Hearts in Cups Read online

  "Aside from that old story," Ian went on, regaining his self-possession, "I have been to a great many banquets and heard much gossip these last few weeks. The general consensus in Creon is that the crown must be secured in order to keep the Pentarchy from dissolution. Branwilde has supported Lord Percamber's regency in the past but he is growing uneasy. He is a soldier and wants a commander to follow. Apparently forces outside the Pentarchy, meaning I suspect the Kassorian Empire, are beginning to show an interest in the current state of the Pentarchy. The duke is unreservedly loyal and won't move against Percamber, but he wants a permanent king on the throne and recognized heirs to it."

  "You seem to know much of the duke's personal thoughts for someone who was only listening to idle gossip."

  "I listened and did a lot of reading between the lines. Grandfather and the duke talked a good deal within my earshot. Now, as to the smaller lords and landholders in Creon, they will do whatever Branwilde commands. But, they are feeling insecure and insecure men look for simple solutions.

  "Mirvanovir is a trickier kettle of fish. It is my opinion that Niall and Rashara want the throne with themselves on it. It's not said in the open of course, and neither of them is so stupid as to put on anything but a loyal face, but there were too many little things said and done that point to that conclusion. From his letter, I see that Percamber is also wary about them. Niall is good at choosing greedy men to do his bidding and he holds his duchy in a very tight fist. And Rashara? Selfish men are bad, but an avaricious woman who wants power can be terrible."

  "I should have thought Rashara was far too interested in herself and her pleasures to take much interest in the rest of the world."

  "Don't underestimate her, Holly. She spent several years studying at the Scholastium in Dacara before marrying the duke. I think she could be a powerful and dangerous foe," Ian replied severely.

  "I shall keep that in mind," Hollin replied with mock-contrition. "You have told me that there is unrest and speculation about the throne, but where do I come into this play? Why are you so certain that I am viewed as the stepping stone?"

  "To begin with, your aunt was Lady Bronwyn, who was the late king's first cousin by blood."

  "Gervase Iscoed and his sister Genvra are more closely related," she countered. "Lady Bronwyn was their mother."

  "True, but nothing would ever induce Gervase to leave Iscoed and Genvra is married into House Pentarell. I've told you that there are a lot of ambitions involved. Gervase has no ambitions, at least none beyond his own comfort and seclusion. House Pentarell might think of using Genvra to make a claim of their own, but they are a Minor House and I doubt Roraic Danane would allow them to use his wife in that way.

  "The second reason that you are at the top of a lot of lists, as I mentioned earlier, is this matter of your prior handfasting to the prince. This gives you two direct links to House Sandovar and the throne. Thirdly, you are as yet still unmarried. Need I remind you that all of the, shall we say ‘interested parties,’ have sons of marriageable age. To many, you are the logical solution to their problem."

  Hollin rose with a frown and paced to the window. "This is completely absurd! That handfasting was not binding even at the time it was made. Besides, with Gwyneira dead, I am the Duchess of Langstraad, not some younger daughter who can be married off for political alliance. I am sole ruler of one of the five Great Houses and no one else outranks me in the Pentarchy." She returned to her seat, still frowning.

  "True enough, but I doubt that those facts will change the minds of those who consider you a viable alternative to the inevitable anarchy that will ensue if Percamber dies without an acknowledged and agreed upon heir."

  "I hate intrigue," she spat vehemently.

  "I don't particularly," was his equable reply.

  She laughed derisively.

  "I like games-playing, which is all it is actually,” he said. “Plots within plots. You're a bit too honest, if you want my opinion. You'd hate the court at Challis."

  "No doubt." She smiled and leaned back in her chair. "Any suggestions for the coming fray?"

  He drew his brows together in thought. "First, you have to decide where your own feelings lie. How do you feel about the regency? About Lord Percamber? What are your feelings for, or about, the missing prince? Do you want the throne yourself? What can you do? And what will you do?"

  She mulled this over. "I really haven't thought much about those things," she confessed. "Up until this point I was prepared to let events take their own course. Naturally, I accept and support Lord Percamber, both politically and personally. He has been an excellent Regent and I have always been most comfortable with him. I don't have any personal feelings for Prince Brian. The handfasting ceremony was so long ago that I hardly remember him." She paused, trying to recall the event. All that remained of the experience was the impression of very tall people in splendid dress milling about.

