I read a very nice little novel yesterday, and I want to recommend it really quickly, because it probably won't be on bookstore shelves much longer.  It's being handled and promoted in a really stupid way by the publisher, so it's probably destined for oblivion, and I wish I could rescue it.

The title is All's Fair in Love and War, and it's published by Penguin as a historical romance -- title and category don't do it justice. It's a re-telling of the myths about the goddess Athena, and it's in the vein of Mary Renault's books about Theseus, The King Must Die and The Bull from the Sea, without any of Renault's tendency to pretentiousness.  It also reminded me of Robert Graves' Homer's Daughter.

The author is Alicia Fields, which of course may be a pen-name for some talented writer currently working as a romance hack. This book is several cuts above its companions in the romance section of your local bookstore.  It takes the myths and ancient culture seriously, and delineates the characters with beautiful simplicity. The cover is pretty cheap, but don't let that fool you. It's a serious, and fun, novel.

 

Here's some background on setting and character in the story. (I'll add information on characters as I introduce them, when necessary.)

 

The main point to keep in mind is that telepathic ability in this world is as common as a knack for learning languages or musical talent. Nearly everyone has some measure of the ability, a few have a great deal. The mages have developed teachable methods to communicate telepathically across distance, observe the thoughts or memories of others, transfer memories from mind to mind, probe minds or shield them from penetration, etc.

 

The Alliance – an organization of four nations: the Ravellan League (vaguely Mediterranean culture), the kingdom of Vaaseli (Scandinavian/Russian), Albrahar (Middle-eastern, North African), and the Xanthian Empire (Far Eastern). The Alliance maintains the Peace of Alidor, a series of treaties and agreements between nations that provides the framework for settling disputes and has prevented large-scale warfare for roughly 200 years. Xanthia is on the western side of an ocean about the size of the Atlantic, and the other three nations are on its eastern side.  None of the Alliance nations has explored the other side of their globe. Technologically they are at the late-Medieval/early-Renaissance stage. Vaaseli leads development in mechanical contrivances such as clockwork and plumbing, while Ravella and Albrahar excel in shipbuilding, navigation, and trade, and certain regions of Xanthia have developed agricultural innovations. Ravellan government is republican, Vaaseli operates under the feudal system, but is moving toward republican forms. The peoples of Albrahar are still mostly tribal and nomadic, though the urban centers provide official governance. Xanthia is a loosely connected affiliation of provinces with a wide range of cultures, ruled by an emperor whose governors wield actual political power in their localities, following local customs.

 

Barran -- the capital of the Ravellan League, birthplace of Wythe.

 

Essin -- the capital of Vaaseli.

 

Magus Alidor – a Ravellan mage whose family originated in Albrahar.  He was a prophet and philosopher who founded a humanistic world religion based on the common elements in the various spiritual beliefs of Ravella, Albrahar, and Vaaseli. Later his influence also spread to Xanthia. His greatest achievement was posthumous, as his followers used his teachings to inform the creation of the Alliance and its laws, and to found the practices of the service schools, where telepaths are trained for diplomacy or the religious hierarchy.

 

Mages – a maga or magus is a telepath whose abilities and service to the Alliance are particularly distinguished, and who commits his or her whole life to work for Alliance interests, in either the hierarchy or diplomacy. A vow of celibacy is taken when the title is conferred.

 

Wythe Weaver, now Lady Wythe Maarinen – a former Ravellan diplomat whose first mission was to an Alliance council convened in Essin to investigate an occurrence of the destructive use of telekinesis. Her abilities were instrumental in uncovering a plot by the Chancellor of Vaaseli, Lord Valmur Karoli, to usurp the throne and destroy his political opposition, chiefly the Maarinen family. During this crisis Wythe visited the northern tribal people, the Telmi, whose livelihood and spiritual life center on the herding of domesticated deer. After the defeat of Valmur, she lived with the Telmi and became a powerful shamaness. The Alliance gave her the title of maga for her remarkable service to their interests in Vaaseli, but never made much use of her abilities, due to suspicion of their connection to the animistic beliefs of the Telmi.

 

Wythe’s parents are Yselle and Martel Weaver.  Yselle’s telepathic abilities are legendary, mostly because of work she did in Vaaseli in her youth. Martel is a former Master of the Ravellan Shipwright’s Guild and former member of the Supreme Council of the Ravellan League.  He still acts as liaison between the guilds and the Council.

