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beforehand. I won
t let you.
No, no, Orico agreed hastily, waving his hands. That . . . that was a
mistake, I see it now. I m sorry.
Now, there s an understatement . . .
I did not mean to insult you, dear sister, or, or the gods. Orico glanced
around a little vaguely, as though afraid an offended god might pounce upon
him out of some astral ambuscade at any moment. I
meant well, for you and for Chalion.
Belatedly, it dawned upon Cazaril that while no one at court but himself and
Umegat knew just whose prayers had hurried Dondo . . . well, not out of the
world, but out of his life all knew that the royesse had been praying for
rescue. None, Cazaril thought, suspected or accused her of working death
magic of course, neither did they suspect or accuse him nevertheless, Iselle
was here, and Dondo was gone. Every thinking courtier must be unnerved by
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Dondo s mysterious death, and some more than a little.
No marriage shall be offered to you in future without your prior accordance,
said Orico, with uncharacteristic firmness. That, I promise you upon my own
head and crown.
It was a solemn oath; Cazaril s brows rose. Orico meant it, apparently. Iselle
pursed her lips, then accepted this with a slight, wary nod.
A faint dry breath, puffed through feminine nostrils Cazaril s eyes went to
Royina Sara. Her face was shadowed by the window embrasure, but her mouth
twisted briefly in some small irony at her husband s words. Cazaril considered
what solemn promises Orico had broken to her, and looked away, discomfited.
By the same token, Orico skipped to his next evasion like a man crossing
stepping-stones on a steam, our mourning makes it too soon to offer you to
Ibra. The Fox may construe an insult in this haste.
Iselle made a gesture of impatience. But if we wait, Bergon is likely to be
snatched up! The royse is now the Heir, he s of marriageable age, and his
father wants safety on his borders. The Fox is bound to barter him for an
ally a daughter of the high march of Yiss, perhaps, or a rich Darthacan
noblewoman, and Chalion will have lost its chance!
It s too soon. Too soon. I don t disagree that your arguments are good, and
may have their day.
Indeed, the Fox made diplomatic inquiries for your hand some years ago, I
forget for which son, but all was broken off when the troubles in South Ibra
erupted. Nothing is fixed. Why, my poor Brajaran mother was betrothed five
different times before she was finally wed to Roya Ias. Take patience, calm
yourself, and await a more seemly time.
I think now is an excellent time. I want to see you make a decision, announce
it, and stand by it
before Chancellor dy Jironal returns.
Ah, um, yes. And that s another thing. I cannot possibly take a step of this
grave nature without consultation with my chief noble and the other lords in
council. Orico nodded to himself.
You didn t consult the other lords the last time. think you re most
strangely afraid to do anything
I
dy Jironal doesn t approve. Who is roya in Cardegoss, anyway, Orico dy Chalion
or Martou dy
Jironal?
I I I will think on your words, dear sister. Orico made craven little
waving-away motions with his fat hands.
Iselle, after a moment spent staring at him with a burning intensity that made
him writhe, accepted this with a small, provisional nod. Yes, do think on my
petition, my lord. I ll ask you again tomorrow.
With this promise or threat she made courtesy again to Orico and Sara and
withdrew, Betriz and Cazaril trailing.
Tomorrow and every day thereafter? Cazaril inquired in an undervoice as she
sailed down the corridor in a savage rustling of skirts.
Every day till Orico yields, she replied through set teeth. Plan on it,
Cazaril.
WINTRY YELLOW LIGHT SLANTED THROUGH GRAYclouds later that afternoon as
Cazaril made his way out of the Zangre to the stable block. He pulled his fine
embroidered wool coat around him and drew in his neck like a turtle against
the damp, cold wind. When he opened his mouth and exhaled, he could make his
breath mist in a little cloud before him. He blew a few puffs at the ghosts
that, pale almost to invisibility in the sunlight, bobbed perpetually after
him. A damp frost rimed the cobbles beneath his feet. He pushed the
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