#jesatriafic

Chapter 10: The Sword of Camael

           Things had, to put it bluntly, not gone according to plan.

           They’d known. Somehow, they’d known. The Royal Army had known my plan and adjusted its position accordingly. They’d hidden it well, too—I’d had no idea until I heard shouts and the sound of steel on steel as the Glory-Seekers fell upon my loyal forces. And it wasn’t just them, oh no—a portion of my own army, Allies of Camlach, men from Camaeline houses owing fealty to me as their sovereign Duc, joined them. Their attack had been enough to halt my plan and throw everything  into disarray. Though, I thought bitterly, mayhap that was actually for the best.

           I’d been played for a fool.

           Selig never meant to honor our agreement.

           I cursed myself for a fool for not having seen it coming. He meant to invade; all the intelligence confirmed that. I thought I could use him for my own ends and stave off invasion. How could I have been so blind? We’d have been cut to pieces if the traitors hadn’t kept us busy. As soon as I saw the Skaldi cut them down when they tried to make their escape, I knew. The Skaldi had no way of knowing those men had betrayed me. We made our escape into the mountains, where I could be reasonably certain of our safety. No one knew them like we did, after all.

           It was after we retreated safely that the priests came to denounce me. All of them, every priest of Camael left in the army. I’d never been overly close with Camael’s priesthood, not like my father had been. I tolerated them of course—how could I not when I was sovereign Duc of Camlach?—but I was never one to ask for their blessings upon me before battle. Better to rely on my own skill and steel than any aid from the Terre-d’Ange-that-lies-beyond. Nonetheless I never made any protests or barred them from following my armies to battle. It was tradition, after all, and the men took comfort from their presence.

           Still, I will not lie and say I didn’t feel deeply uneasy when they made their denunciation. “lsidore d’Aiglemort,” began the most senior of them, “you have betrayed the sacred trust of Elua and his Companions. You have let the Skaldi in the passes, transgressing against the throne of Terre d’Ange. You have turned away from your duty as Camael’s scion. You have shown yourself to be without honor. Camael has withdrawn his favor.” With that, all the assembled priests turned their backs on me and walked away. No one dared hinder them. They’d not betray us to the Skaldi. To the Royal Army, mayhap, but not the Skaldi.

           I glanced at the faces of the lords and captains gathered around me. Several of them were clearly uneasy about what had just transpired. Our situation was precarious enough for the proclaimed loss of Camael’s favor to be unsettling. Anne would’ve been horrified, pious as she was.

           Anne.

           Anne.

           Did she know? With Lombelon lying not far from the main road leading from the war zone to the City, it was likely she did. Word of the invasion and my treason would spread quickly. That thought, that she knew what I’d done, filled me with more shame than anything else. The failure of my plans, being played for a fool by a Skaldi warlord, earning the condemnation of the priests of Camael… all of that paled in comparison. If I were to get myself out of this mess and see her again, what would I say to her? I’d kept all of it from her and in doing so had lied by omission. Hard as it had been, it was necessary. By keeping her ignorant of my plans I kept her safe, and thank Elua I had! From that particular danger, at least.

           The other danger was considerably greater.

           A Skaldi horde was now on the loose in Terre d’Ange led by a warlord more cunning and charismatic than any in living memory. With the clarity of hindsight I could see now that I’d underestimated Waldemar Selig the exact same way most D’Angelines underestimated me. All Camaelines think with their swords indeed. Such a fool I’d been, not to see it. And now all of Terre d’Ange was in deadly peril. From what intelligence we’d been able to gather, we learned the Royal Army had retreated to the fortress of Troyes-le-Mont and the Skaldi were besieging them. I breathed a small sigh of relief at that, for it meant our situation was less precarious. Selig would be too preoccupied besieging Troyes-le-Mont to take the time to kill me. He’d be hard-pressed finding me anyway, for no one knew the mountains like the Allies of Camlach.

           There were no other options. We could do nothing about the Skaldi, not when there were some thirty thousand of them to our four thousand. No, for now we would remain hidden in the mountains while I considered my options.

 **

           The situation did not improve after that first day. I wept until I thought I had no more tears to shed. I had been thoroughly shaken to my foundations and could find nothing to grasp to steady myself. Again and again I pondered how well I’d truly known Isidore, that I didn’t think him capable of something like this. There was a whole side to him I’d not seen, and in my worst moments I questioned our entire relationship. Was what passed between us real? Yes, I told myself. If he was faking his feelings, then he missed his calling as a player. The love I saw blazing in his eyes, the raw emotion I heard in his voice when last we parted were proof his feelings weren’t feigned. Mayhap if he’d confided in me, I could’ve convinced him not to go through with it. Mayhap I could’ve gotten him to see that this was folly. I shook my head, dismissing such thoughts from my mind. I would drive myself mad with such thoughts, and I needed clarity of mind more now than ever.

           The changes were immediate. As soon as word of Isidore’s treason spread through the manor and village beyond, the stares and whispers began. Conversations would halt when I walked by or else folk would whisper behind their hands, thinking I didn’t hear what they said of me. “That’s the one. Spread her legs for a traitor and let him get a child on her!” became all too familiar. Some of the folk of the village even went so far as to spit at my feet. They clearly thought I was somehow party to Isidore’s treason, or at least guilty through association. I’d shared his bed for years, after all, and now carried his child. Some few shopkeepers in the village even refused to sell to me, turning me away with claims that they didn’t sell to a traitor’s whore.

           The mood in the manor was another matter. I was not regarded with as much contempt and suspicion among people I’d lived and worked with for years. Some, such as Thèrese and Marcel, voiced support for me, claiming I’d never stand for treason. I appreciated their words, though it did not escape my notice that they regarded me with greater wariness than before. Innocent of treason I might’ve been, but I was still lover and would-be consort to a traitor. Then there were the others, who regarded me with similar scorn as the folk in the village. It was not quite as blatant, but it was there all the same.

           I’d never felt more alone. There was not a single person I could speak to about my troubles, not in the manor anyway. So I paid a visit to the shrine of Elua. It was a place I knew well, having visited it many times. The same priest had tended it too, for as long as I could remember. If anyone could ease my troubled heart, it was him.

           I removed my shoes and stockings before approaching the shrine. The grass was a pleasant tickle against my bare feet. I always liked going about barefoot in the warm weather.

           “Anne.”

           I turned to see a familiar priest of Elua approach. “Hello Brother Michel.”

           “Have you come to make an offering?”

           “No. I was hoping I might speak with you.”

           “Of course.” He gestured to the small house adjoining the shrine. “Shall we go inside?”

           “Yes, thank you.” Had I not been so far gone with child, I’d have sat on the grass, but I had trouble rising from such a position in my current state. Once inside, I seated myself in a chair beside Brother Michel’s bookshelf. He sat in the chair opposite mine and spoke.

           “I’ve heard the news of the Duc d’Aiglemort. Is that what you wished to speak with me about?”

           “Yes,” I replied softly. “Please believe me when I say I knew nothing of his plans. Suspicion has fallen on me, in both the manor and the village.”

           “Of course I believe you, Anne,” said Brother Michel. “It is plain to see that your heart is troubled. Had you been party to d’Aiglemort’s treason, I do not think it would be so.”

           “Thank you.” I didn’t think I could stand it if our priest of Elua held me in suspicion. “Things have been… difficult since the news reached us. I never had the slightest inkling that he was plotting treason. I’ve been struggling to reconcile that knowledge with the man I know.”

           “A common sentiment for someone in your position. It is only natural for you to wonder how well you knew him when you had no idea he was plotting treason,” Brother Michel observed.

           “It’s not just that. There have been moments when I’ve wondered whether my love was misplaced, or if his love for me was false,” I confessed. My chest felt tight at the admission—saying it aloud made it more real than it had been inside my head.

           “What does your heart tell you?” Brother Michel’s voice was impossibly gentle.

           “I…” The words caught in my throat and I had to force them out, “I don’t think his love for me is feigned, and what I feel for him I know to be true.”

           “Then you should take some comfort in that. Love is no easy thing, Anne. It is hard, hard and even cruel. We all struggle at times to remain true to Blessed Elua’s precept. If your feelings for the Duc d’Aiglemort were not true, I doubt you would be feeling as you are now.”

           “I have always tried my best to follow Blessed Elua’s precept,” I said, “but I’ve never had such trouble before now.”

           “Again, you must look to what your heart tells you. All I can say is the course of love does not always run smooth.”

           When I left Brother Michel later that day, I felt a bit better about my situation, some of my doubts dissipating. They were not gone entirely, but I felt comforted at the thought that it was Blessed Elua’s will. Our hearts had been joined, and even the knowledge of Isidore’s treason was not enough to completely sunder the bond between us. There was no sense on dwelling on what I now knew about him; best to confront him about it when I saw him again. That I resolved to do, for I had to understand. I had to know if I was to be his consort and the mother of his child.

           None of that made it much easier to face the constant suspicion and outright hostility. For the first time in my life I wished I could run away from it all, leave Lombelon for somewhere no one knew who I was and whose child I carried. To the City, mayhap. The problem was that I was hardly fit to travel in my condition with my time nearly upon me and besides that, the thought of leaving behind everything and everyone I knew filled me with fear. No, Lombelon was my home and there I would remain. I couldn’t think of having my child anywhere else. But that didn’t mean I had to remain in the manor for my lying in. Instead, once summer came and the pear trees were in bloom, I took myself to the shrine of Eisheth.

**

           In the days of my youth, my father had me study the geography of Camlach until I knew it like the back of my hand. When I became Duc and formed the Allies of Camlach, I used that knowledge to create a system of pathways through the mountains which allowed us to move quickly through the province when needed. I made use of that knowledge now.

           We spent a couple of days at that first campsite, then moved to another deeper in the mountains. The Skaldi had neglected to pursue us, being occupied with the Royal Army, but I thought it best not to take any chances. It was a wide valley ringed by mountains, hard for a horde of Skaldi to find. Our options were limited. Scouts reported that the western passes had been sealed against us. Ysandre and de Somerville were taking no chances. Unfortunately, they also cut off our baggage train. That, needless to say, presented difficulties.

           One of the first things I did after we settled into our initial campsite was order an inventory of our supplies. The results were not encouraging: we were limited to what we carried and a small portion of the baggage train quick enough to avoid being cut off with the rest. It wouldn’t last long, even with reduced rations. Of necessity I ordered men with the necessary skills to hunt and forage in the surrounding area. We were very fortunate that it was early summer. I had to hope that would be enough until we could replenish our supplies in full.

           I had no idea when that would be.

           I had no idea how to get myself out of this mess.

 **

           The shrine to Eisheth proved to be the sanctuary I needed in the days leading up to the birth. The priestess and her acolyte welcomed me in and promptly settled me in a small guest room off of the shrine. It was a cozy room, with a comfortable bed and windows looking out on the shrine’s herb gardens. A good place for a lying-in, I thought. Mayhap not the expected choice, but it would do. If the priestesses were surprised at my appearance, they said naught. I didn’t share with them why I’d left the manor, nor did they ask. If was a huge relief to take refuge somewhere no one cared I was Isidore’s consort and carrying his child. I needed that badly after all I’d endured these last weeks. Now all I had to do was endure childbirth.

           I had a good idea of what to expect. Women will often speak of such matters before an impending birth and I’d heard plenty throughout my life, usually with those women who never lit the candle chiming in to say they didn’t regret their decision. The others didn’t shy away from describing just how painful giving birth was. “Felt like I’d been run over by a wagon when it was over,” one put it. Thus, I approached the birth with a combination of apprehension and eagerness for it to be over and done with. The priestess examined me and assured me that everything was ordinary and I was due any day now.

           Those last days seemed to drag on for an eternity. There was naught for me to do but sit around and wait for the pangs to start. Truth be told I couldn’t complain too much, as I hardly felt up to more than that anyway. Normally I’d be well-occupied with the gardens as summer came. I missed it dearly. Even though I hadn’t worked as a servant for months now, I was still not quite used to idleness. I had plenty of it now, and more time to think than I could’ve possibly wanted. I spent it thinking on the birth to come. Better to keep my mind on that than on anything else.

           I’d been staying at the shrine for a little more than two weeks when it finally happened. The priestesses were quick to take me to a different room from the one I’d been staying in and settle me on the bed. At long last, the babe was coming.

 **

           We were surrounded.

           It was actually rather impressive that they managed it, though I’d not bothered to post more sentries than the minimum, not this deep in the mountains. My first thought was that the Skaldi had come to finish us off after all and I immediately began considering potential routes of escape. There was no way we could make a stand in the valley, not when we were surrounded on all sides. The only option was to fight our way through. Before I could think on that any further, the sound of trumpets rang out in the valley. I looked up to see several banners prominently displayed, too far away for me to make out their devices.

           “Isidore d’Aiglemort!” Ghislain de Somerville’s voice rang out from the hills. “We wish to parley. We send our heralds in good faith! Will you honor the concords of war?”

           Was there much of a choice? They had us surrounded. If we tried to make an escape, we’d be at a disadvantage attacking uphill while they held the high ground. No, our only option was to treat with them. I knew Ghislain to be an honorable man, not the sort who’d lure us into a trap. It was too difficult to shout up, so I gave an exaggerated bow as a response. A moment later a small group bearing what was unmistakably a white flag of truce made its way to the valley floor. They were immediately surrounded and brought before me. As they approached, I noticed a second banner flying beneath the flag of truce, an unfamiliar device of a jagged circle of red pierced by a golden dart on a black field.

           “What is your message?” I greeted them, cutting straight to the point.

           “We come bearing an offer of truce, your grace,” said the standard bearer. “Will you agree to treat with us?”

           “I don’t see how I have much choice,” I retorted. “Yes, I will treat with you.”

           The standard bearer nodded. “We will remain here as a gesture of good faith while you speak with our leaders.”

           “Done.”

           It did not take long for me to assemble an escort. We went armed, but I elected to leave my helm behind as a gesture of good faith. I’d certainly be in need of that going forward. We followed the path the heralds took until we reached the top of the trail. L’Agnacite archers stood to either side of it, each with an arrow nocked and pointed at my head. I ignored them and made straight for Ghislain de Somerville. “I am here, cousin. You wished to speak with me?” No sense in bothering with excessive courtesy or appealing to friendship—whatever friendly association I had with Ghislain in the past was long gone now.

           “The emissary of Ysandre de la Courcel, Queen of Terre d’Ange, wishes to speak with you, your grace,” said Ghislain. I took a moment to scan the forces surrounding me then, looking for the emissary. My eyes widened in shock when I caught sight of a number of warriors with blue whorls tattooed on their faces.

           “My lord.”

           I turned my attention to a D’Angeline woman who stepped out from the crowd to stand before me. There was somewhat distinctly familiar about her. “You,” I said, frowning as I tried to recall where I’d last seen her. “I know you.”

           “Yes, my lord. I gave joie to you at the Midwinter Masque when Baudoin de Trevalion played the Sun Prince. You remembered, when last we met.” It came to me then, the palace, a chance encounter with a Servant of Naamah. “You were fostered among the Shahrizai. They should have taught you to recognize the mark of Kushiel’s Dart, my lord.”

           My gaze flicked over to her left eye, taking in the red mote in the brown of the iris. She was right—no one could spend four years fostering with the Shahrizai and befriend Melisande without knowing of anguissettes. “Delaunay’s anguissette. I remember. Melisande begged a favor, for a plan gone awry. I thought you gone, among the Skaldi. But your lord’s death was not of my will, anguissette.”