 

Timu Maarinen – youngest son of the house of Maarinen. As a clerk in Vaaselian diplomatic service, Timu spied on Valmur’s inner circle for his sister Elian. His love affair with Wythe at that time engendered in her extraordinary powers of the mind through the effect of what the common people of Vaaseli call “love-magic.” When Valmur was defeated, Timu went to sea, so that Wythe could continue to use her powers with no ill effect to either of them.  In time he became the partner of an Albraharan merchant and gained renown both for his shrewdness as a trader and for his skill in fighting corsairs.

 

Lady Elian Maarinen, now Princess Elian – older sister of Timu.  A scholar of Vaaselian language and folkways, especially of the Telmi, who received telepathic training in the service school in Essin. Her marriage to Prince Renhold was long delayed by political opposition from Lord Valmur’s sympathizers.

 

Prince Renhold – an amateur engineer and navigator and naturally gifted telepath. His political ideas are as progressive as those of his wife and in-laws.

Since the defeat of Lord Valmur he has acted as coregent with his father.

 

Elian and Renhold have two children – Renhold (Reni) age 9, currently receiving his education at the service school, and Berte, age 6, a pupil at the city’s new grammar school, which was founded by Elian to educate the general populace.

 

King Hendric – of the house of Haarno, the family selected by the Council of Lords to wield supreme power in Vaaseli at the time of the Peace of Alidor.

 

Lord Sev Paarin – Renhold’s chancellor. Lord Sev was commander of the loyalist armies in the civil war instigated by Lord Valmur’s plots.

 

Lord Farin Toler – Lord of the northern reaches of the Tolmyn, the mountain range that separates southern Vaaseli from the lands of the Telmi. He acknowledges the authority of the crown, as long as the ruler of Vaaseli leaves him alone.  He has a fierce personal allegiance to Prince Renhold, and Wythe and Timu, however. His religious and political ideas are distinctly old-fashioned.

 

Mathis Skipman – Ravellan diplomat, a linguist and legal scholar.  He was a member of Wythe’s delegation to the investigative council in Vaaseli, and enjoyed a brief romantic relationship with her.  He is still a firm friend and supporter of both Wythe and Timu.

 

Magus Faj – before becoming a hierarchy mage of Albrahar, Faj was a delegate from that nation to the investigative council in Vaaseli.  He was a leader of the Essinian resistance to Lord Valmur, and is one of Wythe’s oldest friends.

 

Lord Arvi and Lady Berte Maarinen -- parents of Arn, Elian and Timu. Timu's return to Vaaseli permits them to retire from active management of their estate.

 

Magus Dovan – mage of Ravella, former head of the service school in that nation, Dovan was head of the Ravellan delegation to the investigative council, and helped organize the Vaaselian diplomatic service’s resistance to Valmur.

 

Maga Katya – Vaaselian mage who supported Renhold against Valmur.  She was appointed head of service after Valmur’s murder of his co-conspirator, the previous head.  Under her leadership the service school began to extend admission to commoners and tribal peoples, bringing it in line with the practice of other Alliance nations.

 

Saaro – a shaman of the Telmi, whose powers were used, through deception, by Valmur to develop telekinesis into a destructive weapon.  After Valmur’s defeat he studied at the Essinian service school for a time, then went to Xanthia, eventually becoming a priest in one of the ancient telepathic orders in the empire’s northern mountains.

 

Helde -- Wythe's serving maid during her first mission to Vaaseli, a former dairy maid from the Maarinen estate, and now Wythe's lady's maid and companion there.

 

Arn Maarinen -- oldest child of Lord Arvi and Lady Berte, a historian.

 

Pieter Sevren – a Vaaselian scholar whose interest in the Telmi lands gives rise to the main conflict in the story.

 

Master Linder – Master of the Shipwright’s Guild.

 

Master Maunua – Master of the Printer’s Guild.

 

Jarvin Hokula – a  printer, with radical political and social opinions.

 

Maaki Elu -- old friend of Elian, Arn and Renhold. A scholar of folk song and story. Maaki was tricked into helping Valmur's co-conspirators use Saaro's powers. He no longer visits the Telmi, and has taken up serious study of southern Vaaseli's folkways.

