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“Healing for the scar in your heart? From the marriage gone wrong? The lady torn from you and given to another? The loss of your father? The loss of Lavas County, and its riches?”
“I am but one man. Observe the world, Duke Conrad, and you will see what I mean.”
“I have taken the measure of the world, Lord Alain. It is a cruel abode, containing many pits for the unwary. So do I act.”
“So must we all.”
Conrad looked closely at him. “You do not speak of Lavas County, or the woman who was once your wife and is now mine. You do not speak of my sweet daughter, Berengaria, who might possibly become your wife. You do not speak of a consort’s chair.”
“I do not.”
Conrad folded his arms across his chest. Alain was tall, but Conrad had bulk in addition to height, arms made thick by many years riding to war and wielding the reaper’s scythe. Alain had met few men more formidable than the duke of Wayland. He had a sword, and Alain only his crude staff, and his hounds.
Conrad made no move, although his frown suggested his displeasure. “A spy might speak so, sent into my ranks to learn my secrets. Yet it’s also said that wise men speak in riddles. Seek you revenge for the wrong done to you when Henry took Lavas County out of your hands?”
“Was it wrong to cast me out as the count of Lavas?”
“I cannot answer that question! Lord Geoffrey has a legitimate claim in the name of his daughter. In his own name, truth to tell, since he is the great grandson of the last countess, Lavastina, and the grandnephew of Lavastine’s grandfather, Charles Lavastine. Still, Geoffrey preferred to push his daughter forward instead of himself, since she is a girl and the old countess ruled by the ancient law.”
“The ancient law?”
“Still held to in Alba, I might add, and in much of Varre. The identity of a woman’s children is always known, since they have sprung from her womb. That of a man’s offspring—well, no matter what anyone says, in the end it is always a matter of faith. Therefore, by that custom, a daughter will always hold precedence over a son because her heirs are assuredly the descendants of her foremothers. Geoffrey chose to ally himself with the old custom, while Lavastine chose you, a boy of uncertain parentage. No doubt that influenced Henry’s decision. Yet, for Geoffrey, the rule of Lavas County comes to the same thing, as his daughter is still a child and he must therefore be her regent for many years.”
“She is an invalid now. Lamed in a fall from her pony.”
Conrad had a ready sympathy for daughters. “Poor creature! What incompetent taught her to ride? Or gave her the wrong mount?”
“Perhaps it was only an accident.”
“Or justice served on her because of the sins of her father.”
“An innocent child? I do not believe so.”
“Do you know God’s mind, then?” Conrad chuckled. “I ask my clerics every day, and they remain blind. Only my wife insists that she speaks with God’s wishes brimful on her tongue, and in truth, Lord Alain, I despise her. She is a sniveling, lying, whining weakling, no better than a … a … God know there is no creature I despise as much!”
“She deserves respect from the man who married her.”
“So the church prattles, but they are not wed to her—although they were once, and cast her out because of all her puling and moaning! She brought me only one good thing, and that is Berry. Tallia is like to ruin the child if she got her way, which I will not let her do.”
“Tallia brought you an alliance with Lady Sabella and a claim to the throne of Varre for your daughter.”
“Yes, it’s true. I am hasty in condemning her. A duchy for Ælf and a throne for Berry. Ai, God. My poor Elene.”
“Who is that?”
“Never mind,” he said so curtly that both hounds stiffened, coming to stand, and growled, ears going flat. “Something I gave away, because I am an obedient son.”
Amazingly, he wept. Alain was too surprised to speak because the duke’s grief was so stark and expansive that it seemed the heavens themselves must weep in sympathy, although no rain fell and only the wind’s rattle through late blooming leaves and the distant clatter of the company about its twilight business accompanied Conrad’s tears.
He sighed but did not wipe away the remaining tears. He was a man who need never apologize for any strong emotion.
“I pray that which you cherish be restored to you,” said Alain, unexpectedly moved by the display.
“Do you so? She is dead. I was warned it would be so, and I feel it in my heart. How, then, can she be restored to me? Even a miracle cannot bring her home.”
“Who is she?” he asked again.
Conrad rose. He wore a light cloak against the cool evening. Its hem slid down to lap at his hips, and he moved away, answering only when he had gone several paces out, and even then casting the words over his shoulder as though they were a dart meant to wound. “My eldest child. My own beloved daughter. My chosen heir, who will not now sit in my place when the time comes. Henry had that advantage over me, did he not? I feel inclined to spoil his wishes.”
