LITMIR.BIZ

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it.’

      ‘But—’

      ‘I said, that’s all! It’s between him and me. Not you.’

      Alyssa caught her breath, but Dovina dropped him a curtsy, and he nodded in satisfaction.

      ‘Very well, Father. But it’s not a rebellion. We’re basing our requests on our ancient traditions as the People of Bel.’

      ‘Indeed?’

      ‘I’ll show you summat.’

      Alyssa stepped forward, and Dovina took the book. Ladoic snorted, but before he could speak further, Dovina thrust the book at him through the bars.

      ‘I’ve marked the spot with that bit of pabrus,’ she said. ‘Do read what he says about the origin of the gwerbretion. You say you’ll stand on old traditions, Father. Well, here’s what the oldest tradition says about the law courts.’

      Ladoic took the heavy volume, but he snapped his fingers at an elderly man, dressed in the long black robe that marked him as a councillor. ‘Nallyc! Read this aloud.’

      Nallyc took the book, opened it, and glanced at the marked passage. For a moment he read silently. His eyebrows shot up, and Dovina smirked at him.

      ‘Surprising, innit?’ she said. ‘It makes standing on tradition rather less attractive.’

      ‘Indeed, my lady.’ His voice quavered more with fear than age. ‘Er, Your Grace, mayhap we should read this in private—’

      ‘Read it now!’

      ‘Very well, Your Grace.’ Councillor Nallyc cleared his throat and began. ‘The language is very old and contorted, so I shall summarize. It says here that in the Dawntime, when our ancestors did wish to choose a man to judge them and administer their laws, they held an assembly of all free men. Their rhix—’ Nallyc looked up from the text. ‘That would be their warleader, Your Grace, the man we call the cadvridoc. At any rate, he would put forth several candidates, and the tribal assembly would choose the one they thought fit.’ He swallowed heavily. ‘It goes on to say that the laws expressly prohibited a vergobrex from passing the office on to his son.’

      ‘Just think!’ Dovina put in. ‘So much for a clan’s position!’

      Ladoic’s face went stone-still. When he held out a hand, Nallyc handed him the book, then drew his robe tightly around him, as if for protection. Ladoic stared at the passage, then shut the book with a snap and a puff of dust. He looked at Dovina with cold blue eyes.

      ‘How do I know you didn’t just write this book, eh?’ the gwerbret snorted. ‘Or put this bit in, like.’

      ‘Father, be reasonable! It takes months to write out a book this size.’

      ‘And you’ve had months, haven’t you?’ Ladoic grinned as if he’d just won a game of carnoic. ‘This thing looks cursed new to me. Nice clean pages. Naught faded or worn.’

      Dovina reached through the gate and grabbed the book back from his indifferent hands.

      ‘My dear lady!’ Nallyc sounded so angry he nearly sputtered. ‘How can you be so discourteous? He may be your father, but he’s also your gwerbret and overlord!’

      ‘And you are common-born no matter how high you’ve risen! Don’t you speak to me like that!’

      ‘Enough!’ Ladoic threw both hands in the air. ‘Silence, the pair of you!’

      Dovina took a pace back. Nallyc took several.

      ‘That’s better.’ Ladoic lowered his hands. ‘No matter what or why, we know what the outcome’s been. Riots. Fighting in the market square. I intend to put an end to this rebellion any way I can.’

      ‘It’s not a rebellion!’ Dovina said. ‘We merely stand on the ancient traditions you claim to honor. If you’d but listen to our legal arguments—’

      Ladoic’s patience snapped.

      ‘You listen to me!’ Ladoic set his hands on his hips. ‘You’re coming with me right now, back to the dun.’

      ‘I’m not.’ Dovina clutched the book to her chest. ‘And you can’t come in to seize me, either, unless I invite you. That’s the terms of our charter.’

      ‘You stubborn little wench!’

      ‘I’m stubborn? Huh! Why do you want me so badly? Have you found some new landless suitor who’s desperate for a wife? Some gouty old widower who’s gambled his inheritance away?’

      ‘I have, but he happens to be a decent young man.’ Ladoic considered her with a small smile. ‘And a man of advanced ideas, or so I hear, the younger son of Lord Tarryc of Daiver. The gwerbret’s nephew. Hah! That made you think!’

      Dovina wrinkled her nose in a sneer but said nothing. Alyssa raised an eyebrow. A connection with Daiver? Worth considering, certainly.

      The gwerbretion of Daiver occupied an odd position in the nobility. Once, hundreds of years ago, they’d ruled Cerrmor, in the usual manner. Some complicated political intrigue and a brief rebellion back in the 1200s had lost them everything. Since the common people had held for the king, they were rewarded with the charter that made Cerrmor a free city. To prevent further bloodshed, the gwerbretal clan had been fobbed off with scant land and a title derived from an old village near the city itself. In Dovina’s time, their connections to the High King kept them prosperous but dependent upon serving the royalty as court officials.

      ‘Besides,’ Ladoic continued, ‘the Prince Regent is making a royal progress. We’ll be meeting him in Cerrmor.’

      ‘So you’d best make a decent appearance.’ Dovina smiled in the simpery way that meant she’d spotted a weapon. ‘There’s bound to be all sorts of ceremonies around his visit.’

      ‘Indeed. The city itself will be holding a feast in his honor. Convenient all round. This man I’m betrothing you to – Merryc, his name is – will be greeting him. So you’re cursed well coming with me to Cerrmor whether you want to go or not.’

      ‘Cerrmor, is it?’ Dovina glanced Alyssa’s way. ‘How awfully interesting.’

      ‘Very, my lady.’ Alyssa curtsied to her and to the gwerbret. Cerrmor, of course, was the home of the new Collegium of Advocates, allies to their cause.

      ‘Well then, Father,’ Dovina said. ‘I’ll make you a bargain. Give us back Cradoc’s body, and I’ll come with you willingly.’

      ‘I can’t just go to my law court and order this tower of madwomen to hand you over. Why should I bargain with you?’

      ‘Because if you don’t, I’ll scream and howl and make such a horrid display of myself in front of the Prince Regent that you’ll be shamed in the eyes of every man in the kingdom. Such as Gwerbret Standyc, for instance. And won’t old Tewdyr love to repeat the tale?’

      Gwerbret Ladoic’s face turned so bright a shade of red that Alyssa feared he was about to suffer an elf-stroke. Dovina smirked at him until he cleared his throat and took a deep breath or two. Slowly his color returned to its usual weather-beaten tan.

      ‘You wouldn’t!’

      ‘Oh, come now, Father. You know me well enough to know that I would.’

      He scowled, she smiled. ‘Oh, very well!’ he said at last. ‘I’ll have the servants bring your cursed bard back with all due ceremony. And you’d best be ready to leave when they do!’

      ‘After the funeral, of course. To do otherwise would be unseemly.’

      ‘Oh, very well! After the funeral. Besides, I want you home for another thing. Your lout of a brother, as you call him, is visiting. Adonyc’s brought good news. You can be decent and help us celebrate.’

      ‘What? Has that moo-cow of a wife of his squeezed out a male heir?’

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