The dining room was sparkling clean. Stephen wasn't quite sure where the third maidservant had gone; she'd gone out to pick up supplies for dinner on his instruction and not returned. Worse, she'd been wearing clothing borrowed from his father's wardrobe; if his father noticed the lack, he would be annoyed. The two remaining maidservants were twitchy. The phantasms and magical bindings he'd used on them had been dissolved completely hours ago, but their memories of the experience – incoherent though they might be – were likely still rough around the edges.
Fortunately, his father hadn't expected Stephen to plan dinner, and had sent his manservant ahead with supplies and instructions from the Taylor mansion. Dinner would consist of peas, mushrooms, mashed moonapples with gravy, and seared slices of a delectably youthful-looking feminine flank, the last being a treat not easily come by in York and therefore supplied by the Taylors as a special favor to a prospective investor. His father had some figures to run through while dinner was cooking; Stephen waited patiently for the chance for a private conversation.
Once dinner had been served, placed on the oaken dining table by the stark gleam of a magelight chandelier, Stephen quietly told the maidservants to leave until rung for. Then he stood up and shut the door. “Father, I have grave news about my sister,” he said. “I wanted to tell you this morning, but…”
His father snorted, cutting a neat square out of the slice of meat on his plate with fork and knife. “Grave news? Look, it would have been nice if you'd let me know at breakfast, but the duke's messenger told me around noon. I know everything now. It's good, really.”
“Good?” Stephen blinked, staring blankly at his father. He thought of the tear tracks he'd seen on his sister's face that morning. “Good?” His voice climbed, and he repeated himself a third time, his plate still untouched. “Good?”
“Yes, good. She's marrying the duke.” Guilbert de Lancaster gestured with a fork laden with mashed moonapple as he talked around a mouthful of food. The starchy pale mashed tuber was stained with the natural gravy of the meat. “I thought she'd won you over to the idea. He asked me for my assent this afternoon. No oath-taking or anything medieval like that, just a civilized bit of courtesy. She must have finally cast a charm on him and had it stick. Those other women he'd been engaged to must be sorely disappointed about now.”
Stephen stared at his father. He'd always known his father was cold and detached, but he'd not expected the man to be this detached. Guilbert de Lancaster’s own daughter had been brutally ravished, had cried her eyes out, and here the cold lord was, blithely shrugging it off and eating a hearty dinner. Stephen took a deep breath, focusing his mind. His father did know something he hadn't – the duke had felt guilty enough about his brutish behavior that he'd decided to marry Sabine to preserve her virtue.
That had been Sabine's plan for the night, Stephen thought to himself, then forced himself to speak. “My apologies, father, I see I have let my temper get the better of me.” He speared a mushroom delicately with his fork, a feeble attempt at imitating his father’s appetite. “If the duke is marrying her, Sabine has succeeded, and I should be happy for her, and put my personal distaste for the brute aside.”
“Brute?” His father looked at Stephen skeptically before helping himself to a second slice of meat from the platter in the center of the table. “Is he really that much more frightening up close?”
Stephen paused, chewing the mushroom slowly and carefully. He swallowed and held up a finger. “In a word, yes. I will be glad if I never come within arm’s-length of him again.”
His father nodded. “By the way, I got a note later this afternoon from Sabine saying that while she is happy to see her things, she misses her maids, the inner keep being short-staffed at present. The duke's men found the house empty. I thought you would be here, packing up to go home to Lancaster.”
Stephen froze. His mind raced, trying to come up with an excuse that would explain everything without giving either his father or his sister an opportunity to fault him for the missing maid. “My apologies, father. I didn't expect their arrival. One of the maids ran off with some of the petty cash, and I went looking for her for a while. I can't say what the other two maids were doing in the mean time, but they’re here now.”
His father shook his head. “I thought your sister had those maids well-trained, or at least well-enchanted to be loyal. Her tutor gave her excellent marks in enchantment. She'll be very disappointed to be short on help.”
