Self-Made Scoundrel (7 page)

“Only the best for the heir to the seat,” he laughed, taking it from her. He took another sip and then sat back in his bed, leaning against the headboard as he wrapped his hands around the vessel. “To be honest, I had too much to drink. I’m doing my best to not be totally useless tomorrow.” He managed a pathetic grin and looked into the pitcher again.

“Well, it’s already tomorrow,” she said. “First watch has already come.”

“Has it, now?” Dershik shrugged. “Well, here I am. Useless.” He took another sip of water, wishing his head would clear up faster. At least his mouth didn’t taste like vomit anymore.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Cira offered. She put her hand on his and moved closer to him. Dershik forced himself to move away from her, just a bit. “I mean, right now, yes. I don’t think you’d be any good to anyone now, drunk as you are.”

“You’re right,” he agreed, laughing and finding it nice he still could. He gave her the pitcher and laid on his side, his head propped up in one hand. “But besides this. I can’t be a good husband to Jerila. I can’t be a good father to the baby. And I can’t be a good Baron.” He wanted to add he couldn’t be a good son, but it went without saying. It was tied with holding the Seat, his unwillingness to do it his Father’s way.

“Dershik, what can you do?” Cira asked. There was exasperation in her voice and it surprised him. “You’re always talking about how you can’t do this or that. What can you do? What do you want to do?”

“I want my brother to be happy,” Dershik started, anger beginning to simmer within. “I want Jerila to be happy. I want this child to know his father and for the people of the Barony to have peace, within and without. I want to be happy.”

“Can all these things exist at the same time?”

“I don’t know!” Dershik shouted. “I don’t know! It doesn’t matter what I want, nobody seems to care what I want. I don’t want people to be afraid of me, or to take money from them.”

“But Dershik, people are afraid of you,” Cira said gently. “It’s well known you lurk about the keep and scare the servants and visitors alike. And you take their money. You gamble with them in the stable.”

“That’s different,” he insisted, sitting up on the bed. “It’s not the same. Riding down a road on a horse and having people bow is different from making Big Hilik piss himself in the privy. Making a law so money comes in from eight towns over is different from beating someone at cards. It’s not the same!” Dershik felt his heart thump in his chest, panting with insistence. Is this why Cira had come, to make him angry? “I am tired of secrets,” he said at last, not able to keep his tone from being accusatory. “I am tired of hiding things away. Of hiding myself away, to make other people happy.” He took a deep breath and wished he hadn’t finished his wine. “I know you say my place in life is a gift from the Goddess, and I should be grateful for it. But haven’t you ever been given a gift you didn’t like? Or didn’t use and gave to someone else? What if blindly accepting the gift is the mistake?”

He was ready for her to admonish him, to encourage him toward the Seat. It’s what she had always done in the end. Instead she put a hand on the side of his face. Her hand felt cool and soft and he wanted to kiss her. But she looked as if she was going to say something so he didn’t, his eyes set on her lips. “If you feel this is what the Goddess is telling you, Dershik,” she finally said. “…do what you can.”

What was this? Dershik looked into her eyes. Was this permission? Permission for what? Something like relief spread over him, as well as fear. If he was free to do what he wanted, what would he do?

“Cira,” he said. He leaned over and kissed her. She dropped her hand from his face but didn’t pull away from him. She returned the kiss and when Dershik pulled away she didn’t look surprised. “I wish I was married to you,” he blurted. He realized how stupid it sounded after he said it. He laughed nervously and she joined him, the two of them giggling in the dark room. “I don’t want to be married to Jerila,” he admitted. “I’m not the one who loves her. It’s not fair to her or to me.” He wondered how much Cira knew. Jerila went to Cira for council but Jerila never told Dershik what secrets she divulged. Ceric answered to Kiyla while he was here. He considered the fact he might have just admitted to the entire mess. Still, the priestesses had no obligation to reveal their secrets to his father. They answered to their Order and the Goddess so their secrets were safe with them. All the same Dershik wondered if it had been wise to
share what he had with Cira. He shouldn’t have kissed her, though the recent memory would stay etched in his mind for a long time.

