“Alain!” his father said, and he woke from the web of dream and struggled to free himself of its coils.
He sat up to see light pouring in through the open shutters of the sleeping chamber he shared with his father and the hounds. Another lord might sleep with many servants in his chamber; the counts of Lavas could not.
“You were dreaming,” said Lavastine, standing now and crossing back to close the shutters. It was bitter cold outside; three braziers, a sinful luxury, burned in the room. As soon as the shutters closed, darkening the chamber, Alain rubbed his arms and shook off sleep. He rose and began to dress. Rage scratched at the door, whining.
“You were dreaming,” repeated Lavastine.
“I was.” Alain bound his calves with linen bands and then pulled on an undertunic of wool over his shirt, and his thick winter tunic, lined with marten fur, over all.
“The Eika again.” Lavastine always wanted news of the Eika.
Alain laughed suddenly, a short, sharp laugh, much like his father’s. Much like Lavastine’s.
The memory of his last glimpse of Henri still hurt, but not as much, not after two months. He was too busy here at Lavas Holding. Life went on at the fortress at a more sluggish pace in wintertime, but it went on nonetheless. He trained at arms, though he knew himself a coward. Next time it will be different. Next time I won’t fail in battle. He sat with his father as Lavastine spoke with his chatelaine, with his stewards, with his clerics, and with those few winter travelers who lingered a day or two in the warm hall of Lavas fortress before continuing their journey. Alain learned what it meant to be a great lord, what gestures to make, what polite phrases to utter, how to judge a visitor and greet him according to his station.
“The Eika,” said Alain. “Fifth Son. I think he’s going to get married. But not in any way we understand.”
Lavastine regarded him without answering until Alain grew uncomfortable, as if he had said something wrong or made a comment more fitting to a farmer than a count’s heir.
“Father?” he asked, not liking the count’s silence. Henri had been silent in that way.
But Lavastine quirked his lips finally, upward, signifying approval. “It is a portent. We have spoken of this before, but it has come time to act on it. We will send my cousin Geoffrey to the court of King Henry.”
Speaking of Geoffrey, whose open dislike of Alain still crawled fresh along his skin, made the young man nervous.
“Come,” he said to the hounds. He tied leashes around the necks of Rage and Sorrow and old Terror and Bliss, the four favored to sleep at night in the tower chamber with their masters. He tied the ends of the leashes to a hook set into the wall and then rapped on the door with a staff. It opened at once, servants entering—not without their usual nervous glance toward the hounds—with two pitchers of steaming water scented with mint, basins and cloth for bathing his face, and a clean covered chamberpot.
“It is time for you to be betrothed, Alain.”
“Betrothed!” He let the servants wipe his face. The water heated his face, a touch of summer, and every least curve of skin on his hands was washed until his hands smelled of the herb garden. The scent of warmth and summer made him think of Tallia, and he bent over the table to shield himself, lest he betray his feeling to anyone, even to Lavastine.
“When Geoffrey asks King Henry for a marriage alliance between you and Lady Tallia, it will remind Geoffrey of the order of things in Lavas now. As he needs reminding.”
Any discomforting memories of the visit to Aldegund’s manor vanished with the mention of Tallia’s name. “Tallia,” Alain breathed. “But—she’s the daughter of a duke and of Henry’s own sister.”
“Half sister. Alain, my son, you must understand this about marriage. Henry must marry the girl to some lordling or else put her in the convent. As long as she is in the convent, there is always the chance some lord will abduct her and marry her against Henry’s will. The king does not want to marry her to a lord whose power is already too great, or to a lord or lady’s son he does not trust. He needs me, and you, because the counts of Lavas bow to no duke or margrave, and yet we are not as powerful as some of the great families of Wendar and Varre. Nor as weak as others. He would be wise to grant us this alliance. Especially since we saved his army, his kingdom, and his life at Kassel. Lady Tallia is a small price to pay, I think.”
“Just as the gold and silver you gave to my foster family was a small price for you to pay,” said Alain, suddenly bitter again.
“For their fostering of you? A small price, indeed, Alain. Never begrudge the seed you sow in good soil, for it is the harvest that comes from that sowing that will determine whether you live or die the next spring. Think not only for this day, but for the one that is to come. In this way, Lavas has prospered and it will continue to do so under your stewardship.”
