The Duke's Decision

“Yes, but I would have married him anyway if it were just that!” Sabine said, whirling to face her brother. “Look. I am seventh in line for the throne of England’s third-largest duchy. None of those other women rank me. Which means?”

Stephen paused, remembering their earlier conversation. “Which means that they wouldn't get to tell you what to do. You'd still answer only to the duke, and you'd be first among duchesses. You'd probably have as much access to him as you wanted, maybe?” He shook his head, thinking for a long moment. “Okay. If it's that important to you, we could go back and take the stupid oath and get you married to that… greedy pig.”

“No, we can't, because you wouldn't mean it. Never mind that you can’t detect any magic from that sword, he himself can smell lies, just like the old duke.” Sabine crossed her arms over her chest, shifting her weight to her left leg as she glared at her brother.

“Impossible,” Stephen said. “First, charms intrude upon the mind, but every one I’ve ever heard of only goes in the one direction. Even imperial interrogators don’t detect lies, they compel the prisoner into speaking truth. And second, as I said before, I divined a total absence of enchantments upon him or his accoutrements. While I am no great diviner, I am quite good with enchantments.”

“I don't know how he does it. I told him I was dizzy at the dance and he knew I was lying. He didn't mean to let me know, but he knew. If you lie, he knows, and then he kills you and says the crystal sword did it.” Sabine exhaled sharply through her teeth, shaking her head. “And our father would have to swear, too. You don't think our father could honestly swear an oath to the Duke of York over all other lords? Over the Duke of Lancaster?”

She was now pacing furiously around the room, circling around both her brother and the harpsichord. “I never suspected him of being this conniving and ambitious. Or that he had the old duke's powers. Not until last night. Being able to smell lies is probably just the tip of the iceberg. I thought I was dealing with a handsome inbred dolt with all the magical talent of a doorstop. Instead, I'm dealing with the Silver Duke reborn. This is much more dangerous.”

Stephen stared at Sabine. "You… sound like you want him more now."

Sabine sat down heavily on the bench in front of the harpsichord. "Yes." She shook her head. "I do. Especially now that I can't have him." She let out a frustrated groan, closing her eyes. "Someone will fetch the red lacquered box from my luggage. Then everyone just… leave me alone. I'll ring for you when I need you."

The maidservant standing discreetly in the corner of the room curtsied hastily and ran off into the corridor.

Stephen didn’t have anything more to say, so he went to his own room, leaning out the window overlooking the river. A cool breeze blew through the open casement as he looked out over the dark waters of the Ouse. His thoughts drifted as he gazed absently over the waterway, wondering where he might find another potential husband for his little sister. Not in this town, certainly. In truth, Sabine's chances of finding another nobleman with enough power or wealth to satisfy her ambitions of independence were slim indeed; the vast majority of nobles of suitable rank were wed or betrothed.

He sighed as his mind wandered further afield. What about that man she’d met at court? Viscount Grey? No, the man didn’t have a proper estate – he had pull within the imperial bureaucracy, but that was a fleeting sort of power, one dependent on continued good favor from either an increasingly detached and inattentive emperor or his ministers. He'd be an even worse match than that silver-skinned freak, Stephen thought to himself, shaking his head.

A soft knock at his door brought his attention back to reality in a hurry. Twisting away from the view out his chamber's windows, he opened the door to admit one of his sister's maidservants. The girl handed him something small and wrapped up in cloth. It smelled faintly floral and sweet. As he took it from her hands and unwrapped it, his eyes widened slightly and he almost dropped his end of the parcel.

Inside there lay a small jewelry case made from some strange white wood. Its top had been carved into an intricate design depicting vines and flowers intertwined together. The rest was lined with velvet that was dyed deep blue in color. Her expression was cold and unreadable as she stood patiently waiting for his response. Finally, he nodded in understanding. “Thank you,” he said, meeting the maid’s eyes directly. “You may go.”

The maidservant had startled with wide eyes at being addressed directly; at his command to depart, she dipped her head low in a hasty bow, leaving with a relieved smile on her lips. Turning to the sideboard, he poured himself a glass of wine. Perhaps I should have asked the maidservant to stay, he thought to himself, but I’m not in the mood for that sort of fun. Not now, and especially not when I have work to do. He cautiously opened the jewelry case, and the floral scent grew stronger. Inside was a row of six small crystal bottles, and a note from his sister.

