“We both know he is,” Araine said. “I didn’t ask you to come all this way for that. What I want to know is if you can fix it.”
“Will he consent to be examined?” Leesha asked.
The Duchess Mum’s mouth soured as well. “He is being … difficult in that regard.”
“I can only guess so much without that,” Leesha said. “I can brew virility herbs …”
“Don’t you think I’ve tried that?” Araine snapped. “Jessa’s had him on every stiffener and fertilizer under the sun for years now.”
“Perhaps I can come up with something your … Weed Gatherer has yet to try.” Leesha kept the bitterness from her voice, but the duchess picked up on it anyway.
“No doubt Bruna ranted at length on the evils of weed gathering,” Araine said, “but she never had more than a few hundred children to care for, and, as I recall, was never shy about dosing folk without their knowledge.”
“Always to help,” Leesha said. “Never to hurt.”
“Oho!” Araine said. “So she was helping when she threw blinding powder in someone’s face? Or hit them with her stick?”
“Always for their own good,” Leesha said. “She didn’t poison.”
“Perhaps.” Araine smiled over the rim of her delicate cup. “But you have, haven’t you? All the Sharum in your caravan this summer, as I hear it.”
Leesha felt her face grow cold. How had the duchess heard of that? “That was a mistake. One I won’t repeat.”
“A promise like that makes you a fool or a liar,” Araine said. “Time will tell. You have power, and a day will come when you have to use it, or be destroyed.”
She set down her tea, picking up an embroidery hoop. Her nimble fingers belied her advanced years as she worked. “Regardless, Mistress Jessa was trained by Bruna herself, and has the royal libraries at her disposal. I’ll wager she’s forgotten more about herbs than you know. If she says she’s tried everything, then she has.”
“Then what do you need me for?” Leesha asked.
“Because you have tools she doesn’t,” Araine said. “Jessa knows her herbs, but she’s less skilled with the knife.”
“And if Rhinebeck needs a cut between the legs to let his seed flow?” Leesha asked. “How are we to arrange that, if he won’t even let me examine him?”
“If it comes to that,” Araine said, “we’ll put tampweed and skyflower in his ale and keep him out till it’s done. Tell him he drank himself stupid boar hunting and took a tusk between the legs.
“But now there’s a third option.” Araine kept her eyes on her hoop. “Magic.”
“It doesn’t work quite like that,” Leesha said. “The body heals itself, magic just speeds the process. If Rhinebeck was born with a … defect, there isn’t much I can do.”
“What about the white witch you brought with you?” Araine demanded.
“You want to involve her in this?” Leesha asked.
“Don’t be stupid,” Araine said. “We tell her it’s some other nobleman, and have her teach you what you need.”
“If such a thing exists,” Leesha said.
“You’d best hope it does,” Araine said. “Time’s running out. If Melny isn’t pregnant by midwinter, we go to the backup plan.”
“And that is?” Leesha asked.
Araine smiled. “Get Thamos to seed the young duchess.”
“What?” Leesha felt like she had swallowed a heavy stone. For a moment it was hard to breathe, and then it sat aching in her stomach.
“Melny may not be the sharpest spear, but she’s got paps to turn the head of any man,” Araine said. “Not that it will take much to convince Thamos he can save the entire duchy by cuckolding you and Rhiney.”
“And Melny?” Leesha asked. “Is she just a womb with no say in the matter?”
Araine snorted. “She’ll put her legs in the air and thank the prince when it’s done. Girl isn’t the sharpest axe in the shed, but she’s not entirely dull. What do you think will happen to her if she can’t get pregnant before the Krasians turn north and Euchor forces our hand? Princess Lorain of Miln is already in the city with five hundred Mountain Spears, bribing Royals and eyeing poor Melny like an owl eyes a mouse. Her very presence is a slap in the face of the ivy throne.”
She tied off a thread, snipping it with a tiny pair of silver scissors. “Thamos looks just like his grandfather. None will doubt the child is Rhiney’s.”
“Why Thamos?” Leesha demanded.
“I could argue that Mickael is already wed,” Araine said as she started a new stitch, “and Pether a Shepherd vowed to chastity. But truer is, neither would be able to keep from crowing about it. Rhiney would find out, and do something stupid.”
She looked at Leesha. “As justices go, it’s not without poetry. If you want to keep Thamos’ spear dry, then you fix his brother’s. If not, you can both have a bastard to hide as you start your life together.”
“Princess Amanvah of Krasia,” Jasin called loudly, his voice bouncing off the vaulted ceiling for all to hear. “Firstborn daughter to Ahmann Jardir, Duke of Fort Krasia.”
Amanvah bristled at that. “Duke? Fort? My father is as far above one of your pathetic dukes as they are a peasant’s dog, and his empire stretches …”
Rojer tightened his hold on her arm. “He’s just doing it to get a rise from us. Everyone knows precisely who your father is.”
Amanvah gave a slight nod, her dama’ting serenity returning.
Jasin cast a dim eye at Rojer as they stood in the doorway. “And her husband, Jongleur Rojer Inn, of Riverbridge.”
It was Rojer’s turn to bristle. Normally as husband, he would have been announced first, but the chasm between his and Amanvah’s ranks made it impossible. That, he could accept.
But Rojer was a Jongleur master now, and his stage name, Halfgrip, known throughout land. He had written The Battle of Cutter’s Hollow and the Song of Waning. Jasin made him sound like a juggler brought to entertain the guests between courses.
Amanvah squeezed his arm in return. “Breathe, husband, and add it to the tally to be avenged.”
