A/N: The first draft of my fantasy book; I appreciate both grammar/spelling checks and critiques, since I'm a newbie. Reviews are loved and returned tenfold. :)

“Sir?”

An eyebrow quirked, the tired head resisting fatigue and infirmity to raise itself from the pillow. The entire room fell into focus again: red curtains draped from the fine polished cherry wood of the bed frame, chintz pillows, a thick plush rug to hide the chill of a stone floor, and a languid fire, licking about the blackening wood.

It was pure comfort to anyone, especially a dying man, and a disgruntled one at that. He had asked specifically not to be awoken with idle reports—only crucial matters—and nothing had happened in the past four decades to deserve the word important, save a three-month drought and a market squabble when the elves had come to Redge. This disturbance was unwarranted, he reckoned. “Yes?” He stopped sulking before he had truly begun, recognition putting a special twinkle in his eye.

The woman smiled at him shortly, her topic of interruption too grave to leave a lasting smile, and she seated herself in the familiar chair near the king. The shawl she had draped over it earlier that week was placed across her lap, a pattern of daisies and wildelily on it. The queen adjusted her crown and then spoke, crisp and ruffled.

“Beldon-” The name had barely escaped her lips before he halted her with a hand.

“Lord Beldon, my dear.” The king felt that though the man did nothing to deserve his title, the niceties must be observed.

“As you like it,” Richelle snapped. “I’ll not call the old fool such, if you please. Or if you don’t,” she added saucily. She had been one to disregard the opinions of others completely all her life, leading her into messes with the Council at the start of her queenly reign.

He chuckled, the small laugh turning to a cough. Extreme patience and breeding kept Richelle from fidgeting or showing any signs of irritation –which years of practice had brought- as he took control of his voice. When it was his own again, a glass of tepid water was thrust at him, a trickle sloshing onto his hand and soaking into the bedclothes. Over the rim, he saw her face, cross and perceptive. “You’ve stopped taking the powders again, haven’t you?”

He gave no answer and was prepared to leave it at that, which seemed to vex her. “You really ought to take their advice, as you know full well.” Cynric grimaced.

“I saw that,” she continued haughtily, undeterred by his reserved approach. “You could at least heed the words of your own wife.”

“Those rogues may extend my life a few hours with that… chalk. I’ll die when I mean to and not a day before—however, I believe you came here for a reason,” he said, entertained. She scowled furiously, blushing in spite of herself. The queen often got carried away into passions, despite her matured age of forty-three. Time had brought her wisdom, not the daily blessing of self-control.

“Bel- All right, Lord Beldon,” Richelle ground out, after catching a disparaging look from her husband. “He wants another audience with you.”

The king raised a brow, though amused at the man’s persistence. “Whatever for?”

“Well, one presumes he has something else completely ridiculous to ask of you.” Her cheeks were flushed in aggravation. “I would have flung him out of the Circle by now, out of the Council, and out of the country for that matter. His disrespect to the laws of our land is sickening and I don’t know why you put up with the demanding bastard. His unfeeling, calculating-”

He smiled over her expletive and refrained from commenting, patting her hand.

“Can you not just revoke his title?”

“The day may come when a move like that is most wise, my love. It is not today. He is proving to be useful. And while that lasts, you can be most certain I will take advantage of it.”

It was very like a game of chess, though with live, moving people who were not as easy to guess at and who didn’t often do what you wanted or expected. He had spent the better part of his life studying the actions and reactions of others in preparation for such situations. His wife was not so pleased with this, seeing it as merely a euphemism for manipulation.

“His children, Cynric. You cannot be as unsympathetic to their plight as you pretend,” she said softly. “That poor boy went to work at twelve in the very kitchens of this castle and stopped when his mother took ill. The girls live plainly and will never marry, for they’ve no one to provide them with an equitable dowry. It’s a sentence to a life of loneliness, for all of them, and you know it.”

“Well, they know nothing of their father and nor will they,” he interrupted sternly, disturbing the picture of abject woe she was attempting to paint for him. He provided them with housing, food, and clothes, didn’t he? They lived on his very charity, and still it was never enough, never enough to satiate Richelle’s claims of justice or his own guilty conscience. He had signed their lives away, from the eldest girl’s birth, and he was not prepared to take it back. “Not as long as Mera keeps her mouth shut.” The troublesome wench.