He read it. Twice. The request was a tricky one. How could a perfume be enhanced to magically befuddle the target, but not the person wearing it? Her idea was unconventional, almost nonsensical. But it could work. Possibly. He jotted down a reply on the same piece of paper, drained his glass of wine, and then rang for a maidservant. The same one returned.

“Give my sister this,” he said, handing her the folded piece of paper.

“I'm sorry!” Rose said. “What was I supposed to tell my father? That you'd called dibs, and so he shouldn't jump at the chance to maybe become Lord Walter instead of Sir Walter? You know how much he's wanted me to make a good match. You know he and my brother have dreams of bigger things.”

Anna didn't say anything. She just finished working the stopper out of the wine jug, and tossed it to the floor. Then she took a deep drink, still facing the wall.

“You don't need to be so angry,” Rose continued. “It's not like you knew. It's not like you didn't have a choice, either.”

Anna stared at the wall.

“You know I don't even really want to get married, Anna,” Rose told the back of Anna's head. “Not that I want to never marry, but… you know what I mean.”

Anna took another deep draft, and coughed a little. “The fortune teller was right,” she said to the wall. “He asked me to marry him the first time he met me. Only it wasn't romantic at all.”

Rose placed her hands on her hips. “Look at me, Anna, darn it,” she said. “You're the one who wanted to marry the duke. I'm just doing what seems right for my family.”

Anna held the jug over her shoulder. “I know. I'm sorry. But I can't look at you right now,” she said. “I just don't know what to feel anymore. Happy, sad, angry, disappointed, I just don't know. I've dreamed about it so long and the dreams were always… different.”

Rose took the jug in both hands and turned it upside-down, taking a big gulp. She coughed, splattering harsh young wine on her dress. “This is raw.” She shook her head. “But I'll drink it with you,” she added, taking another determined gulp. “You were my friend yesterday and you'll be my friend tomorrow.” She leaned forward, and kissed Anna on the cheek. “If you let me, I'll be your best friend forever.”

Anna turned her head away.

“How could you agree with this?” Elizabeth said mournfully. “Poppa, how am I supposed to put up with being one ninth of a duchess?”

Ricard sighed. “Maybe I shouldn't have agreed. And maybe you shouldn’t marry him if he’s truly taking eight other wives. It was only the one when we stood up. But if we swear to look up to him – and we have, now, that’s done – he has to look after us. Things are looking grim. The Emperor didn't intervene when York broke out into civil war. He may not intervene the next time war rocks the north. He may abdicate, or even die again, perhaps permanently this time. And there are unsettling rumors… we need this alliance for our own security.”

“Well,” said Elizabeth sadly. “If we truly need his help…”

“We do,” Ricard said firmly. “I don’t like to say it, but we do.”

“I can do it, I guess, but I’m scared,” Elizabeth said.

“So am I.” Ricard slumped in his chair. “I am terrified by what's happening in this country. The rich are eating the poor, and Northumbria is a poor county. You don't have many peers who are as human as Avery. As odd as he may look, he doesn't drink blood and he doesn't eat human flesh. Unlike most London socialites.”

“Giles, what do you think?” Elizabeth poked her hulking brother in the ribs. “You swore right beside him.”

“I think being the duchess of one ninth of York is better than being a countess to a vampire,” Giles said. “For that matter, one ninth of York is as large as some counties. But our father has a point about the times. You've come onto the marriage market a generation too late to find many living peers. Marianne's father was a baronet and you don't see me complaining about it. With the kind of dowry Poppa can come up with, we'd be lucky to be able to marry you to a baron that's still breathing, much less a young healthy one that smells nice. Also, I love you dearly, sis, but having you and Marianne under the same roof is like shaking two cats in a burlap sack.”

Elizabeth snorted softly and turned back towards her father. “Do you really think Avery smells nice?”

Ricard rolled his eyes. “You told us he smells nice. Remember the ball the other night?” He raised his voice to a falsetto, imitating his daughter. “He smells like fresh bread, Poppa, and his skin is so smooth!”

“That was before I knew he was a lecherous womanizer!” Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Fine. I'm the one that said that. Wait, go back. What did you say about my dowry?”

“Uh…” Ricard glanced at Giles. “Sweetheart, you remember how we had a moonapple blight last year, and we had to bring in a horticultural necromancer to target the blight with a specialized death spell?”

Elizabeth nodded.

