22 Nights (2 page)

He had thought nothing more could shock him, but the annoying woman proved him wrong. “Are you offering up one of your daughters for . . .”

“A trial of sorts,” Lady Cipriana said sharply, “to see if she suits behind closed doors. Just choose the one who pleases you best, and she is yours.”

“That’s ludicrous,” Merin said beneath his breath, certain that to so much as touch one of these girls with the tip of his little finger would mean an immediate wedding ceremony.

“You must . . .” Lady Cipriana began.

“I
must
do nothing,” Merin interrupted. “When the time comes for me to take a wife, I won’t make my choice in the stairwell, ambushed and harassed by an overly ambitious mother.” He bowed to her without respect, nodded to the girls in sincere sympathy, and then he made his way around them all, coming close to the lady’s wide skirts but managing to avoid touching. Once past the women, he ran up the stairs.

General Hydd must’ve started talking in public about his upcoming retirement. That was the reason so many women had tried to corner him tonight. What they didn’t know was that Merin had been offered the post of Minister of Defense years ago, almost immediately after Emperor Jahn had taken control. At the time he’d been battle weary and not all that certain of the new emperor’s abilities.

Now he knew that Emperor Jahn—a man he had first known as Devlyn Arndell—was a fine man and a grand emperor. If he was offered the post of Minister of Defense now, he would probably take it.

On Level Four, Merin found another obstacle to his much-needed seclusion. General Hydd himself waited in the hallway.

If he tried to palm off one of his daughters . . .

“There you are,” the general said impatiently. “I looked for you at the ball and you weren’t there, so I suspected you’d be here, but no one answered my knock.”

“I went for a ride after I left the gathering,” Merin explained. A hard ride in the cool night air had felt wonderful, and the bonfire he’d ridden toward had been primal and powerful. Unfortunately, his excursion had given Lady Cipriana a chance to position herself and lie in wait. “I apologize for not being here when you arrived.”

General Hydd waved his hand, dismissing the inconvenience. Still, he was tense, and Merin could not help but wonder why.

They stepped into Merin’s private quarters, which consisted of four large rooms connected by many doors. Each room was lavishly furnished. He preferred dark, cool colors, so the draperies and upholsteries were in deep shades of blue and green. Housekeepers were here every day, dusting and sweeping, seeing to his clothing if it needed cleaning or mending, scrubbing the floors. This large portion of Level Four was his to call home, his reward for years of service—service which had not yet ended.

These four rooms were larger than the house in which he’d been raised. He had servants ready for his call, night and day. He had more clothes and boots and fine weapons than any one man needed. And when he was made Minister of Defense,
if
he was made Minister of Defense, his station would once again be elevated. Was that why the current minister called upon him so late at night? Had the time come?

“I need your help,” the general said when they were behind closed doors. “Emperor Jahn has finally agreed to take a wife.”

It was about time. “Who is the new empress to be?” Merin asked.

General Hydd made a sour face. “No one is sure. The emperor has decreed that six suitable women be brought to him by the first night of the Summer Festival, at which time he will choose among them.”

Merin laughed. What an absolutely ridiculous plan! And one which reminded him very much of the irreverent soldier Devlyn Arndell had been before he became Emperor Jahn. That young man would find this a sort of revenge on those who commanded that he take a wife, a rebellion of sorts. Merin didn’t laugh long, as the general before him obviously didn’t think the situation was funny. At all.

Merin poured two mugs of wine and offered one to the older man, who as a proper Minister of Defense had a suitable wife, two sons, and three grown daughters. General Hydd gratefully took the wine, and he looked as if he needed it more than Merin did. He didn’t waste much time downing at least half of the strong, sweet drink. “Six women,” he said after he wiped the back of his hand across his wine-stained mouth. “Couriers will be dispatched immediately, as some of the ladies live quite a distance from the palace. There is one candidate I thought you might be able to assist us with.”

Merin could not imagine how he might be able to help. He didn’t know a single unmarried woman in Columbyana he would consider suitable for the position of empress.

“You fought with a small contingent from the Turi Clan during the war,” General Hydd said.

Merin’s heart sank and sat in his stomach like a boulder. That was a time in his life he preferred not to think about, if at all possible. “They are a rather primitive people, General. Surely there is not a woman among them the emperor would consider taking as his wife.”

“I’m afraid there is.” General Hydd took another long swig. “It seems that in recent years the miners among the clan have unearthed an excess of gems in the mountains they call home. The find was extraordinary, and as a result the clan has become quite wealthy.”

The conversation reminded Merin too much of the one he’d just had on the stairway. Brides for sale! “Is Columbyana in financial difficulty?”

The general sighed. “Always, to some degree.”

“Enough so to sell the position of empress?”

Hydd shrugged his shoulders. “Not really, but wealth is certainly a consideration. The Minister of Finance suggested Belavalari Haythorne as a candidate.”

“Bela?” Merin wished he was back in the stairwell, trapped by a husband-hunting mother. Recovering quickly, he pretended to cough, then cleared his throat and began again. “Belavalari Haythorne of the Turis?”

“Yes. Her father is chieftain, or some such, and Minister Tomos likes the idea of having an imperial connection by marriage to all that wealth.”

Horrors. Bela in the palace. Bela as empress. Bela married to Emperor Jahn. Impossible. “Belavalari Haythorne is just a girl, and if memory serves, she isn’t at all suitable for the position of empress.”

“She’s twenty-three, according to Tomos. That’s hardly too young for marriage. If she’s truly unsuitable, then she won’t be chosen.”