Her lips became a thin line. “I don’t like this. Not one bit. I want you to know that.” He certainly did. Richelle stiffened, shoulders rigid. “How a woman like that ever got to be a mother-” She trailed off, shaking her head.

“That’s not such a mystery, Richelle,” the king replied pleasantly, hands folded over the spread.

Her eyes flashed angrily. “Well, it ought to be.”

“Many things ought to be,” he muttered, though the young queen picked up on it and was startled by the sudden melancholy. Cynric’s depressions had lengthened and deepened the longer he managed to draw in breath, and he had lived past his life expectancy of a mere two and thirty years. Cynric would have seen a ripe age of over one hundred and fifty, if not for the disease that ate his bones (the wretched mansar, the Healers called it). It was deadly because the sickness would gnaw through his ribcage and into his vital organs, at which point the shards of bone would lacerate his heart and lungs in a painful death. He knew because he had asked. There was another thing he knew: there were never survivors.

This sickness had cost him the rest of his life and all the great plans he had, his vision for what Ilikarr could become; it had not stopped him from doing right when he could and sacrificing, sacrificing those little things—or one large thing, like the lives of five people—to create a greater world than his ancestors had created. He had once been an idealist with new tactics for improving the social, economic, and militaristic aspects of Ilikarr’s intricate structure. He would pace nights, waking his advisors and calling in all the councilors for extensive discussions and arguments. He would converse weekly with his people about what they thought took priority and what the king should do to ensure the betterment of their lives.

That had been when he had years to enact these daring policies and see them come into fruition. Now he was focused with the greater and present good, rather than the future. If swindling a few peasants out of their rightful wealth and class meant that the people of Gaer would not starve themselves through another winter and would be well supplied with seeds and plows for harvesting at the gracious will of Lord Beldon’s ever-expansive purse, then he would do it.

Richelle was the person who had come the closest to understanding his moods. Every now and then could Cynric manage to surprise her with an abrupt dismissal or a cold word. He felt defeated by the fate he could not change. Death did not frighten him. The way his loss would be felt did. He was not so modest that he believed his son could replace him and rule as he would have wanted. Prince Keiran was still proud in too many unhealthy ways and one of them was his strengthening doggedness in refusing to wed.

“Did you issue the... invitations?” The subject had been changed and that wound would remain unnamed, until another time.

“Er, yes.” Richelle heard the inflection in his voice and the clearing of his throat and she knew he had left her for some moments, to be alone in his thoughts. She could not compel him to share everything with her. “They were all dispatched day before last. Keiran is not going to like this.”

“If he’d get on with this, I’d cease pestering him.”

She laughed, the first real laugh all day. “It’s not that easy and you know it.”

He frowned deeply, making creases across his nose. “Well, I won’t be here much longer for this dispute. I need it settled.”

“Dearest-” The woman chose not to finish her sentence, instead kissing her husband’s temple. “I must go, the girls are anxiously awaiting my return. All this talk of guests and balls makes them nervous.”

Cynric paused, dazed by this odd piece of news. “They needn’t be. What have my brave girls to fear from a few visitors?”

“It’s not a few—you toy with me, Cynric—and they’ve never been so near other people in all their lives,” she said, with the very ghost of a smile. It wasn't exactly true, only partially; the princesses were unaccustomed to socializing with others their own age, having spent their childhoods surrounded by councilors and tutors. Guests in the Capitol had come as a bit of a shock and it was stressful, imagining all those awkward moments that were sure to crop up in a conversation not meant for girls whose limited experience included one word replies, the occasional recitation, and talking their obstinate ponies out of chewing on the saddle-blanket. “Ellyn’s keen on meeting the children of Court, it’s Wyn and Nara who’re having a rough time of it. They’ll get over it tolerably well. It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

The latter hinted of bitterness, but she had turned, four skirts swishing, and left the way she came before the ailing king’s brain could come up with a reaction. He had enough time to realize he was alone again before the dissolving powders she had laced his drink with took effect. Smart woman. The world faded to a peaceful black.