 

Irjo -- an elder of the Raven clan of the Telmi. Saaro was his clan's shaman. The Raven clan is the traditional army/police force of the Telmi. Irjo has numerous sons (with numerous mothers): at the beginning of the story Tuomo, Mika, Juhto, and Turpu are introduced. Wythe has become the shaman of the Raven, and Tuomo is her apprentice.

 

Oumua -- shamaness of the Owl clan. She introduced Wythe to shaman practices when Wythe first went among the Telmi, and became her chief mentor when she began to live among them permanently.

Shel -- Lord Farin's secretary.  As Farin dislikes using his telepathic abilities formally, he keeps service-school educated Shel as his aide. Shel serves to check some of Farin's more reckless impulses, and helped the independent Toler lord make up his mind to help Prince Renhold,Timu and Wythe in their struggle against Valmur.

Rava Smithwell -- Ravellan Ambasadress to Vaaseli. She was Wythe and Mathis' immediate superior in the Ravellan delegation to the Council investigating Lord Valmur's activities.

Willem (of the Spring Islands) -- appears in WiP only offstage, as it were. Wythe's half-brother, whose adventures with Timu comprise the second book (still only in its earliest stages) about the telepaths of the Alliance.

In their chambers, that had been Timu’s when he was secretary to the head of the Vaaselian diplomatic service, ten years ago when he and Wythe had first met, and first loved each other, Wythe turned to her husband and embraced him tightly before making any move to undress for bed.  “I am not really so very tired,” she murmured into Timu’s shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her.

            “I know.  I know that you were thinking of how these troubles arose last summer.  You did nothing wrong, Wythe, you know that.”

            “I don’t know if I did right, though.  But I could not stand by and see our sacred places desecrated – even the creatures in our care were abused and misused by this so-called naturalist

-- and others like him would be quick to follow.”

            “I think you did right.  And in coming to the south you did right also.  We have a chance to protect both Renhold and the Telmi, and if you had remained –”

            “There might be warfare even now – and Renhold’s authority questioned –”

            “Or even destroyed entirely.”  Timu kissed Wythe’s forehead and searched her hair for its pins, to release the dark curls.  “I know it was a sacrifice – I would not have asked you to give up your power if there were any other way –“

            “I would never have been allowed to use it again, once the Alliance had control of me -- at least this way I have given it up for something worthwhile,” Wythe shook her head to complete the liberation of her hair, and sighed as Timu began to comb through it with his fingers.

“More than worthwhile – beyond price –”  her words were trapped by the urgent pressure of Timu’s kiss upon her lips, and she felt her heart swell and her whole body thrill with the full value of what she had gained, in exchange for her powers of telekinesis.

 

            In the morning Wythe woke to find herself alone in bed – and the day advanced nearly beyond morning.  There was a young serving maid mending the fire in the sitting room, and she came to the bedchamber door when she heard Wythe stirring.

            “Good morning, my lady,” she curtsied briskly, then came forward to fetch Wythe’s dressing gown from the wardrobe.  Wythe sat up and swung her feet out of the warm bed into the chill of the room.

            “What time is it?”  She pushed her hair out of her face and rubbed her eyes, and fought down a strange queasy feeling.  “And what is your name?”

            “Marina, ma’am.  It is ten of the clock, my lady.  Lord Maarinen said to let you sleep.”

            Wythe grunted in response.  She really felt most peculiar.  She was never ill.  This was not a very good time for it – the festival, the people they needed to see and speak to – why had Timu not wakened her?  Suddenly she realized that if she continued to sit on the edge of the bed both she and Marina would soon regret it, and she stood and ran to the door of the bathroom, found a basin beside the tub, and was quickly and copiously sick.

            When the sound of her own blood pounding in her head had faded, and her mouth was beginning to clear of the taste of soured elderberry wine, she looked up into the maid’s worried face.  The girl extended her arm when Wythe reached for it, and helped her stand.

            “Please don’t tell anyone of this, Marina.  You know it is nothing.”

            “I will not, my lady.” The girl hesitated, but was encouraged by Wythe’s smile.  “It is just the baby, is it not, ma’am?”

