Chapter 4 – The Many Works of Tresingale #3
I would be remiss if I did not offer belated congratulations on Your Grace’s marriage.
The capital is still reeling from the news that the Emperor has kept a secret daughter these many years, elder sister to the Crown Princess.
Tales from Aldeburke, Celderline, and Granholme tell of a shy beauty, doted upon by a generous husband, an altogether praiseworthy young lady.
With all my heart, I wish the blessings of the stars benevolent for a joyous and fruitful marriage.
Remin had already read this letter, and that was the paragraph that made his hackles rise. Those compliments might conceal a threat. Generous husband to a shy wife; that could not be a guess. And noting that Ophele was the elder sister was no accident, either.
There were many more paragraphs in a similar vein, and Remin’s knights frowned as they listened, the twisting words like the elegant motion of a sidewinder serpent.
The restoration of a ninth Great House to the duchies of the Empire must naturally rouse interest and curiosity, and much mathematical uncertainty as well.
It is my hope to personally welcome you among us upon the commencement of the next social season.
I will be in residence in the capital beginning in March, and would be proud to extend the hospitality of my House to the first Duke and Duchess of Andelin, particularly for Her Grace’s social debut…
“Going to take him up on that offer, Rem?” Miche asked, cocking one blond eyebrow.
“Absolutely not.”
“Yours sincerely, et cetera et cetera, Duke Ghislain Berebet.” Edemir handed the letter to Juste. “He’s closer to the House of Agnephus than House Melun, Rem, but the last direct link to the Imperial family was four generations ago. He has no celestial lineage.”
The spectrum of power in the Empire currently stretched from the House of Agnephus at one end and House Melun at the furthest opposite pole.
It was well known that the Emperor loathed his Empress.
Everyone else was fodder for the struggle between the two.
Sometimes Remin thought the Emperor dispatched assassins whenever he was frustrated that he couldn’t kill his wife .
“The Berebets are gamblers,” said Tounot. He and Edemir were always good at providing the background of Argencian nobility. “A few times it’s almost ruined them, but they have a record of backing the right horse when it matters most.”
“This letter doesn’t mean Remin is their horse,” Miche said dryly. “I met his daughter when we were in Segoile. She was very curious about the Supreme Sword of the Court of War, until I distracted her with mine.”
That was a good one, Remin had to admit.
“Both his daughters are married, aren’t they?” Auber brought this up because everyone at the table needed to know whether to beware another husband that Miche had outraged.
“That didn’t seem to concern her,” Miche drawled. “But in her case, she went to such trouble to seduce me, it seemed only polite to find out why. Other than the obvious,” he added, with a jerk of his chin that somehow considered and approved his own beauty.
“What did she want?” asked Remin.
“At the time, I thought it might be an opening bid. Like that,” Miche said, flicking his fingers at the letter in Juste’s hand. “I saw her again, but she didn’t repeat the offer, so I let it go.”
“We’re not going to the capital next year.
” Remin resolutely turned his mind from such filthy matters.
It was likely that Miche would’ve bedded her anyway, but he didn’t like to think of anyone doing that sort of thing on his behalf.
“In a few years, perhaps, after House Andelin is well established, but not until then.”
He and Ophele would have at least two children before he risked either of them going to the capital. And even then, the bare thought of taking her within a hundred miles of the Emperor made it hard to breathe.
“We ought to have connections to other Houses, Rem,” Edemir replied, with sympathy.
He was the son of a prosperous county, and had been raised in the labyrinth of aristocratic politics.
“It will not help us in negotiation if we are viewed as a foreign power, no matter who we are negotiating with. They will not give us favorable terms.”
“We’re already considered a foreign power,” Miche pointed out. “That last contract with the mason’s guild was highway robbery. I say we go to Daitia for our masons if the Court of Artisans won’t deal with us squarely. ”
“That is a dangerous precedent.” Juste set the letter carefully on the table. “The way to bargain for better terms is to build a position of power, not to refuse to play the game.”
“It’s also foolish to play a rigged game,” argued Tounot.
He was generally of Miche’s mind on this subject, though Miche was a creature of chaos while Tounot’s reservations were personal.
He had paid dearly for his long friendship with Remin.