~*~

Lord Elwin and Lady Luella,

I apologize for the formal nature this correspondence must take. Your presence is commanded in The Circle before the summer months are through. We expect you by the end of the Harvest and no later than the beginning of winter. The king’s health continues to diminish and noble blood is scarce in Redge, the town nearest to the castle, and no females of the Line are within thirty miles. Your daughters are compelled to see it as their duty to the crown to accept a marriage offer should such an occasion present itself, as the Prince has made none such proposal yet.

The Third House, as always, is yours to claim. A hasty response to this post is desired and should be sent in resignation to the will of the King, his Highness Cynric, the Lord and Master of Ilikarr, etc.

Seeing you will be a relief beyond imagination, dear friend.

Her Majesty,

The Queen

Your Highness, Richelle,

Affairs in Aden prevent us from a speedy departure. We shall be arriving in Redge the second of August. My daughters know their answer should the resolve of the Prince be to choose one of them, one of them for certain. It is the willfulness of my youngest that concerns me. Be not alarmed, as I am sure she will recognize her happy obligation when the Circle is in sight. I should think we will be seeing each other soon, do not despair.

Best regards,

Lady Luella

~*~

The sun had risen slowly, shining dimly behind the clouds on the parched greenery as it cleared up the fog and the house was awake. Horses nickered for their breakfasts and maids bustled with valises in coaches, stopping to bicker amongst themselves about proper placement. The master of the house himself was overseeing the process from the upper window, hands drumming softly on the mantle.

Down the doors a ways, another was awake. Soft fingers guided a brush through dark locks of hair and there she sat at her mirror, musing and fussing until prudence demanded a better occupation of her.

Pennal crept along side her sister and pulled a face behind her perusal in the glass, making Eden cry out in exasperation.

“Penna, you minx. Didn’t Mother ask you to be up and dressed before now?” she asked in her quiet tones. Eden was always speaking softly, not for its charming effects, but because she was afraid that someone might actually look at her when she spoke.

Penna raised a critical brow, wild in the mornings. “I’ve been up long before you, Princess.” She was of course intimating on the likelihood of her sister's royal match. Penna had been a bit miffed at the idea of having to marry a prince, especially one as bland as Prince Keiran, then soothed herself with the thought that he'd marry Eden as soon as he saw her. Eden was a praised beauty, as was Penna in a way overlooked. With such a sister, her being noticed at the palace was a lucrative idea, yet very effective.

“Your dress-”

She smoothed the faded green dress, self-conscious for a moment, the gown another example of her rebellion against the finicky fashions of the Capitol. “Is it too much?” Her eyes twinkled mischievously.

Eden came quite close to rolling her eyes. “Very funny, dear. Really, the dress is a bit plain.”

“I thought it best to wear something light. We’ll be traveling for nearly three days, and I’d rather not be caught in a stuffy carriage wearing hoop skirts and three layers of lace and silk.” A sensible argument, something no one could resist from Penna.

“You are right.” Her older sister nodded. “Father won’t like it.” Fear etched her voice lightly.

“That’s not his decision to make.” It was not a secret that Penna and her father did not get along. For a time, it had gotten so strained that the servants had begun to notice; this was partially because of the indifferent tone she took on, though mostly because she refused to refer to him in any way that hinted at their being related, dutifully calling him 'sir.' “Anyhow, I'll wear something with cloth rich enough to satisfy him when we actually get to the Capital.” Her easy smile returned as quickly as it had left and she quit the room with a flounce, braids swinging.

In the hallway, she dodged two maids and a manservant before successfully escaping the congestion of the overworked house. She broke into a run halfway to the stables. They were handsomely kept, the aged pine wood rising as high as the house, and the planks above the door way were engraved with Lord Elwin’s insignia (a ship and three stars), beautiful against the landscape surrounding it. The manor at Narma was in the sea region of Aden, and though they were not near enough to hear the ocean’s dull roar, gulls often flew overhead in the blue-grey sky and the cool air carried the taste of salt.

“You still ‘ere, miss?” someone observed. The owner of the voice was short, skinny, and freckled from head to toe. He also happened to be nine years old. Had he not such a youthful face, he could have properly disguised himself as man well into his forties with his throaty way of talking, common among those of Gaer, the farming lands.

“Still here, Calder.” Penna smiled at the much younger boy; he, returning it. “And you asked the master for me, yes?”

