The Princess of Cortova (9 page)

15

An Impossible Decision

MOLLY SAT ON A
bench under a tree, waiting for Alaric to come back. She could have waited for him in his villa, but that would have meant braving Lord Brochton. Besides, it was quiet and peaceful in the dappled shade of the garden.

She heard him before she saw him, his quick, heavy footfalls as expressive as the thunder on his face. When he saw Molly, he sent his escort away and joined her on the bench without a word.

“That bad?” she asked.

“Worse.”

“He’s chosen Reynard already?”

“No. It seems Gonzalo doesn’t actually want an alliance—never has wanted one; it would be bad for business.”

“What? Then why would he drag you—”

“As for the princess, she’s not inclined to marry, me or anybody else.”

“But—”

“By the saints, will you
stop interrupting
?”

Molly shut her mouth.

“This was just the opening gambit, you see. It seems he
might
bring himself to rethink the alliance, and he
might
be able to persuade the princess to do her duty—if I’m willing to make it
worth his while
.”

She waited until she was absolutely sure that Alaric had finished speaking. Then, “Just adding some more kindling to the fire? First Reynard pops up unexpected and unwelcome. Now he’s playing the reluctant maiden.”

“It was insufferable. I almost strangled him.”

“It’s well that you didn’t.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“Do you think he’ll say the same things to Reynard this afternoon?”

“Undoubtedly. Maybe Reynard will strangle Gonzalo for me. He’s always had a hot temper.”

“Alaric,” she said softly, “do you still want the alliance?”

“Not really. Not at all. But if I leave Cortova, Reynard will get it for himself—and on more advantageous terms. I can’t let that happen.”

“Do you still want the princess?”

“I have nothing against the princess, except that Gonzalo is her father.”

“You’ve told me countless times that you must marry soon and get yourself an heir.”

“It’s still true.”

“Then, Alaric, it’s time you gave her the cup. It’s the only advantage you have over Reynard. And if she’s truly reluctant to marry—though I don’t believe she is; I think that was just Gonzalo playing you along—a sip from the cup will change her mind and make sure she chooses you and not Prince Rupert.”

“I doubt she’ll get to choose. She’s nothing but a pawn in Gonzalo’s little game. And if Reynard wins, then like it or not she’ll marry Prince Rupert. And if I’ve already given her the cup, she’ll spend the rest of her life pining for me and I for her. I don’t dare risk it.”

“Everything you say is true and well thought out—except for one. Whatever else Elizabetta may be, she is
not
anyone’s pawn.”

“What do you mean?”

“She
is
Gonzalo’s daughter, as you pointed out. She’s strong and smart, determined and perceptive. And she has a will of iron. That girl won’t ‘be persuaded’ to do anything that goes against her nature. If you give her the cup and she drinks from it, she’s yours. And if it comes to a contest between father and daughter, I’d put my money on the princess any day.”

He gazed down at his boots for a long time, thinking. Finally, without looking up, he said, “Poor Molly. I put you to so much trouble getting that cup.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, that has nothing to do with it. I wouldn’t care if you threw the blasted thing off a cliff. I just want you to get what you came for. If you can see another way to secure the kingdom, then let’s pack up right now and get out of here.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t. You have to hand it to Gonzalo: he made sure that neither of us can afford to leave.”

“Then what?”

“I’ll give her the cup.”

“Tonight, at dinner?”

“No, not with Reynard looking on.”

“Tomorrow then?”

“As soon as I can arrange a private audience.”

“I’m sorry, Alaric, but better now than later. This bidding war, it might get out of hand; and it would be well to have Betta in your camp right from the beginning.”

“Betta?”
He raised his brows in mock amazement. “You’re calling her ‘Betta’ now?”

“She asked me to.”

“Be careful, Molly.”

“I’m trying. She’s very seductive.”

“I know. All the more reason.”

They sat in silence, thinking. Alaric leaned down and picked up a stone and threw it into the bushes.

“So, now what?” she said. “Do you meet with Gonzalo again tomorrow?”