           “So I am given to understand,” said Phèdre nó Delaunay.

           I raised my eyebrows. “You are not here for revenge? Then what?” I turned my attention to the many blue tattooed faces clustered around us. “You bring the Picti? Why?” Then it dawned on me. “Delaunay. That’s what he and Quintilius Rousse were about.”

           “My lord, this is the army of the Cruarch of Alba and Ghislain de Somerville. And we are here to offer you the choosing of the manner of your death.”

           My men did not take kindly to that and reached for their swords. It was hardly what I wanted to hear, but I’d agreed to this meeting. I held up a hand and my men fell back into place. “How do you say?”

           “You are a dead man, Kilberhaar,” she stated plainly. The blood left my face at the sound of the Skaldi’s name for me. “Waldemar Selig used you for a fool. He’ll not let you live, if he defeats us; the D’Angelines know you for a traitor, and will not abide it. Selig’s smart enough to clean up after himself, and wise enough to leave no blade aimed at his back. I know, I spent considerable time in his bed, thanks to you. You’re dead, no matter who wins. We can offer you a chance to die with honor.”

           There it was, laid plain before me, the reality I had to face. There would be no escaping this alive. I threw my head back and tossed my hair over my shoulders. “What possible reason would I have to take it, anguissette?”

           “I am Phèdre nó Delaunay and I can give you a reason, my lord. Because if you do not, and Selig prevails, Melisande Shahrizai will dance upon your grave.”

           Her words were a knife to the heart. Melisande, my old friend, who’d befriended me when I was newly come to the Shahrizai and homesick, who’d encouraged my ambitions from the very beginning. A friend. I called her a friend. I thought she felt the same way about me. I could only stare at Phèdre nó Delaunay. “Melisande was in league with Selig?”

           “Yes, my lord. I saw a letter, in her own hand. I know it well. I ought to. You would be well-advised to do her no more favors.”

           I cursed and turned away from her then, looking out over the valley where my army waited below. That was it then, the truth. Melisande had used me to serve her ends and discarded me once I’d served my purpose. What a fool I’d been, to think her my friend! She’d done the same thing to Baudoin; I was blind to think she wouldn’t do it to me. Her betrayal of Baudoin should’ve been a signal to me of her true nature. She’d played me very well, shaping my ambitions into a tool for her own use, and I’d been too damned blind to see it. Again I cursed myself for a fool. It seemed to be happening with increasing frequency as of late.

           Well, if Melisande and Selig thought I would meekly accept the hand they’d dealt me, they were sorely mistaken.

           “I am the sword you would plunge into Selig’s heart,” I said, keeping my back to the crowd.

           “Yes, your grace. Camael’s sword.” That was Ghislain de Somerville.

           I laughed harshly. “The betrayer of the nation turned its savior.” Below, a crowd had formed around the messengers. We’d been starved for news, and they were no doubt at work filling my men in on all that had transpired since our flight. My men, who I’d led into this disaster. I had a responsibility to them too. “Will you feed them?” I asked Ghislain. He would understand. “Ysandre cut off our supply-train, and sealed the doors of Camlach against us.”

           “We will,” he promised.

           I turned and met his eyes. “What do you propose?”

           “I propose that we unite our forces and mount an attack on Selig’s army,” he gave a faint smile, “and strike as hard as we can for Waldemar Selig. No one’s asking you to die alone, cousin.”

           “Selig is mine,” I declared with a calm I didn’t quite feel. “Swear it, and I will grant what you ask.”

           “I swear.” Ghislain’s expression grew stern. “Do you pledge your fealty to Ysandre de la Courcel, on Camael’s honor, and in the name of Blessed Elua?”

           “I’ll pledge my loyalty to the destruction of Melisande Shahrizai.” Ghislain glanced over at Phèdre, who gave a slight nod. That was enough for them, it seemed.

           With an agreement reached, the army made its slow descent into the valley. It was quite fortunate that we were encamped in a valley large enough to accommodate another army roughly the same size as my own. We’d not be remaining long in any case. I rode beside Ghislain and the others as we made our way down.

           “You were the Cassiline, weren’t you?” I asked the stone-faced Cassiline Brother who rode beside Phèdre nó Delaunay. “I remember. Melisande’s favor.”

           “Yes, my lord,” he replied with bitterness in his voice. “I was the Cassiline. Joscelin Verreuil formerly of the Cassiline Brotherhood.”

           “You’re better off. Steel and faith are an unnatural mix. I’m impressed, though. I’d have thought slavery would kill a Cassiline. I’ll want to hear, later, all you know of Waldemar Selig.” With that I left them, for I had other matters requiring my immediate attention. There would be time to speak of such matters during our war meeting.

           The meeting took place as soon as the army was settled and the logistical matters were seen to. The sight of the Albans with their blue tattooed faces and unwieldy war chariots caused quite a stir in the camp. An Alban army crossing to D’Angeline shores. No one would’ve believed such a thing possible, yet it had been done. Mayhap our own mission was not entirely a reckless gamble.

           All but the absolute necessities I carried with me were lost with our baggage train, and Ghislain’s command tent had been left behind in Azzalle, so we had to improvise. We did have maps, which were updated to include the current positions of the various armies. The discussion went on for some time. The Albans had no concept of battle formations, which meant time had to be taken to explain it to them. Once that was seen to, the planning moved more swiftly. The final plan we settled on was relatively simple: the Camaeline infantry would form the front line of assault against the Skaldi. I knew well how disciplined my own men were and there was no one else I’d rather have holding the line. When the Skaldi rallied from the initial attack, the Albans would swoop in from the wings and engage them. Then the infantry would split and my cavalry would ride through to meet the Skaldi. Both Phèdre and Messire Verreuil were certain Selig would be on the front lines. We would have to fight our way through a horde of Skaldi to get to him.

           “How good is he?” I asked once the planning was done. “Do you know, Cassiline?”

           “He disarmed me,” he answered. “In the heat of battle. He is that good, my lord.”

           I studied the Cassiline for a moment, taking his measure. Their discipline was not like what we were taught in Camlach, and Camaeline boys almost never joined the Cassiline Brotherhood. Still, I knew enough to have respect for their fighting prowess. “Then I shall have to be better,” I said quietly, hand on the hilt of my sword.

           There was silence while my words sunk in, then Joscelin Verreuil spoke again. “Don’t wait to engage him. He’ll move inside your guard if you do. He fights without thinking, the way you or I breathe. And don’t be fooled by his size. He’s faster than you think.”

           I nodded, acknowledging his words. “Thank you.”

 **

           All my life I heard stories of the agonies of childbirth. It was a common enough complaint among women that it was a topic of conversation when we worked together in the kitchen or at other chores. Going into this, I thought I had a good idea of what to expect. I was wrong.

           No amount of previous knowledge could’ve prepared me for this.

           It was agony, mayhap a hundred times worse than the strongest pain I’d previously experienced. The priestesses of Eisheth, who had plenty of experience of midwifery, told me to take deep breaths and exhale slowly. This was meant to give me somewhat to focus on besides the pain, and it did for a time.

           The room they took me to was commonly used for patients, including women giving birth. The bed was laid out with clean sheets and piled with pillows. They propped me up on the pillows after stripping me down to my shift. I hadn’t been at it for long before I was asking myself why exactly I’d chosen to do this of my own free will. I could’ve lived my entire life without knowing such horrible pain, but I just had to light the candle. At least those were my thoughts before the pain wiped away anything else.

           I couldn’t have even begun to guess how long it went on. Every minute felt like an hour. I cried out until my throat was raw and my face was wet with tears. Then—finally—it ended. I was so exhausted and out of it that it took me until I heard the sound of an infant crying to comprehend what had just happened.

           “You have a son, Anne,” said one of the priestesses.

           A son.

           I had a son.

           Isidore and I, we had a son.

           Later, when I lay on clean sheets with my son sleeping soundly in my arms, I could not stop marveling at him, this new life I had brought into the world. Such a miraculous thing, that I should carry him inside my womb for nine months and now I was seeing and holding him for the first time. After so much anticipation it was almost hard to believe he was finally here, but he was. He was wonderfully real. I studied his tiny face. Sometimes babes come out of the womb strongly resembling one parent or the other. I couldn’t see that now. Mayhap it would become apparent in time. For now I was content to delight in this new life we created together. He was perfect. I’d always hoped to have a child, and now I had one. Looking at him, I knew that I would do absolutely anything for him. My love for him was absolute. “I hope you have silver hair like your father,” I whispered, then pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, “Maslin.”

           The name we’d chosen for him. His grandfather’s name.

 **

           There is a certain calm in facing one’s impending death.

           It came with the absence of doubt. All uncertainty lies stripped away and the hand of fate presses down. One knows, in that moment, all hopes of struggle and escape are futile. There will be no clever stratagems at the last minute, no daring escape from the scaffold. All one can do is accept fate and walk calmly toward it.

           I had only one full day left. One day. There was enough to do with the preparations for the battle that I had little time to dwell on that realization. I did not think of how my plans had gone wrong and what might’ve been. I did not think of all those places I wished I could see, things I could do, people I could see one last time before the end.

           All but one.

           Anne, I’m so, so sorry. The woman I loved, who I’d wronged in my folly. I would never see her again. Our child would grow up fatherless. Everything I promised—consort status for her, an inheritance for our child—would never come to pass. That was my fault. Both of them would bear the taint of association with me, being the lover and child of a traitor. If I succeeded in what I meant to do and killed Selig, at least I could give them somewhat to be proud of.

           When I had a moment to spare, I wrote one last letter to Anne. I owed her that. I didn’t bother trying to explain or justify my actions—what was the point of that now? I only hoped she could find it in her heart to forgive me and not raise our child to hate me. Just before we were set to march, I entrusted the letter a courier. By the time it arrived at Lombelon, I’d be dead.

           We left early the next day. Just before we broke camp, word came that the siege defenses had fallen and the Skaldi were at the gates of Troyes-le-Mont. We would be just in time, it seemed. The march out of Camlach and into Namarre took most of the day—it was sunset when we arrived in sight of the besieged fortress. The Skaldi surrounded it completely, a vast horde larger than any seen in Terre d’Ange in a very long time. Siege towers could be seen here and there, corroborating what Ghislain told us. We made camp in the foothills, far enough back that the Skaldi scouts wouldn’t detect us but close enough that we could see the area clearly.

           “We’ll wait for daybreak,” said Ghislain once we were encamped, “and pray they know us for allies in the fortress. The sooner they counterattack the Skaldi rear, the better our chances.”

           “You think they’ll flock to aid the d’Aiglemort eagle?” I inquired. “Don’t count on their being quick, cousin.”

           “My father is no fool. Drustan’s men are flying the Cullach Gorrym. He’ll know,” Ghislain assured me.

           “If he can even see the Black Pig, over thirty thousand howling Skaldi.” I shrugged. “We’ll do as much damage as we can, and pray it’s enough to break the siege. But for every minute your father hesitates, and for every minute it takes for them to marshal a counterattack, we’ll die by the hundreds.”

           Our discussion was interrupted by one of the chevaliers sworn to Phèdre nó Delaunay, who cried out and pointed to a line of prisoners just visible in the distance. Horror and revulsion rose within me as I saw they were all women. I knew the Skaldi had a fondness for D’Angeline women, had even freed women they took captive in raids. But knowing and seeing are different things. This was in part my doing. This might well be the fate that awaited Anne if we failed. I felt sick at the thought of her being brutalized and violated by the Skaldi. I glanced over at Phèdre, who was visibly shaken by the sight. Her face was pressed into her Cassiline’s chest and she was shuddering. I had done that to her.

           “I am sorry,” I said softly. “For what was done to you both. For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

           It felt good to say it. Joscelin Verreuil met my eyes and nodded.

           “Daybreak,” said Ghislain, voice filled with grim determination.

           We returned to the camp shortly after that, to see to the final preparations. The sense of calm I’d felt since accepting my fate was still with me, now pared with a greater sense of urgency after seeing the Skaldi at the gates of Troyes-le-Mont. We could not fail.

           That will not happen, I reassured myself. We will not fail.

           I will not fail.

           When night fell, I retired early. I wanted to be sure I was well-rested for the battle to come. It was surprising, how easily sleep came. I slept soundly, until I felt someone kneel down beside me. My hand instantly went to my sword and in a moment it was pointed at the visitor’s throat. “You,” I said as I recognized Phèdre nó Delaunay, “what is it?”

           “My lord,” she replied softly, “the fortress will be ready for your attack.”

           I sheathed my sword and stared at her. “You’ll be captured.”

           “Not before I gain the wall.” She shivered, despite her cloak. “The Skaldi camp is full of D’Angeline women. I can get close enough. And I can give a warning Ysandre will understand.”

           I shook my head. “Do you not understand? Selig will make you talk. You’ll give us all up for dead.”

           “No. No, my lord. I am the one person who will not.”

           Reflexively my gaze went to her left eye. It was too dark to make out the mote. I pushed my hair back from my face and asked, “Why are you telling me?”

           “Because you, my lord, are the one person who won’t try to stop me,” she replied. “Help me get past our sentries. A hundred lives for every minute, you said. I can save a thousand, at least; mayhap three times that many. I gave you the choice of your death. The least you can do is honor mine.”

           I couldn’t argue with that. Instead I gave a curt nod and rose from my position. Together we walked to the edge of the camp where one of my men was posted as a sentry. I called him aside and he turned his attention to me. I did not watch as Phèdre nó Delaunay slipped past and made her way to the fortress, trusting instead that she knew what she was about. There had been no doubt or hesitation in her words to me and I wondered if it was Kushiel who’d set her to do this. She was his Chosen, after all.

           Kushiel, who I would be meeting soon.

           Before long, the first rays of the sun broke over the horizon. Every preparation that could be made had been made. I checked my armor, weapons, and horse as I did before every battle. It would not do for any mistakes in that area today. Beneath my armor and padding I wore one of the shirts Anne made me. Her handkerchief was tucked into my pocket. Mayhap I was being sentimental, but there was somewhat comforting in having the gifts she’d given me on my person when I went to my death. I wondered what she was doing now, if she hated me for what I’d done. I wondered if our child had been born, the child I would never see. Maslin for a boy; Louise for a girl, we’d decided.

           Forgive me.

           All around me, D’Angeline soldiers prayed to Camael. Normally the priests would make offerings and lead the prayer, but of course we had none. To my surprise I found myself kneeling to join them. “Camael,” I murmured, “I know that I have disgraced myself and betrayed your sacred trust. I ask not for your forgiveness, only that you let me wield your sword in defense of Terre d’Ange one last time.”

           There was no answer. I hadn’t expected one.

           Ghislain de Somerville and I positioned ourselves on one of the hills just past the camp, a good vantage point to survey the battle. My cavalry waited in position nearby. It was in truth a beautiful early summer day, with the sun shining and nary a cloud to be seen. All in all, not a bad day to die.

           As I watched my infantry march forward and engage the Skaldi, the calm I’d felt deepened and the focus I always had during battle came upon me. It was familiar, yet also sharper. The world narrowed to the field of battle and everything else vanished. The Skaldi broke upon the Camaeline shieldwall like water on rocks. The L’Agnacite archers positioned behind the shieldwall fired volley after volley of arrows into the mass of Skaldi. Whatever discipline Selig managed to instill in them was starting to unravel as they charged the shieldwall again and again. If the numbers were more evenly matched, I daresay they might’ve held for quite some time. Instead, the tide of Skaldi was moving forward to flank them.

