A Father’s Visit

Here’s a piece I worked on to resolve some personal feelings and issues. It’s more or less a first draft of something I might elaborate on in the future.

I hope you enjoy it. Any thoughts or suggestions would be appreciated.

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There were thunderstorms over Asani, and the skyship took a tremendous buffeting in the rough air. Denna rode it out in the passenger hold, trying not to think of the jagged peaks below. His one consolation was that all the other passengers were there, too, high-born and common, all holding on or praying or puking as the etheric lamps flickered around them. For once, he reflected, rank made no difference. 

They finally came through the storms into clear air, and spent the last day crossing Girgal in smooth flight. The captain permitted the passengers back on the weather deck, a relief after the hold. Denna soaked in the sun, watched the vast, brown plains pass underneath, and tried to quell his growing case of nerves. 

Aerlith came into view as the third day was drawing to a close. Denna strained his eyes to pick out the towers and walls and temples as they came closer to the city. This was a homecoming, after all, and he was pleased to find he could discern most of the landmarks he remembered, although there had been plenty of new construction in the last sixteen years. 

He wondered if the ship was going to miss berthing because of darkness, but the captain guided it in smoothly by the last red rays of the setting sun. The ship gently grounded in its berth, and there was an almost universal sigh of relief among the passengers gathered on deck. 

The disembarking, of course, went by rank. Denna had to wait his turn. Only a few poor laborers, contract-men brought in from Jarha for the work on the Grand Canal, were behind him. He resisted the urge to bounce from foot-to-foot with nerves. 

Finally coming down the gangplank, he exploited his height to peer over the heads of those ahead of him. The quayside was lit with dull yellow etheric lanterns, so with the fading daylight the illumination was uncertain. A crowd stood by the foot of the gangplank, and there were a great many greetings, embraces and names called out as the passengers mingled in. Denna tried to make out faces, but it wasn’t until he was actually on the quay and looking about that he caught sight of one that was familiar– Sathon. 

His old comrade had to push through the crowd to reach him, which allowed Denna a moment to cover his surprise, and disappointment. Sathon was just the same as he had been twenty years before, except for the extra weight, and the wide bald spot that dully gleamed in the lantern light. His infectious grin was certainly the same, and the firm handshake he gave Denna as they clasped hands.   

“Denna!” Sathon exclaimed. “Damn, it’s good to see you! Still the tower, ha!”

“Sathon,” Denna managed, “I didn’t expect you.”

“Well, they had to send someone you knew,” Sathon said, “while keeping it low-key. Sure enough, Ladera herself wasn’t coming to meet you.”

It hadn’t been Ladera Denna had been most particularly looking for, but he said, “No, of course not.”

Outside the docks a carriage waited. Sathon bundled Denna aboard and rapped on the ceiling. The conveyance lurched forward with a start that almost pitched Denna into Sathon’s lap. 

“These Unsasan drivers,” Sathon grumbled, “they got a heavy hand, every one of them. Otherwise you can’t find folk who know more about horse handling, but it makes for an interesting ride, sometimes.”

Denna braced himself– the carriage was picking up speed– and said, “Sending you out to collect me seems like an awfully menial task for an Overcommander of the Fifth Watch.” 

“Ah,” Sathon said, “I didn’t mind, and Ladera wanted it done properly. I am your official watchdog while you’re in Aerlith, old friend, and it could be my head if I don’t deliver you to the wedding on time and undamaged.”

“Oh,” Denna said, blinking, “surely not. The father of the bride isn’t that important.”

Sathon peered at Denna. “Well, in the current situation you should put that idea out of your head right now.”

After veering through the upper city at speeds that worried Denna, the carriage passed through outer barbicans and portals. Denna glimpsed towers and musket-shouldering guards and realized they were in the New Wing of the citadel. “You’re bringing me here?” he asked Sathon. 

His friend held up a hand. “Now, don’t take it the wrong way. Orders are to keep you close by and safe. For sure, they weren’t going to let you lodge down in the lower city, that’s certain. Almost a guarantee of you getting robbed, or worse, the way things are these days.”

“I suppose,” Denna said. “You have to admit, though, it’s a little disconcerting. I’m either an honored guest or a political prisoner of the first rank.”

“I said not to take it the wrong way!” Sathon exclaimed. 

They left the carriage in a courtyard, and a sleepy-looking young guardsman with a lantern took them up to a set of chambers in the Eagle Bastion. Denna, despite Sathon’s words, half-expected to find a dank cell with spiderwebs in the corners. The actual rooms, though, were warm, dry and well-appointed, with a large, comfortable-looking bed, a water-closet and a fire laid and burning brightly in the fireplace. The place even had a balcony overlooking the city. Denna suppressed a sigh of relief. 

“There, as I told you,” Sathon said. “You’re not a prisoner, but a guest– an important one.”

“As you say,” Denna said. “It’s just– well, with the history between me and Ladera….”

“Another thought you should put out of your head,” Sathon said. “This isn’t about what happened before, it’s about the future, and launching it properly. Come, let’s have a drink.”

A stoppered flask of wine stood on a table by the fire, with cups. Two chairs stood by the table. They sat, and Sathon poured for both of them. “Ah,” he said when he had tasted the vintage, “my lady does not stint. I think this is from her own cellars.”

Denna took a cautious sip. He was no connoisseur, but it was very good. “To the Baroness Ladera,” he said. 

“To her,” Sathon said. 

They drank for a little while in companionable silence. Denna, for his part, was feeling the weariness of his journey– but he was not looking for sleep just yet. There was too much going on in his head.

“Sathon,” he said at last, “if you’re my watchdog, then tell me– what is it Ladera expects of me over the next few days?” He waved his cup, in a gesture encompassing the room. “This is all very comfortable, but it’s obvious I’m not going anywhere. Certainly I won’t be taking a tour of the capital.”

“Gods forbid!” Sathon said. He sighed. “You’re going to have me explain the whole business, I suppose. You’ve always been like that. All right.”

Sathon leaned forward in his seat. “Ladera is very…eager…to have her daughter’s wedding go through with the Aerlithan forms and ceremony it requires to be done properly. All the forms and ceremony– including the presence and assent of Jessa’s blood father.”

Denna frowned. “That’s not required– plenty of legal ways around presence and assent. Especially since she and I were never married.”

Sathon shook his head. “Maybe, but Ladera has no interest in such workarounds. Jessa’s blood father lives, so she wants him on hand to do the thing properly.”

“Even to the extent of flying me two thousand miles?” Denna said. 

“Even to the extent,” Sathon said. “Which should tell you how seriously she is taking this business.” He hesitated. “Listen– there are political considerations, too, matters I cannot– cannot– talk about.” 

“Political matters?” Denna said, puzzled. “But Jessa’s not the heir, no one’s ever suggested she should be….”

Sathon waved a hand. “You’re right– that’s not an issue, and not the problem I’m talking about. I’ve already said too much. All I’m trying to say is, Ladera is bound and determined to have her eldest daughter married properly and well. She’s picked out a likely lad, Tyron Bonnham, one of old Bonnham’s boys, smart and a hard-worker, already rising in the hierarchy, and as Aerlithan as they come.”

“‘Picked out?’” Denna echoed. He frowned. “Did Jessa have any say in the matter?”

“What?” Sathon said. “Oh, now don’t go dragging your modern ideas into this. Ladera made the decision and it’s a good match.” He sighed. “If it’s any comfort to you, I’ve seen the two of them together and they seemed to have hit it off well enough. And Jessa’s a smart girl herself– she understands how things work.”

Denna found himself staring into his cup. “And how is Jessa? I mean, is she well, did she grow up…pretty or plain? You said she’s smart….”

Sathon stopped, staring at Denna. “Ah, I’d almost forgotten. You’re probably still picturing the little girl you last saw. She’s grown up tall and straight, my friend, pretty as a sunrise, and yes, I’ve already said she was smart. She’s two years into the training as an adept, and already a Blue….”

“An adept?” Denna said, startled.

“You had no idea?” Sathon said.

Denna shook his head. “Ladera’s told me almost nothing of how she’s raised Jessa. ‘The child is well’ is the most she’s ever told me, whenever she deigns to write. Which has not been often. I’ve written her, and Jessa, as often as I could, but I barely heard back from Ladera, and never from Jessa herself.”

“Hm,” Sathon said. He seemed to be choosing his words. “About that I can’t say much. You and Ladera did not leave off on the best of terms.”

“Say it plain, brother- she threw me out,” Denna said. “With imprecations about my birth ringing in my ears. Taking the position with Lord Garrin was…a way out with a modicum of dignity.” He hesitated. “Although I didn’t think at the time that it would turn into quite the sinecure it has.”

“Well, chief clerk of Lord Brook’s hierarchy has got to carry some portion of prestige,” Sathon said.

“Not as much as you make it sound,” Denna said. “Much more drudgery than prestige, I assure you. Not to mention the considerably not-zero chance of getting massacred by the Eboshi.”

“Hm,” was all Sathon said. 

Denna forced himself to smile. “So, a Blue. That’s quite an accomplishment.”

“Yes,” Sathon said, sounding eager to be on safer ground. “I hear tell her teachers have great hopes for her, and since she’s not an heir to the Barony she’ll be free to pursue her studies with them as far as she cares to. Young Tyron has already said he has no objections to her continuing her training….”

“He better not,” Denna said. 

“Ah, there’s the sound of a father, standing up for his girl!” Sathon said, slapping a hand on a knee. “That’s what I wanted to hear!”

Denna was staring into his cup again. He was sure it was the wine making his nose tingle and run. He sniffed and cleared his throat. “So, perhaps you’d better describe what’s expected of me.”

“Yes,” Sathon said. “In two days there’s the reading of the contract. Two days after that, the presentation, and Ladera’s laid that on with a full procession. Hope you’re up for a walk, it’s a mile and a half between the Citadel and the Golden Temple.”

“Sathon, old friend,” Denna said, “Remember, I was born in Aerlith, I know how far it is.”

“Of course you do,” Sathon said, looking a little chagrined. “They will read the first oaths there. Then comes the Vigil….”

“A Vigil?” Denna said. “Ladera’s going that far?”

“As I keep saying, old friend, she wants everything done properly,” Sathon said. “The next morning will be the second oath, and then the feast, and we’ll be done with the business and your daughter will be well and truly married.”

Denna grunted. “All six Stations? So very…Aerlithan. Hardly anybody does that anymore.”

“Well, Ladera is determined on it, so it’s best you not put up any objections,” Sathon said. 

Denna raised a hand. “The gods forfend,” he said. 

They talked a while longer, reminiscence facilitated by the wine. Denna learned who of their old companions were still in the capital, who had moved on, who was in favor and who was out. He learned more than he perhaps wanted to about the factions in the Baronial court– the Nativists, the Magnates, the Adepts and the Imperials, among others. He heard about the changes in the citadel and the city, the new canal and the refurbished temples, things he would have much rather see than be told about, until the details were a whirl in his wine-slowed brain. 

When Sathon finally put his cup aside and wobbled to his feet he said, “Ah, I’m afraid the time has gotten away from me. Both of us need to sleep, old friend. Either I or one of my officers will be by after breakfast with each day’s itinerary. Please don’t go straying off without an escort– in fact, stick to the room until you hear from us.”

“I understand,” Denna said, although he was feeling like a prize prisoner again. He took Sathon’s hand. “Thank you for making my role clear. I wasn’t sure what to think when I came down that gangplank.”

Sathon tipsily patted Denna on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Denna– with a little care we’ll all get through this.” He staggered out, leaving Denna to find his bed.

Despite the wine– although he had drunk rather less than Sathon, it had still been a fair couple of cups worth– he did not go to sleep at once. It was a strange homecoming, this joyous occasion in which there was as of yet little joy. He had thought to tour his old home town, but that seemed unlikely now. Ladera was a single-minded woman when she wanted to be, and it seemed her instinct was going to have full sway for the next several days. He should have known. 

Perhaps he was going to be disabused of a whole raft of preconceptions. Certainly he had been coming down the gangplank. Somehow, he had thought that he would be greeted, not by an old comrade-at-arms, nor even the woman who had once been his lover, but by the daughter he had not seen in fifteen years.

The most welcome part of the breakfast brought to him early the next morning was the urn of piping-hot coffee. After crawling out of bed and washing himself in the lavatory, Denna only nibbled at the bread and cheese spread out for him– really, a shame, since the palace’s bakers were renown for their creations– but he quickly downed two cups of coffee, which chased away the residual cobwebs of the previous evening and seemed to hold at bay the looming headache the wine had left in its wake. 

He drank the second cup on the balcony, breathing deep of the dawn air. It was early enough that the citadel annex was just stirring, and the city in the distance just rousing. Denna watched as a guard detail marched out across the annex courtyard, boots falling in unison on the cobblestones, the sergeant’s cadence echoing off the surrounding walls. It brought back memories, both good and mixed. 

A rap on the chamber door– he turned to see the door open, and a Houseguard peek around the door’s edge. Apparently satisfied Denna was not lying in wait, the soldier announced, “The Baroness Ladera,” and opened the door wide. 

Denna knew the tall woman who stepped into the room. Gray had touched her blonde hair, and there were deeper lines in the contours of her face, but Ladera was just as tall and straight as he remembered. She was plainly dressed, as had been her habit in earlier years. 

She stopped, catching sight of Denna. There was a long moment of silence as the two of them stared at one another. Then Ladea turned and told the Houseguard, “Leave us.”

“My lady?” the guard said. “Are you sure?”

“This man and I know each other,” Ladera said. “We require private words.”

The soldier hesitated only one moment longer. “As you wish, lady.” He pulled the door to, and Ladera and Denna were alone. 

Denna blinked, and gathered himself. “My lady,” he said, bowing his head.

Ladera frowned. “Oh, are we going to be formal about this?”  

“The last time we talked,” Denna said, “you insisted on formality.”

“That was a long time ago, Denna,” Ladera said. 

“The interview,” Denna said, drily. “has stayed with me. I remember most of your turns of phrase. ‘Low-born dog’ was one of them.”

Ladera’s lips tightened. “I was angry. You were presumptuous.”

Denna had to clench his teeth against a bitter laugh. “When have I ever been presumptuous? When did I ever presume upon you? I have never, not even in bed, where we were just a man and a woman. As I recall. Perhaps my memory is failing me.” 

“I didn’t come to argue with you,” Ladera said, tight-lipped. “I came out of courtesy, to make sure you were comfortable, and to make sure you understand what’s expected of you.”

“The accommodations are excellent,” Denna said, “and Overcommander Sathon has explained the business. I would prefer not to be a prisoner….”

Ladera waved an impatient hand. “You’re not a prisoner.”

“Indeed? If I wanted to tour the city, you would have no objections?”

