Great. Another reason for Valiana to yell at me. ‘Lady Mareina,’ I said, pointing to the girl who was gazing at the scene before her in utter disbelief, ‘needs support. You’ll be apportioning a third of your new lands into a separate condate and naming her Damina of . . . Well, let’s call this little spot Revancia, shall we?’ Revancia was an old Tristian word that meant righteous vengeance.
Rhetan’s eyes narrowed. ‘You do realise that poor Evidalle was my nephew? He had no heirs, so as his closest living relative, his property is legally mine.’
‘Ah, but you appear to have overlooked something yourself, -Margrave.’
He looked quizzical.
‘While the ceremony was not yet completed, the marriage contract was already signed, and so there is in fact an heir to your nephew’s lands.’
‘Which would be Lady Cestina, not . . .’ But by then Rhetan had caught my meaning. He turned his gaze on the new bride and would-be-rebel. ‘Of course, we’ve all heard of brides dying of grief over the loss of their beloved: a tragic outcome – although I think in this case it would bring with it a certain poetic symmetry.’
The Lady Cestina had a far quicker mind for political calculation than Evidalle; she took two steps towards the nearest cleric and dropped to her knees. Gripping the hem of his pale blue robes, she started, ‘I wish to dedicate my life to . . .’ She paused, staring at the handful of cloth, no doubt trying to remember which God was associated with the colour. ‘Phenia! Yes, Phenia, Goddess of Love.’
The cleric looked dumbfounded. ‘My Lady . . . you wish to—? Such a life does not come—’
‘Oh, shut up,’ she said, rising to her feet and turning back to address the entire audience. ‘With my spiritual life now dedicated to Phenia, I hereby name my beloved sister, Lady Mareina, as beneficiary of my—’
‘As immediate and irrevocable beneficiary,’ I suggested helpfully.
Lady Cestina’s eyes sent daggers my way. It was a good thing the God of Love was already dead, for I do believe her new priestess would otherwise have been invoking any number of curses. ‘As immediate and irrevocable beneficiary of all my lands and holdings from now unto the end of time.’
‘Marked,’ Rhetan said. He went to stand before Lady Mareina. ‘You, girl. Will you, in front of all these fine people, and in your capacity as the new Damina of—’
He turned to me. ‘What did you want to call it again?’
‘Revancia.’
‘Right. In your capacity as the new Damina of Revancia, do you swear fealty to me as your Margrave, giving unto me all such duties required by law and by tradition?’
Lady Mareina, whose world had been destroyed and rebuilt and destroyed again all during the span of an hour, somewhere found the strength to support herself and with remarkable poise, announce, ‘As Damina of Revancia, it is my most heartfelt honour to be the first to swear fealty before your Grace, the Margrave of Val Iramont, Lord of the proudest territory in all of Baern.’
The wedding guests finally had a situation for which they knew the appropriate response; they didn’t even need the tiny prompt from Rhetan’s soldiers to burst into wild applause.
Rhetan acknowledged their cheers with a bow that lasted less than a second before turning back to me. ‘I’ll expect to receive word of the tax exemption within the week.’
Captain Pheras stepped forward and motioned to Evidalle’s body. ‘What should we do with him?’
‘Take him ashore with the rest of the dead. You can bury him after everything else is dealt with.’ Rhetan looked down at his nephew’s corpse. ‘Impatient fool. He could easily have been Duke one day, but he had to play the rebel hero.’ He shook his head. ‘You can’t just go around killing people in a blatant bid for power.’
Most days I know when to keep my mouth shut, but in this instance I couldn’t stop myself. ‘You do recall that you stuck a dinner knife through the back of your nephew’s neck just a few moments ago?’
‘True – but you were the one who declared my nephew guilty of treason, invoking my legal responsibility in front of all present. I really had no choice but to assist you.’
‘And gain all of Margrave Evidalle’s lands in the process,’ Kest noted. ‘And anyone aggrieved by the outcome will blame the -Greatcoats, not you.’
Rhetan, Margrave of what was now the largest and most powerful territory in the Duchy – and by extension, the presumptive future Duke, once Ossia either abdicated or died, set his gaze on me. He finally gave a wide smile that looked as if it had been waiting patiently for years to show itself. ‘As I told you: patience reaps rewards – especially when folly paves the way.’
This is why I despise the nobility.
Evidently my distaste showed on my face because Rhetan was staring at me with one eyebrow raised. ‘Don’t get all pious with me, Trattari. You don’t seriously expect anyone to believe that Duchess Ossia – a very patient woman, I can assure you – sent you here just to rescue the poor, pitiful Lady Mareina?’ He gestured at the wedding guests who were even now hastening to disembark from the barge. ‘I’m not a gambling man, but if I were, I’d wager my new lands that your orders were to spy on the assembled nobles and quietly report back who was showing any enthusiasm for Evidalle’s conspiracy and who might remain loyal to the heir.’
He clapped me on the shoulder and added cheerily, ‘I expect you’ll have some explaining to do once you get back to Aramor.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Wedding Cake
The execution of a Margrave creates a surprising amount of paperwork. Military forces, for example, can’t simply be dumped together like vegetables in a stew: each side’s officers must now begin vying for command of the newly combined force, while the common soldiers, always convinced that the other guy’s troops get better pay (and even if they don’t, they should), will immediately start demanding higher salaries. Not that more money even begins to deal with the possibility that you’re suddenly part of the same squad that just killed your comrade or even one of your brothers.
Then there’s the matter of taking over the palace, eliminating anyone related to (or having sex with) the deceased Margrave, and most important of all, securing the treasury before its contents mysteriously disappear. A great many people need to be bribed, especially the clerics – even in a country where the Gods have been murdered, you still don’t want to be on the wrong side of the Church.
And, of course, when wedding celebrations come to such an unexpected and bloody end, you have to decide what to do with the cake.
‘It’s not bad, actually,’ Brasti said, licking his fingers as he sat back down on the edge of the dock.
The narrow beach was littered with wounded men awaiting -treatment, lying groaning amidst the decorative silk streamers meant to guide the happy couple along the gilded path that led up a gentle slope to the Margrave’s summer palace.
Kest looked up from cleaning the edge of his shield. ‘You should probably leave the cake alone,’ he warned Brasti.
‘Why, is it bad luck?’