           I met Ghislain’s eyes and could tell without asking he had the same thought I did. We exchanged brief nods and I signaled for the Albans to attack. They charged forward, cavalry on the right and war chariots on the left with infantry swarming behind both. The sight of them sent a wave of shock through the Skaldi; I suspect it was the blue faces that did it. Whatever it was, the Skaldi were entirely unprepared for a horde of Albans. Thus far, the battle was going as we’d hoped it would. My time was coming soon. I parted from Ghislain and joined my cavalry, taking my place at their head. We moved into position, ready to charge as soon as I gave the command. I watched closely as the infantry dug in and held their position against the onslaught.

           The time was now.

           I signaled the charge and spurred my horse forward. A horn sounded the call and as one, the line of infantry broke in two. We charged forward into the breach and struck the Skaldi with the force of a hammer. I did not need to look back to know the infantry had reformed behind us. Swords singing, we laid into the Skaldi.

           . Yes, this is what I was meant for, to wield a sword in battle, I thought as I slew. My blood was up, as it always was during battle. Scions of Camael were made for this. I was relentless as I drove forward to my goal. Those Skaldi foolish enough to get in my way fell to my sword and did not rise again. “Kilberhaar!” they shouted at the sight of me. Many of them fled. “Kilberhaar!”

           Good, I thought. I want them to know. I hadn’t bothered tying my hair back for that reason. I wanted him to know.

           Pain blossomed in several places; I ignored it, only registering that I’d been wounded. Camael’s battle fire was in me now, and I wondered if he’d forgiven me enough to give me his favor one last time. Ahead, a large Skaldi man shouted orders from atop a tall horse. Selig. It had to be. He turned to see the charge heading straight for him. In response he raised his sword in the air and shouted, “Kilberhaar!” A moment later he was charging toward me.

           Excellent. Come at me and we will see who proves the better!

           The waves of Skaldi parted to let Selig through. No doubt they were filled with excitement at the prospect of a duel to the death between us. Ahead, feu d’Hellas fell from the trebuchets atop the fortress wall. It was quickly followed by the drawbridge being lowered into place. The D’Angeline forces were across it a moment later and fell upon the Skaldi with all the pent-up rage and frustration of an army that had endured a siege for many weeks. I allowed myself a small sigh of relief—Phèdre nó Delaunay had gotten her message through.

           Men fell all around me, D’Angeline and Skaldi both. I did not pause for a moment to note who among my men they were, only noting that the line of cavalry was growing steadily thinner. I took notice when my standard bearer went down, aware now that I’d been separated from the rest of my cavalry and fought on alone.

           A spear thrust got my horse in the neck; I jumped free as he fell. Selig was nearly upon me now, and I did not like my odds on foot against a skilled mounted opponent. Best to even the odds. I slew the nearest Skaldi warrior and grabbed his battle axe. As Selig approached, I threw it left-handed. It hit his horse in the neck and it went down with a mighty crash. Selig was on his feet a moment later.

           The stories did not exaggerate. Selig was a large man, mayhap a few inches taller than me and a fair bit broader. He was also fresh, or at least fresher than I was. As I looked upon my enemy, the man I’d sworn to kill, Camael’s battle fire burned hot within me. Lend your strength to my sword arm one last time, I prayed. With that, I stepped forward to engage Selig.

           Joscelin Verreuil had not been inaccurate in his assessment—it was immediately apparent that Selig was a natural-born swordsman. He was quick for such a big man too. Any wrong move, any faltering on my part would almost certainly prove fatal. The noise and commotion of the battle around me faded until the world might’ve consisted of only the two of us. I kept on the offensive, not wanting to give him any opportunity to press an advantage. I managed to score a few hits on him, though nothing fatal. Unfortunately, he was able to do the same to me.

           I pushed the pain of my wounds aside. In Camlach, we learn from a young age how to deal with pain, not to find pleasure in it as an anguissette would but to build tolerance for it. I’d been practicing weapons and riding in all kinds of weather since I was a child. We endure the cold and fight no matter how sore or exhausted we are. If Selig thought to wear me down this way, he would be sorely disappointed.

           I studied him as we traded blows. He was good. He was very good.

           I was better.

           Even now, with me wounded in several places and hardly fresh, my Camaeline reflexes, honed over years of practicing the sword relentlessly, were just that little bit faster than his. He faltered for just a moment and I saw an opening. My sword found a gap in his armor.

           Selig sank to his knees, gazing up at me in disbelief. Did he actually believe the tales that he was proof against weapons? If so, he went to his death disappointed. My strength at last gave way and I sank to my knees beside him, both hands gripping the hilt of my sword as I thrust it home.

           It was done.

           I was avenged. Terre d’Ange was saved. Anne and the child would be safe.

           My hands lost their grip on the hilt of my sword and I collapsed. The end was near now. There was no more denying or postponing it. I would soon be in Kushiel’s realm, where I’d face the One God’s punisher and whatever justice he sought to serve me. And for the first time since I’d accepted my fate, I was afraid. I knew enough of Kushiel from my time with the Shahrizai to feel certain I was unlikely to receive much mercy from him. I tried to take comfort knowing my loved ones would not die at the hands of the Skaldi.

           They would know I’d died a hero.

           A nearby woman’s voice startled me out of my thoughts. “We are all alike, in the end, and none of us to be had merely for the taking.”

           It took me a moment to place the voice, but when I did I couldn’t help but laugh. Here I was contemplating Kushiel as I lay dying, and his Chosen should appear before me. “Phèdre nó Delaunay,” I whispered, clutching at her hand, “I am afraid of your lord’s revenge.”

           Confusion flashed over her face before realization dawned. She held a waterskin to my lips. “You have paid, my lord, and paid in full. And Kushiel sends no punishment we are not fit to bear.”

           Her words were strangely comforting. I felt some of my fear dissipate and in the distance I heard the beating of bronze wings.

           I drank the water she offered and took my last breath, surrendering my soul into Kushiel’s keeping.

 **

Dear Anne,

           By the time this letter reaches you, I will be dead. I can only hope that when you receive it you will also hear the news that I gave my life in service to Terre d’Ange. I go to my death with the knowledge that my sacrifice might serve to wash away my sins and that you and our child will live in a Terre d’Ange that is free and safe.

           I know I have hurt you deeply and you are owed an explanation for my actions. A letter is an inadequate medium for such a thing. If I could see you one last time, I would try my best to offer an explanation. Since I am denied that, this letter will have to suffice. I was a fool, and allowed myself to be played for a fool by those I should’ve known better than to trust.

           I owe you several apologies. To begin with, I should’ve kept you better than I did. Had I not been so occupied with my foolish plans, I’d have made you my official consort sooner. It pains me to know I’ve left both of you without the support you will need. I should have named our child heir to Lombelon. Mayhap it is pointless to dwell on such mistakes now, but I feel you should know how deeply I regret those mistakes and the consequences they will have for you.

           Here at the end I find myself thinking on all the time we spent together. What we had I cherish with all my heart and there is no part to me that does not regret how my own deeds have cut our time short. Never doubt that I loved you, and our child too, with all my heart. I hope you too will look upon our time together fondly. I hope you might in time share some of those memories with our child.

           I hope someday both of you can find it in your hearts to forgive me.

                         With all my love to you both,

Chapter 7: Lighting the Candle

           Consort.

           It was an honor I’d hardly dreamed of during the years of my acquaintance with Isidore. Oh, there were a few times when the thought came into my mind, what it would be like to be his consort. In truth, I would’ve been happy to remain his lover. I knew how he felt about me and made my feelings for him quite clear. What more was needed? But now… now a whole new realm of possibility had opened up.

           We spoke more on the matter during his visit. “You’ll need to be presented at court,” he told me one evening as we sat together in the great hall.

           “What will that entail?” I asked.

           “You’ll be formally announced at a court function, and then I’ll name you my consort.”

           “It’s truly that simple?”

           “Truly. The hardest part will be preparing you for it, I’ll need to have a dress appropriate for court made, to begin with,” he elaborated.

           I tried to imagine myself in the kind of expensive gown worn by sophisticated ladies of the court and couldn’t. I’d hardly ever even seen such things, as court ladies were in short supply at Lombelon since Lady Shahrizai gave it to Isidore. “I think I would feel rather silly wearing somewhat like that.”

           He smiled. “Mayhap. The trick is not to let it show and look as if you’ve always belonged there. Anyway, rest assured I’ll do everything possible to ensure you’re looking your best when the time comes.”

           “I doubt I’d be any good at looking like I belong at court.”

           He put an arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer on the sofa we shared. “Don’t worry about it overmuch. You’re hardly the first commoner to become the consort of a peer. It’s not so uncommon that they’ll see you as some kind of oddity to gawk it.”

           “Well, that’s a little bit comforting.”

           “You won’t need to come to court regularly unless you want to. I’ll not ask it of you if you truly despise it. If you like, I’ll buy you your own townhouse in the City and you’ll never need to set foot in the Palace.”

           I blinked. “A… townhouse?” That was rather more than fancy dresses and jewelry befitting the consort of a Duc.

           “Yes, a townhouse. Many peers have them in the City.”

           “Do you have one?”

           “No, I make do with quarters in the Palace. We would stay there when in the City, but I won’t force you to if you’d prefer a townhouse.” He gave his head a slight shake. “I’m getting far ahead of myself. The first order of business will be getting you a wardrobe befitting your new station.”

           All of this was quite a bit to take in. I never expected it, never wanted it. I was happy with my life at Lombelon. As long as I had my gardens and loved ones around me, I was content. Now I was about to be thrust into a world beyond my experience. It was exciting and a bit frightening. I would go from Anne Livet, gardener’s daughter to Anne Livet, consort of the Duc d’Aiglemort. It was plain my relationship with Isidore had entered a new stage.

           “… before that,” he was saying, “I think some changes are in order here. I’ve been remiss in keeping you as well as I should’ve been and I mean to remedy it. You should no longer be working as a servant here.”

           “But the gardens…”

           He held a finger to my lips and I fell silent. “I wouldn’t dream of parting you from your gardens. You’ll be free to do whatever you like with them. As for the rest of your duties, you are from now on free of them. I never got the impression you particularly enjoyed them anyway.”

           I thought of the dull drudgery of cleaning and replied, “No, I do not. Except for cooking. That I would miss.” Ever since the quiche, which I’d since made several more times, I’d cooked a number of dishes for us. These had included more Camaeline dishes which were previously unfamiliar to me. They were hearty dishes, meant to fill you up during a long winter. Isidore was not very particular when it came to food, but he did come to miss the familiar cuisine of home when he’d been away for a while.

           “I’d never forbid you from doing anything you like to do,” he said with a small smile. “Cook as much as you like.”

           It was quite a bit to think on. I’d been a servant all my life and had long ago accepted it as my lot in life. I wasn’t sure what to do with myself without the usual rounds of chores, and a life of leisure was exactly what he was offering me. There was nothing I’d rather spend my time doing more than working in gardens, but what would I do when the season was over? What did noblewomen do all day, anyway? I supposed I would find out.

           There was more to my new status than freedom from tedious chores, as I was to discover that night. Rather than go to the master suite, Isidore led me to the smaller bedchamber adjoining it. The room was familiar to me—I’d cleaned it plenty of times. It had been aired out and fresh sheets laid upon the bed. “This is yours, if you want it. About time we had adjoining bedchambers.”

           I smiled. “I agree.” The room was mayhap twice the size of the one I’d lived in my entire life. “You mean for me to stay here even when you’re not.”

           He nodded. “I know your current room has great significance for you. I’ll not ask you to stay here if you’d prefer not to.”

           “To sleep on a feather bed every night? Of course I would. Though,” I noted, “I’d like to keep my own room too. Giving it up just feels… wrong. And there isn’t a shortage of space for the staff, so it’s hardly needed.”

           That was the night I became the lady of the manor where I’d grown up. Some part of me could not quite believe it, though it was in keeping with everything which had happened since Isidore asked me to be his consort. There were more than a few jealous stares directed at me the following day, but that was nothing new—I’d been getting those since the day Thèrese had me bring Isidore a bottle of pear brandy. Others were genuinely happy for me. These included Marcel, who held no bitterness over it. “I’m truly glad that you’re happy, Anne,” he told me, “and I hope you’ll still consider me a friend.”

           “Of course!” I exclaimed before pulling him into an embrace.

           The rest of Isidore’s visit passed in a blur. Before leaving, he assured me he’d return as soon as he was able. As sad as I was to see him go, my head was clearer after he left, with the haze of love lifted. I had much to think on.

 **

           The day after Isidore left, I approached Thèrese. I needed some advice on particular womens’ matters and she’d been the closest thing I had to a mother growing up. She’d been the one to teach me how to cook and sew when I wasn’t occupied with my schooling or working in the gardens beside my father. I waited until the evening, when I knew she’d be overseeing the cleaning of the kitchen after dinner. I was keenly aware of my new status and did not want to flaunt it over them, so I had my meal brought to the dining room and ate alone. Had I taken my meal in the kitchen, I’d have earned more of the same jealous glares I’d already been subjected to.

           I breathed a small sigh of relief when I stepped into the kitchen and found it empty save for Thèrese. “Pardon me for interrupting, Thèrese, but may I speak with you?”

           She placed a stack of plates in a cupboard and turned to face me. “Of course, Anne.” We both sat down at the table.

           “I need some advice,” I began, feeling suddenly awkward. “I’m… thinking of lightning the candle.”

           There was no need for elaboration; Thèrese gave me a knowing look. “In the Duc’s name, I take it?”

           “Yes,” I breathed.

           “Ah. Well, these recent changes show he’s treating you as more than a casual bedmate.”

           I nodded. “He means to make me his official consort, have me presented at court and all.”

           Thèrese’s eyebrows rose. “He’s taking it quite seriously, then.”

           “I’m quite certain of how he feels about me, but I can’t help thinking mayhap I should wait to see…”

           “You want to know how I felt when I lit the candle,” Thèrese cut in.

           “Yes.”

           “My situation was different, clearer. I was married and I lit the candle on my wedding night. Normally I’d suggest you think on it to make sure, but in your case it seems clear to me that his grace has strong feelings for you and intends to see you well cared for.”

           I want to take care of you, Anne. “He does.”

           “Then you have your answer.” She smiled coyly. “I do recall you speaking about wanting children before. You’ve a good figure for child bearing, in any case.”

           I couldn’t help but smile in return. “Thank you, Thèrese. I believe I’ve made up my mind.”

           Later, I would come to wonder if mayhap I should’ve waited until I was officially named consort or at least to speak with Isidore on the subject. But I was eager, and in the end it proved to be a good thing that I was. I used my newfound leisure time to visit the shrine of the Eisheth in the village. It was far from a proper temple, consisting only of a simple shrine and living quarters for the two priestesses who maintained it. It also served as a hospital and apothecary of sorts. I’d visited many times to fetch herbal tea for my father. The last time I’d gone to the shrine had been when he was dying…

           I shook my head to dismiss the memory. That was hardly what I needed to be thinking of at this particular moment. I opened the door to the shrine and stepped inside. The priestess was there, cleaning remnants of burnt incense from the offering bowl. She set it aside once she caught sight of me. “Welcome, Anne. Do you wish to make an offering?”

           “Of a sort. I would like to light the candle to Eisheth.”

           The priestess gave me a knowing smile. “I thought you might choose to light the candle someday.” Her statement made me wonder if word of my change in status had reached the village. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if it had. They’d known about me and Isidore for ages.