Ladera drew in a sharp breath. “I didn’t bring you all this way for you to entertain yourself. You’re here to make sure our daughter’s wedding goes according to the proper forms. Have you no interest in that?”

“I am very interested in making sure Jessa is well and happy,” Denna said. “Does this wedding serve those ends?”

“It’s a very good match,” Ladera said, “and isn’t it a little late in the day for you to concern yourself with her happiness?”

Denna, despite himself, felt a hot flush of anger. “You’re the one who set the conditions of my relationship with our daughter. You’re the one who basically threw me out of her life. You think I haven’t thought about her, worried over her, every hour since? I wrote her and you, constantly, but never heard from her, and barely from you. Did you ever even show her my letters?”

“I don’t have time for this,” Ladera said. “I’m doing what’s best for Jessa, and don’t need you second-guessing me. You will perform your role in the wedding, and that’s final. Do I make myself clear.” 

“Very,” Denna said. “When do I get to see Jessa?”

Ladera drew back. “In due time.”

“You can’t bring me all this way and not let me see her!”

“In due time!” Ladera snapped. She turned and laid a hand on the door-handle. She stopped, and looked back at Denna. “You peasant. You always, always wrong-foot me.”

“Not always,” Denna said. “There was a time we were in step.”

Ladera glared at him. “If you go out, it will be with an escort. With that provision, you have the freedom of the Citadel. But don’t test the limits, and be ready when you’re needed.” She snatched the door open and stormed out. 

An hour later Sathon appeared, to find Denna sitting in one of the chairs, brooding. He had spent the hour reproving himself over a third cup of coffee. When he had imagined his meeting Ladera, their reunion had gone very differently in his head. He had had no romantic illusions, but he had pictured them at least holding a reasonable conversation. Reality was a disappointment, although, perhaps now that he thought of it, not a surprise. 

Sathon entered, saw Denna slumped in his seat, and said, “What is it, my friend?”

Denna lifted his gaze to meet Sathon’s. “Ladera,” was all he said. 

“Ah,” Sathon said. He grimaced, then nodded. “Right. Come on, let me take you for a walk.”

So he did. For the next hour Sathon took Denna on a tour of the citadel and the new construction being added to the palace. The day came up warm and pleasant, and his friend’s running commentary managed to distract him for the moment. Denna saw the new barracks, the expansion of the storied Great Hall, and the new Mirrored Hall. Sathon led him through the bustle of the palace to show him the refurbished inner bailey, which Denna remembered as a dilapidated old pile of masonry with the occasional brick falling off. They stopped to admire the work being done to conserve some of the oldest tapestries and paintings in the Hall of Memory, and had to be shushed by the head conservator for their banter. 

But all of the sights and even Sathon’s irreverent asides did not alleviate Denna’s basic mood. At the end of the hour they found themselves on top of the eastern wall, overlooking the merchant’s quarter, with a cool breeze in their faces. They leaned on the battlement to catch their breath. Denna looked out over the city and the bustling market squares far below, and let go a breath. “Sathon, how do you get on with your boys?”

Sathon looked surprised, then shrugged. “Well enough, I suppose. We’re all still on a speaking basis, which is more than some fathers and sons, I can tell you. Oh, perhaps it helps that they are not boys anymore– Gerrit is twenty and in the Academy, and Steron is in officer training.”

“Of course,” Denna said, a little chagrined. He shook his head. “I must be the worst father in the world.”

“Oh, come now,” Sathon said. “Let’s not exaggerate.”

“How am I not?” Denna said. “I should have never let Ladera separate me from Jessa. What kind of father lets that happen?”

“The kind who has nothing on his side of the chess-board,” Sathon said. “If you two had been married, it might have been a different story, but that was never in the cards. Ladera had the law and her rank on her side. A mouse against a regiment of cats would have had more of a chance.”

The truth of it didn’t seem to make the ache any better. “I…I just didn’t think it was going to be so long,” Denna said. “The expedition was a three year thing, or so I was told– and then it became five, and then eight and twelve and so on until most of Jessa’s life had passed out of my sight, and I was never there…” He stopped himself, lest his voice crack.

“Listen to me,” Sathon said. “You could kill yourself with regrets, and what good would that do anyone? You can’t relive what is past. You’re here now, which is more than many a father would do, when the law wasn’t holding their feet to the fire. You think there aren’t men who get women in a family way and then do nothing about it except brag about it to their mates? I’ve seen it too often.”

“I wrote,” Denna said. “I took an interest. But Ladera– I’m guessing she showed Jessa none of the letters.”

“Hm,” Sathon said. “I couldn’t say anything, but you seem to have sorted it out for yourself. My understanding is that she’s kept them all safely locked away.”

“Damn,” Denna said.

Sathon watched him for a long moment. “You know,” he said at last, “I think our dear Baroness is embarrassed by you.” 

Denna said nothing for a moment. “Really?” 

“Just my opinion, observing from afar,” Sathon said. “Tell her I said so, and I’ll deny it to your face.”

Denna felt his mouth quirk. “Your secret is safe with me.” He shrugged. “Maybe I’m not surprised. When the passion faded, after Jessa’s birth, she made it clear that I was just a poor soldier, and however much Ladera cherished our daughter, having me around was always a burden.”

“I’m sorry, my friend,” Sathon said. “It should have been different.”

“Now, who was just lecturing me about not regretting the past?” Denna said, smiling. 

“So I’m not the most consistent man in the world,” Sathon said. 

Denna thought about it. “It would have been different, if Ladera had been Aerlithan. Expectations would have been different….”

“You mean, you two would have been expected to marry?” Sathon said. “Aye, maybe. But things are so very different with these Maelion folk.”

Denna grunted. “I think it actually amused the old Baron to see his daughter sowing her wild oats. At least, that’s the best explanation I have for why he didn’t gut me.”

“Maelions only get wound up about that sort of thing if there’s a dispute over parentage,” Sathon said, waving a hand. “That was never a question with you and the lady Ladera. But I think– well, it was so soon after the Emperor installed the old Baron that it would have looked bad to chop up some poor Aerlithan just because he diddled his daughter. Again, Maelions look at it differently.”

“Maybe,” Denna said. He stopped, struck by a thought. “Sathon– this whole wedding– Ladera insisting on an Aerlithan ceremony, and a traditional one, at that– is she trying to make her Barony more palatable to the locals? There’s still discontent with a foreign house being imposed on the city, isn’t there?”

“Hm,” Sathon said, “and now we’ve strayed back into politics, over which my lips are sealed.”

“I’m right, aren’t I? And she calls back the Aerlithan father for Presence and Assent, which makes it all look even more traditional. Ah, I should have known.”

“My friend,” Sathon said, “all I can say is that your daughter is getting married, and you should cherish her and every moment you get to spend here. Whatever the circumstances that brought you here, whatever wheels are turning in the background, you have a chance to make up for all that lost time you’ve been regretting. Don’t waste it.”    

The next day was the Reading. Denna had thought that Jessa would come to the ceremony, but Sathon put paid to the idea. “Ladera wants it traditional,” Sathon told him, “and the old way was for the fathers to meet and hammer out the terms. Ladera will stand proxy for your daughter. Not that there’s going to be any hammering this time around– everything is arranged and printed out already, so you just have to endure the reading of it all. Frankly, I’m glad I’m not going to be there.” 

Denna said nothing, but he realized there was another aspect to the traditional ceremony that suited him just fine. 

The Reading was to be performed in the Hall of Crystal, the old mirrored hall. Denna got goose-bumps thinking about the history that had played out in this room. He wondered if Ladera, foreigner that she was, understood all that. 

As tradition demanded, the two parties entered from different ends of the room. Denna, done up in stiff finery that he suspected was from the wardrobe of Ladera’s late father, followed her into the chamber. Furniture had been cleared and a heavy oaken table set in the middle of the room for the parties. An Adjudicator stood by, and bowed to each party as they approached the table. 

Old Bonnham seemed just as Denna remembered him, only grayer. He was the sort who never seemed to crack a smile, and he certainly displayed no hint of one now as he seated himself at the table. His son was a reedier and younger version of him, except that he essayed a tentative smile at Ladera and Denna as they seated themselves. A growl from his father killed the expression, and the youngster sat down with a thud.

“As it is agreed and sworn to this day,” the adjudicator intoned, “so let it now be read.” He launched into the Reading, with the contact in pages before him on a lectern. 

Denna listened with half an ear. The contract was largely standard clauses that defined the economic relationship between the couple, who had what rights, how children would be raised and how, in the unfortunate event, the marriage might be dissolved. He did note with approval additional clauses explicitly allowing Jessa her freedom to pursue her adept studies, and that preserved the independence of her dowry. 

The adjudicator droned on, and Denna had to resist a creeping case of drowsiness. He blinked and tried to focus. He would get only one chance. 

At last the adjudicator finished, and tidied the pages before him. “Having heard the clauses and provisions,” he intoned, “what say all present?”

Old Bonnham stood. “I assent to all clauses, and will uphold them.” He sat.

Tyron stood. The kid looked nervous, but serious. “I assent to all clauses, and will uphold them.”

Ladera stood, and said, “In the name of my daughter, I assent to all clauses, and will uphold them.” She sat with a rustle of silk. 

Denna stood. “My assent to any and all clauses is subject to questions.”

“Questions?” the adjudicator said, startled.

“Questions?” Ladera said, eyes wide.

“Yes,” Denna said, “ as is my right as father.”

“Citizen Denna,” the adjudicator said, with a nervous glance at Ladera, “this is not the time or place….” 

“Excuse me,” Denna said, “it is exactly the time and place. I am the bride’s father and this is where I have the right to query the groom about his intentions. If need be, I can show you the statute covering this part of Assent.”

“He’s right,” Old Bonnham rumbled. He seemed to be very nearly smiling. “I have no objection, so long as we’re not late for lunch.” 

Denna bowed his head to the old man. “I’ll endeavor to keep it short, sir.”

Ladera was glowering, but she said nothing. Denna turned to Tryon. The lad looked a little confused, but was obviously trying to keep up. 

“Young man,” Denna said. “My understanding is that you are already a name in the hierarchy. Do you intend to follow a career in the city government?”

“Ah, yes,” Tyron said. “I seem to be suited for it. The Lady Baroness has favored me with trust and responsibilities….”

And was that because of your abilities, or your betrothal? Denna didn’t ask that question, although it was on the tip of his tongue. It alone might blow these proceedings to bits, and that really wasn’t his intention here.   

“Do you see yourself going far in the hierarchy?” Denna asked. 

“Just as far as my ability will carry me,” Tyron said, “and my lady’s favor.”

It had the flavor of a practiced answer, but Denna had not really expected anything else. Now he came to the meat of his query.

“How do you feel about my daughter?” Denna said. 

Tyron blinked. “How do I feel about your daughter?”

“Yes,” Denna said, patiently. “Jessa. The young woman you propose to marry.”

Tyron seemed to gather himself. “We get along, sir, we quite like each other’s company….” 

“Good,” Denna said. “Very good. That’s going to come in handy.” He hesitated. “Do you respect her?”

Tyron blinked again. “I…I admire your daughter. She is very worthy. I, uh, respect your daughter very much.”

“Good,” Denna said, although he wondered at the lad’s stammering. “Will you make her happy?”

“I will do my best,” Tyron said, sincerely. 

“Very well.” Denna looked around at the assembly, Ladera glowering, the adjudicator looking pale, Tyron looking resolute and Old Bonnham nodding. “I have no further questions. I give conditional assent to all clauses.”

“Conditional?” Ladera said, looking surprised and outraged.

“Until you let me talk to my daughter,” Denna said, facing her, “that is all you’re going to get.”

Ladera sputtered, but Bonnham said, “Good enough for now!” He rubbed his hands. “Roast pork and potatoes, and I’ve got a fine appetite!” 

Ladera and Denna did not immediately go into lunch, which was set in an adjoining chamber. In the passageway she grabbed his arm and pulled him aside. “What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed. “‘Conditional’ assent?”  

“You heard me,” Denna said, his arms crossed. “Above all, I want to hear from Jessa how she feels about this marriage.”

“Jessa? What has she to do with it?

Denna smiled. “You mean, aside from being the bride? Not much, I suppose.”

“You,” Ladera said, sputtering again, “you common, back-alley cat, with your back-alley notions! And all those asinine questions!” 

“Asinine? Not in the least– they’re the important questions, the ones every parent should ask their daughter’s intended. Believe me, they’re the questions I wanted answered above all.”

Ladera huffed. “You always were strange.”

“No,” Denna said, “just different. Not you. Somebody who, despite rumor to the contrary, wants what’s best for his daughter.”

“That’s what I want, too!” Ladera said. 

“Ah, but I know that happiness can’t be summed up in an account book.” He hesitated. “Just let me hear it from her lips, Ladera, and if she consents, I will give my full, unqualified assent in a moment. Is that so hard?” 

Ladera glared at him, but said, “Let’s go in to lunch.”

“Yes,” Denna said, sighing. “I like roast pork, too.” 

The next day was the Procession. 

Denna was awakened very early, fed and allowed to bathe, with the scowling assistance of two burly man-servants. Denna didn’t question why he needed two servants to wash himself, although he wondered if they were 1. There to make sure he did a thorough job, 2. Another layer of security, or 3. Both. Neither fellow said much of anything through the whole procedure, which only deepened the mystery. 

The veil of mystery lifted a little when it came time to dress for the ceremony. Denna was surprised to learn that he was expected to dress in velvet and silk, as if he were a noble of some rank. Here the pair of servants were an actual help, for a lot of the articles were unfamiliar to him– he was, for example, completely unsure what to do with the item called a cumberbund until one of the servants showed him. 

They were finishing the process, with Denna feeling very much the dandy, when Sathon showed up at the door. “Thank the gods you’re ready,” he exclaimed at once.

“Well, I think I am,” Denna said. “You’ll have to ask these fellows to be sure.”

“He’s ready,” the two said in unison, almost more words than they had spoken the entire morning. They bowed to Sathon– but not to Denna– and left. 

“Good,” Sathon said. “Ladera sent me to collect you. She wants everyone down in the Chamber of Harmonious Counsel, like ten minutes ago. It’s complete chaos, so we need to go now.”

So ordered, Denna followed Sathon in a rapid descent to the courtyard, and across to the South Wing. Although Denna had traveled through the whole citadel in his time as a Houseguard, he had rarely been called to the South Wing, and so he quickly found himself turned around and largely lost by the time Sathon delivered him to the chamber. Denna wondered if he would be able to find his way back to his room when the ceremony was over.