“Yessum, Lady, they’re sending ‘er along with the other ‘orses.”

She handed him twelve silver coins with a grimace, though not at the loss of money—she was always pleased to have an excuse to give Calder a bit of extra coin, knowing about the recent birth of his eighth sibling. She disliked hearing herself called by her title. It felt like they were confusing her with someone else, like her mother or Eden, perhaps. “None of that lady nonsense from you. Run along now.”

Calder bowed deeply to complete the insult, with that cheeky grin his face wore constantly. “Pardon me, lady, my mum says I’ve got to be respectin’ the Line.”

She heaved a reluctant sigh, reaching out her hand to muss his hair. She had begged and pleaded with so many of the maids to call her by her name—she had succeeded so far with Breena, who had been her daymaid since she was four, and by now was used to the lady’s peculiarities—and had been left utterly disappointed. “Heaven help me should I go against the will of your mother. All right, I concede. For now.” Calder's grin broadened.

“Good enough, Lady. Good enough.”

Taking the reins of the dark pony, she guided her out to the water trough, stroking the mane absently. “So, Fauve, away to Redge, and perhaps there to stay. It all seems odd.”

The master regarded all this at his leisure from the second floor window. As he watched the girl, the mask fell for a moment and he looked pained. Seconds later, his hand withdrew from the sill, dissolving back into the shadow along with everything else.

~*~

“Into the carriage with you, get along!” a tall woman in traveler's garb snapped at one of the younger daymaids. Penna’s mother was not in her usual spirits this morning it appeared. She was embracing all the power she had been granted by her marriage. Her arms flew about, directing servants and shouting last orders to those remaining behind about how the house was to be kept, the stables being cleaned, and consequences for neglect.

Once safely secured in the coach, however, the lady sighed brilliantly and slouched. Her two daughters followed suit. It was customary for the women and men to ride separately when journeying in large companies. The lord would ride in the front, his deep purple coach a sign to any commoners (or thieves) that the procession following was bound by the King himself.

Penna rested her head on the soft lining of the wall, humming softly. “So, have you said goodbye to all your little friends?” her mother asked, smiling. Lady Luella was particularly fond of Stacia, Calder's mother, and allowed Penna to visit them and aid them regularly. The little ones all doted on the girl helplessly and were very upset when they heard she was leaving for the City, mollified by her promises of returning.

“I left them well.”

“Stacia's had another girl, I heard?”

“The most scrumptious baby I've ever seen!” Eden laughed melodiously and Penna cracked a smile. “Really, she's gorgeous, with her fuzzy dark curls and sweet face. She’ll be a beauty, I’m sure of it.”

“I'm glad,” was the reply. “I'm only concerned about what she's going to do with them all. They are such dear children.”

“Yes, they are.”

Eden perked up. “Could we not have taken the eldest children with us to find work in Redge?”

The Lady shook her head. “I offered Stacia and she would not allow it; she loves them and wants them nearer, even if it means being poorer.” The thought pained her and she sighed, rubbing her middle. Luella disliked being unable to help those who deserved it.

“I gave my stablehand Calder some silver to give to his mother. Perhaps it will help.”

“One may hope.” Her mother turned her head slightly and looked at her daughters with a critical eye. The girls exchanged amused glances for what would surely follow. “When we get to the City-” Penna hid a laugh, her mother frowning. “That wasn't the response I was looking for. Honestly, you need to prepare.”

“Really, Mother-”

“Don't interrupt,” the Lady warned. Penna sighed despondently and allowed her mother to continue. “You are quite seriously the likeliest candidates for the prince to choose.”

“Because of our heaps of charm, talent, and looks,” Eden and Penna chirped intermittently.

“Well, yes,” their mother acknowledged, “but consider it politically.”

“I just love political marriages,” Penna joked dryly.

“You are part of the third family. The first family has no daughters, only a son-”

“Poor Gavin.”

“-And the second family has two daughters and the eldest is betrothed. The other is ten years old.” Lady Luella paused and let that sink in. She was speaking of the snooty Delretta, who had been betrothed at eight to the Duke of Eming and could speak of nothing else since. Her younger counterpart was Anrien, a terribly bad child who refused the orders of everyone and pulled enough pranks and had enough larks to be a boy. The sisters were as different as a peacock is from an untamed foal and they made sure that everybody knew it, no matter how much they looked alike, both girls blessed with their mother’s beauty.