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Sitting at a table tucked away in the corner of the inner keep’s kitchen with only Maude for company, Gregor sipped his ale and stared at what he hoped was the final list of brides for the duke. If the duke had simply chosen to marry Elizabeth or Sabine and then took on willing attractive lesser nobles and gentry as mistresses, he thought to himself, this would be a much less complicated affair. That would be normal for a young duke feeling his oats, as much as anything could be said to be normal for a young duke.
Frankly, though, the duke didn't even seem that interested in womanizing. Maude didn't even think he was interested in women at all, at least not yet. She had suggested that it might take him an extra decade or two given his unusual heritage. Gregor frowned. It was possible. Something had been bothering him for a while.
“What are you thinking?” Maude asked, taking a sip of tea.
“Just that we're missing something,” he said. “Why aren't they all beautiful? Like Sabine?”
“Beautiful?” she asked. “The duchesses are all pretty enough, except maybe Merilda. They're young healthy women. The reason they aren't all stunningly beautiful is that we didn't narrow down his list to the most beautiful ones. We just assumed he'd pick the one he found most beautiful out of all of the ones we thought were acceptable.”
“And he doesn't care if they're beautiful,” Gregor mused. “He’s just been purely practical, at least until now with Sabine.”
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Maude nodded. “That's right. He's trying very hard to be a good duke and solve the problem that Marcus and I put in front of him. So now we have eight very confused young women who don't really know what they're getting into with one very earnest duke.”
“Eight?” Gregor asked. “I feel like I’m losing count. You think none of them have figured him out?”
“Well, in the long term, I’m told, the number will end up being seven,” she amended. “Fiona said as much to Isolde, and she had the assistance of an archmage-diviner in that matter. But if Rose is out and Sabine is in, the number is eight for now. With all the divinations she’s done, Fiona probably knows Avery’s mind better than he does. I'm not sure she knows her own mind, though.”
“She seems very set on this,” Gregor said. “Isolde made that clear.”
“She is,” Maude agreed. “I've seen her talk to the duke. She seems determined to make this work, but I doubt she’s really thought through what it means to share one man between so many wives. I think I could have at least gotten Merilda out of the mix if not for Fiona.”
“I wonder which of the girls he picked will be the first to get pregnant,” Gregor mused, topping off his cup from the pitcher.
“The first to find out she's pregnant, you mean?" Maude frowned. “Short of divination magic, it's hard to be sure right away. And in Fiona’s case, as she shows her elf blood in her physiology, she may be pregnant for some two or three years before giving birth.”
Maude paused. “The moment one of them is known to be pregnant, we'll have to be on guard for all kinds of trouble. I'm worried that the duchesses might start poisoning each other once they start getting pregnant.”
“That's a very depressing idea,” Gregor said. “Do you think they would?”
“Probably not,” Maude said. “Hopefully not. But I’ve seen more poisonings over succession issues than I care to name. The whole thing is very delicate, the future duchesses are all intelligent enough to know that, and a lot of people suddenly change once they have their child's interests to look after.”
“And the duke is new to the job,” Gregor said. “He's still figuring out how to handle things. That makes him more vulnerable to being manipulated.”
“Exactly,” Maude said. “We need to be on our guard, because every single one of his duchesses has the means, motive, and opportunity to manipulate him and undermine each other.”
“They can't lie to him, at least,” Gregor said. “He can tell. And we don't think he's in love with any of them. He may not even be capable of love.”
Maude shook his head. “He's definitely capable of love. He loves his family, he loves York, he loves those strange wolfhounds the old duke bred. Lust, I'm not as sure of yet, but he'll grow into it soon enough if he hasn't yet. The way he made an exception for Sabine makes me wonder. She's a perfect mage-sculpted beauty.”
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"We's the Lady Sabine's maids, milord," the woman said, bowing deeply. "Begging your pardon, milord, we's come to serve her here. Just send us to her quarters, we's make ready and stay out of your way, milady."