           The priestess fetched a candle and led me over to the shrine. It consisted of nothing more than a statue of Eisheth. An offering bowl stood in front of it, along with a rack meant for candles. Only a few were currently burning. The priestess handed me a thick white candle and a flint striker. “Light the candle and place it in front of the statue,” she instructed.

           I took a breath to steady myself and lit the candle. A place was free in the center of the rack and I set it there, careful not to spill hot wax on my hands. I lifted my eyes to gaze upon the statue of Eisheth. She clutched a harp in one hand; the other was raised in a gesture of blessing. Her face wore a expression of gentle serenity. It was time to speak the prayer. I did not need the priestess to tell it to me; every woman knew it. “Blessed Eisheth, hear my prayer,” I said, keeping Isidore’s beautiful face in my mind’s eye, “open the gates of my womb.”

           It was done.

           The flame burned bright and steady. I chose to take that for a good sign. Before I left the shrine, the priestess took me aside to explain the changes I’d now experience. It was nothing I’d not heard of before—I’d heard plenty of women who’d lit the candle complain of their monthly courses before and I couldn’t say I was looking forward to them. The priestess was kind enough to give me herbs to take if I was afflicted with cramps and headaches.

           “If Eisheth should choose to grant your prayer and you get with child, please feel welcome to come to me with any questions you may have,” said the priestess. She was the closest thing we had to a chirurgeon and she acted as midwife to both Lombelon itself and the village. I thanked her for her assistance and took my leave.

           The next weeks passed incredibly slowly. I was bursting with eagerness to see Isidore and tell him what I’d done. We’d never spoken of having children before and in truth I wasn’t entirely sure how he’d react. I doubted he would be angry—I’d not have done it I thought it would anger him—but beyond that I couldn’t say. Letters came from him regularly and I considered telling him in my replies before deciding against it. Somewhat of such important had to be said in person.

           Summer finally turned to fall. By then I’d grown slightly more comfortable in my new station, though it was still strange to see my familiar possessions in such a different setting. Some of the initial jealousy had abated and the others generally treated me with courtesy. I couldn’t help but think how much harder it would be to adjust to life as Isidore’s officially-acknowledged consort. Well and so, I would deal with that when the time came.

           The leaves were falling when Isidore at last returned to Lombelon. His eagerness was immediately apparent, as he all but ran over and swept me into his arms, accompanied by the familiar rounds of cheers from his men-at-arms. It was comforting to know there were people in his world who approved of us. I doubted I’d be so lucky when I met the entirety of his friends and family. One of them was Lady Shahrizai, after all, and that woman made my skin crawl.

           I chose to tell him that evening, after we’d retired to his bedchamber for our nightly round of lovemaking. “There’s somewhat I need to tell you before we go any further,” I began as we sat together on the bed.

           “What is it?”

           I took a breath to fortify myself, then spoke. “I lit the candle to Eisheth in your name.”

           I’d never seen Isidore look shocked before, but he did then. He stared at me, blinking slowly, trying to form a response to this revelation. “You did… what?” he finally said.

           “I lit a candle to Eisheth,” I repeated, finding it suddenly hard to meet his eyes. “I suppose I should’ve spoken with you about it, I just… felt inspired to do it after your last visit.”

           The mattress shifted and a moment later his arm was around my shoulders. “Anne, I’m not angry with you—I’m shocked is all. You’ve scarcely said aught to me on this matter before.”

           “I’m sorry. I really should’ve spoken to you about it.”

           He pulled me closer. “Tell me.” His voice held in it the now-familiar note of command.

           “There’s not much to say. I’ve always wanted a child and when you told me you meant to make me your consort, I thought mayhap you might feel the same,” I admitted. My hand rose to stroke his hair. It was soft as silk. “Is it so strange that I’d want to have a child with the man I love?”

           Somewhat softened in his fathomless black eyes. “No, it’s not. It’s a natural thing and I shouldn’t be surprised by it. I confess us having children is not somewhat I’ve considered, forgive me.”

           “Would you?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

           He was silent for a moment, gazing upon me with those lovely eyes I found so easy to get lost in. “Yes, I would.”

           I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him into an embrace. It was hard to contain my excitement. “Truly?”

           “Yes, Anne. Truly.”

           After, as I lay in his arms, I found myself too excited to fall asleep easily. A child. We were, provided Eisheth answered my prayer, going to have a child. I wondered if all women felt this way after lighting the candle, a rush of elation at the thought of getting a child by the men they loved. It might’ve happened this night, for all I knew. That we weren’t married was of no concern. A bit unusual, mayhap, but it wasn’t as if there weren’t women who got children with men who were not their husbands. Eventually my excitement gave way to exhaustion and sleep took me.

           We spoke more on the subject of children the following day. “You were several steps ahead of me,” he admitted, the beginnings of a smile playing at his lips. “I’ve only just told you my intention to name you my consort.”

           “Call it a rare moment of impulse,” I replied.

           “It’s not somewhat I’ve thought about much, in truth.”

           “Really? I thought all the peers were concerned with getting heirs.”

           “Many of them are. I’ve known it is my duty to produce an heir for House Aiglemort from a young age, but I might say I was lucky my father neglected to arrange a betrothal for me before he died,” he explained, “and I’ve had less time and appetite for the game of courtship played by most of my peers.”

           I said a silent prayer of thanks to Blessed Elua that the late Duc d’Aiglemort had not seen fit to marry his son off at a young age. “And now that you’ve given the matter some thought, how are you feeling?”

           “Excited at the prospect of getting a child on the woman I love.”

 **

           Isidore visited frequency that autumn, I daresay more frequently than he had any other season. If my revelation had anything to do with it, he didn’t say, only that it was easy enough for him to spend most of his time at Lombelon and travel to the City when needed. More than a month had passed since I lit the candle and I was quite dismayed when the monthly courses I’d been warned about came. The sensation was almost unpleasant enough to make me regret lighting the candle. Almost.

           I didn’t let any of that discourage me. It wasn’t uncommon for it to take a bit of time, I knew. Our desire for each other had, if anything, grown more intense over time. I was his and he was mine. We belonged to each other.

           “Sometime next year, I think,” he said as we sipped brandy together one evening.

           “Why next year? It seems a long time to wait.”

           His gaze moved away from me to the fire burning steadily in the fireplace. “There is like to be trouble on the border.”

           “The Skaldi raiding in large numbers again?”

           “Yes, only worse,” he replied. “They’ve managed to find a leader to unite them.”

           I thought back to what he’d told me about the Skaldi before. “You said they were a fractious people. It must be an impressive leader who was able to unite them.”

           “From everything I have heard on the matter, he is exactly that.” He drained his glass and set it on the table. “I don’t believe in keeping troubling news from you, but I don’t want you to worry about this.”

           I clasped the arms of my chair tightly. “I can’t help but worry.”

           His expression softened. “I know. If it’s any comfort I have been doing my best to strengthen the border defenses and plan on making a request to the King for more men soon. We are taking the threat seriously. Now,” he stood and took my hand in his, “I can think of more pleasant ways to pass the night than worrying about the Skaldi.”

           I stood and followed him to the bed, thoughts of a possible Skaldi invasion draining from my mind. A moment later our hands were at work undoing each other’s clothes as we kissed deeply. The feeling of his lips on mine sent pangs of desire coursing through me. No matter how many times we made love, our passion for each other burned as hotly as ever. Our clothes were soon a pile on the floor. His rough, calloused swordsman’s hands were on me then, stroking and caressing every part of me. Ah, how I loved the feel of them on my bare skin!

           I lay back on the pillows and spread my legs. He took his place between them, then bent to perform the languisement. It didn’t take long, wet as I was already. He pleasured me with sure, quick strokes of his tongue until my arousal was nearly unbearable. When he pulled away, Naamah’s Pearl ached from the loss. He sat upright on the bed between my legs and I felt his rigid phallus press against me. Knowing what he was about, I lifted my legs to rest on his shoulders as he thrust inside me. It was a position we found in the Trois Milles Joies, ones we were both fond of. His firm grip held me legs in place as he rode me. I kept my eyes on his face, finding it impossible to look away from his smouldering dark eyes and the smile he gave me, that small, secret smile I always loved to see. My own climax was nearly upon me; I slid a hand between my legs to rub Naamah’s Pearl. I let the waves of pleasure overtake me and I cried out his name when I reached my peak. His followed shortly after mine. When it was done, he fell back on the plush pillows and pulled me close to him. We fell asleep that way, in perfect contentment.

 **

Chapter 8: The Longest NIght

           Winter came early and hard. The snows fell earlier in the City than they were usually wont to do and fever soon broke out. It made me glad that I was not planning to pass the Longest Night there. Poets soon took to calling it the Bitterest Winter. Mayhap others felt the bitterness; I did not. Quite the opposite. Things were proceeding according to my plan. Yes, the King had rejected my bid for Ysandre’s hand and Ysandre herself refused to speak against her grandfather’s decision. It was a setback, but not a serious one. I had other plans.

           I was in high spirits when I arrived at Lombelon a few days before the Longest Night. In truth I’d been flying high since Baudoin’s death, as if a weight had been lifted from me. That combined with Anne’s agreement to become my consort, sufficed to keep me in a fine mood since the summer. Then there was her unexpected revelation that she’d lit the candle to Eisheth. I soon realized, however, that I liked the idea of having a child with her. I was past thirty now—it was high time I got myself an heir. Whether I ever married or not, children born of an officially-recognized consort were counted as legitimate.

           A fresh dusting of snow covered the ground when I arrived at Lombelon. Anne stood in her usual place of greeting outside the door, the fur-lined cloak I’d given her wrapped tightly around her. As I rode closer, I could see she was positively glowing with excitement. I all but leapt off my horse and rushed over to her. “I’ve some wonderful news,” she said after we exchanged the usual greetings, “I’m with child.”

           My eyes went wide. “You’re certain?”

           “Quite certain.”

           I swept her into my arms and kissed her fervently. “That is wonderful news indeed!” Somehow the possibility of fatherhood had failed to register with me yet; this brought the reality home. I was going to be a father. Anne and I were going to have a child. It was happening, truly happening. The prospect was intimidating, yes, but only a little. The entirely foreign territory of parenthood was not such a wild land when I had Anne to travel it beside me.

           “Would you carry me over the threshold as if I were your wife?” Anne’s teasing voice jolted me out of my thoughts. I did as she suggested and set her down just inside the doorway. It was only a casual remark, but it got me thinking, imagining myself as King with Anne and our child beside me. The thought of tossing all political considerations aside to follow Blessed Elua’s precepts was a very appealing one. I resolved to think on it again later, once I had the prize I sought. For now, I would continue with my plan to name Anne my official consort. ‘Twas a pity it would have to wait until I had the throne. I simply did not have the time to see to it before then, not when I had so many other preparations to make.

           It was immediately apparent that the Longest Night was nigh upon us. The great hall was decorated with wreaths and evergreen boughs, embellished here and there with red, white, and silver ribbons. Such decorations were common for the Longest Night, but I could see how they would have a particular significance in L’Agnace as a reminder that there was life yet in the earth and green things would return. “I see you’ve noticed the decorations,” Anne remarked, drawing my attention back to her.

           “Yes. They’re quite festive. Your doing?”

           “Oh no, we always decorate the great hall like this for the Longest Night,” she explained. “I like the greenery. I’d keep it there all winter if I could.”

           “How very L’Agnacite of you.”

           “Seeing evergreens always cheers me in winter,” she replied. Anne hated winter, a sentiment which seemed rather common in L’Agnace. I recalled hearing Ghislain de Somerville complain about it while attending winter functions at the Palace. I found it hard to relate, as winter has always been my favorite season. Still, I did the best I could to comfort Anne when the cold weather began to wear on her. I’d have my work cut out for me convincing her to ever spend the winter with me in Camlach. She wouldn’t like the cold, but she was L’Agnacite and would see the beauty of the land.

           “I’ll need to take you to the Midwinter Masque at the Palace sometime,” I said. “It’s somewhat to see at least once.”

           She smiled. “I think I’d enjoy that.”

           “The decorations are always quite stunning, the food excellent, the costumes beautiful. The only spectacle I can think of to match it would be the Midwinter Masque at the Night Court.”

           Anne’s eyebrows rose. “The Night Court has its own masque?”

           I nodded. “Cereus House hosts it every year, and all thirteen houses attend. It’s harder to get an invitation there than to the Palace masque.”

           “Have you ever been?”

           “Twice, both with Prince Baudoin.” The first time had been the year he played the Sun Prince. None of us had known about that beforehand, only that Baudoin had a surprise he couldn’t wait to share. In retrospect I’m surprised he did not just tell us, considering how he boasted of his mother’s plans so carelessly. Parts of that night are somewhat of a blur in my memory, as I’d been more than a little drunk, though not as drunk as Baudoin. I’d been stuck holding him as he staggered into Cereus House, so drunk he could barely walk. That was somewhat I didn’t miss in the least, carting Baudoin around when he was blind, stinking drunk.

           “When was that?” Anne asked.

           “The first was around ten years ago. I was just shy of turning twenty.” It seemed longer ago than that. “Baudoin and I were still good friends then.” The thought didn’t sting as much as it might have months ago.

           She was silent for a moment and I thought she might ask me about Baudoin, but she didn’t. “Which of the two masques do you prefer?”

           That was somewhat I never considered before; I had to think on it. “Well, it’s difficult to match the sheer decadence and debauchery of the Night Court. You can certainly get it at the Palace too, but no one does debauchery quite like the Night Court does. Their masque has a tendency to turn into an orgy before the night is over.”

           Anne giggled. “Decadent indeed. I imagine the Palace masque is more restrained.”

           “Yes, to a certain extent. I’ve never seen it become an orgy, but that isn’t to say there aren’t plenty of couples carrying on in semi-private niches.”

           She laid a hand on my arm. “Those are fêtes worth attending, it seems.”

           “Next year you’ll attend the Palace masque with me.” Next year I’d be King of Terre d’Ange if all went according to plan.

           “I would like that very much.”

           The days leading up to the Longest Night passed quickly, as all days spent with Anne had an unfortunate tendency to do. It snowed a handful of times, ensuring the grounds were covered in a blanket of white for the Longest Night. I’ve always felt the day lacks a certain something when there is no snow on the ground. Once the pathways were cleared, Anne and I spent some time walking outside. The air was brisk with winter’s chill, but not so cold as to be frigid. I was pleased to see Anne wearing the fur-lined cloak I’d given her, along with a new pair of sturdy boots and warm gloves.

           “It really is beautiful, the snow,” she commented as we walked through the gardens. The snow had rendered them a foreign landscape, with the only points of familiarity being the evergreen trees and shrubs. “For all that I complain about it, it is beautiful.”

           “It is. I’ve always thought there was somewhat peaceful about it when everything is covered in white after a storm, like a blanket for the sleeping land,” I said, feeling unusually poetic. I suppose my contentment in the moment brought it on.

           “My father used to say somewhat similar. When I’d feel sad because all the plants died as the seasons changed, he’d tell me that many of them were only sleeping in the earth and would return again in the spring,” said Anne. I was glad to see her speaking of her father with no trace of sadness in her voice. It was nearly a year since his death and she’d seen fit to confide in me whenever the grief was especially strong. I wished I’d known Gerard Livet better so I could share her grief. My own father had died not so very long ago, and it had been a sudden thing. He’d neglected to call for a chirurgeon after being wounded in a border skirmish and the wound took septic. Maslin d’Aiglemort was nothing if not stubborn to a fault. I’d been with him when it happened and was not expecting to find myself as Duc d’Aiglemort before I was thirty.

