Joel Shepherd - Tracato

Jeleny took Jaryd away, to Sofy’s relief, as Balthaar escorted her to the table. At the table’s end was a grand chair, like a wooden throne. Beside it, inviting her to sit, was the Regent Tamar Arosh, lord of all the free Bacosh. He was a tall man, with wisping hair at the front, but long and grey streaked at the back. His eyes were intelligent, yet his hands and manner seemed to Sofy somehow…soft. Not a martial man, was the word amongst the Lenay lords. Not a warrior. And she wondered at the changes in herself that while a year ago she might have considered such a thing a sign of sophistication in a king, today she felt an unmistakable…distaste.

She sat upon the regent’s right hand, opposite her betrothed, with Yasmyn to her own right. Further down the table, others settled. Balthaar’s sister Elora, and his younger brother Dafed. Aramande, the Lord of Algrasse, perhaps Larosa’s closest ally. And Father Turen, the Archbishop of Sherdaine, and the holiest man in Larosa. The small table and isolated setting, here in the regent’s private quarters, made Sofy nervous. The lady regent was absent, as were Balthaar’s other sisters, and most of the grand provincial lords save Lord Aramande. In these great days of alliance building, a missed chance to dine with new allies and former enemies was an opportunity lost. Yet the regent chose to lunch with this select group.

“An issue with the new assistant, Princess Sofy?” asked the regent. He spoke with a curious detachment, and when he met a person’s eyes, it was only fleeting. He was a man of elegance and refinement, who sometimes seemed to find the company of people…uninteresting. Sofy thought him one of the most puzzling men she’d met.

“No issue, Your Grace.” It was the required form of address, she’d been informed, to the man who would be known as king if not for the ancient declaration of Elrude’s Oath that no Bacosh man could name himself king until all the Bacosh had been reclaimed, and the throne of Leyvaan restored. “Rather an issue with my brother.”

“Which one?” asked the regent, considering the soup that servants laid before them.

“Prince Damon. He is my dear friend, but sometimes forgetful.”

“And unmarried,” added Elora.

“Does the prospect interest you, sister?” Balthaar asked, teasingly.

“One merely observes,” said Elora. They spoke Torovan, for Sofy’s benefit. Her Larosan was approaching conversational standard, but not quite there yet. “Whom shall he marry, do you think, Sofy?”

“Oh dear,” said Sofy. “With Damon, one is never certain. He is rather picky.”

“I hear of considerable interest in Tournea,” said Lord Aramande of Algrasse. He was a very handsome man, of no more than thirty summers, but short. Standing, Sofy reckoned he might not be too much taller than her. “Lady Sicilia is known to be asking questions on the prince’s inclinations. He does prefer girls, does he not, Princess Sofy?”

Sofy did not resent the question, but rather the way it was asked. “Of the Lenay variety, assuredly,” she said coolly. Balthaar chuckled. Sofy smiled at him. Lord Aramande made an unconvincing smile and blew on a spoonful of soup.

“What precisely is wrong with ladies of the Bacosh?” the Archbishop wanted to know.

“They wear wigs,” Yasmyn replied. “Hair falls out. All bald beneath, like priest.” The Archbishop whitened.

Balthaar laughed. “Lady Yasmyn, I swear, do all noble ladies of Isfayen have such sharp tongues as you?”

Yasmyn smiled. “And sharper knives.”

“A pity there are not more of you on this ride. I should like to wed one of you to Dafed.”

Elora giggled.

“Be nice,” said Dafed. Balthaar’s younger brother was broad, built like a young bull. Sofy thought he was the strongest warrior she’d met, amongst Bacosh nobility.

“No doubt an Isfayen marriage to the second son of the regent would alarm King Torvaal,” said Lord Aramande. “The Isfayen being such a warlike people, he might consider it a play for power.” Sofy thought the man determined to cause trouble. Many, she knew, did not like this marriage at all.

“No,” said Yasmyn. “The gods chose Family Lenayin. There is honour to follow the king. The Isfayen are honourable.”

“I have no doubt,” Balthaar said easily. “Honourable and beautiful.” Yasmyn smiled. “Yet not quite as beautiful as some,” he added, with a smile at Sofy.

Sofy sighed. When she had first learned that she would be married to the son of the Larosan regent, she had been revolted. Then, when the consequences of resisting her father and Koenyg’s plans had become clear, she had gritted her teeth, and resolved that if a man’s service to his kingdom could involve dying on the battlefield, then a woman’s fate of marriage and childbirth would not be such a bad thing, even were the man unlovable.

Balthaar Arosh was intelligent and gracious. He had a sense of humour, and a natural ease of command. Sofy knew that most women would think her irretrievably spoiled could she not be grateful for such a gift as this marriage had granted her.

After lunch, she took a brief walk with her future husband in the courtly gardens. Trimmed hedges made fascinating shapes, and about it all, the narrow windows of Sherdaine Palace looked down. Other couples strolled the maze, some knights in chain and surcoats. Many of the ladies wore long, silver wigs with curls and ornaments that glittered.

Yasmyn walked behind, with a black-clad woman of the Merciful Sisters, who had appeared from nowhere to keep an eye on the couple. No more than hand holding would be tolerated, Sofy had been told.

“I have invited your brothers to participate in the wedding tournament,” Balthaar told her. “It has been too soon for a reply, however.”

“Oh, Balthaar, jousting .” Sofy made a face. “It does seem unnecessarily dangerous, with a war coming.”

“Tournament lances, my dear,” Balthaar assured her. “They are narrow things, and break easily upon contact with a shield or armour. Do you think they shall accept the invitation?”

“Oh, I’m certain you could not keep Koenyg away if you tried,” Sofy said tiredly. “Myklas too. Lenay warriors have little use for lances or knightly armour, but I’m sure they’ll prove fast learners.”

“Not your brother Damon?” Balthaar asked. “I should warn you that there are rumours regarding Damon. They say that he is not a real Lenay man like your brother Koenyg.”

“He was man enough for Lord Elen of Liside Vale.”

Balthaar looked down at her with a little concern, and squeezed her hand. “I did not mean to cause offence.”

“No, of course not. I’m sorry. I just…I recall what Lord Elen did, and it angers me. I never thought I could be proud of my brothers for killing a man in a duel, but I’m very proud of Damon for that.”

“Dear Sofy,” said Balthaar, and stopped. He turned her toward him, and took her other hand in his. “You have not yet inferred upon me a term of endearment. I am merely Balthaar.”

“There shall be plenty of time for that once we are married, don’t you think?”

Balthaar looked a little sad. “Of course. I merely hope that I shall not be plain and simple Balthaar forever.”

“Dear Prince, I doubt that you have ever been ‘plain and simple’ anything.” Balthaar smiled and kissed her hand. Sofy was relieved. Behind them, the Merciful Sister cleared her throat, loudly.

“Balthaar?” Sofy asked suddenly. “What would you have done with Lord Elen?”

Balthaar frowned. “It is not a prince’s role to interfere with matters of law and punishment in a lord’s own domain. Particularly not where those matters of law concern the faith. Lord Elen broke Lenay law within a Lenay camp, and I respect that your laws must be enforced. Prince Damon did what he must, and I hope that our fellow lords shall learn better from the lesson. But that is a separate matter from the first.”