            “Just the baby. Now get me a glass of water, and help me dress.  Oh, and I will want some breakfast – some toasted bread, and an orange, if there are any.  Send for that first, please, then come back and help me.”

            Marina curtsied before she left the room.  She was a well-trained girl, but not obsequious, as servants had been here in the days before Elian’s marriage to Renhold. Elian had had a good influence, of course – but in all her good ideas, there were some that were – peculiar.  Mostly they were the ones that had to do with her family, especially Timu.  Especially Timu and his love for Wythe.  In the beginning Elian’s interest had been a little overwhelming – perhaps she had even manipulated them a little, for her own ends – and she had been hard to stand up to.  She had always had the will of a monarch.  Well, now she was one – and that was all the more reason to stand up to her.  Wythe sat down at the dressing table beside the wardrobe and began to comb her hair, making faces as she struggled with the tangle of curls.  Elian was up to something.  She had woken with that feeling very clear in her mind, until the unexpected nausea overtook it. Maybe that was where the nausea came from.  Wythe smiled at her thought, and wished that Timu were there to share it.

 

            Marina was soon back with breakfast, and Wythe was soon dressed, and had her hair properly pinned up. When she was questioned the serving girl proved to have no idea where Lord Maarinen had gone that morning, but she had been stopped by a man of Prince Renhold’s, and asked to send Lady Maarinen to the prince, as soon as she should be ready.

            “Is Princess Elian with him, do you know?”  Wythe asked.

            “As it happens, ma’am, she isn’t – she went out an hour ago with Lady Berte to visit the grammar school.  The children are putting on a pageant before they begin their Solstice holiday, and Her Highness is the guest of honor.”

            “The people are grateful for what the princess has done for them,” Wythe said.

            “She is the soul of kindness, ma’am.”  Marina was clearly quite sincere.

            “She thinks always of the good of her country.” Wythe knew that Elian, quite rightly, was trying to steer Vaaseli toward truly representative government – but she wondered if the princess had given a thought to what that might really mean for her family, both the royal line and the house of Maarinen.

            “She truly loves the children.” Marina replied, giving one last tweak to Wythe’s embroidered shawl where it was folded on her shoulders.  “Is there anything else I can do for you, my lady?”

            “Tidy the chambers, please, Marina, and then you may do as you wish until after luncheon.”  Wythe nodded to the maid’s curtsey, and went out into the corridor, to see what she might learn from Renhold.

 

            Timu had risen early to go down to the wharves, to see the Light of the North.  It had been put into dry dock for the winter, awaiting warmer weather for some work he wanted to do on it.   The voyages to the Islands, then to Barran, and then to Essin, had shown him several minor things about his design that he wished to deal with.  When he would have time he could not imagine, but at least he could take an hour or two now to think about it.

            Looking on the lines of his boat – really too small to call a ship, or nearly, though it carried more sail than the Marten – Timu wondered if it would ever be more than his own plaything.  It took both training and good instincts to handle it.  He had sent his little Albraharan crew home before the winter weather, and he would have to find sailors here in Essin to man it if he ever wished to use it.  If he ever had the opportunity.  There was the estate now to command his attention, and Wythe, and soon the baby -- and the Council of Lords and all the rest to deal with. Gazing on the Light, immobile in the gloom of its wooden shed, with even its masts down, but still in its sleekness seeming somehow animated, Timu felt that he was watching his past sail away without him.  It was the third skin he had shed, he reflected -- the first, his boyhood, he had regretted losing; the life of a spy he had been glad to leave; the life of a mariner was quite hard to part with -- but the future surely would be worth it.

            Wythe had made a greater sacrifice he knew, but their public marriage had been the only fit solution to her situation, they both had recognized.  And much of what she left behind would have been taken from her no matter what they did.  They had been blessed that the Alliance tribunal had believed them, and Magus Faj, that her powers would dwindle once they lived together as man and wife for a while – it was the only reason they accepted the plan that Mathis Skipman had hatched, as Wythe’s counsel – that and their conviction that her telekinetic barrier was not truly an offensive weapon.  The alternative, of house arrest in Barran, and constant monitoring of her mind, would have driven Wythe to despair.  She had been reluctant enough to agree to being placed in Timu’s custody, as she had put it at first – though she clearly also wanted him, as much as ever, as soon as she saw him again.  Very clearly.