“But you are still kind to Jerila,” Cira said, smiling. “I know if nothing else you are friends. I see how you trust her. I know you admire her. You’re not the first son to be forced into a marriage like this, but you are dealing with it with grace and humility. You could just ignore her and take mistresses more to your liking. It happens in other Baronies.” Dershik raised his eyebrows, surprised to hear this. He didn’t see the point of treating someone who was in the same bad situation terribly. Maybe it helped the feeling of misery, to share it with others. He remembered how he had often attacked and fought with Ceric and thought it was similar.

“Are things very different? In other Baronies? Other Baron families?” He knew the Barons were free to run their lands in the way they saw fit. His father went to the Valley Colloquium every year in the summer but had never brought him along. Dershik had met the Ayilkin and the Darakin barons. Ceric had gotten on with the Ayil boy, as they talked about books and letters and the Daras had been…rough. The ‘Wicks were always fighting with one another.

“Every family is different, but every family is also the same,” she responded.

“That’s a terrible answer,” he said. “Though I guess it doesn’t matter how Baron Darakin treats his son. I’m not his son.” Dershik shrugged and laid back on his bed, hands behind his head. “If I said, ‘Father, the Darakin heir was allowed to wait to get married. And when he does, he’ll marry who he chooses,’ my father wouldn’t care. He thinks he’s above the other Barons.” Dershik sighed and looked at Cira.

“Your father thinks he’s above many things.” There was something in her voice sharp, striking Dershik as bitter. Cira smiled though, and put her hand on his arm. “But you’re right. You’re you. It wouldn’t be the first time a Baron would be better served by following his heart and not the advice of his priestess.”

“Are you trying to confuse me?” Dershik asked, sitting up again. He was still drunk and thought maybe he heard her incorrectly. “What?”

“We’re not infallible, you know this. We have faults. We sometimes put the needs of others before those we’re supposed to care for. Or we follow the law of the land more closely than the law of the heart.” Cira sighed and put her hand on his, sitting close to him. The scent of her perfume mingled with the alcohol in his brain. “It’s hard to find a balance,” she continued, her voice low and steady.

“You should go,” Dershik said suddenly. Cira turned her face toward him abruptly, surprise in her eyes. He wanted to kiss her, touch her as he had imagined, dreamed so many times but he knew it was one of the worst ideas he ever had. Not now. Not like this. Depressed and drunk in the bed he shared with his lawful wife. He would have laughed if he didn’t feel so ashamed. She rose from the bed slowly, taking her fragrance and her warmth with her.

“I wish we could have been better friends,” she said, laying her hand on the door. She sounded sad and Dershik couldn’t help but feeling somber as well.

“Me too,” he replied. Cira’s mouth pulled to the side in a melancholy smile and she left the room, the sound of the door closing sounding ominous.

Dershik cursed himself, rolling over in the bed. He didn’t bother getting undressed. He yanked the bed sheets down and climbed in, pulling the blankets over his head. He was either the Valley’s stupidest man or unluckiest. That couldn’t be true, he thought. He had once seen a man born with no legs in a circus show, doing handstands and walking about, shaking hands with anyone who was willing. A man born with no legs was less lucky than him, right? However, the man with no legs smiled and laughed. He even had a wife in the circus, a woman with flaming red hair who could do tricks with fires and a baby who had legs. Even the people in the circus were happier than him.

It was too much. Dershik remembered what Cira said. To do what he could. What could he do? What did he want? Drunk and woozy as he was, he couldn’t sleep. A wish turned into an idea and he sat up in bed, realizing what he needed to to do. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he put on his socks and boots, trudging slowly out of the room and back toward the party. He heard the music and the boisterous talking from the staircase, his hand on the wall as he guided himself down, avoiding the puddle of vomit he had left earlier. People were still dancing at this hour and the band had changed musicians but still played on.

Feeling emboldened by his secret, Dershik stepped up on the stage, all the dancers and musicians winding down as they realized he was there. He cleared his throat and turned back to the musicians.

“Do you know ‘Long Are Her Skirts’?” he asked with a grin. A laugh went through the room, the bawdy song more popular in bars and inns than the Barony hall. If his father was in the room, he would be frowning at him with disapproval. As far as Dershik was concerned, he wasn’t there nor did he care if he was. Ceric was absent as well. The band began playing the melody and Dershik tapped his foot in time, counting time before he began the song. He needed a bit of fun. It was a good way to start off his plan.