“We're still in debt from that,” Ricard said succinctly. “Your mother sold some of her jewelry to help cover the interest. She's waiting to see if she needs to sell more. Your dowry is going to be whatever you packed away in your dower chest over the years.”

“Oh.” Elizabeth frowned deeply, and sank back into her seat. She tried to imagine herself wedding that horrible man who had smiled and danced and flirted with her. The horrible man who had the temerity to smell, feel, look, and sound nice when he only ever intended to offer her a tiny slice of his heart.

“I'm sorry. I know you were dreaming about something more romantic.” Ricard folded his arms around his daughter, hugging her firmly. “But this is the best choice we can make, for you and for Northumbria. And we won't let anyone treat you as less than a full duchess. If anyone else calls you a ninth of a duchess, they'll have to answer to me for it.”

“Or me, more like it,” Giles said, giving his father a stern look. “You agreed you'd let me stand for you in matters of honor.”

“Hmph. So I did.” Ricard sighed wearily. “You two finish packing. I'll be down seeing if I can get the innkeeper to refund us for the rest of the month on the room.”

Stephen held up his empty goblet, staring at his sister and waiting while the maidservant scurried to the sideboard, unsealed and unstopped a bottle of wine, rushed back to Stephen's side, and finally filled the goblet with dark wine. Stephen took a sip and lowered his glass.

"Someone shall go down to the wine shop on the corner and fetch a new bottle," he said, waving his finger in the air.

The maidservant obediently scurried off at his implied order, leaving the two of them alone in the room. Stephen looked around carefully, and then placed the white wooden case on the table. The delicate flower inlays glimmered.

Stephen tapped his goblet with a finger. “This wine is actually quite good, but we don't want the secret of how your new perfumes work bruited about. Phantasm.” He took a sip of wine. “It's very clever, if I say so myself.”

Sabine waited patiently. Her brother would explain; he loved feeling clever.

“If you don't believe in a phantasm, you can see through it. Higher study in the art of illusion is mocked for this, sometimes. But that's what will make it work for you. I've enchanted your perfumes to create phantasms of pleasure, desire, and arousal of varying strengths and combinations,” Stephen said. “I tested this on myself. You will feel something, at first, but knowing it to be a phantasm, it will not muddle your mind. But that’s also why it must stay absolutely secret.”

Sabine nodded. “That makes sense,” she said. “And how do I know it will work at all?”

“I tested them on one of your maidservants,” Stephen said, tapping his goblet. “She was very enthusiastic. And very confused afterwards.” He opened the case, and started pointing. “This one is arousal alone. Desire alone. Pleasure alone. I enspelled those three first. This one is all three together. This one is enspelled with just arousal and desire, which proved more effective at inducing action. The sixth is for after, enspelled for desire and pleasure without arousal. Daubing on a new one will wipe out the old phantasm.”

“Very thorough, Stephen. An impressive piece of work,” Sabine said, taking the small white case. “If I can secure a private audience with the duke, I'm sure he'll find me ravishing. And if he ravishes me, he will most certainly have to marry me. For now, I have managed to secure an invitation to dinner tomorrow night from the Lady Maude, which should be helpful even if it doesn't provide me with an opportunity to get the duke alone.”

“Have fun,” Stephen said drily.

“You're coming,” Sabine said. “In fact, as far as Lady Maude is concerned, it was you who begged her for the opportunity to come to dinner, and will be dragging your reluctant sister along. Your poor reluctant sister, who has been adamantly refusing to reconsider the young duke's proposal, in spite of your deep desire to forge a stronger connection between York and Lancaster.”

“I did?” Stephen said, blinking.

Sabine smiled. “Yes. The single and eligible grandnephew of the Duke of Lancaster has written to the Lady Maude expressing his desire to build a closer bond between the two great noble houses, and apologizing profusely for his recalcitrant sister's sudden and unexpected dislike of the young duke.”

“Oh,” said Stephen. “Isolde is single, isn't she?”

“Of course. Maude dropped hints in one of her notes to you, but they went right over your oblivious head. In your more recent letter, however, you did agree that she was a very comely woman and wished that your sister would learn to match her grace and deportment, though,” Sabine said, eyes twinkling.

Then she frowned. “Under no circumstances do I want you to actually propose to Isolde. Discuss the prospect agreeably if it arises, but say you have to talk it over with your father before making any commitments. In spite of what Lady Maude might think, Isolde is a distant cousin in a collateral line with no title of her own. She's well beneath your station.”

Stephen nodded cautiously. “Duly noted.”