sat at the lead-paned window in her father’s apartment and gazed down at the activities in the palace courtyard below her. For the past five days the palace, and Carlon itself, had been bustling with activity as soldiers, archers, pikemen and cavalry arrived, formed into their units and then dispersed. Four days ago, six cohorts of Axe-Wielders had finally arrived from Coroleas. One more cohort had come from the Tower of the Seneschal to swell their numbers. Both Axe-Wielders and regular soldiers were billeted out across Carlon as war and transport plans were made, supplies obtained, horses shod and gear cleaned. In the palace itself there was almost no room to move. The cooks complained, the officers shouted, the dogs barked, the serving girls scurried from place to place with red spots in their cheeks, and numerous important-looking palace officials strode along the palace corridors carrying wads of thick documents under their arms. Those nobles resident in the palace for the festivities surrounding Priam’s nameday gathered in small groups and whispered the day away.
Faraday had done little but sit in her window and watch the activities below her. She caught frequent glimpses of the BattleAxe, and on those occasions she leaned a little closer to the frosty panes of glass, watching him as he conferred with his officers or chatted and smiled with his men. Sometimes a broken strap or a slow servant would make him lose his temper momentarily and shout, the sound of his voice just managing to drift to her ears. At his heels trotted a large white cat, as faithful as a dog. Faraday had actually forgotten her own troubles enough to laugh out loud when the cat tripped the BattleAxe up and he fell into a pile of straw the stable lads had just mucked out. Even the BattleAxe had enough of a sense of humour to smile wryly, and the cat had leapt into his lap as he sat in the hay, butting her head against his chin in a feline display of affection.
As the dusk set in she could just make out her father below in the courtyard talking to Axis. Axis was shaking his head firmly and her father was gesturing animatedly with both his hands. They had been standing there for some twenty minutes and Faraday could see that Axis was impatient to get away. But her father was persistent, and after a few more minutes, as Faraday pressed her forehead to the glass in order to see, Axis gave in and reluctantly nodded his head to whatever her father was planning. When Borneheld strode into the courtyard to join her father, Axis turned on his heel and left them to confer quietly in the shadows.
As she watched her father and Borneheld, Faraday’s lovely face lost much of its animation. When she had first arrived in Carlon everything had seemed a grand adventure. She had wanted to visit court all her life, and had been quietly excited when her father and mother had told her she was to come to the King’s nameday feast this year. The weeks of fittings for clothes grand enough to wear at court had entertained her, while the journey to Carlon had exposed her to landscapes and people she had not imagined existed. The clothes, the jewels, the sights and sounds of the court, the noisy crowds thronging the streets of Carlon – it all seemed a dream.
But three days ago the dream had ended and Faraday had come down to earth with a shock. Three days ago her father had come to her, his eyes bright and a great beam of pleasure lighting his face. He had arranged a marriage for her. Faraday had known that one day she would marry, and had realised that one of the reasons her parents had brought her to Carlon was to present her to the court as an eligible daughter, but she had vaguely assumed that marriage still lay a year or two into the future. But whatever had thrown the palace into a fever of activity had apparently also hastened her parents’ plans. And hastened her prospective bridegroom’s fervour.
Borneheld. She was to become the Duchess of Ichtar. It was, by anyone’s reckoning, a splendid marriage for her. Borneheld was the most powerful noble in the realm and the current heir to the throne. Her parents were ecstatic. Devera was wide-eyed with amazement and had spent much of this morning with Faraday, chatting non-stop about clothes, servants and babies until Faraday’s temper snapped and she asked Devera to leave. Devera had been offended, and left muttering about how Faraday would have to learn some manners when she was married to Borneheld.
Faraday shuddered. She’d had to pretend pleasure for her parents’ sakes, but inside she felt hollow. She was very unsure of Borneheld; he was so large, so overbearing, and his manners were so gruff. They had met briefly the day before and had talked haltingly of this and that while her parents stood by, their faces mirroring their pride. Despite her best efforts, Faraday could not help comparing Borneheld to his half-brother. She was sure that conversation with Axis would not be peppered with the same embarrassing silences that her conversation with Borneheld was. Where Faraday could somehow imagine Axis being gentle and humorous, she could only foresee Borneheld being terse and impatient. She sighed. On the two occasions she had ventured a witty remark Borneheld had only stared at her uncomprehendingly.
Faraday shivered and gulped, trying desperately to hold back her tears. This afternoon was the formal betrothal ceremony and she could not afford to have swollen and reddened eyes. The usual niceties were being hurried because Borneheld would leave so soon for the north. The prenuptial contract, covering the legalities of dowry and jointure, had been signed yesterday. This afternoon her mother had dressed her in a gown of ivory silk that had left her shoulders bare and exposed so much of her breasts that Faraday thought it verged on the indecorous. Her thick chestnut hair had been left to flow down her back in virginal style.
Faraday suddenly realised that her father and Borneheld had disappeared from the courtyard. They must be on their way up here, she thought, her mouth suddenly dry, and she stood on wobbly legs just as the door to the apartment opened.
Her parents, Isend and Merlion, entered, and behind them came Borneheld, his lieutenant Gautier and Earl Burdel of Arcen. Faraday wet her lips and dipped into a curtsey as Borneheld crossed the room.
“My dear,” he said awkwardly as she remained deep in her curtsey, her head bowed. He thrust his hand out clumsily, uncomfortable with courtly manners, and she took it lightly between her fingers, rising gracefully to her feet. She was a tall girl, and did not have to tip her head too far back to meet his eyes.
“My lord,” she said softly but clearly, “I am honoured by your offer of marriage.” It was what her mother had told her to say this afternoon, and Faraday had no way of knowing that it was her father who had done all the offering and persuading. But Borneheld’s greed and lust had made him listen and finally agree. Although Isend was not overly wealthy, Faraday was an heiress in her own right, due to inherit her maternal grandfather’s estates. Faraday was not only pleasing to the eye but would bring rich lands to her marriage. Borneheld had not had to think overly hard about the offer.
“The honour is all mine,” Borneheld replied after some considerable thought. Gautier grinned behind his master’s back. That was the most courtly phrase he had heard pass Borneheld’s lips in a number of years. Borneheld was always more comfortable cursing his soldiers than passing pleasant conversation with well-bred women.
“Ahem.” Isend stepped forward. “I know how busy the Duke of Ichtar is, Faraday, so perhaps we can proceed with the ceremony. The Earl of Burdel and Lieutenant Gautier are here to act as witnesses.”
Faraday’s smile trembled a little, but she managed to keep her eyes level as Borneheld grasped her hand more firmly and began to speak the ancient ritual words of betrothal.
“I, Borneheld, son of Searlas, Duke of Ichtar, do plight thee, Faraday, daughter of Isend of Skarabost, my troth in marriage. Before Artor and these people here assembled I do promise to take thee as my wife and to give thee an honoured place by my side. And to this I do freely consent.”
Everyone waited expectantly. Faraday swallowed and wet her lips before repeating the vows. She hesitated a moment before finishing. “And to this I do freely consent.”
Borneheld grinned a little lopsidedly, put his free hand into his pocket and withdrew a large ring of twisted dark gold mounted with a massive round ruby, fumbling slightly as he slid it onto the heart finger of Faraday’s