  "And the throne?"

  She shrugged. "You know that I don't want the throne for myself. I am quite content with running my own House."

  "It's more complicated than that!" he protested.

  "True. And if what you say is correct, then I cannot afford to wait until the initiative is taken away from me."

  "No, you can't."

  "Tell me Ian, are you ever ambitious in a grand way?" she asked with a sigh of frustration.

  "Me?" He laughed quietly. "No, not really. I like my comforts and I like being on the fringe of power, but real ambition is entirely too tedious. I am content to advise you, as best I can, from behind the curtains."

  "Sometimes I wish that you were not my cousin," Hollin said smiling down at her lap.

  "Me too," he replied simply.

  There was a stillness in the room. At last, Ian rose and bent to kiss the top of Hollin's head. "When you decide how you are going to deal with your fellow council-members, send for me. Remember, I'm always here for you, Holly."

  She raised her smile to his face. "I know that. Let me brood by myself for a few hours, then come dine with me this evening if you're free." Ian sketched a brief bow and left her alone in the sunlit tower.

  Three hours later Hollin was awakened from her ruminations by a quick knock on the door followed by the appearance of a stout, pink-cheeked woman. Dame Edwinna Heath had been principle lady-in-waiting to Lady Morwen ap Lir, Hollin's mother, and had risen to become chatelaine of Castle Lir upon Hollin's succession to her mother's coronet. Like a great mother-hen, she viewed the residents of the castle as her chicks, to be continually fussed over. At times Hollin, who cherished her privacy and solitude, found Edwinna's ministrations suffocating, but she recognized in the woman an excellent manager with a genuine desire to be helpful.

  "Well, well, well, there you are my dear, your grace!" Dame Edwinna bustled in, speaking in her usual breathless fashion. "I was getting quite worried wondering where you had got to. Have you eaten? Good, good, yes Alaric said that food had been sent to you, though the silly man forgot to say where you were, and of course, when I went to ask him, he had disappeared too. Rumour is out that you are going to leave for the council session earlier than planned. Oh dear me, well don't you fret, I'll see that all the arrangements are made. Will you be having Benedict ride with you?" Sir Benedict Heath was Edwinna's husband and Castle Lir's seneschal.

  "Yes, Edwinna, I will be leaving early, and yes, Benedict will be riding with me." Hollin was nonplussed by the woman's chatter. "Lord Ian will act in my stead while I am gone." Edwinna pursed her mouth into a small moue of resignation at this news. "You and Alaric will see to the daily running of the castle and Ian will act as my steward."

  "Yes, your grace." Edwinna managed a short curtsey.

  "Please go now and tell Benedict to join me in an hour to discuss the arrangements for the journey. Send a message to Griswold as well. Tell him to meet me in the training court later this afternoon. I want to get some practice in before I leave."

  "Yes, your grace. Will you be having anything to eat
?" Edwinna asked solicitously.

  "Not now. That reminds me, I'm dining with Lord Ian tonight. Please have dinner served in my rooms. Tell the cooks to keep it simple." Hollin rose and went to her desk. "That is all, you may go," she said picking up the first page of a sheaf of documents.

  "Very well, your ladyship." Edwinna curtsied for the last time and swept out of the room.

  The sound of steel on steel echoed off the stone walls in the late afternoon. Lord Ian's hawk moved restively as Ian dismounted near the mews. The falconer moved forward and deftly removed the bird as a groom caught the horse's bridle and led him away. Pulling the heavy leather gloves off, Ian handed them to his personal attendant. As the clash of metal continued, Ian grew curious and moved into the archway leading to a small courtyard used for individual sword practice. Several men stood at the mouth of the archway peering in, but they moved aside with quick bows as Ian strolled over.

  Standing in the shadow of the wall, Ian observed his cousin in tunic and breeches, her braided hair coiled around her head, engaged in a bout with Sir Griswold, Swordmaster of Castle Lir. Swordplay was not an activity that many women participated in, and her costume would have scandalized many outside her own castle, but she had shown an interest and an aptitude as a child, and her father had seen fit to indulge her by instructing her himself.

