The Duke's Decision

Rose sat next to Anna, the two of them exchanging smiles. They whispered together as they waited, exchanging sympathies on having to wake bright and early after their late-night rooftop adventure.

Silence settled on the great hall as the duke prepared to speak. Duke Avery was taller than his seneschal, who in turn was taller than the greater part of the assembled knights and nobles. His skin gleamed silver, and his eyes had no whites, only oceans of gold surrounding vertically-slit pupils. The lines of his face were inhuman but beautiful.

“Today, I have brought you here to make an important announcement,” the duke said. “I will hold a wedding two weeks hence.”

Rose’s mouth fell open in surprise. Silence deepened until it became unbearable. Then Anna broke the silence, blurting out the word “No!” with a combination of disbelief and disappointment.

“Anna, is it?” The duke focused his attention on the taller woman next to Rose, and Anna shrank back in her seat, nodding. Her lips were sealed tight over her rebellious tongue. Rose quietly held Anna’s hand to reassure her.

“It remains to be seen whom I marry in two weeks, Anna.” The new Silver Duke fixed his golden gaze on them. Rose shivered, feeling suddenly chilled. She could feel herself getting goosebumps.

“Great and terrible things are afoot in York. And England. And the Empire of Britain. His Imperial Majesty has designated no heir and increasingly leaves the helm of the state to turn itself. The bureaucracy encroaches on the power of the nobility. Rebels have cut the railway in Nottingham. The nobility drinks the blood of peasants and calls it high fashion. Just this past month, elven ships have landed raiding parties in both Cornwall and Wales. As your sworn duke, it is my duty to secure this duchy against its foreign and domestic enemies. I have already paid a price in blood thanks to those of my cousins who thought they had a better claim to my inheritance. Today, I am offering another price in blood to secure the future of York. I will give my heart for York.”

Rose’s heart was pounding, and she could feel Anna’s hand tremble. The silver-skinned man at the front of the room – the new Silver Duke – was looking straight at them.

“York needs allies whose loyalty is first and foremost to me. Whether they are country knights like your father, Anna, or earls who govern a whole county on behalf of the Emperor. I have decided that I will marry any – and all – of you who can swear your families’ loyalty directly to me.”

Anna’s hand went suddenly limp in Rose’s grasp as surprised murmurs rippled across the room. Such an antiquated feudal practice was thoroughly out of fashion in the modern imperial era – and the implications of the demand were alarming. Was the duke preparing for the empire to fall on its own, or did he mean to try to accelerate its demise?

The duke held up a taloned hand. At his gesture, a gust of cold air suddenly chilled the room, leaving silence in its wake. His golden eyes swept across the room like a scythe, commanding silence from those attending.

“For those of you who are willing to step forward to swear to me above all others: I am ready to take those oaths of fealty here and now, in front of witnesses and upon the sword of my predecessor. However, if you need time to confer with your family, you have it – but do not take too long. The wedding is in two weeks.”

The duke took a step back, clasping his hands behind his back; and as if that was the signal that they were allowed to speak, which it surely was, the hall erupted with a hundred urgent whispers at once. Anna breathed in and out rapidly. Rose leaned forward, hugging the taller woman.

“The fortune teller said my future husband would ask me to marry him the very day I first met him,” Anna whispered under her breath. “The fortune teller said it. I never imagined this. The very day. The fortune teller said. The fortune teller. Fortune teller.”

“Shh,” Rose whispered, stroking Anna’s hair and back with one of her hands. “Take a long deep breath, Anna.”

A susurrus of whispers echoed through the great hall. Avery’s talons pressed against his skin; if the tips had not been trimmed to bluntness, or if his skin had been ordinary, they would have drawn blood as the young duke forced himself to stand perfectly still, trying to convince himself that he had not just alienated a hall full of potential allies. That there was at least one woman who would respond to his proposal in the affirmative.

A figure stood, taking deliberate steps forward to the dais. It was the nervous girl in the emerald green dress, clutching her hands tightly together behind her back as though they were cold or shaking with fright, her eyes locked on her feet as she mounted the three steps up to the level of the dais. When she reached the top step, she stopped and looked up, her eyes glistening with emotion. Avery looked down at her, raised an eyebrow, and waited until her trembling had calmed down slightly. Then, without changing expression, he turned back to the rest of the room, waiting as the elderly baron who had been sitting next to the girl followed.

When the girl had composed herself, Avery glanced at Marcus. Who are they? I don’t remember her name.

The girl is Johanna. You’ve met her several times and talked with her mother at the ball, though you didn’t dance with her. Her grandfather is named Joseph Matthew, as is his heir, who isn't here. Marcus shrugged, then cocked his head. James says the heir – her father – is out with a hangover after a long night in the taproom of the Golden Fleece, so she doesn’t qualify by the terms you gave.

Gregor can follow up with the younger Joseph Matthew later, Avery sent back. She’s close enough, and the only one to come forward. He forced himself to smile and unclasp his own hands from behind his back. “Thank you, Johanna. You look lovely. I will need you and Baron Joseph Matthew to each touch the old duke's sword as you swear this oath.” Avery looked both of them in the eye carefully. “If you swear with a false heart, you will die.”