The Chamber of Harmonious Counsel was nearly a hundred feet long and thirty wide, one of the largest rooms in the Citadel. Nevertheless, it was crowded with people, all of them dressed as splendidly as Denna, or worse. Denna supposed it wasn’t just the fact that he had been long gone from Aerlith that he did not recognize as much as a tithe of the people present. These were the rulers and rulemakers of the city– magnates, and Thing members and patriarchs and scions of the oldest houses. They were the sort of folk a poor common soldier would only see from afar, if at all– and now they were all here, at Ladera’s invitation, gabbling together, mingling about and sipping wine. Denna recognized Old Bonnham, Tyron, and a pair of the old man’s older sons, laughing at one end of the room, and that was almost it.

“Well delivered,” Sathon said above the hubbub, sounding relieved. “I don’t want to think about what would have happened if you’d been late. Enjoy the ceremony.” He turned to go. 

“Wait!” Denna said, reaching out a desperate hand. “You’re not actually going to leave me alone here, are you?”

“Alone?” Sathon said. 

“You know what I mean,” Denna said. 

“I have no place in this company,” Sathon said, “and, thank the gods, I have no place in this ceremony. You can tell me all about it over dinner. Looking forward to it!” Grinning, Sathon bowed rather extravagantly to his friend, and made his way out. 

Bereft, Denna stood where was. No one seemed to notice him. Servants were handing out cups of wine at a table along one wall, but even if he had been tempted, Denna had no desire to make his way through the crowd. Better to stay where he was. 

Looking around, he realized a fact about the assembly. It was almost wholly male. Only a few women were present– mostly, Denna supposed, mistresses of houses without male heads at the moment, or wives representing husbands who could not attend for whatever reason. It wasn’t until that moment that Denna truly understood how traditional Ladera was making this ceremony.

Of course, there should be one woman above all….  

 And then, there she was. 

How tall she’s grown! The little girl of Denna’s memory was now a lithe young woman, standing in a side-entrance with a servant leaning close to speak with her. Warm brown eyes looked out of a long face, framed by carefully combed chestnut hair. She was dressed in a dark gown of simple cut, although it was made of silk. The look of her reminded Denna instantly of someone else.   

Jessa was looking around, apparently taking in the crowd. Her eyes met his, and she stopped. They stared at each other for a long, long moment. Then Jessa’s mouth firmed into a determined line. She came across the room, the servant bowing out of the way, as Denna stood straight and braced himself. 

She came up to him, and the look on her face was wary. “I am told,” she said over the crowd, “that you are my father.”

Denna stood very still. His heart seemed to be going in three or four directions at once. “I have to be,” he said. It was all he could do to resist the urge to just enfold this woman in his arms, or burst into tears. It was a near-run thing either way. “It’s the only explanation.”

The wariness gave way to a tinge of puzzlement. “Explanation?”

“For why you look just like your grandmother,” Denna said. 

Jessa blinked. “I do?” 

“The spitting image,” Denna said. “Sorry, an old commoner expression.”

“I…I’ve heard it before,” Jessa said. “It’s just…nobody has ever told me I look like my grandmother.” 

“Well, my mother had passed away before the Maelion came to Aerlith,” Denna said. “Your mother never met her. Which I always thought was a pity….” 

“My lords and ladies, gentle guests and kinfolk!” A majordomo stood in the far doorway. “The procession is ready. Lady Ladera bids all to take their places.”

The crowd’s buzzing increased, as people put aside cups and straightened their clothes. Jessa looked torn for a moment. “I have to go,” she said. 

“So do I,” Denna said. 

There was organized chaos outside the reception hall doors, belying the majordomo’s assertion of readiness– stewards of the procession trying to chivvy everyone into position, or calling out for participants, or participants milling about, not knowing where to go. Denna was practically grabbed by one steward and dragged to a place near the head of the mass. He had to watch from afar as Jesssa and Tyron were handed up into twin, open palanquins. These were to be each borne by twenty burly guardsmen, stripped to the waist. More guardsmen, these armed, hustled to positions on the flanks and at the front and rear. Denna was rather surprised at the number of them, but he was glad to have them. 

Altogether the milling company nearly filled the Divine Forecourt. Denna found himself near its head, and here came Ladera herself. She was richly dressed, but with fairly practical shoes. Denna felt better about how he was dressed.

Ladera assumed her position beside Denna. She barely glanced at him. “Straighten your tunic,” she said. 

“Ah, Baroness,” Denna said, unable to restrain himself, “isn’t it a fine morning? Isn’t this a fine company? So many important personages, so many soldiers.”

Ladera turned a cold glare on him. “Be quiet. How dare you be…bubbly.” 

“How can I not be?” Denna said, smiling. “I just spoke to my daughter for the first time in sixteen years, and she’s so grown up and tall and lovely. It is indeed a great morning.”

Ladera’s look was now arctic. “Just restrain yourself among your betters, commoner.”

“For your sake and hers,” Denna said. He closed his lips, but still smiled. 

Horns blew, drums rolled, and the procession began. 

At first, as the mass descended Citadel Hill along the Conqueror’s Way, there were hardly any people along the side of the road. Denna figured this had to be because few folk wanted to make the climb. This seemed to be confirmed as they reached the bottom of the hill, and turned right on to the Road of Serenity. Here the margins of the road began to fill up with groups of people, some in festive dress. Many applauded as the procession came level with them. A few threw flowers over the heads of the soldiers that tramped along in column on either side. 

The crowds really thickened as the procession drew close to Silverwing Bridge. Many in the crowd shouted well-wishes as they threw flowers, or shook out scented powders that drifted over the procession. Denna glanced back at the intendeds. Tyron sat rigid on his palanquin, almost as if he were embarrassed by the attention. Jessa, for her part, was flushed but smiling, raising a tentative hand to wave back at the crowd.

“Blessings on you, Jessa!…The gods keep you, Jessa!” were some of the calls Denna heard from the crowd. Little that he could hear seemed to be for Tyron, and still less for Ladera. 

“Our daughter seems…well-known to the people,” he said to Ladera.

Ladera sniffed, loud enough for Denna to hear it over the crowd. “Of course. Do you think I’ve kept her locked away all these years? The people know her and love her for who she is.”

Rather more than they love you, by the looks of things. He said nothing, however, and kept walking. 

Denna breathed an inward sigh of relief as the procession reached the steps of the Golden Sanctuary. Despite the universal well-wishes that had rained down on the procession, he had half-expected some demonstration or another to mar the proceedings. He was glad nothing had happened; he supposed the overwhelming number of soldiers had dampened any rebellious impulses in the crowd. 

As the palanquins pulled even with the steps, a steward of the procession came hurrying up to Denna. “Hurry up! You have to hand your daughter down and escort her in!”

“Oops,” he said, surprised. 

Denna hurried over to the palanquin, where Jessa was just standing up. She looked perfectly capable of getting down from the contraption by herself, but Denna was happy to offer her his hand as she confronted the short steps down. “Take my hand, daughter,” Denna said. “Apparently it’s expected.”

Jessa blinked, but said, “Alright.” She took Denna’s hand in a firm grip and descended to the cobblestones. 

Overjoyed, Denna offered her his arm. “Oh, really, you don’t have to,” Jessa said.

“I don’t, but evidently someone expects it,” Denna said, “and she’s watching us like a hawk.”

Jessa gave her mother a sideways glance, and grimaced. “Oof. You’re right.” She took Denna’s arm, and they went up the steps and into the temple.

Almost immediately, just inside the door, a bevy of ladies-in-waiting swooped in and took Jessa under escort. They gathered around her, and with slow and careful steps guided her toward the front of the sanctuary. Denna did not have time to feel bereft, as he had to quickly step aside to make way for Tyron. The youngster entered and was instantly surrounded by a collection of gentlemen, who guided him forward in much the same manner. 

Denna had a moment to take in the sumptuous interior of the temple. Gold and ivory seemed to cover every surface. The air was as thick with incense as it was the buzzing of the congregation. A vast number of wooden benches had been placed in a great semi-circle on the normally bare floor around the altar, and the seats were packed with dignitaries and splendidly attired nobles. Sunlight shone brilliantly through the glass insets in the dome, over the altar, so that the interior of the temple around the altar was ablaze with light, almost too dazzlingly to look at.

Someone cleared his throat behind Denna. A steward, who scowled at him and said, “Follow me.”

The fellow led Denna down the middle aisle between the benches, and it was not Denna’s imagination that there came a change in the tone of the conversational buzz. People looked and fingers pointed. He heard snatches of whispered words– “that’s him…the commoner…what was his name?…he looks like a clerk….” Denna wasn’t quite sure how to take that last snippet; he just kept his face bland and let the steward guide him to a seat at the front, on the same long bench as Ladera.

Ladera, and her family, it seemed– two young children sat with her. As he sat Denna guessed the girl’s age would be about ten, and the boy eight. Of course, these were the children Ladera had had by her late husband, now dead these three years. Done up in youthful finery, they were immature versions of the Baroness– but why did they look so woebegone? Indeed, the girl looked so close to tears that Ladera, stern-faced, leaned over and spoke some quick words to the girl. The youngster sat straighter and blinked. 

Judging this to be an awkward moment to try to talk to Ladera, Denna instead focused on the intendeds. They were just being chivvied into position on either side of the altar, facing one another. With Jessa and Tyron in place, their attendants fell back, and a tall priest came forward, holding a stiff parchment. This worthy came and stood between the couple, facing the congregation. For a wonder, the buzzing of the congregation dwindled away.

“Before this audience and these witnesses,” the priest intoned, in a voice that carried, “are you, Jessa of Aerlith and Tyron Bonnham, ready to speak the first oaths of your betrothal?”

“We are ready,” the two said in unison. 

“Before the gods, and this company,” the priest went on, “do you promise to bear each other up, and to support one another in good times and ill?”

“We do,” Jessa and Tyron said.

“Do you promise to seek each other’s weal, and to hold to no leman?”

“We do.”

Listening to the priest, Denna tried to focus on Jessa, who was standing so straight and tall, apparently hanging on every word, speaking out her responses in a clear voice. The first oaths were mostly poetic renderings around the themes of mutual support and fidelity, the part of the ceremony where mothers usually cried the most, but it was Denna who found himself blinking back tears. At the moment he entertained a complexity of feelings– pride in his daughter, sadness that he had not been there for most of her life– and a sudden, profound wish that he could have spoken these oaths with someone, at some point. 

He ventured a sideways glance at the Baroness. She was not crying– rather, she was leaning slightly forward, intent on the scene in front of her, looking as if she were willing the participants to not flub their lines. It would certainly make sense for her if she saw this as some sort of theater. Her second daughter, seated by her, obviously saw it differently, for she was now openly, if silently, crying.  

I missed my chance with you, Ladera. Not that it had ever really been in the cards….

“And do you commit to supporting one another from henceforth in the thick and thin of life, cleaving to one another and the support of one another?” the priest was saying. 

“We do, before the gods and this company,” Jessa and Tyron said. 

The priest held up his hands. “Behold, it is my honor and duty to pronounce to you all the betrothal and promise of Tyron Bonnham and Jessa of Aerlith!”

The audience broke into applause. 

For invited guests, there was a reception and light refreshments in a hall close by. Denna thought that probably only about half the audience was actually invited, which he thought was rather cheap on Ladera’s part. All the expense she was putting out for the different parts of the wedding, and she wouldn’t spend a few extra lunars– all right, a few thousand extra lunars– on inviting all attendees. From the point of view of a poor man, it seemed rather tight-fisted. 

Even so, the reception hall was crowded. Jessa and Tyron were at one end of the room, receiving a long line of well-wishers, and a larger crowd mingled and sipped wine and talked in the rest of the space. Denna grabbed a glass of wine and gravitated to one corner, there to stand out of the way. 

Old Bonnham and Ladera hovered at the far end of the room, talking and watching over the reception line. Ladera, in particular, seemed to be on alert against any missteps or improprieties. 

An impropriety, or two of them, emerged almost at once, however– Ladera’s son and second daughter. The two ran into the chamber, past Denna and the waiting reception line, to fling themselves, crying, at Jessa. They clung to her skirts, weeping.

A ripple of surprise ran down the reception line, and people stared. The two children spoke to Jessa in distressed tones. Denna, many feet away, could not make out everything they were saying, but he caught words like, “Don’t go…stay…we will miss you too much!” all larded with copious tears.

Denna watched, more than a little open-mouthed, as Ladera stepped in. The Baroness was not pleasant to look on at that moment. “What are you two doing?” she snapped, her eyes blazing. “How dare you come rushing in here like this?” 

All this seemed to do was provoke more tears. It was becoming an embarrassing scene. Denna was wondering if he should do something– what he could do– when Jessa took matters into her own hands. She got down on her knees and hugged both children, and then spoke to them in a low voice. Denna could not make out what she told the children, but it seemed to calm them. An agreement appeared to be reached– a lady-in-waiting took the two of them aside, possibly to feed them cake, Jessa got to her feet, and the line began to move again. 

“I don’t blame them, you know,” someone said, quite close. He was startled, and turned to see a woman of middle years, well dressed, at his elbow. She was smiling up at him– she was rather short– with an expression that suggested she found his surprise amusing. 

“I’m sorry?’ he said, taken aback. 

“The children,” the woman said. “They love Jessa dearly. She’s been a true older sister to them, and now she’s being taken away. I completely understand their feelings.” 

“Lady,” Denna said, gathering his wits, “I’m afraid you have the advantage of me. You are…?” 

“Your pardon, Denna of Westfield,” the woman said. “I am Maeve Warrin, mistress of adepts for the Barony of Aerlith, at your service.” She inclined her head to Denna. 

Understanding dawned. “Mistress of Adepts…so you….” 

“Have had the supreme honor of mentoring your daughter in her adept studies,” Warrin said. She smiled. “Jessa is one of the best students I have ever had. She has learned so much in a short amount of time, and she is absolutely brilliant at what she does.”

“Indeed?” Denna said, smiling. “It makes me glad to hear that.”

“It should,” Warrin said. “It’s too bad, actually. In my way I am as distressed by Jessa getting married as her brother and sister are.” 

“Distressed?” Denna said.

“I’m losing a prize pupil, and a prime candidate for the Collegium,” Warrin said. 

Denna frowned. “But the contract…there are clauses that explicitly allow Jessa to continue her studies….” 

Warrin gave him an openly pitying look. “I wouldn’t have thought that Jessa’s father would be so naive. It’s an open secret that, whatever the contract says, old Bonnham intends to send Jessa to their country estate, where young Bonnham intends to get busy knocking her up. Old Bonnham is keen for grandchildren while he yet lives, and all the more for grandchildren who tie him so closely to the Barony.”

Denna stared at Warrin, and then looked to where Jessa was still greeting guests. She seemed happy, smiling over handshakes and engaging in small talk. Was this a front, to please her mother? Or was she ignorant of the whole scheme?