           I took her gloved hand in mine and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Do you think your father would approve of what has passed between us?”

           She grinned. “If you mean would he approve of me getting with child by you, he would. He knew how happy you make me and so he approved of us.”

           “I do wish he was here to see the birth of his grandchild. He and your mother both,” I said gently.

           “So do I. What of your family? What will they think of us and our child?”

           “Well their opinions hardly matter, not when I am the head of the House. I doubt any of my cousins will say a word against you.” A small smile came to my lips. “My father, were he here, would doubtless be pleased I fathered a child.”

           “Indeed.”

           “Are you concerned my family will not be welcoming to you?” I inquired.

           “The thought crossed my mind once or twice.”

           “You shouldn’t trouble yourself over it. I don’t expect you’ll need to see them often.”

           Her hand relaxed a little in mine. “I know I’ve been worrying about all of this too much, it’s only that… I fear I won’t fit into your world,” she admitted. At my confused expression, she added, “The parts of your life without me in them.”

           I was silent for a moment, taken aback by her words. I’d never thought of it that way, at least not consciously, but it was true enough. There were things Anne did not know and could not know. If things went wrong and my plans were exposed, suspicion might fall on her. That could not happen. By keeping her ignorant of my plans, I protected her. She would not end up like Marc and Bernadette de Trevalion, exiled for their knowledge of Lyonette’s plot. Still, it hurt to keep these secrets from Anne. “That distinction won’t matter once you’re my consort, Anne. You will learn to feel at home in my ‘world’ as you put it over time.”

           “I do hope you’re right.” She squeezed my hand. “To think next year we might attend the Palace’s Midwinter Masque together.”

           Next year she’d be consort to the King of Terre d’Ange if my plan succeeded. “Indeed we will.”

 **

           The Longest Night dawned clear and cold, just the sort of weather I liked. Since Anne and I would be counted as a household once she was my consort, we thought to dress according to a theme for the masque. I would be attired as winter while Anne would be summer. It was her idea and I had to own it was a good one. She had some specific ideas for the costumes, which I relayed to my tailor and seamstress. That surprised me a bit, for I’d never seen Anne to express much in the way of opinions on clothing. I hardly ever gave much thought to it myself, so I was glad to have someone else take charge of it.

           We were both quite satisfied with the end results. For my part, I wore a deep forest green doublet and breeches, the shade of pine trees in the depths of winter, accented with silver. My first inclination was to wear all white, but Anne quipped that I was like to blend in with the snow given my coloring. The forest green brocade with silver embroidery was meant to evoke a pine tree with snow in its branches. To complete the costume, I wore a crown fashioned of pine boughs accented here and there with red berries.

           Anne loved her costume. “I’ve never worn anything so fine,” she said, running her hands over the silk of her gown. It was the color of honey, with a pattern of fruit and flowers on the bodice and along the hem. Her crown was of flowers and green leaves fashioned from silk. Doubtless she could name all of them; I couldn’t.

           I secured a cloak of white velvet around my shoulders with a silver pin. Anne left off admiring her gown to look me over. “You look like a winter spirit come from the heart of the forest. The dark green really does suit your coloring.”

           “I didn’t know you paid attention to such things,” I replied, raising an eyebrow.

           “Neither did I. I never had much cause to pay attention to such things until now.”

           Our costumes were complete with domino masks, mine silver and hers gold. Once they were in place, I held out an arm. Anne took it and together we made our way down to the great hall. Most of the household was already there and they stopped what they were doing to watch us walk down the stairs together, Anne’s hand on my arm. Gasps and whispers could be heard here and there—I daresay we made an impressive pair. “Do they know you’re with child?” I inquired.

           “Yes, I imagine so. Word spreads quickly at a small estate such as this.” It was a bit uncomfortable that the household knew, if not exactly surprising. No doubt it was a thrilling bit of gossip.

           The decorations I’d noted when I arrived were only the beginning. More had been added since then and the great hall looked entirely unlike I’d ever seen it before. I’d attended several celebrations at Lombelon over the last few years, but none of them had taken place in the great hall. L’Agnacites loved the land and with it came a fondness for outdoor celebrations. But not even they would pass the Longest Night outside. A pair of long tables had been set up on opposite sides of the hall, with ample space in between them for dancing. A fire roared in the large fireplace, keeping the room pleasantly warm. As Anne and I approached the table nearer the fireplace, folk in the crowd paused to bow or curtsy. I knew nearly all of them by name now. There was Thèrese, the head of the kitchen who’d made Camaeline dishes for me. There was Marcel, Anne’s friend and lover before—and also a bit after—she met me. If he had any lingering resentment toward me, he didn’t show it. My men were there as well, casually mingling with the residents of Lombelon. Those among them who regularly accompanied me on my visits had gotten to know the folk of Lombelon and felt at ease attending a fête such as this.

           Anne and I took our seats at the center of the table nearest the fireplace. There was nothing like a formal seating arrangement—the higher-ranked members of the household sat closest to us while the rest took what seats were available. The table was laden with a fine selection of dishes. Anne took the time to point out a few of note. “I made sure some of your Camaeline dishes were included,” she informed me.

           “Let us see if the other cooks did as good a job preparing them as you did,” I replied as I helped myself to slices of quiche and tarte flambée.

           What followed was a Midwinter Masque quite unlike any I’d ever attended. To compare it to the masques at the Palace or Cereus House was as pointless as comparing a rabbit to a swan. They were entirely different experiences, for all that they are both Midwinter Masques. Suffice it to say that the food was quite delicious and I enjoyed the company greatly. Joie flowed freely, along with L’Agnacite wine and the pear brandy no visit to Lombelon would be complete without. I drank a bit more than was my usual want. Anne on the other hand contented herself with a single glass of joie owing to her condition.

           When the meal was over, instruments were fetched and several folk left their seats to begin playing. Others moved to the open space between the tables and began to dance. Anne and I watched in comfortable silence for a few minutes. These were not the formal court dances I knew. No, they were the same sort of country dances I’d seen at other celebrations I’d attended at Lombelon. In all likelihood they were traditional L’Agnacite country dances. Each province had its own traditional dances entirely separate from the formal dances found at court. I was well-versed in the Camaeline ones and had more than a passing acquaintance with the Kusheline ones as well. Eventually the lively music gave way to a slower tune. I looked at Anne. “Would you care for a dance?”

           “Dance? With you?”

           “Of course.”

           She blushed a little. “I don’t know anything of formal court dances.”

           “Then we’ll start with somewhat simple.” I stood and offered her an arm. “I’ll lead and all you need do is follow.”

           She laid a hesitant hand on my arm. “As you wish.”

           Together we walked out to the center of the room. Several of the other dancers halted what they were doing to stare at us. Those nearest us moved out of the way to give us space. I took Anne’s hand in mine and laid a hand on her waist. “Put your other hand on my arm,” I instructed, “and try your best to follow me and not step on my feet.”

           She smiled. “I think I can manage that.” The musicians took up their instruments and our dance began. I kept it simple, leading Anne across the floor. She was able to keep pace with me without any difficulties. It made me think of how well-matched we were in bed, how attuned we were to each other. As we danced, the crowd around us seemed to disappear until Anne might’ve been the only one there. Her mask completely failed to hide the love that was plain on her face. I could lose myself in the depths of those hazel eyes.

           “You’re a good dancer,” she murmured. “I wouldn’t have guessed it.”

           I raised an eyebrow. “Not even with all those times you’ve watched my sword practice?”

           “Well, that isn’t dancing exactly.”

           “It’s not so very different from it. The footwork is important.” It wasn’t the first time someone had complemented my dancing. The Shahrizai were surprised to find me a passing good dancer when I arrived to foster among them. More recently Ysandre de la Courcel had praised my dancing skills while dancing with me at a fête. Anne and I danced to several more songs until the hour grew late. “That’s certainly a good start,” I remarked once we’d returned to our seats. “It shouldn’t take you long to learn courtly dances.”

           “I suspect not with such a good teacher.”

           We were interrupted by the doors of the great hall opening wide to admit the Winter Queen. She looked much the same as other Winter Queens I’d seen, dressed as she was in a ragged cloak and hobbling along with her staff. “Our Winter Queen wears the same costume every year,” Anne remarked. “Same thing with the Sun Prince. All we do is make alterations as needed.”

           The lights were extinguished. The doors opened once again to admit the Sun Prince. He tapped the Winter Queen on the shoulder with his spear. She cast off her cloak and the lights were restored. The new year had begun. “Were you ever the Winter Queen?”

           “Yes. More than once. What about you? Were you the Sun Prince?”

           “Of course. Once the year before I went to the Shahrizai and once the year after.”

           Anne lifted a hand to stroke my hair gently. “You must’ve made a fine Sun Prince with your beautiful hair.”

           Elua, I loved it when she called my hair beautiful. It was my one vanity. I avoided tying it back specifically so I could show it to its best advantage. “Yes, I suppose I did.”

           After the appearance of the Sun Prince, the celebration began to wind down. Many people left the hall to retire for the night. We had no obligation to stay for the rest of the masque and thus made our exit. With the whole staff enjoying the masque, a fire hadn’t already been laid in my bedchamber. I saw to it quickly, then removed my mask and crown. After wearing them for hours, it was a relief to take them off. Anne did the same with hers and a moment later we sat together on the bed. A bottle of joie and two glasses stood on the bedside table. I hadn’t requested it. “Your doing?”

           Anne nodded. “I thought we might enjoy some in private.” She uncorked the bottle and filled both glasses. “Joy to you on the Longest Night, Isidore.”

           I raised the glass. “All the same to you, Anne. Joy.” I drained the glass in one go. Never let it be said I didn’t learn anything during my association with Prince Baudoin. I took a brief moment to savior the icy bite of the joie. I would easily name it my favorite liqueur if asked. There’s somewhat in it that always reminds me of Camlach, as if it retained some memory of the high places where the snowdrops grew. I set the glass on the table and looked at Anne. She sipped the last of the joie and placed her empty glass beside mine. I kissed her then, tasting the joie on her lips. She returned the kiss with equal ardor and we drank deeply from each other. Our costumes were soon a pile on the floor.

           We savored each other that night. I must’ve kissed and stroked every part of her and she did the same to me. Somewhat about the simple fact that she was carrying my child made me even more aroused that I usually was. She was not showing yet—it was too early for that—but I couldn’t help stroking her stomach more than was my usual wont. Anne told me she’d already spoken with the local priestess of Eisheth, who guessed our child would be born in early summer. With luck the impending Skaldi invasion would be over by then and I could return to Lombelon to attend the birth.

           I pulled her closer to me until I could feel the entirety of her pressed tight against me. She had exactly the sort of richly-curved figure prized in Camlach for the promise of warmth on the coldest winter nights. I laid a hand on her arse and buried another in her hair as if I could keep her from harm if I held her close enough. My mind was too active from the excitement of the day for me to fall asleep easily. Even after Anne fell asleep I lay awake, my thoughts turning to our child. I tried to imagine what the mingling of my blood with Anne’s would produce. Would our child be more Camaeline or L’Agnacite? Camaeline, I was fairly certain. I was of one of the purest Camaeline bloodlines, after all. But mayhap there’d be a love for gardens in there. A son with my hair and somewhat of Anne in his face. Or mayhap a daughter, but in truth I was more excited by the idea of a son. It made no practical difference—a daughter could inherit as well as a son. We are a civilized people, after all. A son, though—a son I could teach to wield a sword, draw a bow, lead the Allies of Camlach in battle, as my father had taught me the entirety of Camael’s Arts.

           With that pleasant thought, I finally drifted off to sleep.

 **

           With the Longest Night now passed, my natality was soon upon us. I did not generally want a big fuss made of it, a preference formed after years of the Shahrizai and Baudoin insisting on throwing fêtes for the occasion. This year I was determined to spend the day with Anne. The only thing that disrupted our time together was a message from Melisande, and I quickly dispatched several of my men-at-arms to carry out her request. I had to wonder if she knew about Anne and me. All the local folk did. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if Melisande did as well.

           When the day of my natality came, thoughts of Melisande’s request vanished entirely from my mind at the prospect of spending the day with Anne. She insisted on marking the occasion, and I was happy to go along with it. She spent a portion of her time in the kitchen, preparing a special dinner. It consisted of Camaeline dishes, some which I specifically requested. To be able to enjoy some comforts of home while also spending time with Anne was the best birthday gift I could’ve hoped for.

           Anne had other gifts for me. “You really did not need to do this,” I said as I followed her into the bedchamber.

           “I know. But I wanted to anyway.” She gestured to one of the armchairs by the fireplace, where she’d laid out my gifts. A pair of shirts were draped over the arms of the chair, with a smaller square of cloth resting between them.

           “You made me shirts. But how…?”

           “I might’ve… borrowed one of your shirts while you were last here so I could get your measurements,” she admitted. “I know they’re not as fine as what you usually wear…”

           “They’re just perfect. Thank you, Anne.” The shirts were fairly plain, with little in the way of embellishment on the collars and cuffs. Not that I don’t wear shirts with lace trim on occasion, but it is not my preference. My eyes then shifted to the square of cloth lying on the seat of the chair. It was a handkerchief. A closer look revealed she’d embroidered it. That took me aback for a moment—I hadn’t known Anne had such skill in embroidery. She’d stitched a pair of silver eagles in opposite corners, with pear blossoms at their feet.

           “I copied them from the eagles on your standard,” said Anne.

           “It’s quite a good likeness.”

           “I wanted to give you a lover’s token you might take with you when you ride off to war again.”

           Her words fell heavily between us. I’d not spoken of the coming Skaldi invasion to her at all during this visit. Better not to speak of it at all than dwell on what I had to keep hidden from her. I steered the conversation away from the impending invasion. “A very thoughtful gift. I’ll be sure to keep it with me.”

           “I’m so pleased you like it.” Anne smiled. “I’ve been quite busy with sewing lately, for I mean to make a quilt for our child.”

           “Really? I’ve not seen you doing anything of that sort since I’ve been here.”

           “That’s because I’ve been too busy spending time with you.”

           I sat on the bed. “Well, you can rest assured our child will have all the blankets he could possibly want.”

           She raised an eyebrow. “He?”

           “Or she,” I added. “I’ve been thinking I’d like to have a son. The idea of teaching him to wield a sword really appeals to me.”

           “Could you not teach a daughter?”

           I considered her question a moment before answering. “I could, yes. Camaeline women are taught to defend themselves should they be attacked, but they don’t fight on the battlefield.” I met Anne’s eyes. “You know I wouldn’t love any daughter of ours any less.”

           “I’m glad to hear it,” she replied, amused, “and in case you were wondering I have no particular preference for a son or daughter.”

 **

           I spent most of the winter at Lombelon. Business did call me away from time-to-time, but for the most part I was able to spend much of my time with Anne. There was a sense of urgency in it as winter began to loosen its icy grip on the land. When the days grew warm enough that I judged the nearest pass to be open, I left for Camlach.

           It was a difficult parting, the most difficult we’d had thus far.

           Soon I would be at war.

