“Reasonable, rather,” he said mildly, as Sanwar frowned at him. “A fit conclusion to a feud that has spanned generations, hurting both our Houses. A feud I consider, to use your own word, ridiculous.”
Sanwar ceased his pacing and turned on his brother. “Their treachery, their sabotage, that is nothing to you? I’ve devoted my time and what talent I possess in magic to protecting our caravans, trade routes, merchandise, employees and partners, from their machinations. If we lower our guard … they could very well wipe us off the face of Toril.”
Nicol sighed and wove his fingers together before him on the surface of the desk-a gesture familiar to those who did business with him. It meant he was prepared for a long round of negotiations and would not leave the table until a deal was struck.
“We have taken advantage of them in our turn, whenever possible. And just like you, I’ve had legends of the great feud dished into my ears since I was a babe. The villainy of the Jadarens is endless, I’ve been told, and we can never be at peace. Well, I’m weary of this so-called vendetta. Over what trifle, so many generations ago, did it start? No one remembers. And no one cares. And yet, the harm resulting from it has been immeasurable.”
“The Jadarens were born of a pirate, and they are still pirates at the core,” Sanwar spat. “However they may hide beneath a veil of respectability. Wed one of our own to their ill-bred spawn, and you pollute our House.”
Nicol let an expression of impatience pass across his features. “Really, Sanwar. We’re not the ruling family of Cormyr. Surely we don’t need to pretend that our bloodlines have anything of the sacred about them.”
“They might,” returned his brother. “They might, if you could bother to pay attention to such things.”
“What? Are we to breed ourselves like a pack of yuan-ti? Do calm yourself, Brother. Both our businesses will benefit from this bargain.”
“And what does Kestrel say to your proposal? What if she doesn’t want to become bound to a pirate’s spawn? Will you give her a choice in the matter?”
“Sanwar, what kind of a tyrant do you think I am? Of course, ultimately it’s her decision-and that of the Jadaren boy, this Arna.” Sanwar winced, as if the given name of a Jadaren scion could wound him. Nicol did his best to ignore his brother’s melodramatics. “But Kestrel is a sensible girl. I’m sure she’ll see the benefit to both our Houses.”
“I pray she’ll see reason, and that you’ll come to your senses, Brother,” said Sanwar, sweeping out of the chamber and slamming the door behind him.
Before he did, however, he glanced at the tapestries behind Nicol’s chair, which hid a small arras where the private papers of the Beguine family were kept. A ripple in the fabric betrayed where someone hid, and he would bet the entirety of the latest caravan’s profits that it was his niece. He hoped she had taken his words to heart and would take the path of sanity, and not sacrifice herself to his brother’s insane desire to treat with the Jadarens.
And if she proved as mad as her father, well-there were precautions he was prepared to take. And any bad situation could, in the end, be made into an opportunity.
Sanwar’s heavily booted footsteps had faded down the hall outside the chamber door before the tapestries were pulled aside and a small girl with chestnut hair to her waist stepped out. She wore a simple dress, well made but worn at the cuffs and hem, for Kestrel Beguine was a practical girl. As was customary for the women of her House, she worked diligently at the accounting and record keeping necessary for a merchant family to prosper, as well as taking her turn with kitchen and housekeeping work. Knowing she was there, Nicol didn’t look around, but she touched her father on the shoulder as she passed his desk, and he glanced up at her and smiled.
“You heard all, I trust?”
Calmly, Kestrel paced the same length of carpet that her uncle had before her.
“Of course. Uncle Sanwar’s not shy about his opinion of the Jadarens.”
“You should know there are many who share his views and would be equally shocked-although perhaps not as personally offended-at the idea of your wedding Arna Jadaren. And there are those within his House who despise the Beguine family deeply. We have done much injury to each other over the generations. I disagree with your uncle, but I would have you consider all the disadvantages as well as the benefits of this bargain.”