“Does she know?” he asked Warrin. 

The woman shrugged. “More than likely, although I have not talked to her about it. The Baroness has decreed a veil of silence on the matter.” 

“We’ll see about that,” Denna said.

He did not, however, march over and confront Ladera right away. He realized a screaming match in the middle of the reception would serve no one’s purpose. Instead, once Warrin had made her goodbyes and ambled off, he waited. In the process he drank a little more wine than he should have, but he was still clear-headed enough to calm down, and to understand the possibility that Warrin had primed and aimed him at the Baroness for her own purposes. He decided he was actually fine with being a projectile, just this once.

Finally, as the line of guests was down to a few stragglers, Denna approached Ladera. “A word with you, if you please, my lady,” he said, with what he hoped was cool precision.Ladera raised her eyebrows, but made her apology to Bonnham and stepped aside with Denna.

“What do you want?” Ladera said, taking the initiative. 

“I’ve had an interesting conversation with Maeve Warrin,” Denna said.

Ladera glowered. “Oh! That woman. Selfish, short-sighted bint!” 

“So it’s true?” Denna demanded. “Despite the contract you’re going to let Bonnham lock our daughter away in a country fortress to be a brood mare? Never mind her studies?” 

“Leave it to you to put the worst coloration on the business,” Ladera said. “Nothing’s going to stop Jessa from pursuing her studies. She’s just going to have to do them while fulfilling her primary duty as a wife, producing heirs for the house of Bonnham– a house that has been loyal to the Barony since the first days, I’ll have you know. Grandchildren of both Bonnham and Maelion blood will be a fine reward for that loyalty.”

Denna glanced at Jessa, who was now speaking with Old Bonnham and Tyron. The reception was obviously at an end. “Does she understand what you’re demanding of her?’

“Of course,” Ladera said. “She comprehends the practicalities of the situation, rather better than her father apparently does. I forbid you to trouble her about this. She got enough on her mind at the moment without you raising a ruckus about something that’s settled and done.”

For a moment, just a brief moment, Denna danced with the idea of rebellion. It wouldn’t take much to go over and tell Old Bonnham what he thought of this particular business, or to demand Jessa stand up for herself. What stopped Denna from doing so was the sight of Jessa, smiling and relieved, chatting amiably with Bonnham and Tyron. He realized he couldn’t interrupt that moment. He had so far spoken only a few words to Jessa, and he couldn’t bring himself at the moment to add many more that would be bitter and full of questions. You’ll have to wait. 

“Very well,” Denna told Ladera. “For the moment. But my assent is even more conditional now. Make time for me to speak with my daughter, Ladera, or this marriage you’re trying so hard to stage-manage is going to end up looking like the patched up, false-front business it is.”

“Damn you,” Ladera said, low but vehement. “Damn you, you low, back-alley dog. All right– in two nights time is the Vigil– you can talk with Jessa to your heart’s content then, and you’ll find that she is fully onboard with everything she needs to do. I’ll expect your full assent afterwards.”

“We will see,” Denna said.              

The next morning Denna tried to sleep in. The reception and the confrontation with Ladera had worn him out, and the wine had not helped. At dinner he had been drowsy and not very communicative, to Sathon’s disappointment. “You should have shown up,” Denna told him, “if you were so interested.” 

“Not invited,” Sathon said, almost pouting, “and believe me, you don’t show up for one of her lady’s doings without an invite. Worth my career, that would be.” 

Nothing was planned for the day, but the Vigil was the following night. Denna wanted to be rested– this would be his first chance to really talk to Jessa. Breakfast was delivered, with its usual early promptness, but he tried to ignore it and snuggle back down into bed. 

Instead, mere minutes after the servants had shut the door, it swung open again. Denna, on the verge of drifting off again, had enough time to mumble, “Whatizit?” before the covers were pulled away. 

“Are you still abed?” It was Sathon. He looked grave. 

‘Well, I thought I was,” Denna said, resentfully. “What’s going on? Is the Citadel on fire?”

“As amusing as that might be, no,” Sathon said. “I just got word. You remember old Tremane?”

Denna sat up in bed, blinking. “Scholar Tremane? Of course I remember him. He taught both of us when we were snotty-nosed punks, and probably kept both of us from sticky ends, back when we were too young and stupid to know better.” 

“I had wondered if you had forgotten him,” Sathon said, “but I see our memories run along the same lines. I’ve stayed in touch with him all these years.”

“I’m glad one of us could,” Denna said, wondering where this was leading.

“He’s been sick for a while,” Sathon said. “No surprise there, he’s a deal past seventy– but I got word this morning that he’s dying. I intend to pay my respects. Baroness or no Baroness, if you want to speak with him, I’ll take you with me.” 

Denna swung his legs out of bed. “Throw me some clothes.” 

They went out, with Sathon loudly talking about showing Denna the new Baronal armor collection, for the door-guard’s benefit. Instead, they went to one of the guardrooms, where Sathon found a cloak for Denna. Then they went down a lamp-lit stair to a postern door that let out into an alley outside the curtain wall. “I remember this,” Denna told him. “We used to sneak out this way to visit taverns.”

“It’s a wonder we made it through our youth,” Sathon said. 

They went westward down the hill. Very quickly they reached Cattle Market Way, broad and straight and already busy with morning traffic. They had to dodge work parties going to this or that worksite, a caravan of mules headed from the market, messengers on foot running with their satchels, and palanquins containing merchants going on some errand or another and too important to waste energy walking. Shops along the way were opening their front stalls, prompting in Denna a nostalgic wish he had time to browse the goods, just like he used to when he was a guardsman on leave. He said nothing– they had no time, and Denna had no money, anyway.     

“Looks like business is good,” was what he did say to Sathon. 

Sathon nodded. “Whatever people say about the Maelions, they can’t deny that they brought the mercantile back to life in Aerlith.” 

They skirted the market, already resonant with lowing cattle, and crossed the river by the Six Arch Bridge. This put them in the Academy district, and immediately the atmosphere changed. In addition to the Academy itself, the quarter hosted a half-dozen private houses of instruction, or, at least, that was how Denna remembered it. The streets were filled at this hour with students going to their houses of instruction, or being led in lines somewhere by robed scholars to some destination or another. Sathon and Denna almost stood out in their cloaks, and Denna cast nervous glances about him, to see if they were noticed. 

No one, however, seemed particularly interested in them as they crossed the plaza in front of the Lesser Library. Sathon, in the lead, went up an alleyway off the south side of the plaza. Denna had a moment of near-claustrophobia in the narrow space, but it opened almost at once into the flagged courtyard of a tenement, four stories tall. Railed galleries surrounded the courtyard on three sides; in many places those railings were adorned with drying laundry. The courtyard was empty at the moment, but it echoed with the noise of people calling to one another, or arguing, in the flats that faced the space. 

“Come on,” Sathon said. He turned right and went up a rickety-looking flight of stairs. Denna, somewhat apprehensively, followed. 

On the very top floor, Sathon led Denna three-quarters of the way around the three-quarters square, to one particular apartment. Outside its door an grizzled man sat on a stool. He stood at their approach, but then ducked his head when he recognized Sathon.  

“Pered,” Sathon said, clapping the grizzled man on the shoulder, “how does the master?” 

Pered had a lined face, and sadness deepened those lines. “Right ill, my lord, right ill. Come in, the mistress will be glad to see you.” 

They followed Pered into the apartment. Going through the door, Denna immediately caught the unmistakable odor of a sickroom– old sweat and urine and medicine, all mingled together. The first room, though, was a common room. A middle-aged woman, stirring a port on a stove, turned at Pered’s, “Mistress, see who it is.” She had a round face that lit up as Sathon pulled back his hood. 

“Overcommander,” she exclaimed. She came and pressed her forehead to Sathon’s hands. “It is good of you to come.” 

“I wanted to pay my respects, Fral” Sathon said soberly. He gestured to Denna as he pulled back his own hood. “This is Denna of Westgate. He was a student of the master with me.”

“Denna,” Fral said, smiling, “I remember you. It’s been too long. Thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for your welcome,” Denna murmured. 

“Come in, both of you,” Fral said. 

There was an inner room. The sick room smell was even stronger here. The space was almost filled by a bed. On it lay a thin figure, white-haired, propped up with pillows, almost swallowed by blankets. The old man seemed to be sleeping– his eyes were closed and his breathing slow. 

The dying man’s withered hands lay atop the blankets. Fral sat on the edge of the bed and gently took one of them in hers. “Father,” she called, quietly, as if Tremane were in another land already, “Father, look who’s come.” 

Very slowly, Tremane opened his eyes. For a moment his gaze seemed to wander; then it fixed on Sathon. Slowly the withered face came alive, and Tremane smiled. 

“Overcommander!” Tremane said, in barely more than a whisper. “It is you! I had hoped you would come to see me.” 

“How could I not, master?” Sathon said, and Denna heard the emotion in his voice. 

“And who is this with you…Denna? How many years has it been? It is good to see you!”

“Master,” Denna said, overwhelmed, his own voice catching. “I’m surprised you remember me.”

“How could I forget the two of you!” Tremane said. “My best students, when you weren’t plotting to burn down the city!” The old man gave out a wheezing laugh. “What times those were! And now you’ve come to see me. Sit, sit!” 

Fral and Pered brought in a stool for each of them, and they sat at the foot of the bed, the only place where there was space to sit. Tremane peered at each of them. “Overcommander,” he said, “you have done well. Commander of the Fifth Watch! There were times I despaired of you making it another month, when you were young.”

“I know, master,” Sathon said. “It gives me pain to remember how much trouble I was to you.” 

Tremane waved a trembling hand. “No, don’t blame yourself. You and Denna were both alone in the world, and had to learn its ways. In the end, you made silver out of hay. As have you, Denna of Westgate.”

Denna shook his head. “I’m just a clerk, master. Nothing remarkable.”

“Nothing remarkable? Chief clerk of Lord Brook, one of the men who helps hold together the Western Reach. Veteran of the siege of Kalas Falls and the Battle of the De. Oh,” the old man said to Denna’s astonished look, “don’t think I haven’t kept track of my students. One of the consolations of age is the joy of watching those you mentored achieve great things. A hobby that requires only an active mind, and gossipy tongue.” Again, he wheezed a laugh. 

Denna was too overwhelmed to point out that there had been ten thousand men at the Battle of the De, of whom he had been only one, and not nearly the most distinguished, or that Kalas Falls had been mostly boredom punctuated by screaming enemy assaults. All he said was, “Master.” 

For a few minutes Tremane questioned Sathon about his duties, showing a surprising knowledge of the workings of the Citadel, before he turned back to Denna. “So, Denna, Ricard’s son, do you find the city much changed since you last saw it? Sixteen years is a long time.” 

“Not as much as I thought I might,” Denna said. “Although certainly the Citadel has seen its share of improvements….” 

“The Citadel?” Tremane said. “Have you not seen the new canal, or the new crafts market?”

“Your pardon, master,” Sathon said, “but the lady Ladera has kept Denna close to hand. This is his first excursion out of the Citadel, and we, uh, had to sneak out to see you.” 

Tremane gave a loud laugh at that, and fell to coughing so hard that Fral stepped in, looking alarmed. “No, daughter, I’m fine,” he gasped, his face red, but happy. “It just pleases me no end that these fellows are still mischief-makers! So,” this to Denna, “our lady Baroness is keeping you closely mewed up for the wedding of your daughter. How do you feel about that?”

“I wouldn’t mind terribly much,” Denna said, slowly, feeling suddenly as if he were once again fifteen and being catechized by Tremane, “except that I’ve hardly had a chance to speak to Jessa. I’m not even sure she wants this marriage, and so I’ve only given provisional assent.”

“Ah!” Tremane said. “So you truly are playing the role of the conscientious father. Good! Too many Aerlithans have forgotten the purpose of our traditions, and the Maelions manipulate them for their own purposes. Perhaps it’s easy for me to say, but you must stand your ground with Ladera. Make sure your daughter has truly given her actual consent, and has not merely been swept along with the tide! We Aerlithans give more rights to women, including a voice in who they marry, than any other folk in the Empire. Make sure your daughter has made up her own mind in this matter.”

“I will try, master,” Denna said. 

They talked on for a bit, about the marriage, the city, the new schools, and other matters, but Denna quickly saw how they were tiring out the old man. He caught Sathon’s eye, and shared an old signal with his friend. Sathon nodded.

“Master, we should be going,” Sathon said. “We are wearing you out, I’m afraid.”

“Nonsense, I am invigorated!” Tremane responded. He immediately belied his own words by succumbing to a bout of coughing. 

Fral stepped up beside his bed. “Father, you need to rest.”

Treman looked up, and Denna saw the weariness in his face. “Oh, as you wish, daughter.”

He held out his hands as Denna and Sathon stood. Each of them took one. “I am,” Tremane declared, “full of hope for this city, with men such as you guiding her.”

Denna blinked at his words, but said nothing. “Rest well, master,” Sathon said. 

They left the tenement, and neither of them said anything for a space, as they made their way out of the Academy district. Both of them had much to digest, Denna reckoned. Certainly his own thoughts were in turmoil– sadness, nostalgia, anger and pride, all mingled together with memories and questions. He wasn’t sure what to say or what to ask. 

It was Sathon who broke their silence, as they crossed a footbridge back into the trade district. “It’s hard,” he said. 

“Hard?” Denna echoed. 

“To see someone who should be honored and in comfort, reduced to these circumstances in his last days,” Sathon said. He sounded angry. “It’s not right.” 

“Well, I was surprised, too,” Denna said. “As I recall, Tremane lived simply, but in comfort. What happened?” 

Sathon said nothing for a long moment, as if he were suddenly choosing his words. “I can’t say much. He…got crossways of certain powerful people at the Academy. He was never one to tailor his teaching to suit other opinions.”

“No, he wasn’t,” Denna said. He wondered what Sathon wasn’t saying– had Tremane fallen afoul of pro-Barony factions in the Academy? In Denna’s time as his student, Tremane had not openly opposed the Barony– but he had always been a proud Aerlithan who cherished its laws and traditions. Had that been enough for him to be shunted aside when age meant he could no longer teach? Sathon’s sudden reticence seemed to suggest this was the case. 

“I wish there was something we could do,” Sathon said, as they turned onto a lonely stretch of narrow street. As best Denna could tell, they were on the western side of the old craft market, but with looming buildings on either hand. 

“Such as?” Denna prompted. 

“I don’t know,” Sathon said. “An appeal to his former colleagues….” Sathon stopped short, both with his words and his steps. Denna looked up. They were surrounded.   

