The Duke's Decision

Rose folded the blanket on top of itself, and then she and Anna sat down again. The slate shingles of the roof still made for an uncomfortable seat in spite of the doubled layer of cloth, but it was better. Anna took a pull from the wine bottle and then passed it to Rose.

“I wish I had gotten an invitation to Isolde’s ball,” Anna said, sighing heavily. “I tried. It would have been a great chance to meet him.”

Rose took a small sip, leaning back against the warm chimney behind her. “He hasn’t announced his engagement to anybody else. Unless that’s what the audience tomorrow is about.”

Anna shook her head. “It has to be about fighting matters. Our fathers and your brother, they fought on the duke’s side when Richard attacked. Remember, they specifically wanted both Walters.” She sighed, holding out her hand for the wine bottle.

Rose took another sip, then passed the bottle over. “Maybe you’ll have a chance to meet the duke anyway,” Rose said.

“The fortune teller said my future husband would ask me to marry him the very day he met me.” Anna took a long swallow from the bottle. “All my life, I could only imagine that ever happening at a ball. He asks me to dance, we talk, he falls madly in love, he leans forward and whispers to me that he wants to marry me. Only on a dance floor could an eligible maiden gain private conversation with someone like Duke Avery on the very day they met without risking great scandal. Tomorrow… I should stay home tomorrow. Maybe there will be another ball.”

Anna took another long swallow; then Rose grabbed the bottle. “Share fairly,” Rose said with a frown. “The logic is simple. If you believe the fortune teller and destiny has set a path for you to wed Duke Avery, then the Silver Duke will be so overcome by meeting you tomorrow that he will propose publicly, right in front of your parents. If you don’t believe the fortune teller, then our audience with the Silver Duke is no more and no less than a chance for you to catch his eye.”

“You really think so?” Anna frowned.

“What I know is… if you plan to marry the duke, you can’t run away from him,” Rose said, taking a larger gulp. “That’s why you’ve been trying to get into the castle as often as you can. Tonight, he’s busy learning that every other woman in the duchy falls short of the standards you meet. Tomorrow, you’ll show him what he’s wanted all along.”

Then Rose let out an unladylike belch. “Excuse me,” she said, flushing with embarrassment.

Anna giggled, grabbing the bottle back from Rose. “Yes, standards like knowing how to swig great gulps of wine without sounding like a frog after.” Anne tipped the bottle back, swallowing deeply. “Like this!” She let out a tiny muffled burp.

Rose snickered, taking back the bottle. “Good thing I’m not trying to marry the duke, then!”

“I'm amazed your ribbons stayed clean, sis,” Giles rumbled. “They're still bright white. I expected someone would have spilled something on them.”

“Someone did,” Elizabeth said. “I was lucky that red-headed woman was there when it happened – she had a spell that pushed the punch right back out before it set. I think she’s the apprentice of an important wizard.”

“Good. So what did you think of the duke?” Giles asked.

Elizabeth smiled dreamily. “He's wonderful. I thought his skin would feel cold or slimy, but it's just… smooth and warm and dry. And he's polite and he's tall and he smells nice. Like fresh bread. I could just dance with him forever.”

Giles looked over at their father, who nodded approvingly. The two of them had been cautiously negotiating with Lady Maude for a while about possible terms of a match. The half-elf had warned them she didn't have authority to speak for her former ward, but was eager to make what arrangements she could.

Back at the Golden Fleece, Simon and his sister Gelle huddled together in the corner of the taproom over cups of hot chamomile tea.

“So, how was dancing with the duke?” Simon leaned forward eagerly.

“It was fine. Up close, he seemed even taller. He had daubed himself with some unusual scent, he smelled like a bakery in the morning. He dances well. But after I danced with him, I sat out most of the rest of the night.” Gelle yawned. “I’m barely tired, only sleepy.”

Simon chuckled. “Most men doubt their ability to compete with a duke,” he said.

“You and Sir Giles both danced with Ivette after the duke.” Gelle’s voice sounded accusatory.

“I’m not easily scared away,” Simon said with a smile. Then his sister’s tone penetrated. “Are you jealous? I thought you liked Ivette.”

“I do! I did. But half the men I danced with, she danced with after, and… her dress was more daring, and she ranks me.” Gelle pouted. “She’s charmed even you!”

“Well, you said I’m overdue to find a wife,” Simon said. “I’m considering her for the role. Besides, if she’s become your rival in the courting of noblemen, you should be glad I’m trying to take her off the board. I’d appreciate it if you speak well of me to her.”

The door to the taproom opened, and a man rushed through. As he approached their corner table, Simon recognized the man as Zephyr.

“Sir Simon! I was hoping to find you here, but worried I would have to bribe the innkeeper to wake you. There is-” The man cut himself off, looking at Gelle. “I need your aid urgently. It will be but a short span of days – two, perhaps three.”

Simon looked over at Gelle. “Father will understand. Tell him I am away helping Zephyr, and will return when I can.” He leaned forward to whisper. “When you speak well of me to her, please do not tell Ivette I intend to court her; I must get her father’s permission before I can promise her anything.”

