The Viscount and the Witch (Riyria #1.5)

Behind the door, Bruce greeted the pair with a deep and stately bow. Holding a lantern before him, he escorted the men up a wide spiral staircase. Halfway up the tower, Victor’s pace slowed and his breathing appeared labored.

Archibald paused courteously. “I must apologize for the long ascent. I really don’t notice it anymore. I must have climbed these stairs a thousand times. When my father was the earl, this was the one place I could go to be alone. No one ever bothered to take the time or effort to reach the top. While it may not reach the majestic height of the Crown Tower at Ervanon, it’s the tallest tower in my castle.”

“Don’t some people come merely to see the view?” Victor speculated.

The earl chuckled. “You would think so, but this tower has no windows, which is what makes it the perfect location for my private study. I added the doors to protect the things dear to me.”

Reaching the top of the stairs, they encountered another door. Archibald removed a large key from his pocket, unlocked it, and gestured for the marquis to enter. Bruce resumed his normal post outside the study and closed the door.

The room was large and circular with an expansive ceiling. The furnishings were sparse: a large disheveled desk, two cushioned chairs near a small fireplace, and a delicate table between them. A fire burned in the hearth behind a simple brass screen, illuminating most of the study. Candles, which lined the walls, provided light to the remaining areas and filled the chamber with a pleasant, heady aroma of honey and salifan.

Archibald smiled when he noticed Victor eyeing the cluttered desk overflowing with various scrolls and maps. “Don’t worry, sir. I hid all the truly incriminating plans for world domination prior to your visit. Please, do sit down.” Archibald indicated the pair of chairs near the hearth. “Rest yourself from your long journey while I pour us a drink.”

The older man scowled and grumbled, “Enough of the tour and formalities. Now that we are here, let’s get on with it. Explain what this is all about.”

Archibald ignored the marquis’s tone. He could afford to be gracious now that he was about to claim his prize. He waited while the marquis took his seat.

“You are aware, are you not, that I have shown an interest in your daughter, Alenda?” Archibald asked, walking to the desk to pour two glasses of brandy.

“Yes, she’s mentioned it to me.”

“Has she mentioned why she refuses my advances?”

“She doesn’t like you.”

“She hardly knows me,” countered Archibald with a raised finger.

“Archie, is this why you asked me here?”

“Marquis, I would appreciate your addressing me by my proper name. It’s inappropriate to call me that, since my father is dead and I now hold title. In any case, your question does have a bearing on the subject. As you know, I’m the twelfth Earl of Chadwick. Granted, it’s not a huge estate, and Ballentyne isn’t the most influential of families, but I’m not without merit. I control five villages and twelve hamlets, as well as the strategic Senon Uplands. I currently command more than sixty professional men-at-arms, and twenty knights are loyal to me—including Sir Enden and Sir Breckton, perhaps the two greatest living knights. Chadwick’s wool and leather exports are the envy of all of Warric. There is even talk of the Summersrule Games being held here—on the very lawn you crossed to enter my castle.”

“Yes, Archie—I mean, Archibald—I’m well aware of Chadwick’s status in the world. I don’t need a commerce lesson from you.”

“Are you also aware that King Ethelred’s nephew has dined here on more than one occasion? Or that the Duke and Duchess of Rochelle have asked to dine with me at Wintertide this year?”

“Archibald, this is quite tiresome. What exactly is your point?”

Archibald frowned at the marquis’s lack of awe. Carrying over the glasses of brandy, he handed one to Victor and took the remaining seat. He paused a moment to sip his liquor.

“My point is this. Given my position, my stature, and my promising future, it makes no sense for Alenda to reject me. Certainly, it’s not because of my appearance. I’m young, handsome, and wear only the finest imported fashions made from the most expensive silks to be found. The rest of her suitors are old, fat, or bald—in several cases all three.”

“Perhaps looks and wealth are not her only concerns,” replied Victor. “Women don’t always think about politics and power. Alenda is the kind of girl who follows her heart.”

“But she will also follow her father’s wishes. Am I correct?”

“I don’t understand your meaning.”

“If you told her to marry me, she would. You could order her.”

“So, this is why you coerced me into coming here? I’m sorry, Archibald, but you have wasted your time and mine. I have no intention of forcing her to marry anyone, least of all you. She would hate me for the rest of her life. I care more about my daughter’s feelings than the political implications of her marriage. I happen to cherish Alenda. Of all my children, she is my greatest joy.”

Archibald took another sip of brandy and considered Victor’s remarks. He decided to approach the subject from a different direction. “What if it were for her own good? To save her from what would be certain disaster.”

“You warned me of danger to get me here. Are you finally ready to explain, or do you prefer to see if this old man can still handle a blade?”

Archibald disregarded what he knew was an idle threat. “When Alenda repeatedly declined my advances, I reasoned something must be amiss. There was no logic to her rebuffs. I have connections and my star is rising. Then I discovered the real reason for your daughter’s refusal—she is already involved with someone else. Alenda is having an affair, a secret affair.”

“I find that difficult to believe,” Victor declared. “She has not mentioned anyone to me. If someone caught her eye, she would tell me.”

“It’s little wonder she’s kept his identity from you. She’s ashamed. She knows that their relationship will bring disgrace to your family. The man she is entertaining is a mere commoner without a single drop of noble blood in his veins.”

“You’re lying!”

“I assure you, I’m not. The problem goes further than that, I’m afraid. His name is Degan Gaunt. You’ve heard of him, haven’t you? He’s quite famous. He’s the leader of that Nationalist movement out of Delgos. You know that down south he has stirred up all kinds of emotions with his fellow commoners. They are all intoxicated with the idea of butchering the nobility and establishing self-rule. He and your daughter have been rendezvousing at Windermere near the monastery. They meet when you are away and occupied with matters of state.”

“That is ridiculous. My daughter would never—”

“Don’t you have a son there?” Archibald inquired. “At the abbey, I mean. He’s a monk, isn’t he?”