            Timu sighed happily, remembering their reunion six months earlier.  For ten years he had mastered his own longing, and it had spilled over at last, in ways that he would not have dared to ponder in the days of their separation – and Wythe’s passion had matched his, in every way.  Lord Farin would say that the gods were having their will with them again.  They were destined to be together.

            Ten years had been a long time to wait, but they had been hardly more than children when they met, and they were still young.  They would have a long life together, raising their family, and it would be a happy one, with the Creator’s blessing.

 

            Prince Renhold was in the study, where his guard directed Wythe as she proceeded through the royal apartment.  Elian had not been able to alter all of his habits, she saw when he called to her to enter.  The surface of the work-table was a sea of jumbled papers, and books were stacked precariously upon the floor beside every chair, many of the stacks topped with forgotten tea-cups, with the dregs drying in them.

            “Wythe,” Renhold said warmly, coming to her to take her hands.  He was on the point of lifting them to his forehead, in the respect due a maga, but she warned him with her thoughts. “That is over, Renhold.  I am only your sister now.”

            Renhold cleared his throat a little awkwardly.  “I have been thinking about our talk last night – do you really think that you can influence the Councils?”  He led his old friend to a settee that happened to be clear of any books or papers.

            “We can only try, Renhold.  If we don’t, you know as well as I do what may happen.”

            “The traditionalists will push against my authority – and this time they may actually have the support of some of the commons.”

            “But you are pledged already to protect the Telmi.”  Wythe looked hard at Renhold.  His mind was quite open to her, and she could feel his sympathy clearly, but also his doubts.  “When the last crisis was over, and Saaro came to study in Essin, you and your father gave the elders your personal assurance that no southerner would meddle in their affairs or their traditions.  And the Alliance officially permitted their shamans the continued ritual use of telekinesis.”

            “But the barrier is hardly ritual use –”

            “It is hardly a destructive weapon.”

            Renhold sighed.  “The elders also agreed to permit southerners to travel freely among the clans, and welcomed study of their way of life –”

            “But on conditions, this time – very clear conditions of respect and restraint.”

            “I have been re-reading the documents –” Renhold waved a hand at the work-table. “No attempt to recruit shamans to our service school, no travel or scholarly activity without prior approval  of  the  elders of  the  clans in  question, no  hunting  except  to  eat  while  visiting  their lands --”

            “And it is the last two which were violated.”  Wythe took Renhold’s hands in hers.  “It is very serious, what Pieter Sevren has done -- he went into the sacred lands without permission –”

            “By accident –”

            “He says – and he deliberately killed animals, not for food, or even for the use of their fur, but merely so that he might have trophies –”

            “It was for a practical use, though – not as trophies as you say – he has stuffed and mounted these creatures that are unique to the north, and made them available for anyone interested to examine –”

            “It was an offense to their spirits – I know you don’t understand it, but you should at least believe that we believe it, and respect our belief.”  Wythe briefly put a hand to her forehead, almost in a gesture of pain, and before Renhold could speak she continued.  “We conducted a ritual to beg their forgiveness for Pieter, and to ask permission for his project – we gave him the benefit of the doubt – and then he came here and started telling everyone about what he saw in the sacred lands.”

            “And that is where it really becomes my problem.”

            “If Farin had not warned me of what was going on we would have been overrun last summer with men seeking our holiest places, to satisfy their curiosity about the fire that burns in the ground,” Wythe made a small sign with the fingers of her right hand over her heart, and Renhold noticed it.  “I began the barrier there in desperation – and we saw soon enough how desperate the situation really was.  Why did you do so little to quell this speculation?  I contacted you about Pieter at once – I told you he was a danger to us.”

            Renhold hung his head.  “I am afraid I didn’t take what you said seriously.  I have made a grave error, Wythe – but I want to put it right.”

            Wythe got up and went to the window on the other side of the table.  The low sun was shining brilliantly today, glaring off the wide sheet of snow that spread down from the palace to the great castle wall, and casting long blue shadows from every outcrop of masonry.  “Irjo of the Raven is prepared to defend our lands with arms – and he has the ability to persuade others,” she said gravely.  “If I had not begun the barrier, it would have come to that before this.”