 Notes

Chapter 5: Gifts

           I’d been Isidore’s lover for nearly three years when my father’s health failed for the final time. It had never fully recovered from his previous bout of fever and it was a hard winter that year. It wasn’t a shock, since his health had been delicate and he was not young, but the loss was a hard one. The grief seemed overwhelming, made worse by the lack of work to do. Had it been spring or summer, I’d have thrown myself into my work in the gardens, though it would’ve reminded me of my father. Instead all I could do was go about my ordinary chores, which weren’t enough to keep me from dwelling on my loss. Our room—my room now—felt too cold and empty.

           I found myself trying to avoid spending time there. I joined Marcel in bed frequently and he would hold me afterward and comfort me when I cried. But even when I lay in his arms, head resting on his chest, I couldn’t help but think of Isidore. I wondered where he was and what he was doing, hoping his winter had been better than mine. Was he in the City or Camlach? If he was in the City, he could easily sneak away when the weather allowed for it.

           A month had passed since my father was laid to rest when Isidore returned to Lombelon. My spirit soared at the sight of him. He was hardly inside before he pulled me into a tight embrace and kissed me gently. Tears welled up in my eyes. “I’m so glad you’re here,” I breathed.

           He drew back and regarded me with concern. “You are not yourself. Has somewhat happened?”

           “My father…” it was difficult to force the words out, “my father… passed away a month ago,” I managed to say.

           “Oh Anne, I’m so sorry,” he murmured, embracing me. “I know how close you were to him.”

           Somewhat broke in me at those words and the tears I’d tried to suppress flowed. I buried my face in the velvet of his doublet, my tears soaking into the rich fabric. Isidore said nothing, only stroked my hair. I’d not bothered to put it in my usual braid. He was wonderfully solid in my arms and I soaked up the comfort he offered like a tree drew water from the earth. We remained as we were until my sobs subsided. Slowly, I raised my head to meet his dark eyes. “Could we go somewhere more private?” We were standing in the entry hall and it was hardly an ideal location for a conversation such as this. Isidore led me to the master suite. Instead of making straight for the bedroom, we settled on the sofa in the sitting room. I couldn’t help but shiver—no one had come in to light a fire yet.

           “Cold?” Isidore asked. I nodded. He rose from the sofa and began adding wood to the fireplace.

           “You don’t need to do that, I can take care of it,” I said, rising to my feet.

           Isidore pointed to the sofa. “Sit.” His tone wasn’t stern, but it was clear there would be no further argument. I wondered if this was how he was with his soldiers. I sat back down on the sofa and smoothed my apron. It wasn’t long before a fire was burning in the fireplace. Isidore sat beside me and put an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. “Was it sudden?” he asked, voice soft.

           “No.” I leaned my head against his shoulder. “He had been ill for a long time. Since before I met you, in fact. He’d had a bad bout of fever that winter and never fully recovered from it.”

           “I’m sorry,” Isidore repeated, stroking my hair. “He was a good man. I wish I could’ve known him better.”

           “Thank you.” I leaned against his shoulder. “It was just the two of us for a long time, ever since my mother died. I was a small child then, so my father raised me on his own.”

           Isidore continued to stroke my hair, the motion serving to calm me. My eyes closed in contentment. He startled me when he spoke again. “That is another thing we have in common.”

           I lifted my head from his shoulder and met his dark eyes. “What do you mean?”

           “I mean we both lost our mothers at a young age,” he replied. “I was very young when mine died.”

           “It’s hard, isn’t it?” He gave a small nod. “My mother died when I was six years old. She worked beside my father in the gardens. I remember she liked to sing as she worked and sometimes Father would join in.” I smiled a little at the memory. “I wish I could remember her better.”

           “You’re fortunate that you have those memories,” Isidore said. “I can scarcely remember my mother. My father rarely spoke of her after she died. Thinking on it now, I suppose he took her death hard. He never remarried, despite being a Duc and therefore a top marriage prospect.”

           It was surprising how alike our family situations were. I never would’ve guessed it. “My father was the same—he never remarried.” A sudden, fresh wave of sadness struck me after sharing that with Isidore. I’d never thought much about it, my father’s choice not to marry again. I’d never even asked him about it. Was it that he simply never met anyone else, or was it that he chose to devote himself to his work and caring for me? I tended to think it was the latter.

           “Sometimes I wish my father had remarried.” Isidore’s voice stirred me from my thoughts. “I never had anyone like a mother in my life. Father was frequently called away whenever the Skaldi managed to breach the border defenses and then he sent me away to foster with the Shahrizai.”

           “He sent you to foster with the Shahrizai?” That explained how he knew Lady Shahrizai well enough for her to gift him Lombelon.

           “Yes, for three years.”

           “What was that like? It must’ve been… different for you.” My interactions with the Shahrizai were very limited, but I could tell they were rather different from Camaelines.

           He looked away, contemplating his answer. “Quite different. Kushiel and Camael are not alike, for all that they are the harshest of the Companions.” His face took on a distant expression. “I heard one of the Shahrizai say once that the scions of Kushiel are a dark mirror in which our own dark desires are reflected. It makes others wary of them.”

           That I understood. “Were you wary of them?”

           “In the beginning, yes, I was wary of them,” he admitted. “I’d spent most of my time in Camlach before then and the entire world of the court was foreign to me.”

           I could easily picture him looking completely out of place among the Shahrizai. “Why did your father send you to foster with them?”

           Another pause. “I can’t say for sure. He never told me his reasons. I suppose he wanted to foster ties with another province aside from those bordering Camlach. That, and give me the sort of court education only the Shahrizai could provide.” There was a note of amusement in his voice. “The lot of them are born courtiers.”

           “And did they succeed in making you a courtier?” I asked, grinning.

           “Well, I’d hardly describe myself as a courtier but yes, they did manage to instill some degree of courtly elegance in me.”

           I gave him a small smile. “I can certainly see the elegance.” Elegance, yes, and efficiency as well. He was not one for wasted movement. “It’s the courtier part I’m having trouble seeing. Not that I have my experience of such things—I just can’t see you as some idle lordling spending his days in the palace and his nights at the Night Court.”

           He laughed lightly. “It’s not my world, but I can navigate it well enough when the need arises. I owe some credit to the Shahrizai for that.” Another pause; I felt him tense slightly. “They, and Prince Baudoin. He’s quite the courtier himself.”

           “So you’ve told me. I do have to wonder how you’ve remained friends with him for so long when you seem to be such opposites.”

           “A question I’ve been asking myself more and more frequently as of late,” he replied. “We were introduced as children by our families. Such things are common among the nobility. I suppose my father saw it as an opportunity to foster closer ties with House Trevalion. To be perfectly honest, I enjoyed his company more when I was younger than I do now.”

           I leaned more into his shoulder, the fine fabric of his doublet pressing into my cheek. “That’s only natural. You grow older and you realize that perhaps you had less in common with an old friend than you thought,” I offered. It had happened to me on a couple of occasions. Some of those former friends now regarded me with bitter jealousy.

           “Yes, I would say that is true, among other things. His antics were considerably more amusing when we were younger. Believe me, being called Izzy repeatedly after telling him not to multiple times wore thin very quickly.”

           I failed to stifle a laugh as I sat up with a start. “Prince Baudoin calls you Izzy?”

           “Unfortunately yes. When he’s drunk, mostly. He either doesn’t remember after I tell him not to use it or simply doesn’t care. No one would call Baudoin considerate.” There was annoyance in his voice, but his dark eyes held a hint of amusement. “I eventually gave up and resigned myself to it.”

           “Where did that nickname even come from?” I pondered. “You are not in any way an Izzy.”

           “Somewhere from Baudoin’s wine-addled mind. No one else has ever called me that.”

           “And I assure you I won’t call you Izzy when we’re in bed, or any other time.”

           He laughed, then turned to face me. “I’m glad to see you smiling, Anne. I imagine there’s been precious little of that lately.”

           “Yes,” I said softly, laying my head on his shoulder once more. “You being here, it helps.”

           “I’m sorry I was unable to be here sooner. Matters kept me in the City, with the Longest Night and my own natality not long after…”

           “Your natality?” He’d never mentioned it, not once in the years we’d been lovers. Was he the sort who preferred not to have a fuss made of it? I’d never thought to ask him.

           “Yes. It was last week.”

           “Oh. You should’ve said something; we could’ve had a celebration.”

           He waved a hand dismissively. “There’s no need for that, Anne. I’ve had my fill of revelry recently, with spending the Longest Night in the City.”

           “That may be, but I’d still like to give you a gift.”

           “There is no need for you to do that.” The beginning of a smile formed at the corners of his mouth. “Given the difference in our stations, it is fitting that I be the one to give you the gifts.”

           He’d done exactly that during his last visit. It had been late autumn, when winter’s chill had just begun to creep into the air and he saw fit to give me a fine new cloak of rich velvet lined with soft fur. Along with it came a pair of warm gloves, which I sorely needed. “That brown cloak of yours is looking a bit worse-for-wear. I thought you could do with a new one,” he’d said when he presented it to me. I’d accepted the gifts gladly—he’d chosen well to give me practical items. Most men would give their lovers jewels. Not that I’d turn down jewelry if he ever gave me any, but a cloak was far more useful. “That may be true, but I’d like to give you somewhat anyway,” I insisted.

           He raised an eyebrow. “Any other woman who was the lover of a Duc would be happy to accept the gifts and not insist on giving in return.” His hand tightened on my arm. “In truth, your presence is enough of a gift.”

           “So is yours,” I whispered.

           That night, I clung to him more than I was known to do, as if to reassure myself that he was truly there and wouldn’t disappear to leave me alone once more. He responded by holding me tight against him. When morning came, I was reluctant to leave the protective circle of his arms.

           Throughout the day, I gaze more thought to a gift for Isidore. He was right that most women in my position would’ve been content to accept their lovers’ gifts and not think to give anything in return. But somewhat within me was uncomfortable with him being so generous to me and my not returning the favor. I suppose it had to do with wanting to feel like I was useful and our relationship wasn’t one-sided in that way. I brought it up again while we dined together that evening.

           “I thought some more on our conversation last night, about gifts,” I began once we’d finished eating.

           He raised a silver eyebrow. “Oh?”

           “I was thinking I might cook somewhat for you.”

           He eyed me, incredulous. “You would cook our meals?”

           “No, not exactly—I hardly have the time for that. But I thought I might cook some dish for you. I’m a decent cook, if I do say so.”

           I expected him to protest further, but instead the corners of his mouth moved upward into the beginning of a smile. “Then I shall have to think on what I’d like you to make for me.”

 **

           Isidore took his time, for it was nearly a week before he told me what he’d chosen.

           “Quiche? I confess I’m not familiar with it. What kind of dish is it?”

           He glanced away, studying the curtains as if they’d suddenly become interesting. “I forgot you’d not be familiar with it here—it’s a Camaeline dish. I can choose somewhat…”

           “What’s in it?”

           “Eggs and cream, usually with bacon, sometimes mushrooms or other vegetables, baked in a pastry crust.”

           I had to own it sounded tasty, somewhat like an omelette save for the pastry crust. “Is it a common Camaeline dish?”

           “Very much so. It’s rather versatile, so it might be served at different meals.”

           “I’ll have to ask Thèrese if she’s familiar with it.”

           Thèrese, it turned out, had heard of it. As befitting a cook, she owned a cookbook containing recipes from all over Terre d’Ange. She recalled seeing a recipe for quiche in the book but had never attempted it herself. The recipe itself was fairly straightforward and I felt confident I could handle it. I’d made both omelettes and filled pastries before—fruit tarts are a common dessert when we have fresh fruit at hand.

           I found myself eagerly looking forward to making the quiche. Not just for Isidore’s sake, but for my own. I am fond of cooking and trying a new recipe was an exciting challenge. I didn’t often get the chance to do so—generally I was limited to what we grew ourselves or could buy in the village, which didn’t allow for much variation. My meals with Isidore were rather richer than what I usually ate, quite a welcome change.

           Our kitchen is not terribly large and it is not uncommon for us to bump into each other when there are too many people in the room. I was sure to gather all the quiche ingredients and secure a section of the counter for myself before the dinner preparations were fully underway. The pastry dough was not difficult to make—I’d made it before, for pies and tarts. Neither was whisking together the eggs and crème fraîche. The recipe was not overly complex or hard to follow. When I was done, I was reasonably confident I’d produced something like to the recipe’s intention. I hoped Isidore wouldn’t judge it too harshly, since he knew what a quiche was supposed to taste like.

           When it was time for dinner, I tried my best to hide my nervousness as our meal was brought to the dining room. I’d not told Isidore I was making the quiche today, so it’d be a surprise. Indeed, his eyebrows rose once he spotted it. “I see you made my quiche.”

           “I hope it lives up to expectations.”

           He wasted no time and cut himself a piece before I could see to it. I watched, nervousness growing as he took a bite. A tense moment passed. “Very good,” he said after what felt like an eternity. “It tastes much like the quiche I’ve had in Camlach.”

           I let out a small breath and smiled. “Well, that’s quite a relief. You’ve no idea how nervous I’ve been about it.”

           An eyebrow quirked upward. “Nervous? I never would’ve guessed.” He cut another piece and offered it to me. “Try it, Anne. You went through enough extra work to make it for me; it’s only fair that you should enjoy it too.”

           I was about to protest, to insist it was a gift for him, but my protests died away when he set a piece in front of me. With no further hesitation, I took a bite. It was as if someone had added the egg mixture of an omelette to a pastry crust instead of cooking it in a pan, but the quiche was richer than any omelette I’d eaten. “This is good!” I exclaimed. The bacon was a very tasty addition.

           “I’m glad you like it. I often find myself missing it when I’m away from home. Now I can enjoy it while I’m here.”

           “It’d be my pleasure to make it for you whenever you like.” Between the two of us, we ate the entire thing.

           “Shall we go upstairs?” I suggested once the meal was over.

           “I have somewhere else in mind,” he replied.

           “And where might that be?” I couldn’t think of where else he’d want to go. The master suite was the best place for what we meant to do.

           “I’ve a mind to see where you live when I’m not here. If you don’t mind showing me, that is.”

           I blinked several times, taking in his words. “No, I don’t mind—it’s just I can’t fathom why you’d want to see our… my room.”

           “Call it simple curiosity.”

           “The master suite is much more comfortable,” I said, still skeptical.

           “We can always retire there afterward.”

           “All right, I can see you’re quite set on the idea.” It wasn’t that I was against Isidore seeing my room in principle, it was only that I knew it was plain and shabby compared to what he was used to. The thought of him seeing it embarrassed me a bit. I tried not to let it show as I led him to my room and unlocked the door. It was dark inside, as no one had come to light a fire for the evening. I hastily lit a candle, then saw to the fire. Once there was enough light to see by, Isidore stepped inside. “I’ve not had time to tidy in here today,” I said, watching him take in the fireplace, the table and chairs, the window looking out onto the gardens, the bed. His gaze lingered a moment on the cloak he’d given me, hanging on a peg by the door. Then he noticed the three books on the nightstand.

           “You have books?”

           “Yes. You could say two are heirlooms of a sort. Our family copy of the Eluine Cycle and a classic L’Agnacite treatise on gardening.”

           “A treatise on gardening. Why am I not surprised?” he remarked, grinning.

           “It’s quite useful. Not as useful as practical experience, but still worth having,” I told him. “The last one is a botanical text listing flowers, herbs, and vegetables and what kind of care they need.”

           “I can see how that would be helpful for you.”

           I picked up the book. “My father and I had the most common ones memorized, but there are times when the book is necessary.” I opened it and flipped to a random page. A drawing of lavender was accompanied by a detailed information about the plant, such as how much sunlight and water it preferred. I showed it to Isidore. He looked over the page, his gaze lingering longest on the illustration.

