“Is it true you reject the Wendish regnant? Although you are both descendants of that line?”
“We are descendants of the Varren royal line,” said Sabella sharply. “This is our land to rule.”
“And rule wisely, I trust,” said Alain. “The tempest still rages. The storm is not yet passed.”
“What babbling is this?” demanded Conrad, laughing. “I feel I am in the presence of a wise and mysterious oracle!”
“Last autumn a great storm passed over the land. You may believe that you survived the worst, but the worst is yet to come. Have any planted, although the season is late? Or does frost still kill seedlings every night? Have you seen the sun? When will the cloud cover lift? What are you doing to prepare, if the weather does not change?”
“Why would the weather not change?” asked Sabella. “Summer will come soon. We have stores to last a while—and more to be gained if our current venture prospers.”
Conrad whistled softly, trying to lure the hounds, and although they whined a little and thumped their tails, they looked at Alain and, without receiving permission, refused to move. The duke sat back, letting them be.
“These are not unreasonable concerns,” Conrad said in the mildest voice Alain had heard from him. “As in battle, even the best laid plans may be overturned. One must expect a flanking attack, or disaster. And act so as to overcome it.” He nodded at Alain. “That is why we need Lavas County. That is how you can help us.”
“Geoffrey has not ruled in a manner pleasing to me,” said Sabella. “Lavas needs a stronger hand.”
“What do you say, Lord Alain?” asked Conrad genially. “Are you interested? We can help each other.”
“It’s not why I came here.”
“Nor need it have been,” replied Conrad with that same hearty camaraderie. “Let it be a windfall. You have acted boldly. Boldness can expect reward.”
“He’ll need a wife,” said Sabella, shifting her pieces on the board. “We can find someone suitable. Duchess Yolanda has a daughter. You yourself, Conrad, have a daughter almost of marriageable age.”
There was a great deal in this vein Alain could hear without comment or reaction, but the sight of Tallia had singed him. He winced, thinking of her, of the baby she had given Conrad but denied him and by so doing denied Lavastine. That was the one thing that was hardest to forgive. The one thing that he had tried to conceal with a lie. He had failed Lavastine.
Briefly, the idea teased and flattered him: he might marry again, be count again, and fulfill his promise to the man he had called “Father.”
“Or my granddaughter,” added Sabella, as if the thought had just that moment occurred to her. “Berengaria is—what? Four or five? She could be betrothed now, and married later, when she’s older. In another ten years she’ll be old enough to bear children. It would repay him for the loss of Tallia.”
“Is it not incest to marry a man to the daughter of a woman he once had to wife?” asked Conrad.
“Tallia claimed an annulment. They did not consummate the marriage.”
He had to shut his eyes, but if he breathed, if he thought of Adica, these words had no power to burn him.
“That’s so! In that case, it doesn’t count as a marriage. Yes, it might serve. Berry will need a good marriage. She’ll need a consort strong enough to support her regnancy. One whose power and lands give him respect in his own right.”
Marry Tallia’s daughter. Rule Varre as her consort. And perhaps rule Wendar as well.
These were serious temptations, indeed.
“I pray you,” Alain began, but the door opened and a steward hurried in, windblown and red in the face.
“The rider has returned,” he said, making way for a messenger who staggered in and knelt before the two nobles. He smelled of leaves and rain and wind and dirt, and of smoke, as though he had sat by many campfires and never washed afterward. He peeled gloves off his hands and accepted a cup of wine gratefully.
“What news?” Sabella demanded.
“Ai, God!” said Conrad. “Let him finish his drink.”
Before he could speak, a second steward appeared at the door.
“My lady. The soldier you wanted is here.”
She beckoned.
Captain Lukas entered with Atto. The young man was sweating, as pale as if he were ready to faint. He dropped to his knees at once, caught sight of Alain, and started noticeably.
“You are the one who brought report of the guivre’s trail?” Sabella had a way of looking over young men that made them squirm, but in this case she dismissed his physical charms.