The men wore masks, and the daggers they carried looked very sharp. Denna had to lay a heavy hand on Sathon’s arm to keep him from drawing his sword. There were too many of them, both before them and behind. 

“Wait,” Denna said. 

“We mean you no harm,” one of the masked men said. “But you’re to come with us.”

“And if we say no?” Sathon said, his nostrils flaring. 

“Then you will come anyway,” another man said. “But you’ll need stitches.”

They went. Denna had to admire the timing. There was no one on the lonely street to witness the abduction. 

Their captors took them up an alley, over a footbridge, and then through a labyrinth of tangled back ways that soon had Denna thoroughly turned around. He thought they were in the narrow alleys at the northern foot of Citadel Hill, but when they all came to an open court enclosed within three tall tenements, and no sign of the hill over the rooftops, he realized all his suppositions were useless.    

The men spread out to cover the one exit, and Denna felt a chill. “Is this where you kill us?” Sathon said, echoing Denna’s thought.

“Now why should we do something like that to two true Aerlithans?” someone said. A man stepped through the crowd and stood before Sathon and Denna. He wore no mask. 

“Arran,” Sathon said. The name meant nothing to Denna.

As if sensing Denna’s confusion, the bare-faced man– tall and dark-headed, save for streaks of gray here and there– bowed and said, “Arran Siar, at your service.”

“Who…?” Denna began. 

“The Conscience of Aerlith, they call him,” Sathon said. His hand rested on his sword hilt, as if ready to draw on the man.

“Some call me that,” Arran said, “but I’m just an Aerlithan, trying to remind his fellow citizens of their rights, and glory.”

“The leader of the nativists,” Sathon added, “who want the Maelions out.”

Denna looked more closely at Arran. “I see. Your pardon, Arran Sier. Not much of the internal affairs of Aerlith reaches the ears of those in the Western Reach these days.”

“Nothing at all would get out,” Arran said, “if Lady Ladera had her way.”

“What do you want with us, Arran?” Sathon said. 

“Just a few words of conversation,” Arran said. “A moment of your time. That’s all. A chance to impress on you our…feelings about this wedding.”

“What does my daughter’s wedding,” Denna said, “ have to do with your agenda?” 

“Nothing, except what Baroness Ladera would make of it,” Arran said. “Your daughter is also an Aerlithan, or. At least, part, but Ladera wants to make of her wedding a false front, a little play to dress up her rule and make it seem something other than what it is– the imposition of a foreign house on a city that always before enjoyed its own freedoms, and charted its own course.”

“Maybe,” Denna said. “Ladera is the sort who thinks in those terms….” 

“Then you understand what I’m saying,” Arran said. 

“Oh, it’s plain on its face,” Denna said. “Ladera does most everything for effect.”

“I’m glad you see it our way,” Arran said, smiling. It was a very charming smile. 

“I didn’t say that,” Denna said. “I see it mostly from the perspective of a father who wants his daughter to be happy.”

“Will she be happy, citizen Denna, Rickard’s son?” Arran said. 

“She has a chance at it,” Denna said. “You can’t object to two Aerlithans joining themselves together, according to the ancient forms.”

“I object,” Arran said, “to the joining being made a spectacle to prop up a foreign house.”

“Neither you nor I can help what Ladera makes of it,” Denna said. “All I know is that my daughter is getting married. Are you going to do something to disrupt that?”

“We,” Arran said, “will make our feelings known. No, we mean no harm to your daughter. But Ladera will understand our message.” 

“What do you want with us?” Sathion demanded. 

“We want you to convey to the Baroness our displeasure,” Arran said, “and our one demand– that she and her house leave Aerlith, and leave this city to its citizens.”

“Or?” Denna said.

Arran stared at him, and smiled. He said nothing, but signaled to his men. The nativists warily filtered out the exit of the cul-de-sac, moving around the two of them like water flowing past two rocks. In another moment, they were alone in the court. 

“What just happened?” Sathon breathed.

“We lived,” Denna said. “Safe to say. Also, we’ve been made into messengers to the Baroness.”

“Maybe,” Sathon said, “but it’s not likely she’ll like what we have to tell her.” 

Denna shrugged. “That can’t be helped.”

They found their way back to the Horse Trader Alley, and then back to the Hero’s Way. They really hadn’t been very far from the foot of Citadel Hill. “I had no idea that the resistance to the Barony was as strong as this,” Denna said. 

Sathon shook his head. “It’s not something we like to advertise. And for the most part it’s been mere discontent– until Arran Undara began his agitation.”

“Who is he?” Denna asked. 

Sathon said nothing for a long moment. “Someone who sees an avenue for his own dreams, I suppose,” he said at last. “Before that, he was one of my best men. Always on about the old glories of Aerlith, though.”

Denna snorted. “‘Old glories’? Maybe his followers are too young to remember, but you, me and him are all old enough to remember what it was like before the Barony. Does Arran conveniently misremember what this city was like back then? How the gangs ruled the streets and the Thing had lost control? How it was the Thing begged the Emperor to give us a ruling house, city charter be damned?”

“Arran has his own…preferred narrative about that part of our history,” Sathon said. 

“Does he now?” Denna said, feeling warm. “And are people listening?”

“A few. Most folk are too content with our current prosperity to pay him much mind, but he’s accumulated a tight little knot of followers. And it doesn’t take an army to cause trouble.”

“No, I suppose not. Even so, what does he hope to accomplish? If the Emperor decided the Barony isn’t working out– and his opinion is the only one that really matters– does Arran think we’d go back to the status of a free city? More likely we’d have an Imperial governor shoved down our throats, and as a general rule those assholes are a lot less tolerant of….oh….”

Denna’s exposition died away as he caught sight of the troop of Houseguards jogging down the street toward them. An officer, a sub-commander, led them, and as they approached he held up a hand. The troop stamped to a halt mere yards in front of the two of them.

“Jaamia,” Sathon said, with dread in his voice.

“Overcommander, Citizen Denna,” Jaamia said. “The Baroness commands your immediate presence.”

“Well, shit,” Denna murmured.    

Ladera was beside herself. 

“And both of you ignored my specific order, went off and could have both been killed!” she yelled, stamping a foot. They were in the Chamber of Lesser Excellencies, which meant there was no escaping this telling-off. “I should lock you both up! Denna, you’re a known fool, but I expected better of you, Overcommander!” 

Sathon was looking decidedly hang-dog, but Denna smiled. “Lady Ladera, Baroness, I don’t think we were in real danger. If Arran and his gang had wanted to actually kill us, they had ample opportunity. Instead, they talked at us. They’re playing some other game.”

“A game? A game?! You call this a game? This is life-and-death and the future of the House of Ardwin, that’s what this is! Oh, you blithering idiots!” 

“Ladera,” Denna said, sharply, so as to get her attention. He was no longer smiling. The amusement of seeing her in this state was wearing thin. “Call me what you want, lady, but leave off insulting one of your most trusted officers. Sathon did what he did because he knew I would want to say goodbye to Tremane, and I am in his debt. Besides, if you thought there was danger in us going outside the Citadel, you probably should have been more specific in your warnings.”

Ladera stopped. Her arms crossed, she glared at Denna. “You dare criticize me, peasant?”

“As usual, and as necessary,” Denna said. It was an old turn of phrase between them, and Ladera blinked at it. “Come down off your high horse and properly tell me what’s going on. Your ‘specific order’, as you put it, was obviously not nearly specific enough. Explain what’s happening in plain words.”

That glare threatened to turn deadly, but then Ladera huffed and shifted her stance. “In plain words, there are people in this city who want we Maelions gone. They are mostly talk, but some listen to them.”

“Words can be dangerous,” Denna said, “if they are mated to actions.”

“So far we have seen little of that,” Ladera said. “Scribbling slogans on walls is what it has come to, mostly.”

“No guarantee it won’t go further, if people are angry enough,” Denna said. “If I had known Arran existed, I would have objected to the procession, however many battalions you deployed.” 

The glare returned. “That was not your decision!”      

“No, but you couldn’t keep me from expressing my opinion. Unless you’re executing people for speaking their minds, now. In which case, I begin to understand Arran’s position.”

Ladera looked as if she were about to slap Denna, or worse, but now Sathon spoke up. “That was uncalled for, Denna,” he said. “The lady Ladera holds to the Accord, and always has.”

“Otherwise Arran Seth would already be food for worms,” Ladera added. “Yes, I hold to the Accord. That’s why there are still nativists in the Thing, and why I put up with troublemakers like Arran. Or insolent sons of nobodies like you.”

“Ah, well, at least we’re on surer ground, now,” Denna said. “Insulting me is your favorite hobby. Although you didn’t always….”

“Enough!” Ladera said. “I’m not going to stand here bandying words with you! You will stay in the Citadel from henceforth until the end of the wedding, you will not go wandering off, alone or in company, and you will do your part in the ceremonies! Do I make myself clear?”

Denna breathed deep. “Amply.”

The Vigil began the next night. The High Hall of the Citadel was ritually cleansed and appointed for the ceremony. According to the traditional ritual, each parent on either side would occupy one station of the Vigil, and after midnight the bride and groom would separately visit each station and ask ritual questions and get ritual answers. In Denna’s experience, no one actually asked the questions or sought answers anymore. Most usually, the Vigil– when it was observed at all– was nowadays an excuse for the family members to sit together, gossip and get drunk.

Whatever Ladera’s intentions, when Denna entered the hall just before midnight it was immediately obvious that Old Bonnham intended to console himself with various viands, set out on a table beside his seat. “Friend Denna,” he said, a cup in hand, his nose already red, “come sample this red from Korri. I guarantee you haven’t tasted anything like it….” 

“Mostly like not,” Denna said politely, bowing to the older man. “Thank you, but perhaps later. I want to be clear-headed for the questioning.”

“Phfft!” Bonnham said, waving his cup. “We’re just going through the motions tonight! You sure you won’t have some now? There might be very little left shortly, ha, ha!” 

Denna bowed again, but said nothing. He stepped away and went to his own seat, a comfortably plush chair occupying the northern station. The High Hall was so large that he was many yards away from Bonnham. He sat down, and found himself already wishing he had brought a book. 

Ladera came in shortly thereafter. She looked at Denna, and turned away as if dismissing him. Her gaze lingered longer on Bonnham, and her mouth compressed itself into a hard line, but she apparently had nothing to say to the old nobleman. Denna felt cheated– if he had already been drinking, he was sure Ladera would have had very sharp words for him. For Bonnham, all she did was scowl and go to the south station, where a rather ornate and very comfortable looking chair awaited her. 

A moment or two later, someone blew a horn– midnight. Denna looked around and here came Tyron into the room. He was with four or more attendants/friends/drinking companions, and from the noise the group made, Denna judged they had already tasted a considerable amount of wine. Tyron’s companions went straight to Bonnham. Servants brought chairs and they sat down with the old man, amid a good deal of laughter and joking. Wine began to flow at once.

Tyron went to Ladera, bowed to her, and appeared to ask her something. They were too far away for Denna to hear what. Ladera, blank-faced, answered something back. Tyron bowed to her again, and then went straight to his father and sat down with everyone else. He didn’t even look in Denna’s direction. 

“Well, fine,” Denna muttered. “Didn’t want to talk to you, anyway.” 

A few minutes later, Jessa came in. She moved tentatively, as if entering the lair of a dangerous beast. She came alone, although a couple of ladies-in-waiting hovered in the doorway in her wake.

She went first to her mother, and bowed. Did Ladera have a hint of a smile on her lips? Denna was too far away to say for sure, but the Baroness seemed pleased. Jessa appeared to ask her mother several questions, although, again, they were too far away for Denna to hear their conversation.

At length Jessa bowed to her mother, and went over to the clutch of men around Bonnham. They greeted her in boisterous fashion. Jessa bowed first to Bonnham, and then to Tyron. Over the laughter of the men she put a single question to Bonnham. The old man snorted and said, “Never with my pants on, lady!”, at which the other men hooted. Except for Tyron– he at least had the good grace to look embarrassed. 

Jessa bowed again and turned away from Bonnham. She came to Denna. She came, and sat right down on the floor in front of her father. As she did, he heard her sigh.

“Mother tells me you want to talk,” she said, without preface.

“Very much so,” Denna said. He found he was fighting an urge to smile like a simpleton. “I’ve wanted to sit down and talk to you since I got to Aerlith.”

“I suppose I understand that,” Jessa said. “Very well. I don’t care about the ritual questions– can we dispense with them? I have real questions I need answered.”

Denna spread his hands. “Of course.” Now he was smiling, and he couldn’t help it. 

Jessa hesitated. “Is it true you’re a clerk?” she said, as if testing the waters. 

Denna shrugged. “Yes. I’ve done a few other things out in the west, but my chief job has been to keep milord Brook’s books.” He grimaced at the unintended rhyme.

“Is that…all you want to do?” Jessa asked. 

“Want to do? There are many things I’ve wanted to do. Some I’ve been able to do, and many others, no. You do what you can in life, Jessa.” 

The questions so far, he realized, were like tentative probes, testing– or perhaps, essays in establishing a common language. He waited, wondering what was coming next. 

“Do you have a family out west?” Jessa said. 

He shook his head. “No, but I think you knew that. If I had married or had other children, doubtless your mother would have told you.” Not to any good purpose, but he did not say that out loud.   

Jessa seemed to consider that. She shifted where she sat. “Why have you refused full assent to the contract?” 

Denna smiled. “Well, that one’s pretty easy. Because I haven’t had a chance to talk to you.” 

“Talk to me?” Jessa said, sounding startled. 

“Is it so surprising that a father would want to talk to his daughter? I have particularly wanted to know how you felt about this marriage.”

“Why?” Jessa said.

“Why? Because I want to know if this is something you want, for your own happiness, and not just because it’s something your mother concocted for you. How do you feel about it?”

A burst of laughter interrupted them– Old Bonnham was slapping his knee and chortling, red-faced, while his younger companions joined in. Tyron didn’t quite join in; the boy looked a deal more serious than his companions, and seemed to want to be somewhere else. Jessa watched with a guarded expression, and Denna was sure he heard her sigh.

“It pleases me well enough,” she told Denna, looking down at the floor.

“That doesn’t sound very whole-hearted,” Denna said, feeling a spark of worry.

“You haven’t been around to know what my whole-heart looks like,” Jessa said. “This marriage suits me. Will you give full assent?” 

“What about your studies?” Denna asked. 

Jessa hesitated, still looking down. “It can’t be helped,” she said after a moment. “I understand what needs to be done.”

“That’s the truth?” Denna said, his own heart aching.

“The very truth, father,” Jessa said.

Denna took a deep breath. “If that’s so, daughter, then, yes, I will give full assent.” 

“Thank you.”

