was not long-lived as he heard the footfalls of someone approaching along the path from the
“I shall write to my sister immediately, sire.” Marwick hesitated, rubbing his hands together. “They are keen now, I understand, to make an eligible match for their daughter.”
Vasic steepled his fingers again and surveyed Marwick. It didn’t do to seem too eager. It helped a great deal that his last venture into matrimony – one which he’d anticipated all too keenly – had culminated in disaster. A man did not endure calamities like that without acquiring a certain amount of caution. “If they are keen as you say, then they will let the girl be seen at court that we may judge her worthiness.”
“Then I shall write to my sister, sire.”
“Write by all means. We will discuss her future as we find most fitting.”
“I thank you, sire.” Marwick bowed, his effort less than elegant thanks to lumbago, and backed away from the throne in suitably subservient position before Vasic waved him away.
Marriage. Vasic had developed a certain distaste for that particular institution. Perhaps a fresh-faced innocent from the furthest corner of the Peninsular Kingdoms might cure a jaded palate. And perhaps not. If the girl were unsuitable he would doubtless find other uses for her.
He watched Marwick’s retreating back thoughtfully. The fellow wasn’t so decrepit, acted older than his years. He might be glad of a young bride to lighten his twilight years. With his heir dead, he might be ready to reconsider his unmarried state. Vasic was acutely aware of the need to recover lost ground. A rash of marriages throughout the court might be just the thing to cement his new peace. And to secure funds for rebuilding the damaged bridge, at the very least.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Brett didn’t feel good about following his father like this, but sometimes it was the only way to find out what was happening. From the room he shared with his brothers, deep at the back of the cave, he’d heard his parents talking, long into the night. What with the snuffling of his younger brother and the snores of his older one, he’d not been able to catch many words, but he knew they hadn’t been in agreement over something. And he guessed that something was the Lady Alwenna.
She was the most exotic creature to have been seen at Scarrow’s Deep. He’d been thrilled beyond measure to learn she was an actual royal queen – and true heir to the throne of the Marches, too. His father would set her back on her throne and he, Brett, would become a knight of her court. She would smile upon him for his bravery…
He was pretty sure his stepmother didn’t agree with his father’s plans, and wouldn’t agree with his own plans if he told them to her. But for many years he’d simply elected not to tell her what was in his head, that way his dreams couldn’t be trampled under her proficient feet. Yet she wouldn’t have him travelling about the country with his father, learning the trade, either. He was old enough, and then some – plenty of his friends had been on the road with the caravans since they were twelve. Here he was nearly sixteen and knew nothing of what it truly meant to be a freemerchant. He knew his father went to places other freemerchants wouldn’t venture, and handled business other freemerchants saw no value in. That was why he’d brought the deposed queen here, after all. And Brett was burning to find out everything he could. About her, about his father’s world, about… Well, everything. Everything beyond the arid confines of Scarrow’s Deep.
Brett peered out from behind the pile of boulders. His father stood by their mother’s grave, his head bowed. Brett wondered if he was actually talking to her. His heart sank – it looked as if his father was not after all engaged on some mysterious business. He felt a twinge of guilt for eavesdropping on a private moment, but it was not long-lived as he heard the footfalls of someone approaching along the path from the
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