The lady’s lecture had struck a little fright into her eldest; Eden actually looked nervous now. “So you see why I've been trying to get through to you, and with little success,” Luella commented, frowning as she caught sight of Penna stifling giggles again.

“Oh, please,” began Penna, ready to give a defiant rebuttal and her mother cut her off sharply.

“Young lady, I'll ask you one more time to take this seriously. The king is a very shrewd man and if you think he isn't looking to make the cleverest and most governmentally appropriate match for his only son, you are very wrong. The prince has his rebellious notions of romance and if he carries on that way—he was to be married three years ago!—the matter will be out of his hands and into his father's. Edenella, Pennamin,” Luella ground out carefully, “you are his first choices and that is the reality.”

Originally, Penna had her sister convinced that the whole thing was a silly game and would be resolved within a fortnight of them getting to the Capitol. All that effort had been wasted and Eden’s eyes held more than their usual fear; she did not trust men very much and wanted to marry one even less. Penna remained cool and unruffled. “Yes, Mother,” they chorused dolefully.

Luella was still watching Penna with a stern countenance. The sullen girl shrugged innocently and stared out the smudged window. The blurry greenery got tiresome very quickly and Penna nodded off long before Eden's first yawn—she'd never been one to stand boredom well.

~*~

Penna awoke a few hours later to find her companions napping, which meant she must either return to sleep or bear the monotony until something interesting happened. Reading while moving made her ill (ladies weren't supposed to read anyway) and nothing was going to happen for at least an hour when they got to town and out of the blasted country. If it had been a day into the journey, she would have insisted on riding Fauve so she could at least get some fresh air and escape the never-ending sound of clopping hooves for a time. She harnessed her irritation manfully and waited it out. Eventually, she'd become so fed up with being in the damned carriage, she'd end up walking.

The last option left was thinking, something that was better left undone when there was no time limit. Her mind wandered in and out of past and imaginary happenings, until it finally settled on her father. Lord Elwin had been cross that morning, more than was generally expected. He never greeted Penna in the contented way he used to; he never greeted her at all. She was a belonging to him now, an item whose worth was derived from how much wealth he could get for it.

He never treated Luella in such a fashion, though Penna's parents’ affectionate marriage had frozen to a bitter chill over the last few years. Eden didn't call him Papa anymore, with juvenile adoration, instead referring to him dutifully as ‘Father.’ Penna chose the insolent 'sir' over ‘Father.’ She had no more respect for the man who had tried to sell her than the Duke who had been ready to purchase her.

~*~

“Lady Pennamin?”

“Breena, for the last time, you know I prefer to be called by-”

“Yes, miss, you've told me time and time again. Today there are guests in the manor and I'd sooner avoid a whipping than follow your insubordinate orders,” the old maid crooned back at the sulky Penna. Her dress had been bothering her all day, the new hoops and added two skirts a greater burden on Penna's grace than Luella could have anticipated when she bought them. At least there was a reason now.

Guests at the manor. “Is it Gavin?”

“If you're referring to Lord Rayburn's-”

“Oh, why must you tease me so!” exclaimed Penna. “As if I could mean someone else! How many Gavins do you know?”

“No, miss, a large party from Lyme with the minister and the Healers. There's to be a banquet this evening, and Lady Luella has graciously arranged for a new gown for you, miss.”

“Another? That's the third one this month. Doesn't she know she can't buy my love with clothes?” muttered the unhappy girl with an air of insufferable ungratefulness.

“You hush your mouth. It's charitable and goodly, and I won't have you speaking ill of the kind Lady whilst in my presence, you cheeky miss. Now, lord and lady, you've made me forget what it was I needed to summon you for.” Penna waited, rudely tapping her foot, while the daymaid urged her brain into recollection. “Ah, yes, Lord Elwin has requested you to come to the art room. Get along, light-foot, and be quick about it.”