The Crown and the Coin

It turned out his father had a plan as well.

Dershik almost dropped the baby on his naming day. He was so nervous he shook the whole time, so much his father smacked him across the back of the head before they entered the temple in an effort to calm him. Kiyla performed the ritual, Cira assisted her and Ceric stood beside her, all of them dressed in grey. Ceric looked as if he had been crying. Dershik kept fiddling with his belt, the air in the temple seeming too hot although the weather outside was pleasant with a slight breeze. Jerila and Dershik walked up to the altar with the baby, all three of them dressed in the household colors. Kiyla filled the bowl with water from a silver pitcher, sanctifying it. When Jerila handed Dershik the baby, he tripped on the way to the alter, almost spilling with the baby. But he caught himself, his heart in his throat as he turned to Kiyla, nervously laughing. Ceric looked as if he wanted to kill him. Dershik could only give him an apologetic nod as Kiyla sprinkled holy water on the baby’s head and breast.

Dershik realized everyone was staring at him, waiting, and the whole of the congregation gathered was silent. Kiyla raised her dark eyebrows at him, expectant. Dershik froze.

“The name of the baby,” Cira whispered under her breath, just loud enough for Dershik to hear. Someone in the congregation coughed, the sound echoing through the building.

“Sorry, I was just trying to keep up the suspense,” he said to the people gathered in the temple, drawing a chuckle from those seated. “Deril.”

Kiyla was trying not to laugh, Dershik could see it. She sighed quietly and blessed the baby again, the baby wincing as he felt more water sprinkled onto his forehead. “Deril Cartaskin, we welcome you to the Valley and into the grace of the Holy Mother. May you find love and peace in your life. May Her Black Hand guide us all.” The congregation applauded and Dershik held the baby up once more for the people to see, careful with Deril.

Once the child had been presented, Dershik handed the baby back to Jerila before they all left to rejoin the temple attenders for the liturgy. As was the custom they sang “We Are Your Children,” with his father leading the hymn for once. Dershik tried to ignore the intense look his father gave him from the altar. When he looked to Ceric, his brother looked as if he might leap from the front of the temple and strangle him. Dershik gulped and looked to Deril, strawberry blond hair starting to curl gently around his small, pink head. Skinny, long feet kicked out of the blue and yellow blanket. Ceric’s features, both of them. But Deril had his mother’s nose. What had Dershik given him? What would he leave him? For the Cartaskins? Dershik felt like he didn’t have anything to give. And it didn’t bother him one bit.

Dershik didn’t like the feeling in the room. He sat in the first seat, on the right side of his father. Jerila’s father sat across from him, grey bearded, older than his own father, eyes a steely, intense grey. Beside Dershik sat one of the magistrates, Gedrix of Clefthill, one of the biggest towns in the barony. Across from him was the magistrate of the next biggest town, Kersen of Pines-Below-Water. Opposite his father, Ceric sat, still in his grey and brown robes. A book and ink and pen sat in front of him. As soon as the door was closed his father looked to Ceric.

“No need to record any of this yet, son,” Darix Cartaskin said. Ceric blushed and closed the book, putting his hands in his lap as the men all looked up at their Baron. “Deril has survived the phase. For that we are thankful.” Dershik waited for his father to thank the Goddess but the Baron just looked down to the table, as if collecting his thoughts before he looked up again. “Dershik and Jerila are a good match both in attitude and body. Perhaps they will be as lucky as I was and have another child.”

Dershik’s face grew hot and he concentrated on the grain of the table and not the words his father said. He could feel Ceric staring at him. His father started talking about allegiance and transformation and legacy. He gestured to Dershik when he said it. Dershik was sitting where he was because as the next Baron it was his place. He had been put there. Fine. He listened lazily, sitting without attention in his chair.

“The time to mint our own coins and remove the Baronies from the grip of the Church has come.”

What? Dershik sat up in his chair, suddenly interested in what his father had to say. What? He looked to Ceric. His brother looked like a ghost.