Authors: Sean Stewart
As Richard galloped away Gail grabbed Mark’s reins and turned the grey mare’s head around. “And all this,” she said with a grin and a wide sweep of her riding crop, “belongs to you!”
It was a fair country of tangled grass and wildflowers and a scattering of heather. A few smallish trees jutted from the plain, mountain ash and poplar. They were standing on the old North Way, at a place where long ago it had forked. The east branch ran toward Fenwold, the province ruled by Sir Deron’s horse-faced aunt. The other arm led down to Borders, but it had been long abandoned. All that now remained was a raised dike, a wrinkle snaking northwest through the meadows and down to the river valley.
Mark dismounted and knelt on the ground, thinking how this had been a road once, leading to a place men called home. Strings of shepherd’s purse tangled with the long grass on the sloping dike. Cleavers grew there too, and plantains, whose leaves stretched like taffy when you pulled on them. Smith’s George’s wife made an ointment out of plantain and elder leaves to put on cuts and burns and bruises, Mark remembered. He wished he had a pot to slather on his backside.
He reached beneath a plantain’s leaves and let his hand rest on the cool ground. Where he had grabbed the cold black dagger his right palm tingled; he imagined roots sinking down from it, running into the earth.
Roots; or rain; or blood. As if his blood went flowing out of him, hot and rich into the earth to wake it after long winter, draining from his body into the thirsty ground.
He pulled back his hand, feeling faint and weak. The frost-white scar on his palm had grown. What had Stargad said? ‘Stay the dagger must, or the heart will bleed.’
The heart will bleed.
The grassy plain stretched out around him, tinged red with sunset and his blood.
“Good country.” Gail brushed back her straight bangs and smiled. “And now it belongs to you.”
Slowly Mark stood up, shaking his head. “I belong to it,” he said.
They ambled along the top of the broad dike, gilded by the westering sun. Shadow hooves flashed and flickered behind them, and they were pursued by shadowy riders, bent by the slope of the dike, who drifted like dark clouds over the grasslands.
They set camp in the early evening. Soon the old road would turn to the north and run along the river valley.
“I’m off to fetch some game for dinner,” Gail announced, brandishing her short bow stave and fetching a waxed string from her pocket. “Who wants to come with me?”
Lissa smiled politely. “I would rather be eaten by wild dogs,” she observed, shaking out a tarp.
Valerian looked at Mark. “Er, perhaps the Duke would—”
“Don’t know nowt about hunting,” Mark said briskly. “And I’m not getting back on a horse today for any money.”
“But—”
“Great!” Gail clapped Val stoutly on the shoulder. “You can use that spy-glass of yours to spot our game. I’ll send you to beat the bushes.” She considered the thickets of the river valley. “Ought to be some good stuff in there: deer, maybe, or wild boar.”
Valerian’s arched eyebrows flapped up like scared owls. Then, seeing Lissa’s eye on him, he stiffened, turning his elegant hat slowly in his plump white hands, and smiled with the best grace he could muster. “Your servant, Princess. However I can serve the Crown…” Gail grinned, strapped a quiver on her back, and stumped off toward the river. Val swung himself back on his mount and ambled after her, casting Mark a look of mild reproach.
Oh. Shite. You just cocked up his chance to be alone wi’ Lissa, you stupid bugger.
Too late now
. Mark winced his apology to Val, and waved goodbye.
“I had an uncle once, wounded in the hunt,” Lissa said, tightlipped. She was unpacking their saddlebags, taking out food and kit and oilcloths with brisk, angry motions.
What the hell is she mad about?
“I’m sorry to hear it,” Mark said, confused.
But this isn’t about your uncle, is it? That would be too simple
.
Lissa continued unpacking in silence. Duke Richard had been lavish in his gifts. Smoked meat they had, and bread, cheese and wine and a clutch of cherry tarts. They even had a stoppered flask of oil, and a lamp to use it in; they could cook over its flame, if firewood was scarce. Mark unbuckled the saddlebags on his grey mare.
“It won’t be long to twilight,” Lissa snapped.
Mark turned as if stung. Lissa rarely spoke to him unless she had to, and never in such an angry tone. “Look you, if you’ve summat to say, spit it out.”
Lissa turned, and raked him with a glance of cold contempt. “I am not some village wench for you to push around, cousin. Do not tell
me
what to do!”