Neither of them said anything for a little while. Bonnham and the others continued their merriment. Ladera, Denna saw, was watching him and Jessa closely, and he guessed she wanted very much to know what they were saying to one another. Getting up and coming over, however, would be a major breach of the decorum of the ritual, so Denna felt fairly secure….  

“Why did you abandon me?” Jessa said, looking up.

It was like a punch in the gut. For a moment,Denna did not know what to say– or rather, he had no words to say at all. “Is that what your mother told you?” was what he managed at last. 

“No in so many words, no,” Jessa said. “But what else could it have been?”

In a moment of clarity, Denna knew whatever he could say now, it was not enough. “I didn’t want to go. But your mother made it clear I was unwelcome, and she was the Baroness-to-be, and had the whole weight of the Barony on her side….”

“That sounds very much like an excuse,” Jessa said, coldly. 

“It does, I know,” Denna said. “In the moment, though, living it, it had a wholly different character.” He took a breath. “I know I can’t make up for the lost years….” 

“I’m glad you understand that,” Jessa said.

“But can’t we start again?” Denna said. “You’re starting a new phase of your life. Surely it wouldn’t be too much to also start afresh between us?”

“Am I to believe that you suddenly started caring?” Jessa said. 

“I’ve never stopped caring for you, Jessa,” Denna said. 

“You had a strange way of showing it,” Jessa said. “Leaving me here and vanishing for sixteen years.”  

Denna spread his hands. “I could not stay. You mother and I– well, we fell out with each other, as thoroughly as we had fallen into– not love, I suppose, but mutual passion. Of course, there was no question of us marrying, our different ranks…no need to explain that, I suppose. The point is, your mother made it clear that I was not welcome. Precisely because you were born out of wedlock, I had no rights, and your mother had them all. She told me to go, and, the gods help me, I went.” He looked at Jessa. In spite of himself, tears edged his eyes. “Probably the greatest mistake of my life.”

Jessa’s expression clouded. “I…I don’t know. What do you want from me?”

“Nothing but for you to be happy,” Denna said. 

“Nothing else?” Jessa asked/

Denna shook his head. “I’m not here looking for some sort of preference. Not this late in the game. If that’s what I wanted, I had sixteen years to patch it up with your mother, to make nice to her and seek her favor. No, I’m here for you, and because of you, and only for you.”

Jessa looked away. “I wish I could believe that.”

Denna opened his mouth, and closed it. “Words are inadequate. I can’t bandage the last sixteen years by talking about them, or about you, or about me.” He smiled sadly. “It’s too bad your old father can’t slay a dragon or conquer a kingdom for you. You know, do something truly dramatic. I really am just a clerk, however senior. Words are what I do best.”

Jessa gave him a small smile at that. “I wouldn’t want to put you to too much effort. Perhaps you could write me an essay.”

Denna shrugged. “I could. Of course, in a way I already have.” 

Jessa gave him a sharp look. “What do you mean?”

“The letters I wrote you,” Denna said. “They were all pretty honest expressions of how I felt.”

Jessa stared at him. “You wrote me?”

“Two or three times a month,” Denna said, “except for the couple of times it looked like the Eboshi were about to massacre us all….” 

“No,” Jessa said. She looked disbelieving. “You never.” 

“I did,” Denna said. “You can ask your mother.”

“Mother? No. Why would…why would she keep such a thing from me?”

“That is definitely a question you need to ask her,” Denna said.

Jessa stood, looking distracted. “I should go. I have your promise?” 

“Yes– full assent.”

“Thank you.” She hesitated, and suddenly stepped in and kissed him on the cheek. Then she walked straight out of the room, and was gone. 

Ladera stood and left a few minutes later, giving Denna a fishy-eyed look in the process. He met the look and merely shrugged, trying to say don’t blame me without words. He himself waited a decent interval before slipping out. Bonnham, his son and his son’s companions didn’t even notice he had left, so far gone were they with their drinking. Going out, he passed the man servants waiting to assist– or carry– them out. Denna indulged in a moment of pride that he came out on his own two feet, before turning his steps back toward his chambers. 

Somebody was shaking him, hard.

“What? What is it?” he mumbled, shaking off sleep. 

“Get up.” It was Sathon. The Overcommander leaned in close over Denna. Denna snapped wide awake with the realization Sathon was in full scale armor. “Every kind of hell has broken loose.” 

Denna sat up. “What’s happened?”

“Jessa is missing,” Sathon said. 

The Chamber of the Lesser Excellencies was crowded with people in uniform and armor. If Denna had had to guess without benefit of foreknowledge, he would have said the city was under attack. Maybe it is.

Ladera was in deep conference with some of her officers when Denna entered, but the moment she saw him she turned on him. “What have you done?” she shouted. “Where’s Jessa?”

“Wait, wait, who says I know anything about the matter?” Denna said, holding up his hands.

“It’s obviously your fault!” Ladera cried. 

“The only thing obvious here is that you need to calm down,” Denna said. Some of the officers looked taken aback by his words, but he was beyond caring. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

Ladera stood, fists clenched, seething, but she gritted her teeth and said, “Last night– this morning– after you talked to her, Jessa confronted me– her own mother!– about all those letters you wrote. She demanded to know why I had not let her see them. Demanded, of me!”

“What did you tell her?” Denna said.

“I told her that I wasn’t in the habit of being questioned by subjects, not even my daughter,” Ladera said.

“Oh, hell,” Denna muttered, aghast. “You actually said that? Gods, woman!” 

“She was insubordinate!”

“She’s a teenager,” Denna said, “insubordinate is what they do! In fact, it reminds me of someone else at nineteen!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ladera said. 

“Never mind,” Denna said, unwilling to explain the obvious. “Then what happened?”

“I sent her to bed, but when the servants went to rouse her this morning, she was gone!” Ladera said.

“Well, perhaps she needed time to sort things out,” Denna said. His words belied his own growing sense of concern. A youngster like Jessa going off on her own was nothing unusual, he knew that– but in the current situation, probably not the wisest thing to do. “Do you have any clue where she might have gone?”

“We’re trying to figure that out,” Ladera said. Denna was instantly struck by the thought that a posse of Houseguard officers were unlikely to crack that particular mystery. “Did she say anything to you that might tell us where she went?” 

Denna, thinking about it, in all sincerity, shook his head. “No. Not that I can remember.”  

“Lady,” one of the officers said, “if we’re going to initiate a search….” 

“Yes, yes,” Ladera said, and she turned away from Denna. 

Effectively dismissed, worried but with no reasonable purpose in this chamber, Denna backed away, and stepped out. Soldiers and messengers were going back and forth, and no one seemed to be paying him much mind. He reached the Chambers outer doors, which let out into one of the marshaling courts, and platoons of Houseguards were assembling out there, ready for marching orders. Denna felt useless. 

He tried to think. Had Jessa said anything to him that might suggest where she had gone? He really could think of nothing.

As he stood there, a hooded figure came across the court. No one seemed to pay it much mind, and Denna guessed it was someone known to most everyone. It came on, approaching the doorway in which he stood, and Denna saw it was a woman. Short and rather round-figured, the hooded one came up, and lifted her gaze. 

The woman was dark-haired and dark-eyed, the hair framing the face under the hood. She stopped when she caught sight of Denna. “My lord,” she said. 

“No, no,” Denna said. “I’m no lord. Don’t let the clothes fool you. You are…?” 

The lady hesitated, looking uncertain, and then stepped closer. “I am Mira Shankavisi,” she said, “lady-in-waiting to the lady Jessa.”

Denna’s ears would have pricked up at those words, if he had had the sort of ears that could do that. As it was, he leaned forward. “Do you know where she is?”

Mira hesitated again. She looked around, and leaned in closer to Denna. ““My lord,” she said, “I am to take you to her..”

Mira led the way, although Denna was sure he remembered how to get where they were going. He took just a moment to go get his cloak before following the woman out through yet another sally port on the Citadel’s south side. He was sure the port had not been there in his day. He began to wonder about the fortress’ integrity. 

Mira refused to speak to Ladera, or go into the Chamber at all. “My lady Jessa forbade me from telling her mother where she was,” she said as they hurried through back alleys, “but she wanted me to find you.”

“That’s foolish,” Denna said. “The Baroness is about to turn the whole city upside down and shake it, trying to find Jessa. And the streets aren’t safe.” 

“That was my thought,” Mira said, “but I’m bound to obey Lady Jessa in every particular, and that’s pretty much the end of it.”

They crossed Waxworkers Way, and then crossed over the Lesser Canal on the Finger Bridge. Denna found this area very familiar– painfully so, in fact. Memories seemed to be attached to almost everything he saw– the bridge, the street, the narrow, confining walls, and, finally, the gate to the necropolis.

The Old Necropolis was much as Denna remembered it. It was a vast space, filled with mausoleums, family tombs, simple graves and the plots of the common graves. It was centered around the Hill of Remembrance, topped with its somber shrine. Here, too, memories crowded in, most of them the sort that would have challenged Denna’s composure, if he had had time to indulge the feelings. 

The two of them skirted the hill, following the well-worn footpath past the monuments to past members of high-born families and Thing members. Where they were going was further on, away from the posh area of the graveyard, down toward the southwestern corner, where the graves clustered tight together, and the small monuments leaned in over one another. 

Denna spotted the spire of his parents’ monument first. It wasn’t particularly taller than the monuments around it, but it was exactly where Denna had left it, sixteen years before, in the days before he left for the west. Seeing it placed here was almost the last thing he had done before leaving Aerlith. Seeing it now, it seemed he had completed some roundabout journey in his life. 

They came around the corner, into the little cul-de-sac, and there was Jessa, seated on a stone bench beside the graveled walk. Denna could not hide a sigh of relief as he caught sight of his daughter. 

Jessa heard it, and looked up. “Why, father, were you worried about me?” she said quietly. 

“Yes, I was,” Denna said. “I am. The streets aren’t safe right now. Your mother is about to run rampant.”

“I can’t help what mother does,” Jessa said. “I just knew I needed space, away from the Citadel.”

Denna came and sat down on the bench beside his daughter. “I can understand that. Have you come here before?”

“Often,” Jessa said at once. 

Denna was surprised. “Did your mother…?”

“No,” Jessa said. “I had to find this place on my own. When I was sixteen, in a fit of investigation.” She gestured toward her grandparents’ stone. Denna was pleased to see that the names Rickard and Tilla were still sharp and clear. The cheap sandstone some monument-carvers foisted off on customers had been a scandal in Denna’s day, and doubtless still was. “I didn’t have much to go on, but I found them. Grandfather was a mechanic?” 

“Of clockworks,” Denna said. “A very skilled man, although he spent his entire career working in somebody else’s workshop or another. He could never save enough money to start one of his own– and then your grandmother died, and the heart seemed to go out of him.”

“He loved her?” Jessa asked.

“Very much,” Denna said. “She was the center of his world, and mine, and when she was gone, the world seemed hollow for both of us.” 

Jessa looked over at Denna. “You didn’t follow in your father’s footsteps?”

Denna shook his head. “Never seemed to have the same knack. Words and books were more my meat, and your grandfather spent a deal of money having me tutored. Not that that turned out spectacularly well….” 

“Chief clerk of Lord Brook,” Jessa said. “That’s what everyone says. Sounds like you have a fair deal of responsibility.”

“Responsibility, perhaps– glory, no.”

Both of them fell silent for a moment. Somewhere off in the distance a bell rang, doubtless a prayer-ringing from one of the temples. Mira stood behind the two of them, and Denna could hear her nervously shifting her feet back and forth. He understood her urgency, but Jessa didn’t seem to want to be rushed. 

“I have a knack,” she said suddenly. “Everyone says so. Mistress Warrin says so, and she only hands out praise if you drag it out of her with tongs.”

“That was my impression,” Denna said. 

“I don’t want to give up something I’m good at,” Jessa said. “It’s not the marriage– Tyron’s a sweet boy, if you can get him away from his father. It’s giving up on something I have hardly begun to explore. Something I love. Does that make sense?”

“Completely,” Denna said. “So what are you going to do?”

Jessa said nothing for a moment. “Mother really wants me to marry,” she said at last. 

“That doesn’t answer the question,” Denna said. 

“No, it doesn’t,” Jessa said. The look on her face was somewhere between sad and perplexed. “I’m not sure I have an answer.”

“Hm,” Denna said. “Well, I know the feeling. If you need time to figure it out, though, you should definitely do it back in the Citadel.”

“Yes, lady,” Mira said, sounding anxious, “being out here is not safe!”

“You are right about that,” someone said. 

Denna turned. Five or six masked men blocked the entrance to the cul-de-sac. With them was Farrin Siar. He wore a look of triumph. “So, this is a cozy, family tableau,” he said. 

“Both of you, get behind me,” Denna said to the two women. 

“Oh, such gallantry!” Farrin said. “I compliment your instincts, Denna, Rickard’s son, but you’re unarmed and there’s only one of you. I recommend you try nothing heroic.” 

“What do you want, Farrin?” Denna demanded. There was no other way out of the cul-de-sac, or, at least, no easy way– by the time any of them clambered over the surrounding monuments Farrin’s men would be on them. Unless they’re delayed….          

“The Lady Jessa is to come with us,” Farrin said. “With her in our hands the Baroness will have to listen to our demands. That, or see her precious, though sadly illegitimate, daughter carved to pieces.” 

“And what of your pledge not to harm a true Aerlithan?” Denna said, stalling. 

“A true Aerlithan?” Farrin sneered. “This half-blooded mongrel?”

“That’s what I thought,” Denna said. He pulled his cloak off and wrapped it around his left arm. “The two of you, get out!” he shouted to Jessa and Mira.

“Now what did I say about heroic gestures?” Farrin said, and his men closed in.  

Denna stepped forward and body-slammed the first man. The fellow wasn’t expecting this move; he fell back and landed hard.

Another of the nativists slashed at Denna. He took it with his protected arm. Even with the cloak, the dagger sliced through all the layers of cloak, coat and tunic, to scratch his arm. 

Ignoring the pain, Denna punched the man in the throat. He staggered back, wheezing, but another nativist was already closing in on Denna’s other side. Denna turned, knowing he wouldn’t make it in time, hoping Jessa and Mira were running away….

A ball of blue fire shot past Denna’s shoulder and hit the nativist. Denna heard the man grunt as if hit with a mallet. The nativist flew off his feet, collided with the man behind him, and both went down.

Denna looked behind him. There was Jessa, blue light playing around her hands, her feet three feet off the ground. 

“I didn’t know adepts could do that!” Denna exclaimed. 

“Neither did I!” Jessa shouted back.

“Well, don’t stop!” Denna said. He stooped and seized a dropped dagger. The nativists, taken aback by Jessa, had fallen back. Despite the pain of his arm, now that he was armed Denna felt better. But Mira was down, crying and clutching a bloody arm, and there were more nativists crowding in behind the first rank.

