Rules of Ascension: Book One of Winds of the Forelands (11 page)

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Authors: David B. Coe

BOOK: Rules of Ascension: Book One of Winds of the Forelands
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“What do I do now?” the young lord asked, his voice falling to a whisper once more.
“You live your life, my lord.”
“How can I? You saw what’s waiting for me. How am I supposed to go back to living my life knowing where it all leads?”
Grinsa regarded him placidly. “That is the test of the Fating. You may not believe me now, but this is the easy part. The challenge of the Fating is living with the knowledge it brings.”
“You’re right,” Tavis said, not bothering to keep the bitterness from his voice. “I don’t believe you.”
“You will in time, my lord.”
Tavis stood. “No, I don’t think so. Not after this. If that’s the challenge that awaits me—learning to accept that I’ll spend the rest of my life rotting in some dungeon—then I’d just as soon have Bian take me now.”
At that Grinsa’s expression changed, the maddening air of calm giving way to a look of shock and fear.
“My lord,” the Qirsi said, starting to stand.
But Tavis cut him off with a violent shake of his head. “Leave me alone.” He turned and hurried out of the tent, nearly crashing into Xaver as he did.
“Tavis!” his friend said. “How did—?” He stopped abruptly, seeing the look on Tavis’s face. “What happened?”
Tavis just gazed at him for a moment before striding away. He could hear Xaver calling his name, but he didn’t stop. The prior’s bells were ringing at the sanctuary. There were only a few hours of light left in the day. He briefly considered having his mount saddled. But that would mean going back to the castle, where, no doubt, his father had sent word that he was to be directed to the duke’s chambers once more.
I look forward to hearing about your Fating, Javan had said, and though there was little warmth in their relationship, there were expectations. Tavis was certain that the duke had meant what he said. He would be impatient for Tavis’s report.
He felt tears starting to course down his face again.
“How do I tell him this?” he breathed. “How do I tell Mother?”
“All things considered,” Javan said, with that half smile Shonah had come to know so well over the years, “it was a most agreeable message. I find it hard to believe that Aindreas penned it himself.”
Shonah laughed, as did Hagan and their other guests.
“So they’ve agreed to the match?” she asked, when their laughter ebbed.
The duke nodded. “It seems so. There are conditions, of course. They want to wait another few years, ‘until any uncertainties in our respective houses’ futures can be resolved,’ as Aindreas puts it.”
“What in Bian’s name does that mean?” Hagan asked.
“It means,” Shonah said, before Javan could respond, “that they want to be absolutely certain that Tavis will be king before they make any final commitments.” Once more the others laughed. Shonah looked at her husband. “And I promise you, my lord, that was Ioanna’s idea, not the duke’s. She’s an eminently practical woman.”
Javan smiled, glancing around the table at their guests. “That from a woman who would know.”
She inclined her head slightly. “My lord is too kind.”
Shonah picked up her goblet and took a sip of wine. Notwithstanding the banter with her husband, she was pleased. Lady Brienne of Kentigern would be a fine match for her son, one that would make both Tavis and the duke happy. She was a daughter of a major house, the only one even close to Tavis’s age. With Javan expecting to take the throne within the year, the strengthening of ties between Curgh and Kentigern couldn’t come at a better time.
Two years ago this union had seemed unlikely. There was talk that Aindreas wanted Filib of Thorald for his daughter’s mate, and it seemed that Javan would have to choose a daughter from one of the minor houses for their son. Even then, he had already received overtures from the dukes of Eardley, Labruinn, and Rennach. But
with Filib’s untimely death and Curgh’s impending ascension to the crown, Tavis suddenly became the most sought-after young man in Eibithar. Almost immediately, the duke of Kentigern sent a message to Curgh Castle stating his interest in a match. Javan, of course, had been delighted.