Mark spat deliberately and stood with his hands on his hips. “Now I’ve tried wi’ you, Lissa. I know you are no village wench. You’re a lady-in-waiting from a noble family,” he said slowly. “But I am your bloody Duke.
“You are my servant, Lissa. By forge or farm I’ve been a free man all my life, though there’s been dirt beneath my fingernails. But you are a servant. You serve me now, me and mine. And when I give you an order, by God you’ll do it! Do I make myself clear—girl?”
Lissa’s face went white with rage.
It was the “girl” that capped it, Mark decided. After weeks of saying “coz” and “cousin” like they did at Court, he’d called her as they called the chamber-maids.
That felt just as nice as hitting her.
Good.
God it feels good to be angry
. “That galls you, doesn’t it Lissa? You grew up wi’ Gail, but now you’ve got to call her mistress. She doesn’t give you orders; you’ve got your own funny bargain struck between you. But I’m not in the bargain, Lissa. I’m your Duke and I can order you around any time I like. So get this, and get it good. I’m tired of your bullshit. You’re the only servant I’ve got and I
need
you. You know things I won’t ever learn. So when you’ve got something to say to me that matters, you say it straight. That’s your job. Understand?”
Hell
, Mark decided in the ensuing silence,
looks a lot like a pair of blue eyes
.
“My lord, I understand.”
Mark waited.
“I will never forget this.”
Mark shrugged. “I like a lass you don’t have to tell twice.”
“/
should not have to say these things
. You should not make me,” Lissa said, voice shaking with anger. “Very well, my lord. As servant to my mistress and to you, I ask you to consider what it is you let Gail do. Dark is falling fast and there she goes, with no one to protect her. What if bandits come upon her, or that boar of which she spoke?”
Mark’s anger dwindled. “Val’s with her, isn’t he?”
“Is Valerian a hero?”
“He’s a noble.”
“Gail does not need a noble here!” Lissa yelled. “She needs a sword-arm, not a spy-glass at her side! Worse than useless are you to the Princess at Court. To compound this by leading her into the wild and leaving her! Incredible!
“Gail is daughter to the King! Her husband should be a shield for her, not a walking target. Who will keep her from the poison sting of intrigue—you? Who will run her house—you? Have you provided for her carriages and costume, picked her out a clothier, cook, a chamber-maid? A steward, almoner, chaplain or physician? What if she falls ill of fever—who then will you call? I am no friend of Richard’s, but at least the Duke had offered us a civil refuge until your household was complete.
“I thought her lucky to escape his hand; little did I know she would be sold to one who loved her less than carpentry!
“Gail is not a piece of trash for you to use and throw away! She deserves a husband who will place above all things her honour and her safety and her happiness, who strives to make her glad in every hour of the day and does not ask for thanks, but feels blessed to warm himself beside the fire of her soul.”
Falling silent at last, Lissa stood with her fine head tilted proudly.
“Someone like you,” Mark said.
Lissa shuddered, drawing a deep breath, then looked away and wiped her eyes unladylike, with the palm of her hand.
Mark thought he saw a flash from near the river valley; it might have been the sunset glinting on Val’s copper spyglass. Gail he could not see. “You win. I feel like shite.”
Lissa laughed raggedly. “I never yet knew happiness to follow from plain speaking.”
“Not in the short run,” Mark agreed. “But I still fancy it. I heard a little bit of the real Lissa there; I liked her better than the fake one. Even if she didn’t like me.”
“I will endeavour to express myself more gently, lord.”
“No ‘my lords’! No ‘honours’ or ‘cousins’ either: we’re not family, you and I.”
“No more ‘girls,’ then.”
Mark nodded. “No more ‘girls’. Just Mark and Lissa.”
“That will not do in Swangard. Honour is another form of power in this land. For Gail’s sake I cannot let you fritter yours away: it is a shield against malice and envy.”
Mark shrugged. “Do as you think best, then. But when we’re just by ourselves, Mark will do. Gail too: no more ‘my mistress’.”
Lissa winced. “That is your sovereign will?”
“Aye.”
“To such familiarity it will be hard to school my tongue—or Gail’s ear.”