           “I confess I was unaware such books existed.”

           “How do you think we learn how to care for so many different plants?” I asked with a smile.

           “I figured you learn by experience.”

           “Well, that’s part of it too. I learned a great deal of what I know about gardening from watching my father and working beside him.” I placed the book back on the nightstand and picked up the Eluine Cycle. “This has been in our family for many generations.” I flipped open the book and pointed to a list of names written inside the cover. My name was the last on the list. “When a new child is born into our family, we write the name here.”

           His dark eyes migrated to my name. “I can see this one means a great deal to you.”

           “Yes. My parents used to read to me from it before I went to bed each night.” I’d always looked forward to it, and not only the parts about Elua and Anael. The notion of Elua and his Companions wandering the world and then eventually coming to Terre d’Ange captured my imagination as a child. I always enjoyed accompanying my parents to the temples or our small shrine to make offerings.

           “That sounds rather more pleasant than being educated in religion by our household’s priest of Camael.”

           There was a priest of Camael in the village who tended to his shrine. I’d seen him a few times, but we’d never had cause to interact. “I take it he was a stern fellow?”

           “You could say that. I’ve rarely met a priest of Camael who wasn’t at least a bit stern, and I’m the sovereign Duc of Camlach.”

           I laughed at that. “Do you see many of them?”

           “More than I’d care to, were I given a choice in the matter,” he replied. At my puzzled look, he continued, “They accompany armies on the battlefield.”

           “They must bless the army before you fight, just as the priests of Anael bless the fields before the spring planting,” I reasoned.

           He nodded. “Soldiers are a superstitious lot. Not quite as superstitious as sailors, to be sure, but enough that many regard it as unlucky to go to battle without receiving Camael’s blessing.”

           “I think I’d feel the same if I were a soldier.” I sat at the table, which was considerably more cluttered than it would normally be. In my grief I’d neglected it. “Please, feel free to sit.”

           He took a seat in the chair opposite mine, taking a moment to study this part of the room more closely. I watched as he took in the cabinets, the chair beside the fire, my sleeping pallet in the corner near the fireplace. “Is that where you sleep?”

           “Yes.”

           His gaze flicked briefly to the bed on the other side of the room. “I take it the bed belonged to your father, then?”

           I nodded. “I… haven’t been able to bring myself to sleep in it, though it’s mine now.” All I’d managed to do was change the sheets after my father had passed and I’d tried my best to ignore it since.

           Somewhat smouldered in Isidore’s dark eyes. He laid a hand over mine and comfort washed over me at the feeling of his now-familiar sword-calloused hand atop mine. “Mayhap a more pleasant association would help.”

           “You mean to… pass the night here?

           “Since we’re already here I thought we might, unless you have any strong objections,” he offered.

           “No, it’s all right.” I honestly couldn’t fathom why he’d want to spend the night here rather than in his own large featherbed.

           He gave my hand a brief squeeze, then moved to kiss me. I felt myself relax the moment his lips touched mine. This was a kindness he was offering me, a chance to begin moving past my grief. When we parted I glanced back at the bed, noticing with a start that there was nothing on it but the fresh sheets. I always folded my blankets and tucked them away in my trunk after rising in the morning. That way they’d not get dirty over the course of the day. I’d not laid them out, as I hadn’t been expecting to sleep here tonight. I removed them from the truck and placed them on the bed. “We’ll be needing these.”

           “Indeed.” A moment later we were together on the bed, kissing deeply and undoing each other’s clothing. I’ve had several other lovers, some like Marcel who I am quite fond of, but I’d never, ever such intense desire as I felt when I was with Isidore, and it wasn’t only due to his beauty and skill as a lover. There was an overwhelming sense of… rightness, a sense that we belonged together. I liked to think that Naamah and Blessed Elua smiled upon us. We had honored Elua’s precept and Naamah’s gift of desire. That desire could only be sated for a while, not quenched entirely. The sight of his perfect body unclothed never failed to ignite my lust.

           The bed was considerably smaller than the bed in the master suite, but it was large enough to fit both of us more or less comfortably. He lay on his back with me straddling him. I rode him hard that night, savoring the feeling of him fully sheathed inside me. His grip on my hips was tight. I stroked his chest as I rode him, pausing to trace each of his scars with a finger. They were quite familiar now—I’d come to know his body as well as I knew my own.

           Later I lay atop him, head resting on his shoulder, as I waited for sleep to claim me. Idly I traced a scar along his collarbone. “Where did you get this one?”

           “The scar?” he asked, sounding a little drowsy.

           “Yes.”

           “My first skirmish against the Skaldi. An axe found its way into a gap in my armor. Fortunately, it wasn’t very deep.” His hand came to rest atop mine. “I was rather proud to have gotten it, a souvenir of my first real encounter with the Skaldi.”

           “How old were you?”

           “Fifteen. It was the summer after I’d first been sent to the Shahrizai. My father called me back home for the season, thinking it high time I had some practical experience on the border.”

           “I daresay you got some.”

           “Yes. Suffice it to say that a summer spent dispatching Skaldi raiding parties was considerably more bracing than life in Kusheth or the City of Elua.” His hand rose from its position atop mine to pull the blankets up to cover us more fully. The fire had burned down to embers and the room had begun to grow chill. I’d hardly noticed it before, with my body still flushed from lovemaking. His arm tightened around me, pressing me closer to him. My previous reservations about sleeping here, in this bed, dissipated. I had a different memory associated with it now, a far more pleasant one. Father, if he was watching from the Terre-d’Ange-that-lies-beyond, surely would’ve approved.

 Notes

Chapter 6: The Eagle Unbound

           I never thought betraying a former friend and lover would be as easy as it was.

           Melisande told me all of it. Baudoin, fool that he was and utterly besotted, told her, going so far as to show her his mother’s correspondence with Alba. She’d invited me to her town house one night in early summer, perhaps a month before Baudoin’s natality. I’d intended to make a brief visit to Lombelon before returning home, but she made it clear she had somewhat important to share with me. It was over glasses of Namarrese red that she shared the details of the Lioness of Azzalle’s plot.

           “You and I have a choice to make,” she said once I’d finished perusing the letters.

           “I certainly have no intention of letting the idiot drag me down with him, and I doubt you do either.”

           “You would be correct in that assumption.”

           “It’s far too risky a gambit. There’s no guarantee the Azzallese would succeed in distracting the Master of the Straits, let alone distract him long enough to let an Alban army cross,” I replied. “And there’s no way Azzalle can stand alone against the Royal Army, not without outside help. If Baudoin thinks I’d rouse the Allies of Camlach for him, then he’s an even greater fool than I thought.”

           Melisande inclined her head. “I defer to your superior knowledge of all martial matters.”

           “They’re needed on the border now, in any case.” We sat in her receiving room, which was well-appointed with elegant décor. I was glad to meet with her there and not in the dining room. The pleasure chamber off it was rather excessive, even for a Shahrizai. I did grow used to certain things, mainly the pleasure chambers, after three years with them, but that was a kind of after dinner entertainment not to my taste. Though I had to admit the idea of taking Anne on the dining room table at Lombelon was not unappealing. I shook my head briefly to clear it of that pleasant and distracting image before speaking again. “I’ll not be brought down with Baudoin.”

           Melisande was silent for a moment, no doubt considering my statement. “You surprise me, Isidore.”

           I raised an eyebrow. “You’re surprised? Truly?”

           “Only a little. I thought you might show a bit more reluctance.”

           “I would have, once.”

           “I know.”

           “My tolerance for him wore thin a long time ago.” It was the truth. Baudoin had somehow managed not to mature at all past his adolescence. One might’ve thought time on the border would mature him, but it entirely failed to do so. What was amusing when we were young had ceased to be so when we were past thirty. I grew out of the urge to engage in drunken debauchery at every opportunity. He didn’t. “It seems I’m not the only one who has grown tired of him.”

           Melisande smiled. “He had his uses and has now thoroughly outlived them.”

           I confess I’d been surprised when I’d first learned of their affair. Not on Baudoin’s part—he was exactly the sort to be entranced by Melisande’s beauty—but I never quite understood why she bothered with him aside from him being a Prince of the Blood. She was not the sort to be amused by his antics generally. Of course, Melisande did have a history of surprising choices when it came to husbands. Both of her husbands initially seemed like strange choices until one recalled they were very old, very rich, and very childless. I’d attended her first wedding, as I was a fosterling with the Shahrizai when it happened. Melisande never did anything without a purpose. “Did you truly think he would wed you, or rather that Lyonette would let him wed you?”

           “There was a possibility worth cultivating. For a while, at least.”

           “I can’t exactly say I’m disappointed such a marriage will never come to pass,” I admitted.

           “Nor am I in truth,” she replied, “and now that we know of the plot, we ought to decide what we’re to do about it.”

           I sipped my wine. “Indeed. We could say naught and let the plot fail on its own, but that carries the risk it might in fact succeed. Baudoin then becomes King with Lyonette as the power behind his throne and he’ll expect me to jump to his whims, just as he has for the entirety of our acquaintance.” I looked away from her, thinking on the many examples of such treatment I’d endured over the years. “I’ll not be shunted to the side while he takes all the glory.” It was the first time I’d actually voiced those feelings aloud. They’d been growing within me for some time.

           “I’ve always thought you more deserving of attention and praise than him,” said Melisande. “Anyone with a modicum of intelligence knows it is you who bears most of the responsibility for those victories on the border, not Baudoin.”

           “Of course.” He was no Camaeline, that was certain. Not that he was completely hopeless at Camael’s Arts, but he was not made for the hard work of soldiering. For him, war was all about glory. “If we expose the plot, we’ll be seen as heroes.”

           “It will need to be done carefully. It is no small thing to bring down a Great House and a Prince of the Blood. And I would rather keep my own role in this a small one.”

           That was very like her, to work from the shadows. “Then I will be the one to expose it.” All I had to do was wait for the right opportunity to arise.

           I had to return to Camlach to deal with the increased raiding summer brought, but I had enough time for a brief stop at Lombelon. I was in high spirits when I arrived, and they only grew higher when I saw Anne. She greeted me as warmly as always and I did not hesitate to pull her into my arms and kiss her deeply. Cheers could be heard here and there among the ranks of my men. They knew—I’d not bothered to keep our relationship secret. Why would I? It was hardly unusual for a D’Angeline noble to bed his servant. What was unusual was that our relationship had now progressed far beyond a casual dalliance.

           It was hard not to share with Anne the details of Baudoin’s treason. Hard, but necessary. She could be discreet if I asked it of her, yes, but Melisande and I had agreed to keep our knowledge of it secret until the time came to reveal it. Anne would find out when the rest of the Realm did. Rather than dwell on keeping this from her, I chose instead to focus on my own desires. Our earlier kiss had ignited them and sitting beside her at dinner only made the flames burn hotter. My thoughts turned to my earlier fantasy of taking her right here on the table, her legs spread wide for me, both of us heedless of the possibility of discovery.

           I watched her intently as she ate. She wore a dress I’d bought for her, lightweight and suitable for working outside in the summer heat. It had taken some doing on my part to convince her to accept such a gift, but she finally agreed to give me her measurements. I made sure it was suitable for work in the gardens and orchards, for Anne continued to work as she always had. She wanted to, she told me. I’d presented the dress to her during my last visit. It would do—for now anyway. Her hazel eyes were fixed on me throughout the meal. I did not have to be Namarrese to see the desire burning in them.

           Once we’d eaten our dessert, a berry tart served with sweet cream, I rose from my chair and kissed her hard. She responded immediately, rising from her own seat to return my kiss with equal ardor. I led her past our empty plates to a clear stretch of table and pressed her against it. Anne quickly divined my intentions and sat on the edge of the table. We’d been lovers for long enough at this point that we were good at sensing what the other wanted. She hiked her skirt up around her hips and spread her legs for me. The sight of her, spread out in front of me like a banquet, inflamed my desire. I bent to perform the languisement, making Anne throw back her head and moan loudly enough that I wondered for a moment if anyone outside the door might’ve heard. The taste of her was exquisite, as always.

           I was not minded to take my time and pleasured her only long enough to have her dripping wet before thrusting inside her. She arched her back and propped herself up on her elbows, giving me an excellent view of her. Ah Naamah, she felt so good! I could’ve died happy then, sheathed to the hilt, gripping her thighs tightly enough to leave marks. With my back to the door and Anne’s to the windows, there was the distinct possibility we could be spotted in the act. That knowledge did nothing to cool my ardor—there is little privacy in a camp and it is hard to hide who you choose to bring to your tent. I’d never seen much point in hiding them anyway. Looking into Anne’s eyes, I did not think her overly concerned with discovery either.

           Once it was over and we’d both reached our peaks, I hastily buttoned my breeches and Anne pulled down her skirt. “You were quite eager today,” she remarked with a grin.

           “I might say the same of you.”

           Her grin widened.

           That night we lay in each other’s arms with only a single sheet covering us. We were not yet at the height of summer, but it was warm enough to warrant going without coverlets. It had been nearly four years since we’d first lain together, somewhat which was hard to believe when I thought about it. That first time had been a spur-of-the-moment decision on my part, when I allowed myself to surrender fully to my own desire. I am not given to casual dalliances, and all of mine had more to them than just desire. It was obvious now that what I had with Anne had grown beyond a mere dalliance. I wanted more than that, and I was sure she did too.

           My visit to Lombelon was of necessity a brief one. I bade a reluctant farewell to Anne and rode for Camlach. The Skaldi had been growing bolder in their raiding, and it wasn’t all due to my and Baudoin’s activities on the border. They finally managed to find themselves a leader who could unite their fractious tribes. Word of Waldemar Selig was everywhere. Such a leader had not emerged among the Skaldi in centuries. Oh, sometimes one would manage to unite a handful of tribes, but never all of them. A unified Skaldic nation could pose a dire threat to Terre d’Ange. All my own intelligence indicated Selig was very likely planning an invasion. The Allies of Camlach would be the first line of defense in such a scenario, though I’d begun to consider that perhaps there were other ways to deal with the Skaldi threat aside from Camael’s way.

           The latest border reports were not so dire that I needed to make for the border straightaway. Instead I took my time, visiting all the major garrisons of the Allies of Camlach. To the uninformed that might seem like a large undertaking, but it was made significantly easier than it would’ve been without our secret passages through the mountains. These are largely unknown outside of Camlach, as most travelers stick to the main passes and do not look for them. We certainly took care to keep them secret from the Skaldi.

           I had to own that despite everything going on elsewhere, it did feel good to be home. In my mind there is no better place to pass the summer than in Camlach. The mountains are high enough to be pleasantly cool even in the hottest days of summer, and I have never been one for the heat. The cool mountain air made it easier to think. I’d told Melisande that I would be the one to publicly expose Baudoin’s plot. Baudoin himself was not currently in Camlach—no, he was always minded to spend his natality in the City and this year Melisande intended to throw him a lavish fête at Cereus House as a sort of goodbye present. I already declined my invitation. Baudoin had, however, left a number of his Glory Seekers in Camlach and I meant to use them.

           We planned the exposure carefully, Melisande and I. Knowing Baudoin as well as we did, we surmised that she was not the only person he told. He was incapable of keeping his mouth shut when sober, let alone while drunk. He and the Glory Seekers spent their time carousing when not fighting and it was extremely likely he let slip some details of the plot. We needed only to wait. The harder part was obtaining proof. It had to seem natural so as not to arouse suspicion. Melisande would give me the letters to present to the King only after I’d gone through the pretext of an investigation.