Shonah understood. As a woman who prided herself on knowing far more of court politics than most of Eibithar’s other duchesses, she recognized Javan’s need to improve Curgh’s relations with Aindreas and the lesser nobles of Kentigern. But she was also a mother, and she was as pleased with this match for Tavis’s sake as she was for her husband’s. She hadn’t seen Brienne in years, but by all accounts, the young lady of Kentigern was an uncommonly attractive and intelligent young woman, who was blessed with her mother’s looks and her father’s mind. Fortunate for the girl, Shonah thought with an inward grin. No daughter should look like her father, when her father looked like Aindreas.
Brienne would make a good wife, and, more to the point, a fine queen when the time came. Perhaps as well, the prospect of marriage, distant as the event itself remained, would instill some discipline in her son and force him to take his duties and his training to heart.
“I’d like to share these tidings with my son,” Javan said, seeming to read her thoughts. “Has anyone seen him?”
Tavis should have been in the duke’s hall at the start of their meal, when the sunset bells were rung outside the castle. That had been some time ago, and though Shonah was not usually one to worry, she was starting to grow concerned.
“I saw him just after his Fating,” Xaver MarCullet said from the far side of the table.
That he was here and Tavis was not only served to deepen Shonah’s apprehension.
“He seemed troubled when he came out of the gleaner’s tent,” the MarCullet boy went on.
The duke looked at him keenly. “In what way?”
“He didn’t stop to talk to me, not even briefly. I called after him, but he just walked away.”
Shonah and Javan shared a look. A bad Fating? Impossible. Yet the duchess felt as if cold fingers were squeezing her heart, like the hand of Bian reaching for her from the Underrealm.
“Different people react to their Fatings in different ways,” Yegor jal Sennah said from his place between Xaver and the earl of Brintesh. “Disappointment comes in many forms. It may be that he has his eye on a girl and his Fating showed him with Brienne instead. Or perhaps he imagined himself taller or brawnier as a man than the stone showed. Chances are his dismay will be shortlived.”
Shonah favored the Qirsi man with a smile. He and his Eandi wife had been seated at the table as far from Javan as possible, just as they were every year, just as they would be again a few days hence, when Shonah and Javan hosted the Revel banquet. For all his fine qualities, Javan was not without his faults, and chief among them was his prejudice. Prejudice against anyone or anything from one of the Foreland’s other kingdoms, against anyone or anything from one of Eibithar’s other houses, and most of all, against the Qirsi. He tolerated them. He might even have developed some fondness and respect for Fotir over the years. But the notion of unions between Qirsi and Eandi still disturbed him. Shonah had grown quite fond of Yegor and Aurea, and a few years before she had finally prevailed upon Javan to invite them to the banquet and other events at the castle during the Revel’s stay in Curgh. But that was as much as she could do.
“The reason for his disappointment is of little importance,” Javan said with asperity. “He should have been here long ago.”
But Shonah was watching Xaver. He knew her son better than any of them, and he appeared unmoved by Yegor’s reassurances. What if it really had been a bad Fating? What if Tavis had seen Javan’s death or his own? She shuddered. First the incident in Galdasten, then Filib’s death, and now, perhaps, this. It almost seemed that Bian was angry with them, that he had marked Eibithar for misfortune.
Not that she truly believed in such things. She had long since placed her faith in the cloisters rather than the sanctuaries. She worshiped Ean, as did her husband and son, though Javan still visited the sanctuary at the far end of Curgh City as well. He claimed that he was obligated to do so, that as duke he had to understand the lives and faith of all his people, whether they lived in the court or in the country. Shonah suspected that there was more to it than that. But when she lost her second child only a turn before the babe was due to be born, Javan joined her in the cloister. And she, in the privacy of
her chambers, alone with her grief, cursed Bian’s name. Faith could be a difficult matter, and the old beliefs lingered, even, she had to admit, in her own mind and heart.
“Are you well, my lady?”
Shonah started, then turned and looked at Fotir, who had spoken.
“Forgive me, my lady, but you look pale.” He smiled. “If I can be so bold as to judge such a thing.”