Penna used her ample skirts to deflect the matronly swat from Breena's hard hand and skidded down the hall, wild hair streaming. Little ladies were supposed to pin back their hair. In Breena’s defense, the daymaid could no sooner get Penna to sit still than the jumpy girl was fidgeting and complaining, disobeying all orders and later found mucking about in the stables. So they compromised with part of her hair pulled back and tied with an ornamental bow, something that took a very small amount of time to achieve. What Penna did not know was that several young men had found her singular hairstyle becoming and her flighty attitude attractive. Her world was still that of simple girlish whims and the idea of suitors had not crossed her childlike mind.

She paused to control herself before entering the room. Her father had been out of spirits lately, and embarrassing him with what he deemed ‘extraordinary willfulness’ could provoke a confrontation. He didn’t mind her pert ways when they were in private. Before other members of court and gentlemen, he was likely to strike at her.

A servant opened the door for her and she entered with the face of an unassuming angel. It was a fun game Eden and Penna played, sitting ramrod straight with polite disinterest, all the while, making faces at each other behind their father’s back. He disapproved naturally.

Two men stood in the art room. She had been expecting to see the company gathered, with the Healers, the House mistress, and the minister. Instead her father was quite alone with an old man of garish taste, old age, and a large chest of silver coins open on the elfish table. They were thick in talk and she quickly caught the attention of both men, and for different reasons.

“Yes, Fa-ther?” The hiccup in her voice was caused by the way they were looking at her, particularly the elder. Elwin was eyeing her with a shopkeeper’s shrewdness but it was the other man’s inappropriate, brazen ogling of her womanly figure that made her feel a bit lost. Perhaps she had entered the wrong room. Penna crossed her arms slowly to hide her chest.

The old duke stepped up to her and stared with an ill smile, walking around her in a circle, as though eyeing merchandise for purchase. Penna glared wholeheartedly. This seemed to embolden him, because he reached out a finger to touch her cheek. She snapped her head away. “Father?” she repeated.

“Wait outside, Pennamin. The Duke and I have something to discuss that is not for your maidenly ears. You are dismissed.” His smile was brusque and upset her. If she was not needed here, then why had he called her, like a pup to its master? And still yet, allowed that man to make a fool of her?

Penna curtsied, wobbling at the end, and exited, stopping outside the door. The servant made to close the door and she put her slipper between the frame and the door, causing the heavy wood to jar open moderately. The servant flushed at Penna’s intent, making no move to stop her. Tilting her ear within hearing range, she waited until they resumed their restricted conversation.

“And now you have seen her. Is she not the same as you remember?”

“Very pretty little thing, sir.” Penna wrinkled her nose in disgust and resentment, for the nasty man was six times her age and more.

“Yes, so you’ve said. Have we reached a settlement?”

“She seems old enough for child-bearing,” the insipid man intoned. Penna’s nose wrinkled further, this time in confusion along with the disgust. “I will need an heir before long.”

Elwin’s voice betrayed little concern for his daughter’s female capabilities. “That is something you will have to take up with Pennamin. She is very stubborn, but I am sure she will make you a respectable wife. Do we have a bargain?”

“You are sure of her virginity?”

“My dear man, I would hardly offer her to you, and at such a bargain…”

Penna heard no more. The box filled with coins, the Duke’s eyes traveling the expanse of her body, her father’s low voice asking if they had reached a settlement. It all became nauseatingly clear. “I… I…” She started swaying back on the balls of her feet and would have crashed into the door had not the faithful doorman foreseen her weakness and slipped his strong arm under her shoulders.

“Miss?”

“Jorgen, p-please, take me away.”

Breena was found and brought to her inconsolable mistress, with a glass of iced peach juice and a shoulder to cry on. Penna was sitting, wild-eyed, on her bed, the covers torn about in rage and despair. Her face was streaked with tears that had somehow gotten into her hair, the bow bedraggled and soiled.

“It’s because I’m a burden!” wailed Penna, after Breena had goaded her into speech and fixed the housing arrangements Penna had knocked over like an unbroken colt. “He doesn’t want a headstrong daughter anymore and I-I can’t help what I am! Maybe if I’d been more quiet and reserved… He can’t do this to me!” She took the proffered drink and handkerchief.

“Shh, my lady, and rest up. You must learn to control your emotions. I’m thankful that good Jorgen was there to catch you, or things might’ve ended up a mite differently.”