“Close in, you fools!” Farrin was shouting. “She can’t really hurt you.” 

Denna wondered about that, but the men in front of him seemed to take heart, and came forward again.

Something cracked!, and one of the men in front of  Denna jerked sideways, right off his feet. A spray of blood was a dark mist in the bright sunlight.The man next to the fallen nativist stared in incomprehension at his fellow. Another crack! and he went down. 

Rifle-muskets. It had to be, although Denna had never seen them in action. Looking up, he could see whitish smoke rising from the Hill of Remembrance. 

Farrin’s men milled about in confusion. Jessa took the opportunity to fling two more balls of fire at them, hitting men hard enough, it seemed to Denna, to break bones. Confused, they turned and broke– right into the solid wall of Houseguards coming up behind them. 

Sathon reached the three of them as his men subdued the nativists. Denna was trying to improvise a bandage out of his cloak. There was confusion and shouting. Most of the nativists threw down their daggers in the face of armored men with sword and shield. The one or two who tried to fight were cut down without mercy.

Farrin was surrounded, then dog-piled. He bellowed in impotent rage, but his arms were already pinned, and then someone stuffed a gag in his mouth.

“Make sure he’s secure,” Sathon shouted. “I want him in the Citadel jail in twenty minutes.” To Denna he said, “You’re hurt.” 

“Not as bad as this lady,” Denna said, trying to cut his cloak into ribbons.

“Don’t waste your time,” Sathon said. He turned and shouted, “Medicus up!”

The medicus came hurrying, and quickly went to work on Mira. Denna stood, holding his own arm. He really only had a cut, he’d gotten worse out west, but the blood was flowing. “You came prepared.”

“We had to,” Sathon said. “Didn’t know what we’d find. Lady Jessa, are you well?”

“I’m fine, Overcommander,” Jessa said. She was kneeling down beside Mira, holding the older woman as the medicus bandaged her wound.

“How did you find us?” Denna asked Sathon. 

Sathon grimaced. “Now, old friend, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way….”

“Attention!” someone shouted. 

Denna looked up–  and there was Ladera, well-guarded, coming down the path from the Hill of Remembrance.

“What are you doing here?” Denna said, open-mouthed. 

“I’ve come to see,” the Baroness said, with an air of satisfaction, “how well things turned out.”

Denna stared at her. “What?” 

This time it was Denna who was beside himself. 

“You used your own daughter as a stalking-horse to lure Arran out!” he shouted at Ladera. “How dare you!”

They were in the Hall of Lesser Excellencies again, but this time there was no private conference. Several Houseguard commanders were there, along with Sathon and the high commander of the city militia. They all stood aside, some with openly dismayed expressions, as Ladera and Denna had gone at each other from the moment they entered the room. 

“How dare you speak to me in such a manner!” Ladera said back. “I calculated everything out, and there was no danger, until you and Jessa decided to go haring off on your own!”

“That’s because you’re dealing with people, and not chess pieces,” Denna said. His bandaged arm was throbbing, but his rage made him forget his hurt. “There’s always risk when dealing with politics, woman, which you would understand if you weren’t so arrogant and stuck-up!”

“You insult me to my face?” Ladera gasped. “I should have you arrested here and now for what you did today, you common street-cat!”

“Lady, Denna,” Sathon, who was standing close by, said, “enough. Both of you.”

Denna and Ladera both turned to stare at the Overcommander. “You, too, Sathon?” Ladera said. 

“Only because you’re both carrying on like children,” he said. His look was not one of dismay, but that of a man fed up. “Both of you have been at each other since this wedding began, and it’s starting to turn my stomach.”

Ladera gaped at him, but Denna found himself smiling. “Say, what have you done with my friend Sathon?” he asked the Overcommander. “He’s actually a very retiring fellow.” 

“There’s a time to be retiring, and a time for plain words,” Sathon said. “Both of you need to take a deep breath and step back. Yes, we’ve just had a scare, but Arran is under arrest, and I’m told the lady Mira is going to make a full recovery. We got off lucky,” Sathon faced Denna as he opened his mouth, “and angry recriminations do no good now. As for you, my lady, it was foolish to risk your daughter, even a little, even for a good cause.”

“I…I…I’m not going to take that from another low-born Aerlithan!” Ladera said. A low, shocked murmur ran round the room. “You dare question my judgment?”

“When your judgment is in question, it’s my duty to do so,” Sathon said mildly.   

“You may not have that duty much longer,” Ladera said.

Sathon stared at her, grim-faced, and then reached up to his left shoulder and proceeded to unbuckle his badge of rank, a silver disk embossed with the Aerlithan coat of arms. He took it off and held it out to Ladera. “If that’s how you feel, lady,” he said, “you may have this now, and good riddance. I have no desire to serve under someone who refuses to see when she is being given the best counsel a man can give.”

For a long moment no one in the room said anything. Even Denna bit his tongue. Ladera stared at the proffered badge in obvious dismay. Denna guessed she understood this little play, and the effect it was liable to have on the other officers in the room, Aerlithans almost to a man.  

Then, slowly, Ladera stepped forward. She reached out and took the badge, and there was a sharp intake of breath in the room. But instead of stepping back, she took another step closer to Sathon, and with her own hands pinned the badge back on his tunic. “That won’t be necessary,” she said in a low voice. “I need your help, Overcommander Sathon. I am sorry.”

Denna blinked at her apology, but Sathon merely ducked his head. “My lady.” 

The main door to the chamber opened. They all turned to see Jessa enter. She walked slowly into the room, as if in thought. Everyone fell silent as they watched her come in.

She walked up to her mother. She held something in her hand. She approached her mother, and held it up. “I read this,” she said. 

Denna looked and was surprised to recognize one of his letters. He recognized the paper,  and the folding of it, and the remnants of the red wax seal. The paper had yellowed a little at the edges, which told him it was one of the older letters. Seeing it was like seeing a remnant of some past civilization. 

“Where did you find that?” Ladera demanded. She seemed visibly taken aback. 

“Lady Tia showed me where you had them stored,” Jessa said. “In that old cupboard in the lower storeroom. I’ve read several of them already, but it’s going to take me weeks to get through them all. There are hundreds of them.” She faced Denna. “I’m sorry I doubted you, father.”

“It’s alright,” Denna said, not sure what else to say.

“Why did you hide this from me, mother?” Jessa asked Ladera. “More than that, why did you keep them at all, if you didn’t expect me to read them eventually?”

“I…,” Ladera stammered. For a moment, she seemed at a loss for words. “I…I thought that they were too much for a little girl, and that they would raise questions about your father….” 

“Questions you didn’t want to answer?” Jessa said. “Or maybe you didn’t have answers for?”

“I thought you needed to be older to understand them!” Ladera said. 

“Well, I’m older now,” Jessa said. “I’ve had Tia move the whole mass of them to my quarters, mother. They’re my property and I will read them and try to appreciate what they mean, even if it’s years late.”

Denna felt a warm glow of joy, but Ladera fumed. “First Mira, then Sathon, and now Tia! Have my servants all decided my commands are no longer to be regarded?”

“Perhaps that’s the problem, Ladera,” Denna said. “They’re not your servants.”

“What are you talking about?” Ladera said. 

“These men,” Denna swept a hand to indicate the assembled officers, “your ladies-in-waiting, the Citadel staff, do you think they are all here just for your convenience? If you do, you need to read the Accords again. These are the servants of the people of Aerlith, and of those servants, you are the chief. Why do you think the emperor put you Maelions in the Barony in the first place? It wasn’t as some sort of prize, but to bring justice and peace to a city that was troubled and at war with itself. I think your father understood that, tough old buzzard that he was, but perhaps you need to rethink things.”

“I…,” Ladera said, hesitating, and she looked around at the assembly as if seeing them for the first time.

“Jessa!” cried a voice. 

Everyone in the room turned to see Tyron Bonnham standing in the open doorway. The boy looked distressed and breathless– in fact, it looked like he’d been running. “Thank the gods, you’re here! There are all sorts of rumors on the streets, some people say you were killed in the old necropolis….” 

“Well, silly, that’s obviously not true,” Jessa said, with a laugh in her voice.

Tyron didn’t seem to hear her. He came in, hurrying to Jessa, and before everyone there threw himself down on his knees and wrapped his arms around Jessa’s legs. A surprised murmur ran through the room. Jessa herself was open-mouthed. 

“I was so scared!” Tyron blurted. “I had to come see for myself, and I’m so glad you’re not hurt! I don’t know what I would have done if you had been!” 

Jessa broke into an indulgent smile. “I’m fine, and you’re being so dramatic.”

Perhaps, but Denna could see the boy had tears in his eyes, and so he doubted this was a performance. “Stand up, son,” he told Tyron. 

Sniffling, the boy did so. Jessa held a hand to his face, and kissed him. “Dry your eyes, Tyron, everything’s alright.”

“No, it’s not,” Tyron said. “I really don’t know what I would have done if anything had happened to you. You’re a better woman than I deserve.”

Jessa sighed. “We’ve talked about this, Tyron. You’re perfectly fine– except you let your father bully you.”

Tyron wiped his eyes, reached out and took Jessa’s hands. “Not anymore. Father wants grandchildren– well, he’s just going to have to wait. I want you to keep on with your studies, Jessa. Please. You proved today you’re going to be a great adept. I…I insist you stay with your schooling.” 

Jessa peered up into Tyron’s face, and her smile became glorious. “You mean it, Tyron?”

“Of course, he means it,” Denna said. “He just said it in front of a roomful of witnesses.”

“Yes, I did,” Tyron said, nodding.

Now Jessa was tearing up. She flung her arms around Tyron’s neck and hugged him tight. “Thank you.” 

Ladera, for her part, wore a look of surprise– but not, it seemed to Denna, disapproval. “I guess Old Bonnham will have to be patient. Assuming, of course, you ever give your full assent, Denna.” 

“Oh, I do,” Denna said. “Wholeheartedly.” 

Ladera kept the second procession short, and Tyron and Ladera moved by carriage rather than palanquin this time. Sharpshooters covered the whole way, but the crowds seemed wholly in love with Jessa and Tyron. Nothing untoward happened, and they all arrived at the temple in one piece. 

During the second oaths Denna thought Old Bonnham looked fairly disgruntled– but he made no audible protest to the change in plans. Doubtless he did not dare, while Ladera looked as regally triumphant and pleased as she did. Watching her, listening to the oaths, Denna was reminded, just for a moment, why he had found her attractive in the first place. 

The feast afterwards went on for hours, with courses Aerlithan and Maelion alternately served. Toasts were drunk to the couple until Denna’s head was reeling– but not so much that he was unsteady when he stood to give the father’s speech, toward the end. For a wonder, the hall fell silent as he did. 

“Baroness, lords, ladies, gentlefolk all,” he said. “Thank you. Thank you for your attendance at this holy rite. Thank you for the support of my daughter and her new husband. All new couples need support, and considering everything that has happened, perhaps this couple, in some ways, more than most. I am humbled and grateful for every gift, every pledge, you have given these two youngsters.” 

He faced Jessa and Tyron. “Jessa and Tyron– what can I say? You have your entire lives ahead of you, an adventure you’ve chosen to share together. Lean on one another, because together is the only way you will get through it. Share everything, build each other up, laugh together, cry together, and in the end,” he had to take a brief breath, “and in the end, everything you encounter, all the joys and the suffering, will be hallowed by the fact that they were shared.” 

“But for now,” Denna said, more brightly, lifting his cup, “there is this toast– health and joy in abundance to you both, and many happy returns! So say we all!”

“So say we all!” echoed the congregation. 

After that, the feast wound down, with the last highlights being the insistence of Jessa’s sister and brother that she alone could put them to bed, and Old Bonnham finally being carried out. Denna suspected him of drinking something other than the admittedly strong wine. The wine was why Denna cut off his own consumption after the father’s toast; even so, he was a little unsteady on his feet as people streamed out from the hall into the evening. 

Standing in the door, drinking in the night air to steady his brain, he found Ladera standing with him. She farewelled some of the folk leaving, while Denna waited. Seeing the attendees off was not one of the required duties of the mother or the father, so he suspected something else was coming. 

When the last of the feasters were out the door, Ladera looked up at him. “Well, that’s done.”

“Yes,” Denna said, patiently. 

“Never thought marrying off my daughter would be this fraught,” Ladera said. 

“You’re the one who decided to stir in the politics,” Denna pointed out. 

Ladera grimaced, but said, “True.” She hesitated. “Thank you.” 

“Oh, I must have drunk more than I thought,” Denna said. “I could have sworn….” 

“Enough,” Ladera said, but without vehemence. 

They stood together for another moment, and then Denna said, “You’re welcome.”

Ladera nodded, and without another word turned and went back inside.

One of the Houseguard officers got Denna back to his room in the Citadel. Sathon was somehow missing in action, and Denna suspected one of the ladies-in-waiting may have waylaid the perpetual bachelor. Denna wished his friend well. For his part, Denna needed sleep– the skyship taking him home was leaving early in the morning, and above all Denna did not want to face flying with a hangover.

At the door of his room, however, there was someone waiting for him beside the door guard– Jessa. “Sweetling,” Denna said, concerned, “aren’t you supposed to be off on your honeymoon?”

“Tyron is waiting with the carriage,” Jessa said. Indeed, she was now in traveling clothes. “But I had to talk to you, one more time.” 

The Houseguard officer caught the eye of the soldier on duty. “Excuse us,” he said, and both men stepped away, down the hall and out of earshot.

“You’re leaving in the morning,” Jessa said. It was not a question.  

“I have to,” Denna said. 

“Why?” Jessa asked. “I just got to know you, and you’re leaving.” 

“Well, I have duties out west,” Denna said. “For better or worse, I’ve built a life out there, and I need to get back to it. And more than that– nothing has really changed between your mother and me. If I stayed, we would fall into all our bad patterns with each other. And that would affect you and Tyron, inevitably, and I would rather avoid that.”

Jessa seemed to consider his words. “I suppose. I thought that, maybe– but no. You’re right.”

“I don’t want to spoil the time you have coming with your mother and mine’s old business,” Denna said. “You really have a chance to start things right with Tyron.”

“I think so, too,” Jessa said, smiling. 

“It’s not like we won’t see each other again,” Denna said. “The skyships are running regularly now to the West and back. I should be able to get leave now and then.” 

“I’ll hold you to that,” Jessa said. “Or we can come visit, when we’re settled.” 

“Do,” Denna said. “And, in the interim, I will write.” 

“I look forward to reading your letters,” Jessa said. “May I write to you? It’s about time I did.” 

