Incarceron

John Arlex, Warden of Incarceron, stood upright and flicked dust off himself with his gloves.

He was a tall, straight man, his beard carefully trimmed, his frockcoat and waistcoat of the finest brocade. It had been six months since she had seen him, but he looked exactly the same. No one of his status need show signs of age, but he didn't even seem to use a skinwand. He looked at her and smiled graciously; his dark hair, tied in the black ribbon, was elegantly silvered.

'Claudia. How well you look, my dear.'

She stepped forward and dropped a low curtsy, then his hand raised her and she felt the cold kiss. His fingers were always cool and slightly clammy, unpleasant to touch; as if he was aware of it, he usually wore gloves, even in warm weather. She wondered if he thought she had changed. 'As do you, Father,' she muttered.

For a moment he remained looking at her, the calm gray gaze hard and clear as ever.

Then he turned.

'Allow me to present our guest. The Queen's Chancellor. Lord Evian.'

The carriage rocked. An extremely fat man unfurled from it, and with him a wave of scent that seemed to roll almost visibly up the steps. Behind her Claudia sensed the servants' collective interest. She felt only dismay.

The Chancellor wore a blue silk suit with an elaborate ruffle at the neck, so high she wondered how he could breathe. He was certainly red in the face, but his bow was assured and his smile carefully pleasant. 'My lady Claudia. The last time I saw you, you were no more than a baby in arms. How delightful to see you again.'

She hadn't expected a visitor. The main guestroom was heaped with the half-sewn train of her wedding dress all over its unmade bed. She'd have to use delaying tactics.

'The honor is ours,' she said. 'Perhaps you'd like to come into the parlor. We have cider and newly baked cakes as refreshment after your journey.' Well, she hoped they did.

Turning, she saw three of the servants had gone and the gaps in the line had closed swiftly behind them. Her father gave her a cool look, then walked up the steps, nodding graciously along the row of faces that curtsied and bobbed and dropped their eyes before him.

Smiling tightly, Claudia thought fast. Evian was the Queen's man. The witch must have sent him to look the bride over. Well, that was fine by her. She'd been preparing for this for years.

At the door her father stopped. 'No Jared?' he said lightly.

'I hope he's well?'

'I think he's working on a very delicate process. He probably hasn't even noticed you've arrived.' It was true, but it sounded like an excuse. Annoyed at his wintry smile she led them, her skirts sweeping the bare boards, into the parlor. It was a wood-paneled room dark with a great mahogany sideboard, carved chairs, and a trestle table. She was relieved to see cider jugs and a platter of the cook's honeycakes among a scatter of lavender and rosemary.

Lord Evian sniffed the sweet scents. 'Wonderful,' he said. 'Even the Court couldn't match the authenticity.'

Probably because most of the Courts backdrop was computer-generated, she thought sweetly, and said, 'At the Wardenry, my lord, we pride ourselves that everything is in Era.

The house is truly old. It was restored fully after the Years of Rage.'

Her father was silent. He sat in the carved chair at the head of the table and watched gravely as Ralph poured the cider into silver goblets. The old man's hand shook as he lifted the tray. 'Welcome home, sir.'

'Good to see you, Ralph. A little more gray about the eyebrows, I think. And your wig fuller, with more powder.'

Ralph bowed. 'I'll have it seen to, Warden, immediately.'

The Warden's eyes surveyed the room. She knew he wouldn't miss the single pane of Plastiglas in the corner of the casement, or the prefabricated spiderwebs on the pargeted ceiling. So she said hastily, 'How is Her Gracious Majesty, my lord?'

'The Queen's in excellent health.' Evian spoke through a mouthful of cake. 'She's very busy with arrangements for your wedding. It will be a great spectacle.'

Claudia frowned. 'But surely ...'

He waved a plump hand. 'Of course your father hasn't had time to tell you about the change of plans.'

Something inside her went cold. 'Change of plans?'

'Nothing terrible, child. Nothing to concern yourself about. An alteration of dates, that's all.

Because of the Earl's return horn the Academy.'

She cleared her face and tried to allow none of her anxiety to show itself. But her lips must have tightened or her knuckles gone white, because her father stood smoothly and said, 'Show His Lordship to his room, Ralph.'

The old retainer bowed, went to the door, and creaked it open. Evian struggled up, a shower of crumbs cascading from his suit. As they hit the floor, they evaporated with minute flashes.

Claudia swore silently. Something else to get seen to.

They listened to the heavy footsteps up the creaking stairs, to Ralph's respectful murmurs and the rumble of the fat man's hearty enjoyment of the staircase, the paintings, the urns from China, the damask hangings. When his voice had finally faded in the sunlit distances of the house Claudia looked at her father. Then she said, 'You've brought the wedding forward.'

He raised an eyebrow. 'Next year, this year, what's the difference? You knew it would come.' 'I'm not ready ...'

'You've been ready for a long time.'

He took a step toward her, the silver cube on his watch chain catching the light. She stepped back. If he should drop the formal stiffness of the Era, it would be unbearable; the threat of his unveiled personality turned her cold. But he kept the smooth courtesy. 'Let me explain. Last month a message came from the Sapienti. They've had enough of your fiance. They've ... asked him to leave the Academy.'

She frowned. 'For what?'

'The usual vices. Drink, drugs, violence, getting serving girls pregnant. Sins of stupid young men throughout the centuries. He has no interest in education. Why should he?

He's the Earl of Steen and when he is eighteen he will be King.'

He walked to the paneled wall and looked up at the portrait there. A freckled cheekyfaced boy of seven looked down at them. He was dressed in a ruffled brown silk suit, and leaning against a tree.

'Caspar, Earl of Steen. Crown Prince of the Realm. Fine titles. His face hasn't changed, has it? He was merely impudent then. Now he's feckless, brutal, and thinks he is beyond control.' He looked at her. 'A challenge, your future husband.'

She shrugged, making the dress rustle. 'I can deal with him.'

'Of course you can. I've made sure of that.' He came over to her and stood before her, and his gray gaze appraised her. She stared straight back.

'I created you for this marriage, Claudia. Gave you taste, intelligence, ruthlessness. Your education has been more rigorous than anyone's in the Realm. Languages, music, swordplay, riding, every talent you even hinted at possessing I have nurtured. Expense is nothing to the Warden of Incarceron. You are an heiress of great estates. I've bred you as a queen and Queen you will be. In every marriage, one leads, one follows. Though this is merely a dynastic arrangement, it will be so here.'

She looked up at the portrait. 'I can handle Caspar. But his mother ...'

'Leave the Queen to me. She and I understand each other.' He took her hand, holding her ring finger lightly between two of his; tense, she held herself still.

'It will be easy,' he breathed.

In the stillness of the warm room a wood pigeon cooed outside the casement.

Carefully, she took her hand from his and drew herself up. 'So, when?'

'Next week.'

'Next week!'

'The Queen has already begun preparations. In two days we set off for Court. Make sure you're ready.'

Claudia said nothing. She felt empty, and stunned.

John Arlex turned toward the door. 'You've done well here. The Era is impeccable, except for that window. Get it changed.'