Elizabeth Moon: Oath of Fealty

“Be welcome,” Dorrin said. “May I have your names?”

“Marshal Veksin,” one said, “and my yeoman-marshal Gilles.” The other, Marshal Tamis, introduced another yeoman-marshal, Berin.

“We should start with the worst contamination,” Tamis said. “Will you take us there, please?”

“Yes,” Dorrin said, “but I am required at the palace this morning and three of my men—who had watch the night through—are sleeping there—” She nodded to the smaller reception room, where the men snored away on the floor and her clothes were still laid out on the table.

“How many servants did you bring with you?” Marshal Tamis asked.

“Just a cook and a boy to help,” Dorrin said. “And five men for an escort and to manage the animals. I am more used to traveling light, military style, and did not think what a house this size might need.”

“I hear the prince visited yestereve,” Marshal Veksin said. He sounded as if he disapproved.

“The prince, Duke Mahieran, and High Marshal Seklis,” Dorrin said. “They did me the honor of coming here after I went to the palace; given the circumstances, I scarcely expected it and was not, alas, prepared to receive them as handsomely as they deserved.”

“They parted friendly, I heard,” Veksin said.

“Indeed so,” Dorrin said. “I had never met the prince, in my years with Duke Phelan’s Company, but the Duke had told me about him. It was both honor and delight to meet him and the others.”

A grunt from behind indicated that Veksin was thinking about that. Now on the second floor, she led them to her uncle’s study. “That,” she said, nodding at Liart’s symbol on the wall and the bloodstains on the floor. “I am not wise in such matters, but it seems to me this is the worst. Next would be the bedrooms, with blood on the thresholds and bloodmarks under the beds.”

“Are there simple traps here?” Marshal Tamis asked.

“Undoubtedly,” Dorrin said. “I have found two hands’ worth at least, so far, and expect to find more. No chair here is completely safe, nor drawer nor cabinet door, and I would not handle those things that look most interesting or valuable. I will show you one trap I have not yet disarmed.” With the butt of her dagger, Dorrin pressed on the back of one chair; a spike emerged from the upholstery, its tip clearly darker than the rest. “That is poison,” Dorrin said. “Anyone who sits in this chair, without the trap being disarmed, looses a spring and that spike will pierce clothing, even leather.”

“Can you disarm it?”

“Not without taking the chair apart, which is itself dangerous. On Verrakai’s own domain, I burned such things, which also destroyed the poison. Here, in the city, fire is too dangerous. I planned to have them broken up in the stableyard, and burn the parts containing poison in the kitchen hearth.”

“Will you wish to observe our work?” Veklis asked.

“No,” Dorrin said. “As I am required at the palace, I have things to do before then. Call if you need me; I will tell you when I leave for the palace.”

Downstairs, she gave up on the two difficult chests, and looked into the larder. There she found a plain wooden box, untrapped, and in the linen press off the large reception room, a small tablecloth, heavily embroidered, for a cover. She herself packed the treasure into it, covered it with the tablecloth, and tied the cloth on with blue velvet ropes from the drapes. A certain sullen resentment emanated from the box; Dorrin murmured to it as to a child.

“You will be safe; you will be honored; all will be well.”

I am yours; you are mine; no other will suffice .

“If you are mine, then it is my will you abide here for the time being,” Dorrin said.

No more blood!

“No more blood,” Dorrin said. “A place of safety and honor.”

How long?

How long indeed? She had intended to live and die as a faithful vassal of the king of Tsaia. Yet the oath she had sworn did not say “until death” as many such oaths did. “I do not know how long,” she said to the treasure. “But for now, abide in peace.”

Until you come again, but do not wait too long .

The sense of resentment vanished, replaced by watchful patience. Dorrin laid her hand on the box, and through all the wrappings felt a tingle as if she held one of those treasures in her hand.

The rest of the morning, as she woke the first three from sound sleep and chivvied them back to work, let the other two sleep, answered myriad questions from the cook, from the escort who were awake, from the Marshals, she felt like someone trying to push a handful of balls uphill—the moment she let go of one problem, two others would roll down on her. Finally she was ready to return to the palace: properly dressed in clean clothes, the box lashed to the pack-saddle of one horse, mounted on a horse she’d had to remind her escort three times to groom. Even as she turned to ride away, Efla appeared, to report that she’d seen a mouse in the larder.

Dorrin spent the short ride from the house to the palace wondering if she could find any trustworthy house staff for hire at such a time. At the gate, this time, she was recognized and waved through; stable help took the horses and palace servants ran out to help, putting the box in a sling between poles.

“It is a coronation gift,” Dorrin said. “The prince knows of it.” They nodded and followed her to the entrance.

“The Master of Ceremonies wishes to meet with you,” said the guard at the door. “He has been summoned.”

The Master of Ceremonies, wearing a short cape of brilliant red over Kostvan colors, an eye-startling combination, strode down the hall toward her.

“My lord Duke, welcome! I apologize for not being at hand yestereve when you arrived; the prince bids you to luncheon with him, if you will, and has given me explicit instructions about your generous gift. It is not, I understand, suitable for public display?”

“As the prince wishes,” Dorrin said. “He knows what it is; it might provoke … comment.”

“Then come with me to the treasury, and we will see it safe housed.” He signaled to the servants and led them all deep into the palace, again confusing Dorrin’s sense of direction. “This is not the old treasury. The old treasury was found to have a tunnel entrance, from the days when it was the cellar of the original tower. That tower fell in the Girdish war, its secrets lost until, after the attack on the prince, we looked more closely. The new treasury is above ground, in the interior.”

Guards stood at the door; the Master of Ceremonies signed a book on a stand to one side, then unlocked the door and led Dorrin and the servants with the box inside. It looked much like the bank vaults Dorrin had seen in Aarenis—a windowless room with shelves, boxes, heavy leather sacks, ledger books.

“Does the prince know what this contains?” he asked.

“Yes,” Dorrin said. “He, Duke Mahieran, and High Marshal Seklis.”

“It must be inventoried,” the Master of Ceremonies said. “That is the Seneschal’s task.” To one of the guards he said, “Fetch the Seneschal.”

The Seneschal and the High Marshal arrived together, and shooed the Master of Ceremonies away. “You can instruct Duke Verrakai on the ceremony when we’ve inventoried the gifts.” Dorrin unwrapped the box, opened it, and then unwrapped the gifts, opening the box to show its jewels still intact. The Seneschal, with no change of expression, wrote down a description of each one. Then he and Dorrin rewrapped, retied, and finally she was able to leave and attend the Master of Ceremonies, a few paces away from the door, waving his arms and giving directions to the servants.