  The swords clashed again and Ian marveled at the display. The man's weight, length of arm and experience were formidable and Hollin's skill was hard pressed; only her extraordinary reflexes and agility kept her out of her opponent's range. Back and forth they moved across the yard in a deadly dance of attack and retreat. Ian crossed his arms and quietly leaned against the wall. Finally, an excellently timed riposte slipped under her opponent's defense and lightly touched him on the chest.

  "Well done!" he roared at her, raising his sword in salute.

  "Luck," she gasped, returning the salute and removing her face shield.

  "Never disparage luck, your grace," he replied as he doffed his own shield. "Sometimes luck does you better than skill, though to my mind 'tis best to have both." She laughed and, seeing Ian against the wall, waved her sword in greeting.

  "You'll soon be besting Griswold two out of three matches," Ian chuckled as he pushed himself away from the wall.

  She laughed again and Ian felt an odd pull in his chest. "I doubt it," she said, and wiped the stray hairs off of her face. "As I have just explained to Griswold, my skill is generally surpassed by my luck."

  "Nay mistress," the older man admonished gravely. "Your father was a swordmaster and your grandfather, the baron, is still a good man with the blade. 'Tis in the blood I tell ye. Even young Ian here is a handy man with a sword when pushed to it."

  Ian grinned. "Grandfather certainly has retained his strength to a remarkable degree. I watched him best six young knights-in-training the last time I was visiting Medicat Hall. Fought them first and then proceeded to drink them under the table."

  "Aye, a wonderful man is Sir Alister," Griswold rejoined with a glint in his eye. He had served the de Medicat family all of his life. First as a page to Alister de Medicat and later as a knight. When Alister's son, Courant de Medicat, had married the heir to House Langstraad, Griswold had followed him to Castle Lir. He had trained Courant, and eventually taught Hollin and Ian. After the deaths of her parents, Hollin had made him Lir's Master of Sword.

  Hollin grinned at Ian, then saluted both men and exited through one of the smaller archways connecting the practice yard with the rest of the castle complex. Ian exchanged a few words with Griswold and then made for his own quarters to change his clothing.

  Ian's apartments had been given to him by Hollin when she became Duchess of Langstraad. He had been grateful, for it finally gave him a permanent and private place of his own and ensured that he would be able to avoid long stays on his grandfather's estate. The rooms were well-appointed and fastidiously clean, aside from a few books lying on or about a large chair beside a window. He entered his bedchamber and was undressing when he heard a sound from the adjacent room. The door was slyly pushed ajar and a young woman sidled through the doorway with her hands behind her back.

  "Hello my lord." She swayed slightly as she advanced towards him.

  "Well, well." He examined her with a slow smile. She had piled her tawny-coloured hair up onto her head exposing the nape of her neck as well as quite a lot of her bust and shoulders. The impression that she initially made on men was one of wonderful softness and pliability coupled with a childish desire to please. It had not taken Ian long to discover that her ingenuousness was contrived and that she could be more than a little unscrupulous when she wanted something. She did however satisfy some rather basic needs in Ian, and he considered it a fair trade for the gifts and minor privileges that she demanded in return.

  "Was the hunting good?" she asked while running her fingertip over his bared chest.

  "Could have been better," he replied cheerfully.

  "Nasty hawks." She began to wrap her arms around him. "Shall we send for supper in bed then?"

  "Sorry my girl, but I'm dining out tonight."

  "Again! Who is it this time?" He read suspicion as well as disappointment in her voice.

  "The lady of the castle, as a matter of fact." Ian was clearly amused and let her know it. "By the way, have you seen Evan skulking about? I need to wash up."

  "No, I haven't," she relied with asperity. "How would I know where your manservant is? I'm not a serving wench!" This last remark was delivered with a flounce of her skirts as she sat down on the bed.

  "No, just the delicious daughter of the head-cook." Ian pushed her gently onto her back and pinned her there.

  Kathryn glared up at him. She was sensitive on the subject of her family origins. Using her own wits and feminine charms, she had found her way into the bed of the highest ranking lord of the castle, which in her eyes made her almost a lady; and she was determined to stay there.

  "It's been so long since we've had a whole night together," she implored, changing her tact. "You went off to visit your grandfather and left me alone for weeks and weeks... Can't you send word that you are ill or something?"