He barked out a derisive laugh. “Oh, yes. We’ve hardly even begun. There’s been no mention of terms at all, though I can already guess that the princess will have no dowry—quite possibly
I
shall be expected to pay for the privilege of having her to wife. Gonzalo will propose an alliance in which Westria has many obligations while Cortova has few, and a river of gold will flow south, toward Gonzalo. Naturally, I will point out how very unreasonable that is, and he will point out that my cousin Reynard might be a bit more willing, so perhaps I ought to think about it a little more carefully. And it will go on like that until one of us has either strangled the monster or has agreed to give him everything he wants.”

“It sounds unbearable.”

“It is. Now you must forgive me, Molly. I have to go inside and use the bathing pool—to wash Gonzalo’s stink off my body. Then I may be sick. After that I’m not sure what I’ll do.”

Just as he’d arrived without a greeting, he left with no good-bye. And long after the door had closed behind him, she continued to sit on the bench, in the shade of an ancient olive tree, absorbing the enormity of what they’d just decided.

16

The Knight

LORD MARCUS HAD SEEN
the princess many times over the years. He’d watched her grow from a pretty child into a beautiful woman. But it had always been from a distance, on formal court occasions, so in truth he didn’t really know her at all. Then he’d been chosen to command the guard that would escort her to Westria for her marriage to King Edmund.

He hadn’t expected to like her. As a princess and a famous beauty, she was bound to be shallow and vain, with few subjects of conversation beyond fashion, parties, and gossip. She would, in short, be a bore.

Instead, she’d proved to be surprisingly bright. And though her knowledge of the world was limited, she’d been quick and eager to learn, peppering Marcus with questions ranging from politics and history to poetry, science, and art. He’d found this charming, even a little touching, that she should be so willing to step out of the narrow confines of her privileged life and explore things that were difficult and new. He’d answered her questions as well as he could without flattery or condescension. And she’d been astonishingly grateful, hanging on his every word as if he were her superior and not the other way round.

That had been the beginning of their friendship.

Then one day it came up in conversation that Marcus played chess and that he never traveled anywhere without a board. Her lovely face had lit up with pleasure. Chess, she’d declared, was her greatest passion.

He’d smiled at this remark, instantly making all sorts of erroneous assumptions, most especially that by “passion” she meant that she liked to play now and then with her court ladies and that she found it to be jolly fun. Marcus, on the other hand, took the game quite seriously. So he’d cringed when she suggested they match their wits over a board that very afternoon.

But of course, there was no refusing. So he’d proceeded with caution, holding back and giving her the occasional opening to take a piece he’d never have lost if he’d been playing in earnest. He had sense enough not to lose on purpose: she’d figure it out and be insulted. But nor did he want to crush her with a quick defeat. So they’d plodded along for a while like a pair of beginners.

Then, on impulse, he’d made a move—he hadn’t been able to stop himself; it was just so clever—and she’d looked up at him with those amazing eyes, a flash of understanding crossing her face. Then she’d stared at the board for a spell, all fierce concentration, and countered with an even better move (how had he missed it?). Suddenly they both broke into laughter, each recognizing the other as a worthy opponent. After that, and for the rest of the journey north, they’d gone at it hammer and tongs—may the best man (or woman) win. Their friendship had shifted again, growing deeper.

At last they’d arrived at Westria, where Elizabetta would live out the days of her life as the queen of King Edmund the Fair. And Marcus would return to Cortova and his service to King Gonzalo. Or at least that’s what they’d expected. Instead, there’d been the banquet, and the wolves.

Marcus had rescued the princess that night, carrying her out through the fleeing throng to safety. She’d been so covered with gore he’d feared for her life. But neither fang nor claw had touched her. The blood had all been Edmund’s.

That didn’t mean she hadn’t been wounded. Quite the contrary, she’d been so damaged by what she’d witnessed that for a time she’d all but lost her mind. And it fell to Marcus to help her recover.

Unfortunately, his training as a knight had not prepared him for such a task. He could strike down an enemy soldier at a full gallop, but he didn’t know how to mend a broken spirit. All he could think to do was to assure her that she was safe now, to treat her with gentle kindness, and to get her back to Cortova as quickly as possible.

For the first two weeks of their return journey, she’d refused to leave his side. She wouldn’t even ride her own horse but insisted on sitting with him. He found this awkward and rather too intimate: sharing a saddle with the princess, who rested between his arms, her head turned back so she could lean against his breast. Even at night he had to sit at her bedside, ready to reach out and take her hand when she woke from her nightmares screaming.