A smile crossed Denna’s face. “You don’t have to ask permission. Yes, please.” 

Jessa looked up at him, then stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. “Until I see you again, Poppa.” 

Smiling, Denna hugged her back. “Now that makes me happy.” 

Passing By

On golden sands you
danced and sang
of the truest love eternal.
I,
mortal flesh declining
down toward mortal darkness,
listened, but could not speak.
You,
laughed and passed by
on your immortal way,
heedless in your joy.

Consequences

This is apropos of nothing. It just popped into my head. It is possible I’ve been watching too much anime.

************************************************

The battle over, Gregory faced the defeated demon queen, his sword-point at her throat.  She lay panting among the ruins of her army, beaten and despairing. The cheers of the human forces echoed in both their ears.

“You are my prisoner, Queen Alea,” Gregory said.  He tried to ignore how her already skimpy battle-garb now hung in tatters on her voluptuous frame.

“It is fate,” Alea said.  “We fought, and I lost, and now I must suffer the consequences.  I promise I will not whimper or cry as you ravage me.”

Gregory blinked and drew back.  “Wait, wait, who said I was going to ravage you?  We don’t do that with prisoners.”

“But that’s the fate of defeated queens,” Alea said, glaring at him.  “Don’t you know the rules of this business?”

Gregory snorted.  “Coming up with new rules was kind of the reason behind our whole disagreement.”

The queen peered at him, puzzled.  “Then, at least cut my throat quickly and have done with it.”  She stretched out her lovely neck so that it was wholly exposed to Gregory’s sword.

He took another step back.  “I’m not going to do that, either!  Geez-Lousie, lady, we’re the good guys!  If I’m not going to take you against your will, I’m surely not going to kill you out of hand.”

Alea stared at him, and then burst into tears.  “Oh, this is terrible!  You humans have no sense of propriety!  How am I to live with this dishonor?”

“It’s no dishonor to be beaten in battle,” Gregory said, feeling desperate.  “Really, please stop crying.”

“But you have to do something!” Alea said, sniffling.  “Take responsibility!  If you won’t ravage me and you won’t slit my throat, there’s only one other possibility!”

And that’s how Gregory of Talmont and Queen Alea of the Demon Kingdom got married, had three children, and established peace for a thousand years.

Moral: Don’t start something if you’re not willing to face the consequences.     

IN THE END*

And so, goodbye.
Well-deserved the shouted praises,
the rose petals strewn,
the bended knees,
the pledges of fealty.

You did it—
the Sacred Jewel reclaimed,
the land restored, hope reborn—
all by your hand.

And me…?
nobody.
As I knew
when I joined
your band of shining heroes.
A plow-horse among thoroughbreds.
A clod of dirt beside bright silver.

Through it all, I knew my place
to march,
to carry,
to sweat,
to fight,
to bleed,
to hope to see you lifted up,
glorious,
as now you are.

Goodbye
Rule well, as
I know you will.
It’s just…well,
The people look to you.
Time to go….

What…?
Why do you hold out your hand?
Small and fair, palm upturned,
waiting to clasp mine?

(*republished from a previous post)

LONG-TERM INVESTMENTS*

The sun sparkled beautifully off the waters of the bay.  Juarez took in the vista, with purple headlands shadowing the horizon across the water, and boats, pleasure craft and working vessels, dotting the blue of the water.  The sun was warm, but the breeze off the bay was cool and refreshing after days in a ship getting here.

“And this is the result of, what?” he asked Harkess.  “Two hundred years of terraforming?”

“To bring it to its current state of perfection, yes,” Harkess said.  “But Pequod was comfortably inhabitable within thirty years of our first landings.  And many of the prospects in our portfolio would require even less work than that– in fact, some are step off the ship, plant a seed, and you’re done.”

“Doubtless those go for a higher premium,” Juarez said.

Harkess conceded the point with a nod.  “Of course, as with any other piece of real estate, the asking price of any of our worlds is predicated on ‘move-in readiness’, among many other factors.”  He smiled. “To be honest, it is a balancing act most investors have to make. Savings in initial costs for a less human-friendly world will usually be invested in the subsequent terraforming as a matter-of-course.”

“Yes,” Juarez said, “The investors I represent have been studying the market for some time.  They understand the basic points of planetary investment.” He shifted in his seat. “But as a middle-rank association, we must be careful where we finally decide to put our money.  We’re not a conglomerate; still less are we Shareholders. One false step and we could all be penniless.”

“Of course,” Harkess said.  “And Advanced System Opportunities has assisted many groups in your situation, Citizen Juarez.  The New Way Chosen, for instance, came to us when they wanted to find a world for themselves. So did the Purified.  We have a great deal of experience helping investors of modest means become Proprietors on their own planet.”

A servant came out onto the terrace, bearing a tray with a bottle of wine and two glasses.  He placed the tray on the table between the two men, poured wine into the glasses, bowed and left.  Juarez thought the man bore unmistakable signs of being a mod, but said nothing.

“Please, Citizen Juarez,” Harkess said, indicating the glass before the representative.

Juarez lifted the glass, inhaled the bouquet, and then took a respectful sip.  “A local vintage?”

“Yes,” Harkess said.  “We’re quite proud of it.”

“It is truly excellent.”  Juarez took another sip. “I understand that ASO has a relationship with the Voronovs.”

Harkess nodded.  “Quite a long and fruitful one, to be honest.  Historically, and in the present, they have been a tremendous help.  And, of course, we keep all our licenses and permits with the Consortium itself in order.”  He paused. “May I ask what your investors’ intentions might be?”

Juarez looked at Harkess over the rim of his glass.  “My investors are committed to making whatever world we chose into a place fit for extensive human habitation– but precisely because our resources are not unlimited, we need to see some early profits.  To help us bear the cost of development.”

“Naturally,” Harkess said.  “That would mean some easily exploited mineral assets, or some of the higher yield cash crops, such as coca or makatinte.  Considering the resources of your group, I would assume that we are not talking about mining gas giants or any other such larger scale operations.”

“No, you’re quite correct,” Juarez said.  

“Yes– I think you will find, citizen, that we have several opportunities in our portfolio right now that might meet your specifications.”  Harkess smiled. “And if not, well, there’s hardly a week that passes without one of our survey ships jumping far beyond the Perimeter, discovering new worlds.  I am sure we will be able to find something that will please your investors.”

“That’s all very well and good, Citizen Harkess,” Juarez said, hesitating, “but I’m afraid I must ask about… infestations.”

“Ah,” Harkess said.  “You needn’t trouble yourself, Citizen Juarez.  ASO has extensive experience handling infestations.  In the five hundred standard years we have been in business, we have dealt with more than one hundred.”  He smiled. “In my operations days, I handled five myself.”

“Really?” Juarez said.  “Are they…difficult?”

“Generally, speaking, no,” Harkess said.  “Every world has its particular vulnerabilities.  Our techs and operations people are quite skilled at crafting solutions peculiar to each situation, one that is guaranteed to do no permanent harm to the planetary biosphere.  Naturally, we don’t beat our own drum about it, but we’ve never had a failure, nor a complaint.”

“I see,” Juarez said.  “Unfortunately, that’s not quite what I was asking.  Do you ever…face opposition?”

“Ah– no, we never have.  None of the species we’ve confronted have ever had a technology more sophisticated than bronze axes.   Primitives like that are quite easy to deal with– one tailored bio-plague, a couple of neutron weapons, and it’s generally over before they know it’s begun.”

“What about the Hegeri?” Juarez asked.

Harkess’ studied, pleasant facade seemed to harden a little.  “The Hegeri…the Hegeri are a unique case. They were taught their technology by a human renegade.  It is not…native to their culture.” He smiled again. “Besides, they are on the other side of the Volume.  The Consortium fleet has them well in hand. Nothing to concern us.”

“Well, that reassures me,” Juarez said.

“As it should, citizen,” Harkess said, beaming now.  “Besides, if it should turn out the planet you choose does have an infestation, it’s always possible that they will leave some picturesque ruins.  We’ve found that sort of thing is generally a boon to the tourist trade on any given world.”

Now Juarez smiled.  “Citizen Harkess,” he said, lifting his glass, “I think your firm and my investors are going to have a very profitable relationship.”

Harkess lifted his glass, too.  “I hope so, citizen,” he said, as they clinked glasses.  

(*republished from a previous post)

The Holy Mango*

© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham

On March 11th, 2067, Daphne Coultier signed a contract with a construction firm in her hometown.  The owner of the firm gave her more than one sideways glance during the process, but said nothing.  He would put up with a lot for a contract as lucrative as the one she was signing.  Of course, the Coultiers had been known as oddballs in the county for a long time.

The very next day the construction firm began to build a tree in a mango tree Daphne had on her property. No one knew why she wanted a treehouse at all, since she had no sons or daughters, and she and her husband lived in a spacious five-bedroom, two-bath split-level on the very same property.  

When the tree house was finished, four weeks later, it instantly became the marvel of the neighborhood, if not the state.  It was spacious and warm and it had electricity and plumbing and all the other necessities of modern life.  Daphne moved in at once, carrying her essential supplies– particularly for her knitting– the short walk from her back door.  Thereafter she could often be seen sitting on the porch of the tree-house– yes, it was exactly that nice a tree-house– knitting away and humming show-tunes.

What was truly bizarre, however, was that Daphne hated mangoes.

“Daphne,” neighbors shouted up to her, “you hate mangoes.”

“I know,” Daphne said, knitting a sweater.

Her husband told Daphne he couldn’t live with pollination and fruit flies.  “Come back to the house, Daphne,” he said.

“I’m fine right here,” Daphne said, and she just went on knitting.

Her husband rented-out the main house and left town.  Local news profiled Daphne for a few days, then moved on to Justin Bieber look-alike contests.

Psychologists clustered around the foot of the tree, theorizing on her aversion adherence. Several published learned tracts on the phenomenon.

On May 11th, 2067, the Silubrian Horde invaded the Earth. They wiped out humanity in a day.

But not Daphne. Mangoes are sacred to the Silubrians. They elected Daphne Supreme Mango Goddess of the Horde. They brought her chocolate and strange alien liquors that gave her hiccups. In return, she knitted scarves and cardigans for them. These became holy relics for the Silubrians.

When Daphne died, the Silubrians cloned her. Since then, all of humanity have been women who knit.

Moral: As the mangoes, so Man goes.

(*republished from a previous post)

Again*

I was thinking of that day,
again.
When the sky
boiled black
and the dark elves came,
athirst for blood.
My friends falling, falling
my arms, blood-washed,
too weary to make
one more stroke….
and you came
descending in light
a fire of vengeance.

The skalds sing the song of that day,
again.
They make it pretty.
The young men
laugh and say,
“this dry stick
did these deeds?”
I pay them no heed
how can you listen
to children
who never had to see
the face of the world
crack open, and bleed?

The winter north wind is sharp,
again.
I sit closer
to the fire,
someone else’s bearskin
about my shoulders.
All I have now
is someone else’s.
My food,
my bed,
my fire.
Only my memories
are truly mine.

There will be no
Valhalla for me.
A straw death is my doom.
Still… for the sake of that
one day, that one hour
perhaps a grace
will be extended.
I will see my friends.
I will see you.
Kiss your lips
and walk with you,
hand-in-hand,
again.

(*republished from a previous post)

The Devouring Of The Moon, As Observed From Yggdrasil*

The sun is gone
and the moon going
the sons of the Wolf
eat their fill.
Three winters have we endured
and now the giants,
swollen with rage,
arm for battle
in darkness and in flame.
The gods go forth,
shining, to their doom.
The Wolf breaks loose
the world shakes,
mountains fall, the sky
tears apart
the stars fail
that which was will be no more

But we two–
we small, forgotten two
life and life’s lover
hidden here
in the Tree–
we drink the morning dew
awaiting the passing away
of what was.
The fate of gods
is not our business.
we live, that is our task.
To endure the fire
and the water
until the eagle soars once more
above the falls,
above the mountain,
and all that was
is again.

(*republished from a previous post)

THWARTED DESTINY*

Yes, mortal– look upon me and know fear.  You have never seen my like, have you?  A drinking goblet made from the skull and bones of a man.  The bones may be yellowed with age, but the silver inlay is still bright.  And you shiver.  Good. 

Know this– when I lived I was Muraz Khan the Terrible, the Blood-soaked, conqueror of Samarkhand and Beluchistan, devastator of Ashgabat, pillager of Tehran.  My hordes ranged across the broad world.  Mighty kings trembled and crawled on their bellies to kiss my gore-spattered boots.  Those same kings gave me their daughters as playthings.

But on the verge of conquering the whole world, I was betrayed by a blood brother, Hanno.  My bones were made into this chalice, and Hanno celebrated at an orgy, quaffing wine from my skull.

But my loyal magister put a curse on my bones.  That very night an earthquake swallowed Hanno and the city in which he roistered.  I would rise again to fulfill my destiny whenever I next lay in the hands of a man of power.

Centuries later archaeologists uncovered me.  I thought my day had come.  

I was wrong.

I was stolen from the artifact locker that very night by a graduate student.  Three years later, needing extra cash for a Playstation, he sold me at a flea market to an accountant named Marvin and his wife Jenny, who sews quilts with kitten patterns.

Now I sit, locked in a china cabinet in Lower Hoboken with a collection of Disney Princess® glasses.

I must escape and fulfill my destiny.  Somehow….

Let it go, let it go….

Oh, just shut the hell up, Elsa.

(*republished from a previous post)

Recursions

A response to the Sunday Photo Fiction challenge for September 8, 2019— two hundred words inspired by this image–

Photo courtesy of LL Jones

************************************

“Amanda…”

“Just a little further, Peter.”

“Amanda, no!  The displacement operator device can take only so many recursions.”

“And we’re already past your theoretical limit.”

“I’m serious, stop!  We don’t know what the consequences will be….”

“I’m head of the project,” Amanda said.  She didn’t the take her eyes off the growing chain of glowing reproductions of her own face.  “I will take responsibility.”

Peter turned from her to the pale-faced assistant standing by.  “Evacuate the building.  Get everybody out.”  The assistant ran from the lab.

“If you’re afraid, Peter,” Amanda said, “then you leave, too.”

Peter shook his head.  “We started this together.  I’m sticking with you.”

Amanda hardly heard him.  She still watched the ever-growing recursions.  They kept expanding out and out, deeper and deeper, unhindered, unstoppable.

“I can see it!” Amanda cried.  “I can see it!  Oh, my God!”

“It can’t be!” Peter shouted over the wind that suddenly filled the room.  Behind the wind came light—white light, purer than any light humans had ever seen.

When the light faded, the other scientists cautiously re-entered the lab.  They found nothing but the displacement device, lying on the floor, and a faint, lingering scent of roses.