It had soured him on both the Empire and his House.
“I say we build, and in a few years, they can come crawling to us if they want something. Let them sit on the south bank of the Brede with their hands out.”
“They will not,” Juste said sharply. “They will go to Valleth, and we will be between a hammer and an anvil.”
“They would rather give the Andelin back to Valleth than let Rem keep it?” Tounot said skeptically.
“If they begin to fear Valleth less than they fear Remin Grimjaw, Supreme Sword of the Court of War, yes,” said Juste firmly.
“If I wanted to instill such fear in the Empire, it would take very little effort. All the seeds are already planted. We will need friends if we want to pluck them out before someone decides to tend them.”
“Friends like Duke Berebet?” Tounot snorted. “That’s the sort of friendship you’ll find in the Empire, those that cover their threats with compliments. One would think you of all people would know better, Juste.”
“I do not need you to lesson me.” Spoken by Juste, it was the gentlest rebuke, but Remin could see the viciousness in his eyes.
“We need only be prudent, and we will be an unassailable power. In time. But I say we must play the games of Courts and Houses first. Then we can win them so thoroughly, we will never have to play them again.”
“We’re not deciding that today.” Remin called them to order. Darri was at the table, present because soon he would be leaving for Segoile to play those games, and for his sake it was best that he didn’t hear too much talk like this. “Auber, what do you say?”
“I say I am a farmer and your knight, Rem.” Auber spread his hands. “Give me a sword or a plow. These matters are beyond me.”
That was an acceptable answer. It was better to express no opinion than a poorly considered one. Bram waved his hand before Remin could call on him; the former mercenary only offered an opinion when it was a strong one.
“Darri,” Remin said, offering him the option to speak.
Cat-eyed Darri was one of Remin’s smallest knights, a few inches shy of Edemir’s height and so slight it seemed like a suit of armor would devour him, but he was unearthly quick and, so far as Remin could tell, almost indestructible. “What say you?”
“It’s never hurt me to listen, my lord,” he said, with a wary glance at his brother knights. “But I’ve found the things I don’t know might hurt a great deal.”
That was the most reasonable position, Remin knew. But he still didn’t like it. He gestured for the letter and read it silently again, the frown lines deepening in his face. It could do no harm to find out what Duke Berebet was proposing.
“We’ll draft a letter to Berebet,” he said reluctantly.
“I want a base in Segoile, and we need to begin buying eyes and ears. But I will keep nothing there I would regret losing. Juste, Bram, Darri will need letters of introduction to your agents. Edemir, letters to our factors. The discreet ones. Tounot, I want a messenger relay. It’s three hundred miles from here to Segoile.
I want to be reading Darri’s messages four days after he writes them. ”
His knights exchanged glances. Anyone who knew Remin might see this as a provocation, a signal of extreme distrust of the Empire. And it absolutely was. But as a practical matter, it would be very hard for anyone to object to a nobleman using any sort of message system he liked.
“And I need you to stop at Aldeburke on the way,” Remin remembered. “There are a few things we left behind, including Her Grace’s seal. You’ll need to bring a dozen men or so. We’re confiscating the library.”
There was a short, explosive laugh from Edemir.
“I’ll go,” said Miche immediately. “Unless I’m much mistaken, the Hurrells will fight to the last dictionary. No reason to make Darri sit through it. And I owe a visit to a lady.”
“Stars, Miche, we weren’t there a week.” Remin shook his head.
But if Miche was volunteering to go, he had something more on his mind than a woman, and Remin wouldn’t have to spare him for long.
In a few days, ferries would be operating at strategic points along the Brede, to speed the transport of supplies—and now libraries—from all over the Empire.
The thought satisfied him to the core of his logistician’s soul.
“Come and see me before you leave,” he said, and adjourned the meeting.
* * *
Sousten Didion was a man in love with beauty.
The many kinds and qualities of beauty were hotly debated in the salons of Segoile, celebrated and deconstructed, but Sousten was one who pursued beauty as an ideal.
The sight of a beautiful man or woman, a perfect landscape, or the soaring glory of the Temple of Imele Mer gave him the fluttering palpitations of a man in love.
His greatest aspiration was to add his own masterpiece to the beautiful things of the world.