'A simple thing-refuse. Be certain you do.'
'What if I'm forced to marry him? Mihael has that right.'
'Then be certain Peto never loves you.'
Even after Ilsabet had gone, Marishka wept, only now she had one more reason to add to the rest. If
Lorena were still alive, she could go to the woman for advice. Without her, Marishka felt utterly alone, for she'd had no other friends.
SIX
Two nights later, Peto and his generals sat in places of honor at a feast hosted by Mihael. Though the food had been prepared by Peto's own favorite cooks, it seemed dry and tasteless to him.
Since he'd witnessed Lady Lorena's death, he'd thought of it at the most inexplicable times. He used to find the sight of flames soothing, but not anymore. And tonight the glimpse of a serving girl's leg made him think of Lorena burning on the pyre.
When he'd assumed she'd immolated herself out of custom, he'd thought her death barbaric. When he'd learned that Janosk had released her from that duty, her death troubled him more. Did nothing stop the fanaticism of these people?
At least the son seemed level-headed. As for Mar-ishka, sitting so silently at her place at the table, he had to admit that he'd never seen a more lovely creature among all the noble maidens of Sundell.
Though her hair was piled high on her head and arranged in beautiful ringlets that glowed in the candlelight, though her eyes were accented with kohl, no amount of dress or makeup could disguise the expression of terrible sorrow on her face. Peto was the source of it, of course, but he longed to sit beside her, hold her hand and comfort her. In time, he thought, and turned to Mihael sitting beside him.
He looked as sad as his sister, and yet Peto thought there was almost a euphoria in the keen interest Mihael spent on all aspects the feast, and in the way he seemed to exude an unsure independence as he ordered the courses served, the entertainment to come forward. All of this made Peto wonder if Baron Janosk had been a tyrant to his children as well as his people.
'I'd like you to dismiss your remaining troops as soon as possible,' Peto said, trying to make this sound like a suggestion rather than an order. 'But I don't want the wounded to leave until they're well enough to travel.'
'It won't make any difference. I suspect their own families will slip knives into most of them the first time they fall asleep.'
'Was the rebellion so terrible?'
'The rebellion!' Mihael looked ready to laugh, and for the first time Peto realized that the thin youth had consumed far too much ale. 'No, it was what we did. We…' Mihael stopped abruptly and looked down into his flagon, as if the amber liquid could drown his memories rather than make them more acute. 'No need to speak of it. Though I'd hoped to one day rule in my father's place, I'm glad the fighting is over.'
'And I, as well,' Peto agreed. His estimation for the young man was growing. 'What will happen to your sisters now?' he asked.
'Marishka's life will change, and not for the better, I think. She was raised to understand that she would one day marry for reasons of state.'
'So now she can marry for affection.'
'It's not what Marishka expected. Do you understand?'
Peto stared openly at the girl, saw her glance his way, then looked down again. A blush was spreading across her cheeks. He signaled a servant to pour Mihael another flagon. 'Elaborate if you would,' he said.
'She has put all her likes and dislikes on hold while she waited for someone to be chosen for her. Then, she would have become exactly the sort of person her husband desired.'
'She doesn't seem as passive as that,' Peto commented.
'Believe me, it was a survival technique. I think she tolerated the isolation of our upbringing far better than I did.'
'And Ilsabet?'
'You confined her to the castle. There'll be no change in her life because of that. She spends most of her time in her own chambers or the tower studying who knows what with Jorani. She never leaves unless she is… that is, unless she was asked to by Father or Jorani. Neither of my sisters really knows what happened out there during those months of war.'
'You were there?'
'No, but I made it a point to hear, if only to understand the problems I would have inherited had he fallen in battle. Over half the people of Kislova are dead, two villages were completely wiped out-children and women as well as men. Yes, I'm glad the fighting is over.'
Outstanding children, all of them, Peto thought-Mihael for his candor, Ilsabet for her bravery, and Marishka simply because of the shape of her lips, the beauty of her green eyes and golden hair. Peto had a weakness for beauty. He thought that ail men did, but only the most honest would ever admit it.
'Would I be violating some custom if I spoke a few words to Marishka?'
Mihael looked at him curiously, then with growing understanding. 'It would put her mind at ease.'
Peto was aware of the youth watching him as he moved down the table to a vacant chair next to Mar-ishka. Mihael had ambition; that much was certain. From the young man's expression, Peto assumed he was already considering the advantages of a match between them.
With Mihael's last words fixed in his mind, Peto began to speak to the girl. 'I want you to know that I have no desire to disrupt your life. Continue to live here with your servants as long as you desire.'
She looked at him, her green eyes showing the first tiny spark of happiness. 'I had hoped you'd give me leave to stay,' she said. 'I've never lived anywhere else.'
'How do you pass the time?'
She pointed to the bellpull next to the lord's chair. It was a beautiful design of flowers and ferns. 'That was my first piece. I've done others as well. Lorena recently started a large tapestry with me, but I've no desire to finish it alone.'
'I'm sorry she died. We don't have that custom in my land.'
'Nor here,' Marishka said. 'It was her people who made her take the vow.'
'But he released her.'
'It was their custom. How could Lorena have gone back to her family with her husband dead?'
'Why did she have to go back at all?'
Marishka looked puzzled. Peto felt a twinge of disillusionment at how narrow the girl's goals must be. Even so, Peto had to admit that the thought of a match between them-some time from now when the grief of her father's death was over-would be both physically passionate and politically expedient.
Besides, the demands of Sundell often took him away from home. Better to have a beautiful, placid wife; a mother for his children who wouldn't contradict him.
And yet, it was with a pang of sadness that he thought honestly how ideal it would be if the spirited Ilsabet had some measure of her sister's beauty, or if she showed some signs of forgiving his necessary act, enough at least to attend the dinner.
Jorani's hidden tower room had no windows to alert anyone outside to its existence. Whatever air circulated in it came from cracks in its inside wall or rose from the base of the tower itself. It had the musty scent of river fog, and in the flickering lamplight Ilsabet saw bits of deep green moss growing in the corners.
Jorani had taken advantage of the diversion of the night's feast to show it to Ilsabet. She'd expected to see piles of scrolls and dust-covered spell books, silver amulets, precious gems, the magical lights of a wizard's den. Instead, she saw nothing more than cages of insects and bundles of dried plants, a handful of scrolls and a single ancient-looking book on the room's only table-a slab of marble mounted on the sort of granite the castle was built of.
'The baron who built the tower added this room to the final plans. According to the old accounts left here,