She smiled in return, though she felt cold and her stomach had balled itself into a fist. “I’m … concerned,” she admitted. “About Tavis.”
He nodded. “So is the duke.”
Few people other than she could see so clearly through Javan’s moodiness. Her husband was fortunate to be served by such a man.
“Do you think we have reason?”
The Qirsi seemed to consider this. “Perhaps,” he said at last. “I wouldn’t have thought so, but for what Master MarCullet said.”
She was about to respond when a door opened at the near end of the hall and her son stumbled in. She was relieved to see him, but the feeling was fleeting. His hair was disheveled, his eyes red, and his face puffy, as if he had just awakened. He was wearing a simple shirt and breeches, not at all the attire that a duke’s son ought to wear to dine with guests of the castle. He carried an open wine flask in one hand.
Leaning against the door, he lifted the flask to his lips and took a long pull. Then he took an unsteady step forward and bowed to his father, almost falling over as he did.
“My apologies, sire,” he said, barely getting the words out. “It seems I’m a bit late for dinner.”
“Just take your seat, Tavis,” Javan said stiffly.
“Of course, Father.”
Tavis made his way to the table, smiling at their guests as he did. Fortunately, this was a relatively informal occasion. All those in the hall were friendly to the House of Curgh and could be counted upon to be discreet. Had this been the Revel banquet … Shonah closed her eyes briefly, not even wanting to think about it.
“Hello, Mother,” Tavis said as he stepped past her chair. His breath stank of wine. She said nothing.
Tavis sat at the duke’s right hand and began to pile food on his plate. No one else made a sound, although most of them had the grace to stare at their own meals rather than at him.
After taking several mouthfuls, her son finally looked up from his plate and scanned the hall.
“Why isn’t anyone saying anything?”
“Just eat, Tavis,” the duke said. “Don’t talk.”
He shook his head. “No. Why won’t the rest of you speak? Is it me? Is it because I’ve come late?” A smile spread across his face and he lifted the wine. “Is it this?”
Javan grabbed the flask from him. “There! Now eat, and be silent!”
“What’s the matter, Father? Am I shaming you? Am I sullying the Curgh name?”
The duke opened his mouth to respond, but then appeared to think better of it. Instead he smiled, though Shonah could see that it was forced. “Your mother and I were just telling our guests of a message I received today from the duke of Kentigern. He and I have agreed on a match between you and his daughter, the Lady Brienne.”
“Brienne,” Tavis repeated, his mouth full of fowl. “I met her several years ago, didn’t I?”
Javan’s face brightened. “Yes, that’s right. When you were ten, I believe.”
“She was fat, and her voice squeaked like a rusted gate.”
The duke closed his eyes for a moment, but recovered quickly, the same brittle smile returning to his lips. “We’re to travel to Kentigern just after Pitch Night to celebrate the betrothal. I expect the duke will make quite a spectacle of it. Tournaments, feasts, musicians. It will be like a second Revel.”
“It sounds like a damned waste of time, if you ask me,” Tavis said, biting into another piece of meat.
“What is the matter with you?” Shonah heard herself say. “Is this about your Fating?”
Tavis closed his eyes and laughed weakly. “Ah, my Fating. Go ahead, Mother. Ask me about my Fating. Ask me to give you a full accounting of everything I saw in the stone.”
Yegor cleared his throat. “I was just telling your mother and father, my lord, that Fatings often seem disappointing at first, but with time …”
The Qirsi trailed off as Tavis began to laugh again, quietly at first, but building quickly until peals of laughter echoed off the ceiling of the hall.
“Pardon me,” the young lord said at last, shaking his head and fighting for breath. “I don’t mean to be rude. Truly. But you have no idea of what you’re saying.”
“Tavis!” Javan cut in. “That’s enough!”
“But by all means,” the boy went on, as if he hadn’t heard the duke at all, “let’s talk about my Fating.”

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