Alric stared at the glowing names floating on the wall in his study. He'd obtained a list of every eligible maiden of marriageable age in attendance at Isolde's ball, and the magical display of the wall would help him organize the information. He waved his hand, and a dozen names dimmed and disappeared. Avery's cousins – not technically ineligible, but he felt safe ruling them out. Who had the duke actually danced with? Another gesture and seventeen names brightened with silvery highlights.

He frowned, noticing the name “Beatrice Taylor” still floating in plain white. She'd been in attendance, but the duke hadn't deigned to dance with her. The same with the d'Ivry girls. He separated the seventeen highlighted names from the rest. Then he leaned back in his chair, staring for a while at the glowing names. None of the girls the duke had danced with came from the families he counted as reliable allies, a fact which perturbed him. The closest was Matilda de Borer; he had cordial business dealings with her maternal uncle, but not the Baron Hugh de Borer, unfortunately.

Still, there were at least a few wizards and children of wizards in that list, suggesting that Avery didn’t share his ancestor’s irrational dislike of wizards. Sabine de Lancaster, grandniece to the duke of Lancaster, reputedly was every bit as talented in the art as her granduncle had been at that age. Fiona the Red, a qualified journeyman wizard in her own right, still traveling with her master and adopted father Archmage Warin. Not a single drop of English noble blood in Fiona’s veins, either; not with that hair and those ears. Angela d'Aubigny, the younger sister of Sir Malvin d'Aubigny, also known as Master Malvin the Tattooed. Lucia and Talia de Clare both were earnest students of magic; their father was an enthusiast who attended some public lectures at the collegium. He grouped those four names together with that of Matilda de Borer and moved the group up and to the right.

Just below those five, he slid a dozen dimmer names, including Beatrice and the d'Ivry sisters. Women from sensible families, many well-educated and proficient in at least the most basic magics. He stared at that cluster for a moment, then turned back to the other dozen names that were highlighted with silver. He considered it, then tapped four of the names. Not all of the nobility welcomed innovation and technology. Baron Henry de Greystoke and his various business partners were proving very annoying. He moved those four names all the way to the left with an annoyed swipe. Searching through the dimmer names, he added another half dozen names he recognized from their families' efforts to oppose the construction of new manufactories in York.

Then he stepped back and looked at the other eight silver-highlighted names. The idea of an alliance tying York to another of England's less-industrialized counties was unappealing, he thought to himself. If the Earl of Northumberland was poor and his county was underdeveloped, it was because he was not willing to embrace necroindustry and wizardry. He slid the earl's daughter's name to the left. Shropshire's granddaughter was probably no better, he decided, sliding that name over as well. The other six silver-highlighted names he left in the middle with the rest of the dimmer names. Then he stepped back to take in the larger picture.

I know too little, he thought to himself. He could see a pattern starting to emerge, though. It was a pity that Beatrice seemed to have fallen from the duke's favor, but it fit with a more general pattern: The duke seemed to favor older families, particularly less prosperous ones. He’d even snubbed a few eligible young women from old noble families with substantial wealth, like Johanna Matthew; her grandfather, Baron Joseph Matthew, was likely the second or third wealthiest baron in York behind Baron d’Ivry and possibly the halfling who had inherited Richard’s barony.

After all, Baron James had been an important courtier in the old duke’s court, with substantial business connections of some kind outside of the duchy before he’d gained the main part of Richard’s generous lands and rents. It wasn’t clear to Alric how those different pieces added up, or how much money had been left in Richard’s treasury at the time of his death.

Alric couldn’t find a reason why Avery would avoid courting a wealthy bride. Surely a wealthier bride would come with a greater dowry. Except… there was one major exception to the pattern. Ivette de Greystoke. Alric wasn’t sure of the scale or prosperity of the Baron Greystoke’s holdings, but Cumberland had a more highly developed economy than York, and Henry de Greystoke had enough cash on hand that he was interested in making a substantial investment in an industrial project in York.

The master wizard paused. “I’m looking at this backwards,” he said aloud. “Backwards and upside-down.” If Avery was already secretly engaged to Ivette de Greystoke with a promise of a substantial dowry in exchange for dissolving the York Textile Company by ducal decree, how could he reassure Henry de Greystoke that his deal was secure?

By avoiding any dance partners from any family wealthy enough to offer a substantial bribe for a competing business favor. Which included nearly every new-money family who hadn’t yet married their way up the ranks of the aristocracy; securing an invitation into high society required either breeding or money. It included most of the families with greater magical talents, as well.

The exceptions now made sense. The de Clare sisters – John de Clare was a rank enthusiast with no head for pragmatic business. Angela d’Aubigny – her brother Malvin was a master wizard, but his talents were destructive in nature rather than being productive in the manner of necromancy or alchemy. Fiona the Red – she was outside of the normal order of York, present only because her master was making some kind of study of the abnormal physiology of the old and new Silver Dukes.

Alric paused, considering Archmage Warin’s goals a second time. The archmage had probably compelled Duke Avery magically in order to allow his assistant to inspect the duke’s unusual physiology at close range. That even explained why the duke danced with her twice; at a ball when all eyes were focused on the most eligible bachelor in England, that had drawn considerable attention.

No, it all made perfect sense once he put Ivette de Greystoke at the center of his chart. The network of Avery’s dance partners revolved around the machinations of Baron Henry de Greystoke – a wealthy Cumbrian baron who intended the total destruction of the York Textile Company.