  Ian looked thoughtfully into her very round, dark eyes and briefly speculated on just how alone she had been while he was away. And then he smiled. He was hardly in a position to feel offended. If his cousin indulged in abstinence, his was an equal indulgence. Rolling off the bed, he stood up and stretched his arms over his head. "I'm going to call for Evan now because I really do need a wash. I promise to try not to be too late returning tonight." He briskly pulled her to her feet and planted a kiss on her lips. "Be in my bed by the tenth bell, I should be back by then." He swatted her bottom agreeably as she rolled her eyes and headed for the door.

  Chapter 2

  In her bedchamber, Hollin of Langstraad watched the sun set behind the dark mountains. A small fire burning in the grate of the fireplace dissipated its heat into the room as the chill of an early spring evening crept in through the window. The room itself was spacious and comfortable, with deep-piled rugs strewn on the floor and vivid tapestries hung on the walls to guard against the damp as well as to beautify. An enormous four-poster bed with curtains of green velvet embroidered with gold thread dominated the right side of the room. Large chairs, small tables and a variety of chests, cupboards, bookshelves and oddments were arranged in an orderly fashion throughout the bedchamber. It was a room that combined both the luxury entitled by its occupant's station with the simplicity of her personal tastes.

  Wearing a white silk chemise under a plain overdress of blue-gray wool, Hollin stood with her hair unbound before the window like a flower catching the last of the sun's rays before the dusk. With the fading of daylight, she lit a taper from the fire and used it to light a lamp of burnished silver on one of the tables. She ran a slender hand through the coppery mass of hair, pulling it away from her face and letting it fall to her waist. She picked up a glittering object from beside the lamp and a
brilliant gleam refracted from her hand, sending shafts of rubine light dancing about the room. Her forehead creased in a frown, Hollin gazed into the facets of the large ruby set in its ring of gold: her betrothal ring. By this red stone her life had become entwined with a man she did not know. Two years after the handfasting ceremony he had left the Pentarchy on an ambassadorial expedition and was away for a long time, eventually returning briefly only to leave again for less obvious reasons; though it was generally rumoured that he and his father did not get along. While all this had been happening, Hollin had been a young girl growing up in the fastness of her family's duchy, far from Pentarin. Then, at an all too early age, she had been forced to endure and cope with the deaths of her father and sister during an outbreak of plague, followed by the death of her mother not many years later. Against the tapestry of her own emotional turmoil and grief the death of King Gwydian and the appointment of his father-in-law, Lord Percamber ap Morna, as regent were distant events. Important no doubt, but of little immediacy to her and her world.

  When she had come of age and begun to take her place on the Pentacle Council, Percamber had been regent for several years and it was generally understood, though never mentioned, that the prince would, in his own good time, return and ascend the throne of his House. It was only in the last year or two that disgruntlement with the existing political situation had been heard aloud.

  Hollin lifted the great ring aloft again, marveling at its depth and luminosity. This, it seemed to her, was the key to her own position in the coming power struggle. And struggle it would be, if Ian was correct in his assessment. Ian. He had been her closest friend since childhood. He was still the only person in whom she felt complete trust. Not for the first time she thought that it was a pity he was her first cousin. Things might have been much simpler if he hadn't been.

  After the death of Gwyneira, Hollin had become heir to the Duchy of Langstraad and was destined from that time to follow in her mother's stead. In recent years most of the Houses, Great and Minor, had turned to primogeniture to determine heirship, but Langstraad was different. Langstraad was the oldest of the Great Houses, tracing its ancestry back to the twilight years, before the half-legendary King Gryffyd had sailed with his four children up the river Silvarluin and established the Pentarchy. He had ruled as High King from the central, Royal Duchy of Sandovar, while each of his children established their own Great Houses in adjacent dukedoms. Gryffyd had married, for the second time, and the children of that marriage had become the power-wielders of House Sandovar. Each of the power-wielders of the Great Houses and the subsequently established Minor Houses were trained as arcane adepts but the direct heirs of the five Great Houses were also wielders of the elemental powers ascribed to their Houses. When Gryffyd had drawn up the Pentacle Charter he had charged the Great Houses not to intermarry, both to prevent strife and to ensure that their intrinsic powers would not be lost or reduced. In time, the people of Gryffyd had intermingled and merged with the indigenous population until few remembered that there was anything before the establishment of the Pentarchy. Langstraad was the only duchy that still recalled its antecedents and retained vestiges of its own past. Matrilineal descent was part of that past.