Be assured, they were never alone in her chamber. That would have been scandalously improper. They were always chaperoned by a group of court ladies. He’d had a dark little chuckle with himself about that—for even if he
had
been the sort of man who went about ravishing maidens, he’d have been far too exhausted to do it.

Then, near the end of the second week, the princess had started to recover. By the time they’d crossed the border, she’d become more or less herself. Marcus understood that she was still healing—she might well go on healing for years—but she rode beside him on her own mount now, and the night terrors had mostly stopped.

“Marcus,” she’d said one day, “when we get back to Pelenos, you mustn’t tell anyone how I behaved.”

“I would never speak of your private affairs to anyone, my lady—though there’s nothing to be ashamed of. What happened that night was dreadful. It would have disturbed anyone to witness such a massacre, and so close at hand.”

“Well, I
am
ashamed. I was pitiful and weak. I made a fool of myself, and I don’t want anyone to know. Please tell the others—your knights, and my ladies, and the servants—that they mustn’t say a word. Swear them to silence, Marcus. Make it an order. Look very stern.”

“Like this?” He’d made a ferocious face.

And for the first time since they’d left Dethemere Castle, the princess had laughed.

They’d said good-bye in the entry court of the great Lion Hall. He’d bowed, she’d whispered her thanks, and they’d gone their separate ways. He’d assumed that, once again, he’d see her only at a distance, on public occasions. And that had felt strange to him after all they’d shared those past weeks, being together every moment of every one of those days. He’d tried very hard to convince himself that it would be a relief. He’d done his duty and done it well. Now he was a free man.

But he hadn’t felt relieved; he’d felt hollow. Caring for her, keeping her safe, and helping her to heal had been the most challenging and meaningful tasks of his life. They had filled him with purpose, and he missed it.

Then, not a week later, a note had arrived, inviting him to her chambers for a game of chess. When Marcus read it, he’d blushed like a lad of thirteen. Even now, a year and a half later, he dared not admit to himself how much he looked forward to their games, which had become a regular thing, once or twice a week.

They still played hard, and the princess still asked questions. Indeed, at times she seemed to be less interested in the game than in what she could learn from him.

Gonzalo was not one of those enlightened kings who believed in educating daughters. A princess only needed to master the lady-arts: sewing, dancing, music, and whatnot. It was useful to speak a couple of languages and to write an elegant hand; and if she wanted to amuse herself by reading a bit of poetry, there was probably no harm in that. But Elizabetta’s sole purpose, like that of any princess, was to be married off to the advantage of her kingdom. So there was absolutely no call to bother herself with things such as politics, history, statecraft, or war.

These were, of course, the very subjects she most wished to learn about. So as they played, Marcus explained the various alliances and conflicts on the continent. He laid out the pedigrees of certain kings, describing their characters and family connections. He told her the long, colorful saga of Cortova’s rich history, from the splendors of its ancient past, through its sad decline, to its present return to wealth and power as a great merchant kingdom. He threw in a bit of geography and some musings on diplomacy and regaled her with a few war stories.

Marcus had become her window on the world.

Now, on this particular afternoon, he arrived to find her in the atrium as usual. The chessboard was ready, and the slaves had set out a tray of fruit and dainties for them to enjoy while they played.

“I’m surprised you have time for a game,” he said, “with your suitors here and another formal dinner tonight.”

Marcus knew little of women, but he’d always assumed that getting dressed was a lengthy and involved process: the arranging of hair, the choosing of clothes, the jewels, the perfume, the plucking and painting. He could only imagine.

“Oh,” she said, “it won’t take very long. I’m going as myself these days. It’s so much quicker.”

He noted her hair, which hung straight down her back, still wet from washing, and the faded blue tunic she wore, soft with age and damp around the shoulders.

“I
will
change my clothes,” she said with a chuckle. “And my hair should be dry by then. Oh, don’t just stand there, Marcus; have a seat. White must begin.”

She seemed unusually merry that day. He wondered if she had some great announcement to make, some surprise she was about to spring. But all she seemed to have was a new move, which took him off guard and cost him a bishop, and a lot more questions.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said, “about alliances.”