Kestrel clasped her hands behind in unconscious imitation of one of her father’s habitual poses, and faced Nicol across the desk.
“I have, Father. By my reckoning, we stand to lose two profitable alliances if I marry Arna Jadaren. House Andula’s matriarch has cared little for Bron Jadaren since she thought he cheated her out of a shipment of cedars ten years ago, and the Spicer’s Guild helped us in that little matter in the Year of the Wicked Jailor and will not look kindly upon a reversal of our loyalties.”
“Well reasoned. The question is whether the advantages of the match make the price worth it. And if so, is it worth it to you, personally, to sacrifice yourself in such a way?”
Kestrel smiled. “I’m sure House Jadaren considers it as much a sacrifice. I’m sure Arna has an uncle Sanwar of his own, shouting his outrage at the idea of polluting their sacred halls with my unworthy presence.”
Her expression grew serious. “I am of a mind with you, Father, in this matter. It’s time this feud and the hurts it inflicts ended. I will consent to the match, on one condition.”
“Only the one? Name it.”
Kestrel looked at the woven patterns of the rug and blushed. “On the condition that I like the boy.”
In his elegant and simple chambers, Sanwar fumed, furious at Nicol’s dismissal of the consequences of a Jadaren alliance and at his seeming incomprehension of the harm it would do. He was furious at his willingness to unite the proud name of Beguine with the despised name of Jadaren, and furious at his eagerness to sell a Beguine daughter as he would a whore.
He was furious most of all at Nicol’s ignoring his arguments against the scheme. In his heart of hearts, that was what smarted the most. His objection should be enough to overcome any kind of argument for the mad plan.
Sanwar had dedicated his life to the family business his brother headed, never demanding the trappings of leadership himself. He took a fierce pride in the Beguine legacy, and for the chief of the House to dismiss his concerns was like a slap in the face. And it hurt. This was his blood, his brother. Raised together, they had learned their numbers and the intricacies of the merchant trade together. It hurt to be ignored.
His pacing took him past the door of his chambers. A solid panel of oak, it was unadorned, save by a small and beautifully carved eye in the exact center. Beside the door he paused, frowning, and listened intently.
For years he had studied the arts of sorcery, independent and alone, knowing most of his House frowned upon the study of dark magic and resentful of the fact that his father-and Nicol’s-had forbidden him to travel to such a place as Netheril to study them properly. Despite his application and his ever-growing library of arcane books and scrolls, his skills were nowhere near where he’d like them to be.
He was not yet a master of magic, but his senses had been honed by study, and he was aware that someone lingered on the other side of the door, someone who either hesitated to make him- or herself known or who intended to lie in wait for him to emerge.
Sanwar held out his left hand, palm up and fingers spread, and murmured the first few words of a spell. Heat prickled down his fingers and began to gather in the hollow of his palm. But before he could engage the graven eye and before the spyspell worked upon it, before he could see who lurked on the other side, there came a gentle tap at his door.
Still holding his left hand out in readiness, he jerked the door open abruptly. With a muffled gasp, Vorsha Beguine, his sister-in-law, stumbled into the room amid a flurry of embroidered silks.
With a quick flick of his wrist, Sanwar dismissed the defensive spell gathering in his left hand and caught Vorsha by the elbow with the right. He quickly pushed the door shut, muttering a short silencing cantrip as he did so. It would not do for some curious servant to spy out what he and Vorsha got up to in his chambers.
Sanwar and his brother shared more than Nicol knew or suspected.
Vorsha Beguine was a wide-eyed wisp of a woman, with the thick chestnut hair that her daughter had inherited and a timid manner that Kestrel had not. Sanwar had found, however, that despite her shy manner and diffident nature, she was completely different in bed-passionate and sometimes surprisingly inventive.
Vorsha tried to be a good wife, if not a faithful one. She had remained true to Nicol during the first few years of their married life, but he was distracted much of the time conducting the business of one of the most far-reaching
