His lips twisted, a knowing, self-hating smile. “Have you looked c-closely at f-at our parent’s new sword?” he asked.
“I’m not engrossed by swords,” Derina said.
“Ah. Well. This one is interesting. I f-found it, you know-and got a look at it before Father took it away.”
“What’s so interesting about it?” Derina demanded.
That smile came again. “Perhaps nothing.”
Derina rode on, Norward lagging behind, and wished she were alone.
The next morning Derina looked at the sword hanging above the mantel in the great hall, and wondered what it was that had attracted Norward’s interest. The hilt was fine work, that was clear enough, possessing a handsome scalloped black pommel with the badge of a white hand on it. But there was little special about it, no exquisite workmanship, no gilt or jewels.
She did not dare defy her father by touching the sword, drawing it to look at the blade.
“Please, miss.”
The voice startled her, and she jumped. Derina turned and saw Nellda, and a bolt of hatred lodged in her heart.
“Please, miss.” Nellda pushed a packet into Derina’s hands. “Give this to your father.”
Derina looked at the packet, badly wrapped and tied with a bit of green ribbon. “Why should I?” she said.
There were tears in Nelly’s eyes. “He won’t see me! You can get to him, can’t you?”
Derina fingered the ribbon. “What is it? Love tokens?”
“And a letter. I can write, you know! I’m not just a foolish girl.”
“So you say.” Coldly. Derina thought a moment, then shook her head. “Go home, Nellda. Go back to whatever little sty it was he found you in.”
“I can’t! He turned my father out! We had a bad year and-” Her voice broke. “He said he’d take care of me!”
For a moment a little spark of sympathy rose in Derina’s heart, but with an act of will she stamped it out. Power was all that mattered, and Derina’s, such as it was, was only to hurt. “Go away,” she said, and held out the packet.
Nellda, weeping, fled without taking it.
Derina turned and-she hesitated, and for some reason she glanced up at the great sword-she threw the packet into the fire.
Burning up, it scarcely made a flame.
So there was her future husband, pimples and round shoulders and hoggish eyes. His name was Burley, and his father was a gentleman of no great land or distinction who lived farther up the valley, a man of thin beard and cringing deference.
“His arm will be of use to you, sir,” said the father, Edson, whose own arm was of little use at all.
“It’s not his arm that’s in question,” Landry muttered. Derina caught Reeve’s smirk out of the corner of her eye and wanted to claw it off his face.
Derina looked at her family. Kendra looked as if she were trying to make the best of it. Norward was gazing at his feet and frowning. Edlyn was quietly triumphant, eyes glittering with malice.
I won’t make your mistake, Derina thought fiercely; but she knew that Edlyn’s mistakes hadn’t been Edlyn’s to make-and her own mistakes wouldn’t be hers, either.
“We’ll send to the temple for a priest to draw up the contract proper,” Landry said. He looked at Derina, grinned at her.
“Kiss your future husband, girl.”
All eyes were on Derina and she hated it. She stepped forward obediently, rose on tiptoe-Burley was taller than his posture made him-and kissed his cheek.
His breath smelt of mutton. His cheek was red with embarrassment. He didn’t seem to be enjoying this any more than she was-which was, she supposed, a point in his favor.
She would never dare to love him, she knew. Most likely he wouldn’t live long.
The wedding took place a few weeks later, in order to give all the poor relations a chance to swarm in from the countryside to get their free meal. The ceremony was at noon, the priest already drunk and thick-tongued, and the rest of the company was drunk soon after.
Nellda was seen, at the food of the long table, wolfing down food and drink. One of the servants, sensitive with long practice to Lord Landry’s moods, pushed her away, and she was seen no more.
Derina looked down at her dowry, a small chest of coins and a modicum of old loot, silver cups and candlesticks polished brightly to make them seem more valuable than they were-the guard, standing by with his pike, seemed almost unnecessary. Described in the marriage agreement, signed and sealed with red ribbon, was another part of the dowry: a lease on some high pastureland.
“Nice to know what you’re worth, eh?” Reeve said.
“More than you,” Derina said.
Reeve sneered. “You don’t think father favors me? You don’t think I’ll have all this in the end?” He gestured largely, swayed a bit, and leaned harder on the milkmaid under his arm.
He followed his father in this as in all things.
“If you live, perhaps,” said Norward’s mild voice. He had ghosted up without Reeve’s noticing.
Reeve swung round. His compact, powerful body seemed to puff like a bullfrog’s before his brother’s gangling form. “And who’ll kill me?” he demanded. “A blind man like you?”
Mildly Norward placed a hand on Reeve’s chest. “Yourself,” he said, “most like,” and gave Reeve a gentle push. Reeve went down hard, the milkmaid on top of him in a flurry of skirts. The dowry’s guard, stepping back with a grin, put out a hand to still a rocking candlestick. Reeve, sprawled on the flags, pushed the girl away and clapped a hand to his belt for a knife that wasn’t there; and then he glanced for a moment at Landry’s sword, hanging just a few feet away-but Norward just stood over him, looking down, and after a long, burning moment Reeve got to his feet and stalked away, the milkmaid fluttering after.
Some people laughed. Norward himself seemed faintly puzzled. He looked at his hand and flexed it.
“I must not know my own strength,” he said.
“He was drunk, and off balance.”
“That must be it,” Norward agreed. He looked at the dowry on its table, then at Derina. “I like your Burley,” he said.
“He’s not my Burley,” Derina said, “he’s Father’s Burley.”
Norward nodded, looked at his hand again. “Have you noticed?” he said. “My stammer’s getting better.”
The wedding bed, surrounded by curtains and screens, was set before the fire in the great hall and wrapped with symbols of fertility-ivy and pinecones and orange and yellow squash, the best that could be done in autumn.
The newlyweds would have the big bed in the main hall for a week, then move to Derina’s room. They wouldn’t be leaving Landry’s halls till Yule, when their new rooms at Edson’s house would be ready.
Derina endured the public “consummation,” sitting upright in bed with Burley while the guests cheered, filled their cups with wine, and made ribald jokes. Landry loomed over her, patted her, placed a wet kiss on her cheek. “You’re my treasure,” he said. “My truest daughter.”
Something-wretched love, perhaps-churned in Derina’s heart.
Edlyn watched with cold, hidden eyes-less than two years ago, she’d been put through the same business, received the same caresses and praise.
Next came the closing of the curtains and Landry’s loud orders ending the festivities. Lights were doused. The dowry was packed and carried to Landry’s strongroom-“just for the night,” he said.
In the corners of the big room, drunken relations snored and mumbled.
Derina looked at Burley, profiled in the firelight. His wedding garments-black velvet jacket slashed with yellow, jaunty bonnet with feather-had shown him to advantage, far more presentable than in his country clothes the day they’d met. Now, in his shirt, he looked from Derina to his wine cup and back.
Derina felt the warmth of the big fire warming her shoulders. She tilted her head back and drank her wine, hoping it would bring oblivion. She put the cup away and lay on the bed and closed her eyes.