           It was late summer when the opportunity came. The Skaldi had been quiet, which naturally led to boredom among the border patrols. Deprived of Skaldi to fight, the Glory Seekers took up their usual pastimes of drinking and carousing. Sure enough, one of them was careless enough to mention the broad outline of the plot while thoroughly drunk, boasting of how honored they would be once Baudoin was King. That was enough. I had him and several other Glory Seekers questioned until one of them admitted to being privy to the plan. Baudoin had been careless enough to tell several others besides Melisande, trusting his men to keep their prince’s secrets. I daresay he’d have told me had we seen each other recently.

           The inquiry ultimately led me to Melisande. Since I needed the letters before I could make the accusations, I sent a courier to her. As soon as he returned with the packet of letters, I set off for the City. With the urgency of someone who had just discovered a treasonous plot, I rode day and night to reach the City as quickly as possible. I went straight for the King as soon as I arrived. I didn’t bother to requesting an audience—better to make my accusations at a public hearing. The audience chamber had a decent-sized crowd when I burst through the doors, letters in hand, and made my accusations.

           Pausing only to bow before the King, I spoke. “Your Majesty, I bear grave tidings. Lyonette de Trevalion conspires with Foclaidha of Alba to place Prince Baudoin on the throne!”

           A shocked silence fell over the room. Ganelon de la Courcel regarded me with a guarded expression. “These are serious accusations against a Prince and Princess of the Blood. Have you proof?”

           I held out the packet. “Here. Letters in Lyonette de Trevalion’s own hand outlining the details of the plot.” The Secretary of the Presence stood hastily and took the packet of letters. It was done. I’d just accused a Prince of the Blood, a man I’d known since childhood, of treason. Somehow that had been nowhere in my mind when I’d handed the letters to the King. Indeed, as I left the audience chamber my spirit felt as light as it had when I was at Lombelon. I had played my part; things would now transpire as they would.

           Matters moved quickly. Ganelon sent the Royal Army under the Comte de Somerville to Trevalion, where the Glory Seekers surrendered after a brief skirmish. Baudoin and Lyonette were taken into custody. They would be tried before the assembled Parliament, as was their right as peers of the Realm. I was called upon to testify as a witness. So was Melisande. This was hardly unexpected, given our respective roles in exposing the conspiracy. I would also have a vote to decide their fates, as I was a member of Parliament.

           I seldom attended sessions of Parliament. The seat came to me when I became Duc, it being held by my family for generations. Most of the Parliament sessions I’d attended had been terribly dull, filled only with the routine business of the Realm. This would be somewhat different altogether. During the days leading up to the trial, I found myself practicing what I would say over and over in my head. My initial excitement had by now given way to anxiousness. Besides that, my mind now saw fit to remind me of happier times with Baudoin—playing together as children, sharing a bed, fighting together on the border. If I dwelt too much on these memories, I would lose my nerve and be unable to do what needed to be done. With effort, I forced the memories aside.

           Lyonette’s trial was the first of them. It was only fitting, considering she was the main architect of the plot. Baudoin wasn’t remotely smart or cunning enough to come up with such a scheme himself. To be quite honest I doubt he would’ve sought the throne without her whispering in his ear. He’d have been content to spend his days in drunken debauchery without giving much thought to politics. It would’ve been been better for him if he had.

           It was easy to testify against her. Lyonette de Trevalion was nothing to me, only the mother of a man who was once my friend. She was defiant to the end, flaunting the manacles she wore for show as a prop to elicit sympathy. She glared at me with hatred in her eyes as I testified, though whether it was for my role in her downfall or my betrayal of her son I couldn’t say. When it was done, I took my seat in the Parliament and cast my vote for death. It did not escape my notice that Ysandre de la Courcel voted the same way. Marc and Bernadette de Trevalion’s trials followed after. I testified briefly in both, stating that I had not found evidence that they were actively involved in the plot, but could not say definitively that they’d had no knowledge of it. It so happened that they did know, but chose to keep that knowledge to themselves. For that, they were sentenced to exile.

           At last it came to Baudoin. Unlike his mother, who remained proud and defiant, he had not coped with this change in his fortune well. I waited outside the Parliament chamber, watching him closely. He looked as bad as he did after a night of hard drinking. I’d seen him in such a state numerous times, usually combined with a terrible hangover. I kept my face carefully blank, concealing my nervousness. I was less nervous charging into battle than I was testifying against Baudoin de Trevalion. Fighting was natural to me; betrayal was not. My face was a perfect mask of composure as I waited.

           “I am innocent!” Baudoin pleaded. He was not one to proudly meet his fate as his mother had.

           Ganelon turned to look at me and nodded. I knew that for my cue and stepped onto the floor, pausing only to incline my head to Baudoin, giving him the bare minimum of respect due his station. I bowed to the King and gave my testimony. “… I could not dismiss the possibility of treason, so I immediately took action. Loyalty to the Crown must come before all things, even the bonds of friendship.” I stole a brief glance at Baudoin, who glared daggers at me. If he could’ve killed with a glance, I’d have been lying dead on the floor of the Parliament chamber. The pure hatred on his face might’ve given me pause had I not steeled myself for this. When it was done, I relinquished the floor and Melisande was called to testify.

           She came accompanied by the usual pack of Shahrizai, who were there in a show of force supporting her. She gave quite the performance, claiming she’d been torn between love of country and love of Baudoin until my courier arrived to inquire about the plot. I daresay those who didn’t know her as well as I did believed her. If she intended to make herself appear non-threatening before the eyes of the Realm, it may well have worked.

           Again, I cast my vote for death. Ysandre’s vote was the last. “Tell me cousin,” she asked Baudoin coolly, “would you have wed me off to a foreign potentate, or killed me outright?”

           He had no answer.

           “So be it,” said Ganelon. “Baudoin de Trevalion, you are sentenced to death. You have three days to name the manner of your choosing.” Lyonette might’ve been prepared to face death with dignity; Baudoin was not. He stumbled as he was led out, chains clanking. He had truly never considered this as a possible outcome of his schemes. How could he, when he never had to face the consequences of anything he did? It had always been so, when we were young. My own upbringing had been far stricter, as my father was something of a disciplinarian. It always surprised me when Baudoin was allowed to get away with things I’d have been punished for. His mother had done him a disservice, spoiling him as she had. No matter. It was a lesson Baudoin de Trevalion learned too late.

           When the trials were over, it was a relief to return to my private quarters. What I would’ve liked was to visit Anne, but it was too late in the day for that. I resolved to go to Lombelon as soon as I could get away from the City. Since seeing her would have to wait, I contented myself with a glass of pear brandy.

           The executions took place three days later. There was speculation, in the City and the court, on what methods Baudoin and Lyonette would choose. I never had any doubt. Baudoin, for all his faults, did not lack for courage. He would fall on his sword, as a soldier should. On the day he was to die, regrets crept into my mind along with the same memories I’d worked hard to suppress before the trial. Again I forced them away. It had to be done, for all the reasons Melisande and I had discussed. As long as Baudoin was there, I would be forced to remain in his shadow. Our association had become a heavy chain weighing me down. If I were to soar like the eagle that was the symbol of my House, I had to be free of him. It was necessary.

           Let Baudoin die, then, so I might ascend.

 **

           I made my escape the day after the executions. Ganelon was canny enough to allow the City to quietly mourn for Baudoin and Lyonette. Baudoin had been quite popular, partially due to victories that were owed more to my prowess than his. Suffice it to say I did not join the crowds of mourners at the temple of Azza. Instead I gave the excuse that I had to return to Camlach and left for Lombelon. It was believable enough—Lombelon was northeast of the City and a reasonable stopping place on the way. I did mean to return home after the visit anyway.

           Word of the fall of House Trevalion had already reached Lombelon when I arrived. I couldn’t say I was surprised, considering the City had talked of nothing else. “We heard everything,” Anne told me after giving me a warm kiss of greeting. “It must’ve been a hard thing, to choose between a friend and the Realm.”

           “Not as hard as you might think. Once I had the proof of the plot, I knew I had to go to the King. Baudoin on the throne would’ve been a disaster for Terre d’Ange.”

           “Given what you’ve told me of him, I can see why.”

           “You don’t even know the half of it.” I really did not want to discuss Baudoin further, lest my conscience choose to resume pricking at me. Fortunately, Anne wasn’t inclined to do so. Summer at Lombelon was really quite lovely, the perfect retreat from the City if a bit warmer than I liked. All my thoughts of war and politics seemed to just slip away when I was with Anne.

           The following morning Anne watched as I had my daily sword practice. It wasn’t the first time she’d done this, but it wasn’t a regular occurrence. The day was warm enough that I opted to do without a shirt for the duration. I knew even without looking at her that Anne appreciated the view. I went through the entirety of the traditional sword forms. I started learning the Camaeline ones around the time I learned to read. They were second nature to me and I could do them without thinking. There are some regional differences to be found in the provinces, and I have picked up some of these over the years. When I was done I sheathed my sword and strode over to Anne. “Enjoy the show?”

           “Very much so,” she said, grinning. “It’s like a dance.”

           “Indeed. The dance of steel, we call it in Camlach.” I retrieved my shirt and pulled it over my head. Anne took care to push a few stray locks of hair out from under my shirt. I was not about to spend the entire day stripped to the waist, but it was hot enough to do without a doublet.

           “I had a thought as to how we might pass the afternoon,” said Anne.

           “And what would that be?”

           “I thought we could take our midday meal in the fields near the river,” she offered.

           “That sounds like a very pleasant way to pass the afternoon.” The sun shone brightly that day and though it was warm, there was enough of a breeze to keep the heat from being unbearable. It wasn’t exactly a Camaeline summer, but I could get through it.

           A short while later, Anne and I were laying out a blanket near the bank of the river, a tributary of the Aviline. A nearby tree provided enough shade to protect us from the glare of the sun. I was glad of it, for I had enough experience of patrolling and drilling in the summer to know my skin was liable to burn with too much sun. I wondered if it was the same with Anne. Somehow I doubted it. She packed us a light luncheon, consisting of fresh baguettes, berries, and brie. There was a bottle of chilled wine as well. It was exactly the sort of light meal that was perfect for a day such as this.

           “You chose a perfect spot,” I said, reclining on the blanket after we finished our meal.

           “Isn’t it lovely? I’ve come here many times, starting when my parents took me here as a child,” she replied. “I knew you’d like it.”

           I stretched and folded my arms behind my head. “I imagine this must be a popular place for picnics.”

           “It is. Picnics and… other things.”

           I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What might those be?”

           “Exactly what you suspect. It’s a popular retreat for couples wanting a bit of… relative privacy.”

           “Only L’Agnacites and Namarranes would make love in an open field,” I quipped, grinning.

           “You don’t do such things in Camlach?” she inquired, returning my grin.

           “Half the time it’s too cold to even consider it! The most we do is make love in a tent.” Which I’d done plenty of times.

           She laughed at that. “I came here for my first time.”

           I turned my head to look at her. She lay on her side, looking down at me. A faint hint of blush was visible in her cheeks. “Really? May I ask who it was?”

           “It was a traveling Mendacant come up from Eisande. He was very charming.” She smiled at the memory. “I was… more than ready to return his attentions. Who was yours?”

           “A Camellia adept. It’s a right of passage for peers of the Realm to visit the Night Court when they turn sixteen.”

           “Camellia… that’s the house of perfection, is it not?”

           “Yes. The house motto is ‘Without Fault or Flaw.’” I wasn’t surprised she knew that much of the Night Court, Lombelon being as close to the City as it was.

           Anne’s face took on a wistful expression. “Visiting the Night Court after turning sixteen. I’d have been fair bursting with eagerness, were I a noblewoman.”

           “Trust me, I was plenty eager myself. I had trouble choosing between the houses, though, and my friends grew tired of my equivocation and carted me off to Camellia for a night of perfection.” Baudoin had been there, of course, as had Ghislain de Somerville, Marmion along with several other Shahrizai cousins, and a handful of Camaeline lordlings. I’d have preferred a less raucous outing, but they’d been insistent. “I didn’t know you had such an interest in the Night Court.”

           “Well, I suppose I can’t help but wonder about it. We hear things, close as we are to the City.”

           “You know,” I began, “you and I could visit the Night Court together, if you wish. You can choose which house.”

           “Together, as in we’d share an adept between us?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

           “If that’s what you’d like, yes. Or you could visit on your own to satisfy your curiosity. I’d give you the money.” I’d never considered the possibility of visiting the Night Court with her, but the idea was intriguing. “That reminds me—there’s somewhat I’d like to discuss with you, Anne.”

           “What is it?”

           I shifted onto my side so I might meet her eyes. “I’ve been thinking on our relationship a great deal recently. You are more to me than a casual dalliance, so much more. And I think I am the same to you.”

           “Yes,” she breathed.

           “Our current situation… is not reflective of what we are to each other,” I continued. “You live here as a commoner, still working as a servant…”

           “I’ve never wanted more from you,” she cut me off. “Your love is enough.”

           I stroked her hair gently. She’d been wearing it loose more often lately, since I told her it was beautiful and she ought to showcase its beauty. I twined a lock around my finger before speaking again. “What I mean is I want to take care of you, Anne.”

           “Take care of me? I daresay you’re doing a fine job of that already!”

           My hand slid down from her hair to rest lightly on her shoulder. “I mean I want to make you my consort.”

           She blinked slowly, looking at me as if I’d suddenly sprouted wings. “Your… consort?” she forced out, disbelieving.

           “Yes. I wouldn’t have said it to you if I were not serious.”

           “I never thought… never really considered the possibility…” She shook her head.

           “If you’d rather not—”

           “No! I’m shocked, that’s all. You know I’ve been content with the way things are between us and never asked for more. I love you with all my heart and if you would make me your consort, my answer is yes.”

           I beamed at her. “Nothing would please me more. I have given my heart to you; it’s only fitting that I name you my consort.”

           She returned my smile and looked upon me with eyes so full of love I might’ve wept were I given to sentiment. This had come as a surprise to both of us, falling in love as we had.

           “What of your wife?” Anne asked as if she’d read my mind. “You will need to marry someday. A man of your status must get a barrage of offers.”

           “You’d be correct.” They were a constant annoyance. “It would not be unprecedented for me to forgo marriage entirely after naming you my consort. I can’t guarantee that—it may be that I will need to marry for politics or some other reason. What I can promise you is that you will always be foremost in my heart.” I didn’t tell her that I was currently courting the Dauphine. There was no sense in making Anne feel insecure beside Ysandre de la Courcel. There would be time to discuss it if it ever came to pass.

           “Your love is enough for me. So how do I officially become your consort anyway?”

           “I have to name you my consort in a public place before witnesses.”

           “That’s all?”

           “Yes,” I replied. “Most nobles name their consorts at courtly functions.”

           Her eyes widened. “Court? You mean to take me to court?”

           I laughed lightly. “Of course. But fear not—I prefer not to spend an excessive amount of time there.”

           She let out a sigh. “That’s a relief! I’d be as out of place at the royal court as a sparrow among swans.”

           “I promise you won’t have to spend more time at court than you want,” I assured her. “As much as I’ve complained about it to you, it really isn’t terrible. It can actually be quite enjoyable sometimes.” Her eyes narrowed, skeptical. I brushed my fingers across her cheek in a gentle caress. “I’m so pleased you’ve agreed to become my consort, Anne.”