they both had loved the baron, and that Lorena's spirit would undoubtedly join the spectral menagerie that inhabited the castle. She made a mental note to avoid Lorena's room as she now did her mother's.
Soon after, Peto stood in front of the raised dining table at the end of the great hall. He was flanked by his generals, and some of the petty nobles of Sundell. His own troops ringed the hall, swords unsheathed, ready for use. 'Baron Mihael Obour, come forward,' Peto called.
Marishka turned to Ilsabet. 'He uses Mihael's title!' she whispered. 'A good sign.'
Mihael moved forward, somewhat uneasily, Ilsabet noted with satisfaction. When he stood in front of the assembly, Peto continued, 'Baron Mihael Obour, you have agreed to pledge your life to me?'
In response, Mihael knelt and kissed the boot of the victor. 'I am yours to command,' he said.
'Then this is my command. I ask that you take charge of this castle and the lands around it. That you rule in my place as I would rule, that you give me a monthly accounting of all matters of state. That you…'
Ilsabet saw Jorani standing at the other side of the room, waiting to swear to his new lord. He'd grown up in these walls with her father, and she wondered if he was remembering that past now. If he did, he gave no indication as he followed Mihael and pledged his faith.
The other nobles of Kislova followed, seeming almost eager to swear allegiance to their new lord. The generals went next, beginning with the troop commander, Raimundi, ending with old General Noire.
'Marishka Obour,' Peto called next.
'Don't do it,' Ilsabet whispered.
Marishka looked at Ilsabet as if certain she'd gone mad. Still weeping, she went forward. Trembling, she knelt and swore as the others had, then kissed the baron's foot. She was so overcome with grief that Peto had to help her to her feet. Just for a moment, he paused and looked into her face, as if noticing her great beauty for the first time.
Then came the moment Ilsabet had been waiting for. The audacity of her plan filled her with terror and excitement. Peto called her name. She did not move from her place in the crowd. 'Ilsabet Obour!' he repeated.
She remained where she was, though the crowd parted around her, and Mihael glared at her.
'Come forward,' Peto repeated, more gently, as if fear that kept her away.
'No,' she replied simply.
Mihael moved to her side. 'Father asked that we do this,' he whispered fiercely.
'Father ordered that you do this,' she replied in a whisper loud enough for those nearby to hear. 'The rest of us can do as we choose. Perhaps father's order is something Baron Peto should know.' Whatever arguments Mihael might have raised vanished at the force of her threat.
'This is an embarrassment,' he went on.
'Embarrassment! These are our conquerors. I will not pledge,' she declared. Before the argument grew any hotter, she pulled her father's signet ring off her finger and held it up for all to see. 'No one will ever take his place,' she said, then threw it to the ground, cracking the crystal seal with the heel of her boot.
Peto seemed uncertain how to act. It was her age,
Ilsabet decided; that and her sex. If it had been Mihael who stood so boldly against Peto, he would be dead by now. Nonetheless, she fully expected death. She folded back the corners of her cloak and pulled her father's dagger from her belt. Holding it high, she cried, 'The war is not over, Peto Casse of Sundell-not as long as there are those who revere my father's memory. If you wish me to pledge to save my life, I will do so, but in truth you know how much I will mean it.'
Jorani moved to Peto's side and said, 'She was the favorite of her father. No one loved him as she did.'
'I see that,' Peto answered, then faced Ilsabet. 'I hope to one day have a daughter that so honors me,' he declared and moved closer to her; but not within striking distance, Ilsabet noted with satisfaction. 'I would not ask you to swear allegiance to me with his memory so keen in your mind. But until you do, you are confined to this castle. Regard it as your home.'
'My home! Peto, it always has been my home. It will forever be!' She turned and stalked from the hall. Once out of sight, she leaned against the wall, tried to breathe deeply, and coughed. Her body was trembling, and her hands felt icy cold. She'd fully expected to share her father's fate.
Jorani joined her in the hall. 'Your brother is inside, placating our uninvited host,' he said. 'May I walk with you to your chambers and talk with you a while?'
'To convince me to bow before him as my sister did?'
'Not at all. After I recovered from my shock, I realized that you did a very brave thing in there.'
'Then, yes, come with me. There's no one whose company I cherish more.'
The outer doors had been left open, but the dry warmth of the castle kept the fog at bay. Even so, the lower stairs were darkened by the damp, and beads of moisture had formed on the marble handrail. They climbed the stairs and passed through the cold hall to Ilsabet's chambers. Inside, she gave in to her weakness, wrapping herself in a blanket and falling into a chair.
Jorani took a close look at her and rang the bell. Greta appeared soon after. 'Bring some hot tea for your mistress,' Jorani said. 'And something to eat?'
Ilsabet nodded gratefully.
Jorani settled in the chair that faced hers. 'I would wait to discuss some matters with you, Ilsabet, but I don't think time will mend your grief.'
'You're going to tell me that I should go on with my life, or some other platitude?'
'Only that your hatred is misdirected. None of this was Baron Peto's fault; it was fate.'
'It was the rebel I let live who warned Peto,' Ilsabet blurted.
'No, some slip of a girl no older than you stole through the lines and heard your father and I planning the move. But even that isn't important. If Dark hadn't crossed the border to warn Peto, someone else would have done so. You are not responsible, believe me.'
Ilsabet remembered the 'slip of a girl*. She'd judged the girl to be as harmless as Peto judged her to be. No use confessing her tragic stupidity to Jorani. He'd blame fate, not her.
'The point I am making is that most Kislovans welcome Baron Peto's victory,' Jorani continued. 'And if you oppose him so openly, you will not have the support of your people, or of his.'
'Why should I care. I'll never rule.'
'Fate combined with a certain bit of strategy and luck has a way of making the impossible real. You're the only one of his children who inherited his intelligence. Use it well and in time perhaps…'
She looked at him incredulously. She had never even considered that possibility. 'What would you advise I do until then, swear my allegiance?'
'No. Be civil, even cordial to him, but never swear. He'll respect you that much more for your pride.'
And the others that much less, she thought, but did not say it.
Exhausted by grief and tumult, Marishka left the hall early. By the time she reached her chamber, she was once more in tears. As she stepped inside, she saw Ilsabet waiting for her. Ilsabet pointed at her.
Marishka flinched, expecting to be struck. Though Ilsabet was smaller than she, Marishka had no taste for fighting and had been beaten often when young.
'I saw how you looked at him after you kissed his foot. Peto may be handsomer than your pet in the guards, but you didn't have to gape at him with such obvious longing when your father's ashes were still smoldering outside.'
'I wasn't gaping at him, at least not that way.'
'No? It didn't once cross your mind that you could make a match like Lorena's with father?'
Marishka's face reddened. 'Get out,' she said.
'Your son would inherit Sundell and Kislova,' Ilsabet continued.
'Get out! I have no intention of marrying him or my 'pet' in the guards, or anyone.'
Ilsabet gripped her sister's wrist, squeezing hard enough to bring tears to Marishka's eyes. 'See that you stay away from him. The Obour family has its pride.'
'I may have no choice!' Marishka blurted. 'Mihael commented on the way the baron looked at me. If he gives me in marriage, what can I do?'