“Yes,” snarled Penna. “That disgusting man would’ve had another chance to… to look on his prize with more scrutiny. Oh, I despise men!” She said it with such hatred, as the tears left her squinted, angry eyes, Breena feared for the state of the dinner that evening. Penna had to attend, something Breena knew. The daymaid was afraid this encounter could entice Penna to misbehave or not attend at all. And it was likely the whole thing had been arranged in her favor, a token for her accepting a loveless marriage to a sickening old man with more lust than life left.

Breena pulled Penna to her chest like a mother and coddled her for a time. “Life never runs smoothly, Penna, dear,” she whispered, using the child’s preferred name as a show of goodwill. “Now listen, and none of your heart-sore speeches, you hear?” She felt Penna nod against the curve of her neck. “Are you absolutely certain you cannot marry this man?”

Penna pulled the sight of his unkempt appearance, his grey beard turning white, and his terrible eyes lingering over her out of the back of her mind. “Yes,” she sobbed onto her maid’s bodice.

“Then the hard decision is over. You stick by it now and don’t falter. I don’t think the Master would let the Duke of Beorn take you away if you did not wish to go.”

“That’s just it,” Penna said in distress as she lay back against the three or four cushions behind her. “He’s not just letting the Duke marry me. He’s… I think he’s selling me. He offered me to the Duke, as a gift or something. I didn’t think he cared much for politics. He’s always been fair to Eden and I about marriage and Mother wasn’t a lady when he married her and I thought that meant he-“

“Shh,” Breena said again. She looked so sad that Penna did as she was told for once. “Well, you drink that and lie down. I’ll have to go talk to the Lady and set this right. Don’t you worry, no one’s going to be taking you anywhere.”

“Yes, Breena.” Penna took a grateful sip of the juice and made a face at the interesting taste. “Breena, what is this? This doesn’t taste anything like… You put whiskey in it, didn’t you?”

“Yes, dear. Works wonders for shock. Only a tablespoon, mind you,” Breena added when Penna gave her a dubious look. “Drink up, and I’ll be back.”

Penna sighed helplessly and took another gulp. “Ugh.” Slouching against the headboard, she let her legs uncross and flop across the bed in a very unladylike fashion. Resting took more effort at that moment than working in the stables, embroidering her coverlet, meeting the gentry, or practicing her posture, with no silly swoons or crooked spine, ever had. She wanted nothing more than to march back into the art room, sock the impudent man for staring so audaciously and her father for trying to arrange a marriage with no warning to the bride. And then to try and accept money for it… Her mind reeled at the disservice he was paying her, as if she could not make up her own mind when she’d done so without his help for years.

The knock heralded her mother’s entrance, and Luella’s loving, formidable countenance caused Penna to resume her previous, more dignified habits, which ended the comfortable sprawling. “Dear, Breena’s explained it all to me quite thoroughly.” Luella stopped and bit her lip, looking quite unsure of what to do.

Penna peered up at her in fear, praying and wishing that she would believe the tale. And then she saw the flicker in her mother’s eye, the sparkling doubt. Luella did not believe her anymore than Eden would have. The discovery made her angry and resentful, and she felt as if her heart was being pressed by a closing window, the pane falling down against the sill.

“ I-I think you must be mistaken.” She ignored Penna’s furiously shaking head. “He would not do such a thing to you, to me, to this family. I-I want you to get dressed in that nice new gown you’ve got and come downstairs in no more than half an hour. Dinner will be starting shortly.”

With a pat and a hair ruffling, Luella left the room, leaving behind a dazed daughter. Her mother did not believe her account and furthermore expected Penna to go down to the dining room and sit by the future husband who wanted nothing more than to bed her. “I think not,” Penna whispered.

“Penna, what’re you going to-“

“Well, I’m not going downstairs, that’s certain!” Her crying started anew, so Breena quit the room to go down to the kitchens and inform the serving maids that a place setting would be empty that evening. It would do no good in forcing her little mistress to attend, as an outburst was likely to occur during the meal, rather than in a less public place.