“Oh?” he replied.

“Yes. Father never wanted one before. He’s always insisted Cortova must remain neutral.”

He nodded. “That has traditionally been the way of things.”

“Then why do you suppose he wants one now—enough to make such a production out of it, with the rival suitors and all?”

He took one of her pawns, but he did it mechanically. His mind was no longer on chess.

“Do we
need
an alliance, Marcus? Is there some problem I don’t know about?”

“Your move, my lady.”

“Answer me first.”

He ran his tongue over his teeth and stared silently down at the board.

“I’m part of the bargain, you know,” she said. “My marriage will seal the alliance. Now, I really don’t want to marry that unpleasant little brat from Austlind. The very thought is repellant to me. And I certainly don’t want to marry Edmund’s brother, and go back to Westria, and dine every night in the same hall where . . . well, you understand. So do me a kindness, Marcus. Tell me why I must choose the one or the other. I’ll go to my unwanted wedding with a lighter heart if I know it’s truly important to Cortova.”

He nodded, considering that
he
also had duties, and chief among them was keeping the king’s secrets. All the same, she was King Gonzalo’s daughter, not just any old person. And her point had struck home: she really did have a right to know why she was being auctioned off, especially after what she’d suffered already.

“My dear lady,” he said at last, “you asked me once to keep a secret. I promised I would and so I have. Now I must ask you to do the same. What I am about to tell you, you must never repeat. Even after it becomes widely known, as no doubt it will, you must never say you heard it first from me.” He kept his voice low, so the slaves wouldn’t hear.

“I give you my oath.”

He took a deep breath, then leaned even closer and spoke in a whisper.

“In any negotiation,” he began, “the party with the greatest need is in the weakest position. As it happens, our need is extreme, so that must remain a secret. But there are other reasons for secrecy, even more critical to Cortova than the terms of an alliance.

“Trade is the source of our wealth. Ships come and go from our ports every day, carrying goods to and from the many kingdoms that rim the Southern Sea. Are you familiar with the famous saying about the emperor’s wife—that she must always be above suspicion? Well, the ships of a merchant kingdom must be above suspicion too. There can be no doubt that the valuable cargo they carry will arrive safely at its destination.”

“I understand.”

“Over these past two years, the Frasians have begun to challenge our supremacy. This took us very much by surprise. Frasia was never strong enough to challenge anyone before, let alone a kingdom like Cortova. But it seems they’ve recently acquired a fleet of fast, new warships. They hunt in packs, seizing our merchant vessels, murdering the crews, and taking possession of the cargos.

“
That’s
Cortova’s terrible secret, my lady, the thing the world must not know.”

They locked eyes. Elizabetta nodded. “The world will not learn it from me.”

“We’ve been blaming the lost ships on pirates and have reimbursed the clients in full for the value of their goods, assuring them that we’re taking extra measures now to keep the trade routes safe and are dealing with the pirates severely, as they deserve.”

“How did Frasia get to be so strong and bold all of a sudden?”

“Our spies inform us that a certain rich and powerful king has ambitions to take control of the Southern Sea. But his country is landlocked, so he’s formed an alliance with Frasia—which may be poor and badly ruled but has an extensive coastline and several excellent deepwater ports. So this powerful king has been sending Frasia vast quantities of gold to finance the building of ships, as well as the troops to man them.”

“And this powerful king?”

“It doesn’t matter, my lady—though if you were to go to your father’s library and look closely at a map, I imagine you’d figure it out. All you really need to know is that Cortova will soon be at war, and everything depends upon the outcome. To win, we’ll need to double, or even triple, our fleet. But building ships is costly, and our money comes from trade, which means we’ll need even more warships to protect our merchantmen.

“Your father has the shipyards at Loras and Bottano working day and night. I would imagine that by now the treasury is . . .” He searched for the right word. He didn’t want to say
depleted
or
exhausted
. “. . . reduced,” he finally said.

They were silent for a long time.

“Thank you,” she said at last. “I know that was hard and went against your conscience.”

“You deserved to know.”

“Yes. You did the right thing. And someday, Marcus, I promise you will understand why.”