Whispers echoed through the great hall as he looked back at her. Everyone who had been to the old duke's court had heard stories of liars disintegrated by the duke’s sword. Avery pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded a piece of paper, then held it out to her. She looked back with wide frightened eyes but didn't move.

“Johanna?”

She looked over at him, swallowing hard and reading the piece of paper. “Yes, m'lord. I can swear that oath.” She looked over at her grandfather, then back down at her feet, nerves failing her.

“Are you ready to take this oath?” He looked from her to her grandfather. Neither met his gaze, but both stood their ground and nodded, staring at the stone floor nervously. “Good.”

Her voice trembled as she repeated the words from the page, hand placed on the clear crystal sword that lay on top of the altar. “My allegiance is to Duke Avery of York, and after him to the heirs of his choice, be they of my blood or another's. I will honor no other lord above him except through him.”

After a long hesitant moment, the baron's wrinkled hand joined hers on top of the sword, and his voice echoed hers. To Avery's relief, their words rang true in his ears. The sword stayed quiescent on the altar – seemingly an inert hunk of crystal. He still didn't know if the sword truly had the power to destroy the dishonest; he hoped he wouldn't learn today.

The oath he had just administered quietly put loyalty to him above loyalty to Emperor and country, and most of the older men and women in the room could recognize that fact. Feudal oaths to an intermediary lord weren't explicitly illegal, but had no place in an empire that was increasingly administered by a centralized and standardized bureaucracy. Baron Joseph Matthew and his granddaughter had effectively pledged to join him in any treason he might commit against the empire that ruled the isle of Britain.

Avery frowned, and waved a guard over. “Johanna, you and your grandfather are welcome to stay here in the castle until the wedding,” he told them quietly, pointing towards a small side door in the great hall. “That might be best.” Marcus, I need you to keep track of who takes the oath, who doesn't, and who's on the fence. I also want some rooms prepared in the tower.

To his surprise, a short line had formed while he had taken the oaths of Johanna and the baron. At its head was Earl Ricard of Northumbria and his son Giles, their daughter Elizabeth squeezed between the two hulking men. Sabine and her party were already making their way towards the exit, passing the attractive dark-haired woman joining the end of the line on unsteady feet – Anna, Avery reminded himself. An alliance with Lancaster would have been useful to Avery's plans, but he had not expected Sabine or her father to be willing to swear loyalty to him over her ducal granduncle. This would have been seen as putting Lancaster subordinate to York.

Anna, however, was a different matter entirely. By marrying the daughter of one of these lesser nobles, he would, in a certain symbolic sense, be putting himself on equal footing with them. If the marriages were accepted as legitimate by his peers, Anna's father and his house would gain prestige from having a ducal son-in-law.

Of course, how much might depend on how many women married Avery. Was the status gained as a duke’s wife the same if there were many of them? And even if it was lesser, was it still greater than the status of the wife of a baron or landed knight? Avery could see many of the nobles in the room struggling with that complex calculation, some out loud and some silently. Many were edging back towards the exits but unwilling to leave until they saw who had accepted Avery’s proposal.

Earl Ricard of Northumbria stepped forward. “I am prepared to swear the exact same oath,” he announced.

There was another flurry of whispers, not as loud as the one that had followed Avery’s speech, but significant nonetheless. Baron Joseph Matthew’s barony existed within the duchy of York, governed by its laws and subject to the duke’s justice; the county of Northumbria did not. Earls held the right of high justice on their own, and generally answered only to imperial law.

Avery leaned forward, speaking very quietly. “That will not forswear you?”

The earl shook his head. “Not in my view,” he said, equally quietly.

Avery could hear the truth in that statement, and wondered at its implications. He had been ready to offer a slightly modified oath for the earl himself, one that acknowledged the potential conflict with the earl’s already-sworn oath to Emperor Ivar the Fleshless.

Alric, the uninvited master wizard, flitted from group to group; Avery imagined that Alric was probably advising them against tying themselves to the new duke on general principles. He suspected it was likely the wizards of the collegium would have preferred that someone else inherited the ducal throne. But then the archmage finished his conversation with Alric with a genial slap on the shoulder and joined the queue with his apprentice, who fingered her drab journeyman’s robes nervously as she waited.

By the end of the afternoon, twenty-five people had sworn fealty directly to him; nine brides-to-be and sixteen of their close relatives. Most of the others had lingered to see the final oath was administered. Once that happened, they talked quietly amongst each other for only a brief while before leaving. Among those who swore fealty to him were three minor lords with lands bordering Lincoln, two ladies distantly related to the duke of Warwick, and two other barons of smaller houses.

Ducking out a side exit of the great hall, Avery watched the crowd slowly filter out through the gatehouse and across the River Foss. He turned a quizzical look at Marcus. “That went well,” he said conversationally. “I'm surprised nobody ended up disintegrated. They all spoke truth when they gave their oaths, though.”

“Not surprising at all, milord. I think you have made a good start at building alliances. But remember, milord… the oath may be given honestly and then still not kept.” Marcus gave Avery a meaningful look. “As I understand it, they spoke truly, but people change."

“Of course.” Avery nodded grimly. “But it is better than nothing.”