Penna laid down on her bed and hid herself under the covers like a child trying to go back to sleep after a nightmare. But it was no use, his dreadful blue eyes saw her even through her tightly shut lids. It should not have bothered her, she reasoned, the man’s licentious behavior. Penna had seen it happen many times. No one had dared to do so to her ever before, because of the good slap she would have given them. Her father had not defended her, only watched and ignored. Never…

She waited until she heard the maids running about on her floor before she got out from her hiding place. She listened to the House mistress of the Healers’ booming voice go past her door and smiled. She liked the jolly stout woman and her troupe of lasses. They all fed and cared for the Healers at their base in Forn and when they traveled, for Healers had no wives and were not supposed to get married, according to the tradition handed down from the first Healer, Resar. The women were such a merry set, to counter the austere lot of men they were combined with.

“Lady Penna?” A curly mop of hair appeared around the doorway.

“Come in, sir,” she said primly.

Master Quiggs entered the frill-covered room and observed it with amusement. His reputation was being known as the most genial of the Healers, rather than Healer Cowley’s, who was known as the most foolish. “Good evening, Lady Penna. I was curious as to your absence at dinner. I hope you are not unwell.”

“I’m afraid I am, though the cause is rattled nerves and not sickness,” she said quickly, after the man began to reach into his tunic for the pouch of herbs he kept with him.

“Nerves, dear girl? Nothing dreadful has happened, I trust. Lady Penna?”

She was not listening. Outside, the house quieted, like the quivering moment before a downfall, and then came the footsteps clacking down the hall, with her mother’s desperate “Elwin, please!”

The two watched the irate lord as he nearly slammed Penna’s bedroom door on his wife. “I would ask you to absent yourself, Master Healer. My daughter and I need to exchange words.” His face was a thundercloud and his fists were clenched at his sides, in fury and humiliation. Her father had never appeared so enraged or so out of his mind.

Master Quiggs nodded assent as Penna shrieked, “Why, afraid he’ll hear what you’ve done?”

“And what have I done, you disruptive menace?” Elwin burst out once the respectable Healer was out of earshot. The look on Penna’s face was so severe that she saw her father shifted under her gaze.

“You know very well what I speak of! The Duke of Beorn…”

He didn’t seem to be in a mood to play stupid if she had managed to find out about the arrangement. “I was looking out for your future!”

“You were letting a lecherous old coot have his way so you could be rid of me and get a bit more coin in your pocket for the bargain, as you so magnanimously put it,” Penna spat, stunned by her father’s attempts to downplay his hand in the mess. “Is he what you’ve been waiting for all this time? Silently letting me have my way, refusing to challenge me anymore, because you knew that one day a lusting suitor would come along that would offer you a sum large enough to satisfy your conscience?

“You are a fool,” she went on, in a quieter, dangerous voice, “if you thought for an instant that I would accept this. How could I be happy wed to a Duke of questionable character in a land I’ve never seen? You were thinking of no one but yourself when you agreed to his demands, you heartless bastard!” She had begun standing somewhere in the middle of her angry tirade, and Elwin wasted no time in slapping her soundly across the mouth. She recoiled instantly, all of her surging anger replaced by indignation from being touched.

“I am sorry that you found out in such an unfavorable manner.” He did not acknowledge that he had struck her, continuing in a crazed way. “But you will not make me look like an idiot-“

“You do a fine enough job of that yourself!”

“-You will do as I SAY-“

“I’ll never, ever-“

“-AND BY GOD, YOU WILL MARRY HIM! That is final.” They stared at one another, seething in silence until Penna’s defiance got a hold on her tongue.

“I will never marry that man,” she proclaimed furiously. “And you cannot make me.”

“You-!”

“Elwin, come away,” her mother said, opening her mouth for the first time. Penna gulped in a breath to calm herself; her mother had to believe her now, by the way Luella ordered him from the room with force, grabbing his arm and pulling him away without looking at either of them.

She sat back on the mattress, her lips trembling as she covered her mouth with a hand. She tried a shaky laugh. It faltered and she had no courage left in her to cry again. “Lady Penna?” the same voice asked again after a minute of quiet. “I took the liberty,” he said, propping open the door, “of preparing essence of wildelily for you.”

“Thank you, most humbly, sir.”

He smiled gruffly. “Works a great deal better than a shot of whiskey.”

Penna smiled and drank the teacup of potion. The sweet taste lingered on her tongue, numbing her mind and calming her spirits until finally, she slept.

~*~