Lois Bujold - The Curse of Chalion

Iselle was frowning down at the blank page and turning her seal ring round and round on her thumb. She glanced up, and said in a low voice, "Good, you're here. Close the door."

He shut it quietly behind him. "At your service, Royesse."

"I pray so, Cazaril: I pray so." Her eyes searched him.

Betriz said, in a worried voice, "He is so sick, Iselle. Are you sure?"

"I am sure of nothing but that I have no time left. And no other choices." She drew a long breath. "Cazaril, tomorrow morning I want you to ride to Ibra as my envoy to arrange my marriage to Royse Bergon."

Cazaril blinked, laboring to catch up with a baggage train of thought evidently already far down the road. "Chancellor dy Jironal will never let me leave."

"Of course it can't be openly." Iselle made an impatient gesture. "So you will ride first to Valenda, which is nearly on the way, as my personal courier to take the news of my brother's death to my mother. Dy Jironal will agree, delighted, he'll think, to see the back of you—he'll doubtless even lend you a courier's baton by which to commandeer horses from the Chancellery's posting houses. You know by noon tomorrow he'll have stuffed my household with his spies."

"That was very clear."

"But after you stop in Valenda, you'll ride not back to Cardegoss, but on to Zagosur, or wherever Royse Bergon is to be found. In the meantime, I will insist that Teidez be buried in Valenda, his beloved home."

"Teidez couldn't wait to get out of Valenda," Cazaril pointed out, beginning to feel dizzy.

"Yes, well, dy Jironal doesn't know that, does he? The chancellor would not let me out of Cardegoss and his eye for any other reason, but he cannot deny the demands of family piety. I will enlist Sara's support in the project, too, first thing tomorrow morning."

"You are doubly in mourning now, for your brother and his. He cannot foist another fiancé upon you for months yet."

She shook her head. "An hour ago, I became the future of Chalion. Dy Jironal must take and keep hold of me if he means to control that future. The critical moment is not the beginning of my mourning for Teidez, but of the beginning of my mourning for Orico. At which time—and not before—I pass into dy Jironal's control absolutely. Unless I am married first.

"Once I'm out of Cardegoss, I mean not to go back. In this weather, Teidez's cortege could be weeks on the road. And if the weather doesn't cooperate, I'll find other delays. By the time you return with Royse Bergon, I should still be safe in Valenda."

"Wait, what— return with Royse Bergon?"

"Yes, of course you must bring him to me. Think it through. If I leave Chalion to be wed in Ibra, dy Jironal will declare me in rebellion, forcing me to return at the head of a column of foreign troops. But if I seize my ground from the very first instant, I will never have to wrest it back. You taught me that!"

I did... ?

She leaned forward, growing more intent. "I will have Royse Bergon, yes, but I will not give up Chalion to get him, no, not one yard of soil. Not to dy Jironal, and not to the Fox either. These are my terms. Bergon and I will each of us inherit our respective crowns to ourselves. Bergon will hold authority in Chalion as roya-consort, and I will hold authority in Ibra as royina-consort, each through the other, reciprocally and equally. Our future son—the Mother and Father willing—to inherit and join them into one crown thereafter. But my future authority in Chalion is to be mine , not made over as dowry to my spouse. I will not be turned into a Sara, a mere and disregarded wife, silenced in my own councils!"

"The Fox will be greedy for more."

Her chin came up. "This is why I must have you as my envoy and no other. If you cannot get me Royse Bergon on terms that do not violate my future sovereignty, then turn around and ride home. And upon Orico's death, I will raise my banner against dy Jironal myself." Her mouth set in a grim line; her black shadow roiled. "Curse or no curse, I will not be Martou dy Jironal's bridled mare to ride to his spurring."

Yes—Iselle had the nerve, the will, and the wit to resist dy Jironal as Orico did not; as Teidez would never have. Cazaril could see it in her eyes, could see armies with pennoned lances writhing in the black dark hanging around her like a pall of smoke from a burning town. This was the form that the curse of her House would take in the next generation: not personal sorrow, but civil war between royal and noble faction, tearing the country apart from end to end.

Unless she could shrug off House and curse both, and pass into the protection of Bergon...

"I will ride for you, Royesse."

"Good." She sat back and swept her hand over the blank parchments. "Now we must make several letters. The first shall be your letter of authority to the Fox, and I think it should be in my own hand. You've read and written treaties. You must tell me all the right phrases, so I do not sound like an ignorant girl."

"I'll do my best, but am no lawyer, Iselle."

She shrugged. "If we succeed, I will have swords to back my words. And if we do not, no legal niceties will make them stand. Let them be plain and clear. Begin..."

A grueling three-quarters of an hour of lip-biting concentration resulted in a clean draft, which Iselle signed with a flourish and sealed with her seal ring. Betriz, meanwhile, had finished collecting and inventorying the little pile of coins and jewelry.

"Is that all the coin we have?" asked Iselle.

"Unfortunately, yes," sighed Betriz.

"Well, he'll just have to pawn the jewelry when he gets to Valenda, or some other safe place." Iselle wrapped the silk around the gauds and shoved them across the table to Cazaril. "Your purse, my lord. Daughter grant it is enough to get you there and back."

"More than enough, if I am not cheated."

"Mind you, this is to spend, not save. You are to put on a good show as my representative in Ibra. Remember to dress. And Royse Bergon is to travel in a style befitting his rank and mine, and no shame to Chalion."

"That could be tricky. I mean, without the army. I will bend my thoughts to it. Much will depend on, well, a number of unsettled things. Which reminds me. We must have a secure means of communication. Dy Jironal or his spies will surely be making all efforts to intercept any letters you receive."

"Ah."

"There is a very simple cipher that is nonetheless nearly impossible to break. It depends upon having two copies of the same printing of some book. One goes with me, one stays with you two. Three-number sequences pick out words—page number, line number, and rank in the line—which the recipient then works backward to find the word again. You do not always use the same numberings for the same words, but find them on another page, if you can. There are better ciphers, but there is no time to teach them to you. I, uh... have not two of any book, though."

"I will find two such books before you leave tomorrow," said Betriz sturdily.

"Thank you." Cazaril rubbed his forehead. It was madness to undertake to ride, sick and maybe bleeding, over the mountains in midwinter. He would fall off his horse into the snows and freeze, and he and his horse and his letters of authorization would all be eaten by the wolves.

"Iselle. My heart is willing. But my body is occupied territory, half­laid waste. I am afraid I will fail in the journey. My friend March dy Palliar is a good rider and a strong sword arm. May I offer him as your envoy instead?"

Iselle frowned in thought. "I think it will be a duel of wits with the Fox for the hand of Bergon, not a duel of steel. Better to send the wits to Ibra and keep the sword in Chalion."

Beguiling thought, to leave Iselle and Betriz not unguarded after all, but with a strong friend to call upon... a friend with friends, aye. "In either case, may I bring him into our councils tomorrow?"