Rojer nodded as they paced into the room, allowing time for them to see and be seen. Their lackluster introduction did little to quell interest, as they were approached by a seemingly endless stream of nobles eager for introduction to the Krasian princess and fiddle wizard who could charm demons.
“Princess Sikvah of Krasia,” Jasin called, “niece of Ahmann Jardir, Duke of Fort Krasia. Jongleur Kendall Inn, of the famed fiddle wizards of Hollow County.”
Rojer grit his teeth.
Sikvah steered Kendall in another direction after their introduction. Her rank demanded she be invited, but Amanvah had forbidden her and Kendall from sitting with them. Apparently it did not do for a man to attend a formal dinner with his Jiwah Sen.
A small group approached them, led by a man with bright red hair, dressed in subdued heraldic motley in the colors of Duke Euchor. He made a smooth leg before Amanvah, sweeping his cloak over one shoulder in a flash of color. “Your Highness,” he looked to Rojer, “Master Halfgrip. I am Keerin, royal herald to Duke Euchor, Light of the Mountains and Guardian of the Northland, Lord of Miln.”
He waited for Amanvah to offer a hand to kiss, but men and women did not touch in Krasia, especially married women, and dama’ting most of all. Amanvah gave only the slightest nod of her head, as if to a servant who had brought her refreshment.
Keerin cleared his throat. “Please allow me to introduce Her Highness, Princess Lorain of Miln, youngest daughter to Duke Euchor.”
The woman stepped forward, and Rojer saw immediately the rumors were true. Euchor’s daughters were all said to take after him in appearance, and Lorain’s square face had much in common with the one stamped on Milnese coin.
Her frame, tall and wide-shouldered, had much in common with a man’s as well. She looked fit enough to wrestle Wonda. Her hair was still gold with no signs of gray, but her face had none of the softness of youth. She was the shady side of thirty-five, at the least. Old for a political bride.
Amanvah bowed, but it was shallow—an act of respect, but not equality. “It is an honor to meet you, Lorain vah Euchor. I am pleased to see I am not the only princess in a strange city.”
It was unclear if Lorain registered the slight. The politics of Krasian bowing were a language all their own. But her return bow mirrored Amanvah’s in depth and duration—a statement of equality, and a challenge to Amanvah.
But then she did something that put them all off guard.
“The honor is mine, Amanvah daughter of Ahmann,” Lorain said in Krasian.
Amanvah blinked, switching immediately to her native tongue. “You speak my language?”
Lorain smiled. “Of course. A properly educated lady can make dinner conversation in all the dead languages, though none of us has ever had the chance to speak with a native. I’m sure you will be flooded with invitations to tea from those of blood eager to practice.”
“Dead languages?” Amanvah asked.
“Ruskan, Limnese, Albeen, and Krasian,” Lorain said.
“My language is hardly dead,” Amanvah said.
Lorain gave a slight bow. “Of course. But it’s been centuries since we’ve entertained one of your people at court. From the Northern perspective, the language is no longer spoken.”
“Your education will serve you well,” Amanvah said. “The dice foretell a great resurgence of Krasian speakers in the North.”
Lorain’s smile was dangerous. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”
A man cleared his throat, breaking the tension between the women.
“Allow me to present my escort, Lord Sament,” Lorain said, switching to Thesan as she indicated the last member of her party. The man wore his rich clothing comfortably, but he looked more bodyguard than escort, his eyes hard. He bowed.
“We’ll leave you to mingle,” Lorain told Amanvah. “I just wanted to make your acquaintance. No doubt we will have time to get to know each other after dinner in the women’s wing.”
With that, the Milnese swept off as quickly as they had come.
“Escort?” Amanvah asked.
“Chaperone, more like,” Rojer said. “Rhinebeck has been through several wives, but none has been able to give him a child. Lorain is the next hopeful.”
“She will likely fare no better, if several have gone before her,” Amanvah said. “It sounds as if the problem is with him.”
“I wouldn’t suggest it in polite company,” Rojer said. “Lorain has two sons to prove her fertility at least.”
Amanvah looked at him. “The Duke of Miln sends his rival an aging bride who is not even a virgin? What happened to her sons’ father?”
“Euchor divorced them, and sent her south,” Rojer said.
Amanvah snorted. “A desperate attempt to form an alliance against my father.”
“Can you blame them?” Rojer asked.
“No,” Amanvah said, “but it will make no difference in the end.”
It was pointless to debate the topic. Amanvah was wise about many things, but where her father was concerned, she saw only what she wanted to see. He was Shar’Dama Ka, and his rule was inevitable.
“Little Rojer, now a married man,” a voice said, and Rojer turned to see the Duchess Mum approaching with Duchess Melny. “How old were you when I caught you climbing the shelves in the royal library?”
Rojer swept into a low bow. “Five, Your Grace.” His backside ached as he recalled the incident. The Duchess Mum had only huffed, but it might as well have been a command, for Jessa had a strap in hand the moment she left.
Amanvah ignored the young duchess, meeting the old woman’s eyes. Something passed between them, and Amanvah’s bow was deeper and longer than before. “It is an honor to meet the famed Duchess Mother.”
Melny, technically outranking her mother-in-law, might have been offended at that, but she seemed to take it in stride. Araine had little real power in Angiers, but while Rhinebeck’s wives came and went, his mother was constant, and the vapid noblewomen at court all took their cues from her.
“I trust you’ve refreshed yourself from your long journey?” Melny asked when the introductions were complete. “Your rooms are satisfactory?”
Amanvah nodded, surprising Rojer. Amanvah never felt rooms satisfactory, but apparently that was something best communicated through servants. “Of course.”
“I trust the princess from the North was able to mind her manners?” Araine asked.