“If she comes here and she’s not chosen, her family will be insulted and they’ll attack the palace.”

General Hydd straightened considerably. “They wouldn’t dare.”

“You’d be surprised,” Merin mumbled.

Hydd tossed off his indignation. “In any case, it’s done. The decisions have been made. The Haythorne girl has been chosen as a contender, and it is not in my power to undo that fact. Still, I know the Turis are an odd tribe of people, different from other Columbyanans in many ways. Who would you suggest we send to collect Lady Belavalari? We don’t want to insult her father or cause an incident. Their customs are so unusual, I’m not sure who would be best.”

Lady Belavalari. The girl he remembered was no lady.

“I’ll go,” Merin said.

“You?” The general was genuinely surprised. “That’s a generous offer, but not necessary. I’m sure it will take every bit of the three months allotted to travel to the far corner of the Eastern Province, deliver the news, and return with the bridal candidate and a proper contingent of chaperones and such.”

Merin sat in a nearby chair, as his legs did not feel all that steady at the moment. “It is not an act of generosity I offer,” he said, “but one of necessity. I know the Haythorne family well.
Lady
Belavalari’s brothers fought with me for a time. When I was wounded, I spent some time among the Turis.”

“Still, you could instruct a courier . . .”

“If you send a stranger to Chieftain Valeron Haythorne to suggest that his only daughter travel to Arthes to be inspected to see if she’s good enough to be empress, that poor courier’s head will very likely come back with a note of regrets.”

“They wouldn’t!”

“They would,” Merin said softly, knowing the Turis would consider such an act justified. “Besides, I have been thinking of getting away from Arthes for a while. The trip will do me good.” He stood and downed what was left of his wine, and it was settled.

Merin wondered what kind of reception he would get from the Haythorne family and the Turi Clan who loved and looked up to them. If Bela had told her family everything that had happened, it was entirely possible that
his
head would be delivered back to the palace. He doubted anyone would bother with a note of regrets in his case.

AMONG
the Turis, marriage was a simple thing. A man and woman promised themselves to one another with their actions more than with formal words. There was an exchange of gifts, a simple dance, a kiss, and then it was done. The clan gathered to celebrate their union with food and drink and general merriment.

Bela did not feel particularly merry at the moment. She watched with sullen and openly acknowledged self-pity as her friend Jocylen offered Rab Quentyn a bowl of stew she had made with her own hands. He took it and drank some of the broth, and then he placed a ring of brightly colored spring flowers upon her head. They joined hands, and while simple, slow music played on a single lute filled the night air, they took a turn, skipped in unison, and spun about. Jocylen laughed, and because he was so pleased with her joyous response, Rab laughed, too. They kissed, a joyous cry from families and friends filled the air, and it was done.

Bela did not shout or laugh, but she did move forward to offer Jocylen her congratulations. She wanted her friend to be happy, she truly did, and she knew how very much Jocylen loved Rab. But no one else understood her, no one else knew all her secrets, and now Jocylen would spend her days cooking and making a home, and in short order there would be children to care for and the newlywed would begin to spend her time with other married women who were devoted to their husbands, women who spent their days talking about babies and sewing and how best to cook a tough piece of meat.

Bah! Bela had never cared for any of those things, much to her mother’s dismay. She preferred hunting with her brothers to cooking, and she had no intention of taking care of any man. Not ever.

Jocylen smiled at Bela and took her hand. “You dressed well for my special occasion, I see.”

Bela glanced down at the plain, drab green gown which draped simply and ended just short of her best sandals, sandals adorned with gemstones from the mountains which surrounded the village of the Turis. Unhappy as she was at the turn of events, she would not attend her beloved friend’s marriage ceremony in her usual male-style clothing. Heaven above, she had even washed her hair! “Did you expect any less?” Bela asked, as if her efforts meant nothing.

“With you I never know what to expect,” Jocylen responded.

The circlet of gold which adorned Bela’s brow was heavier and less comfortable than her usual cloth or leather circlet. Yes, she had gone to great lengths to make herself presentable. Perhaps she was displeased to see her friend marry and join the ranks of the wives of the clan, but she also wanted to see Jocylen happy. Which she was. Blast!

“If he hurts you, I will gut him.”

Jocylen’s eyes widened. “Rab would never hurt me.”

“Well, if he does . . .”

“He won’t!” Jocylen rose up on her toes, as she was a good half-foot shorter than Bela, and kissed a reluctant cheek. “Don’t worry so, Bela. We will still be friends. Forever, no matter what.”

And then Jocylen was whisked away by new relations. Food and drink for all would follow, and then the newly-weds would retire to their home and do what newly wed couples did. Poor Jocylen. Bela had tried to warn her friend, but the warnings had been dismissed. Somehow the new bride expected bliss in her husband’s bed.

She’d think differently in short order.

Alert as always, Bela was among the first to hear the quick hoofbeats approaching. She and a number of the men rushed to meet one of a pair of guards who had been posted at the western edge of the village, on this side of the river. Since so many riches had been discovered in the nearby mountains, mountains owned and protected by the Turis, they’d had to take measures to secure the safety of the people.

Some men would do anything for wealth.

Byrnard Pyrl leaped from his horse with a grace Bela admired. “A rider approaches. He wears an imperial uniform and his horse is clad in a soldier’s imperial green as well, but of course that doesn’t mean he’s who he appears to be.”

Bela’s heart gave a nasty flip at the mention of imperial green. They did not see many soldiers out so far, not since the end of the war with Ciro, but still—her heart and her stomach reacted fiercely.