Mark snickered. “It’ll be good for her.” He gazed again toward the river valley. What if Lissa was right? What if some great-whiskered boar lay waiting in the bushes for Valerian and Gail?
Lissa must have seen his look. “My fear spoke louder than my reason. I doubt there is much danger; Valerian is no great flusher of game. If I were you, I would prepare to eat what Richard sent with us.”
“And is the Princess no great shot after all?”
“This I never said: few men I know can shoot a shaft so fair. Gail has killed her share of game, and skinned it too.”
Taking a tent peg from Mark, Lissa knelt to plant it without quite touching the ground.
Doesn’t want to dirty her walking skirt
, Mark realized.
And all that anger, run back into hiding like a stream under ice. What kind of woman is she, anyway? Not just the faceless lady she makes out to be. A stream under ice: slick and cold up top, but down below all fierce current and swirling stones
…
Lissa glanced slyly at him. “Gail does not always realize how much… preparation goes into a hunting expedition. Game perhaps is scarcer when the land has not been worked by, say, ten of Astin’s finest gamekeepers for hours before the Princess in her glory treads the field.”
“Ten!”
“The reflection always pained me, that Gail might have her day ruined by so small a thing as lack of game. I found ten keepers, more or less, sufficient to be sure she would not come home empty-handed.”
“Ten good men to scare up a bunny for a spoiled Princess! And she never knew?”
Lissa shrugged. “My duty is to smooth her way: discreetly, if I can. I like to think I do it well.”
Mark spat, impressed.
Sharp as a knife and quiet as the grave, this Waiting Lady is
. Mark loved good tools, and he was beginning to realize that Lissa could be the best tool he’d ever have for dealing with the world of the Court.
If you can learn to handle her right, lad
.
“Uh, Lissa, I’ve a question for you. What happened yesterday, while you were out beating the bounds? Polecats get kinder looks than I got from Gail when you all came back.”
Lissa put up the tent poles. Carefully, she said, “The Duke spoke nothing ill of you, and much that might be good. He admired the speed with which you learned to ride. He expressed his heartfelt pleasure that, aside from trivialities of speech, your breeding barely showed. Gail, he thought, could not have come off better… given that she had no choice in wedding, but was forced to take a man to bed she never met before, and him a commoner as well.” Lissa’s fine, curved brows rose. “Do you understand? This was the burden of Duke Richard’s song: that in time you well might do a fine impersonation of a gentleman.”
“Is that how you all feel?” Mark said bitterly.
Lissa tilted her head to one side. “Why no, Mark. I cannot think that you will ever be a gentleman at all. What’s more,” she added quickly, “Gail would loathe you if you were.”
“But then why—”
“See through her eyes,” Lissa said impatiently. “Gail knows she wants some other life than balls and gowns and palaces; a husband who is more than braid and epaulets. She cannot flee farther from the Court than to your arms, God knows. But even though she did not crave her jewelled life, it is the only one she knows. However fine your qualities, you must lack virtues she heard always called important.”
“I’m Nobody’s Son, you mean.”
Lissa shrugged.
Soon they had the tent set up, a spacious beauty panelled inside with silk. Tonight Mark would sleep with his back on his land; and somehow that made it easier to be Nobody’s Son.
So you weren’t born a noble, to be given your land and wealth and title. You did summat better: you earned it, wi’ strength and courage and cunning. Here on this land, under these stars, you’re as great as any primping Jack in the country.
Squatting in front of the tent, he grinned at Lissa, feeling joy and triumph welling from the ground. His ground.
“You’re a deft hand at tent-setting. I wouldn’t have guessed it.”
Lissa studied her immaculate blue tail-coat, still unstained. “Gail has always been an ardent camper. When the weather warmed we used to sleep outside, in the Palace gardens,” she continued softly. “We pitched our tent behind the Laughing Fountain. There was a big magnolia there; on summer nights the blossoms glowed with moonlight; the breeze would make them sway like lanterns held by dancing angels.” Lissa sat down then, folding her legs beneath her. Sunset licked red flame onto the western clouds. “We stayed up late, of course, and went sneaking through the garden in the dark. Three times we found coy Teris with her lovers. Gail would snarl and snuffle like a wild thing, trying to scare them. Once from behind a shrub she reached and nipped one on the ankle. Half fox she was back then, and the other half less girl than goblin…”