Marcus shook his head. "She was just visiting the other night," he said. "Surely she has gone by now."
"Milord, we's told our mistress is to be married to the duke," the woman said, and then bowed deeply again. "She hasn't returned to her family in town. Please to beg forgiveness, milord, the mistress's father said he'd word from the duke himself yestereve, milord. Is it possible you's mistaken?"
Marcus held back an exasperated sigh. Your Grace, there are two women here claiming to be here to serve Sabine. And that she's marrying you. I thought you had told me that you had enough brides.
I did, Avery sent back as he hacked at a pell in the courtyard. Sabine convinced me that she was worth it. With everything going on yesterday, I forgot to tell you directly. I'd thought you'd have heard.
Were you enchanted, milord? The symptoms can be subtle. The seneschal frowned at the two women, and waved a guard forward. “Escort these two to the keep,” he said aloud.
No. I didn't decide until after she was asleep. The duke knocked another chip of wood out of the pell. Fiona's master, the archmage – he said he didn't see any sign I was under an enchantment when I spoke with him earlier that morning.
They could be in cahoots, Your Grace. The seneschal resumed his walk along the top of the curtain wall. Wizards working together.
Not likely, the duke said. He wasn't lying to me when he said that.
Are you sure you can tell when an archmage lies, Your Grace? Magic can do many things. The seneschal paused, looking at some lichen growing on the outside of the wall. You might not know.
By this point, I have noticed him lying now and again, so I feel more confident, the duke sent, leaning on his poleaxe and breathing heavily. Whenever you hear the word “coincidence” or the phrase “by chance” emerge from his lips, you can safely assume he's lying. The man knows a lot more than he lets on. He also doesn't trust Sabine one bit. He told me that any good actress could easily fool me into thinking she's sworn honestly. Then I asked him if he expected a war with Lancaster, and he lied when he told me no.
Considering the latest news from James about Cornwall, that doesn't sound good, the seneschal said. In that case, I should have men clearing brush around the outer city walls. I should look into dredging the ditches lining the outer walls, too, I doubt Lucas had it done any time in the last twenty years.
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Maude stopped in the doorway. “Why is there a bathtub in the sitting room?”
"Because this is my chamber now," Sabine said, crossing her arms over her breasts. "And I wanted to take a bath. Unless you wish to clear a more suitable room for my use? I've heard you've already promised away the duke's solar."
“It's not a matter of what rooms are available,” Maude replied. “This is a matter of decorum. This isn't some pleasure palace. It's a proper castle. You can't just wander around naked in the sitting room.”
“Oh, yes, I can,” Sabine said. “I am the duchess of York. I have every right to bathe in whatever room I please.”
“You're not a duchess yet,” Maude said. “This is my castle.”
“So you say,” Sabine said, uncrossing her arms and placing them on her hips. “But you're not the duke, and won't ever be the duke. You're not even the seneschal. You've just been living here as a guest of the duke. I'm not sharing a bed with you, either. If you want to be of assistance, arrange for a proper bed to be brought up here. I slept on the couch last night, and it was less than fully comfortable. Be off with you. And shut the door, for the sake of decorum. I'd prefer not to be naked in front of the whole castle, thank you very much.”
Maude glared. Young women could be very annoying at that age, she reminded herself. Isolde still was, sometimes. “We will talk about this later,” she said, and shut the door.
Then she glared at the door. The most annoying part of it was that she couldn't think of a better room to convert into Sabine's personal chamber. Not unless she managed to get rid of some of Avery's extra brides and freed up a room in the solar, and the less desirable ones were already packed two and three to a chamber.
No, she corrected herself. The most annoying part is that the brat is right – I haven’t any right of authority over her. If I want my sitting room free of bathtubs, I’ll have to beg Avery to force the issue. She sighed deeply. At least Sabine is a suitable duchess. Nobody interacting with that woman will ever mistake her for a woman of lesser social rank.