            “And if we do not persuade my subjects that they must forget what they have heard of the discovery in the Telmi lands it may come to that here in the south.”  Renhold rose too, and came to Wythe’s side.  “I do respect your people, Wythe.  I have no wish to harm them, or give offense in any way.  But I must preserve the peace of the entire kingdom.  Those who are loyal to me could prevail in arms against any rebels – Lord Sev assures me – but it is a price I do not wish to pay.  So I ask, do you really think that you can persuade my troublesome lords?”

            Wythe laughed ruefully.  “I probably cannot persuade them – that is going to be Timu’s job.  I have more faith in my chances with the Guilds.  It is with the people that the choice really rests, Renhold.  The lords are only using this business as an excuse, I’m convinced.  They want vengeance for their defeat ten years ago – their pride was damaged, you know, and nothing wounds a Vaaselian more – and they want a restoration of their old powers – and anything that has to do with me just gives them inspiration.  But the people still appreciate what we did in defeating Valmur Karoli, and everything you and Elian have done for them since.  We have to remind them that the traditionalist lords will never serve their interests, whatever they may claim in order to seduce them.”

            The two old friends stood silently at the window for a long while, looking out on the cold perfection of the snow in the sunlight.  Wythe thought of how, among her people in the north, there would be no sun today, or for many days – only a glow on the southern horizon – and how their Solstice would be passed in the most solemn ritual, hour after hour of prayer and chanting, the shamans seeking their visions of prophecy for the people.  She wondered what they would learn – if the visions would be of peace or bloodshed.  There were pangs of regret shooting through her mind – it wasn’t the power of telekinesis she regretted, but the loss of her visions.  All that was left her was the ordinary insight into the minds of others, or into her own mind, in her dreams.  She didn’t see how that might help her now, except that comprehending the thoughts of others was the greatest tool of diplomacy -- and now she was a diplomat again, apparently.

            “You and Timu have great skill, you know,” Renhold said, plainly comprehending where Wythe’s thoughts were leading her.  “I feel I can rely on you – as I did before.  And Mathis – he  is working to bring these matters before the Alliance.”  Again there was the plain sound of relief in his voice at the thought of Alliance intervention.  Wythe was not quite as optimistic about that prospect, but she thought it best not to mention her doubts.  They were centered on her people, and she knew in her heart that Renhold’s best solution might not do the Telmi any good, in either the short or the long run.

            But now Renhold was asking her to take luncheon with him, and she was suddenly aware of being extremely hungry.

 

When the Maarinen family traveled to Essin to celebrate Winter Solstice they formed a little caravan of sleighs that brightened the still, white landscape with scarlet paint and chiming brass bells. Lord Arvi and Lady Berte’s sleigh headed the group, with two more transports just for the family baggage: Timu and Wythe brought up the rear, quite by design. They were still newlyweds, after all.

The sheer delight of having unlimited access to each other seemed a long way from wearing off, as far as Wythe could tell. Under the fur rugs Timu held her close, and she knew that at least part of his fascination with her now was her already swelling belly. She had surprised herself with her own eagerness to conceive a child: she had learned enough as a shamaness of the Telmi to have delayed the event if she wished -- though it would have been hard to deny her husband, even for a few days of each month -- as difficult to resist her own desires as to resist his.

“There will be a Maarinen heir after all,” he whispered in her ear, resting his hand on her abdomen. “Our political opposition is already fuming at our reunion -- imagine their reaction when they see you at court.”

“Is that what you were thinking of when we --” Wythe didn’t finish the question with words, but with a little movement against her husband’s body underneath the furs. His only response was to seek out her lips for a kiss, and a more robust movement of his own. Wythe indulged him, and herself, for a little while, until she thought that they would soon go past the last limits of decorum, and she drew back and sought her satisfaction in the loving look in Timu’s eyes. He cleared his throat self-consciously before giving her a mischievous smile.

“Your own mother gave you that little lecture on your duty to the house of Maarinen.”

But Wythe answered quite seriously. “No one is responsible enough for my mother -- but when I bear your children it will always be an act of love, not duty.”

Timu gripped her by her shoulders and pulled her over to half-lie on his chest, and held her gaze.

“Then show it in the way I wish, my lady,” he whispered, and Wythe knew his meaning.

“Timu -- the driver --” she began to reprove him, though not whole-heartedly.

“Eveni is the soul of discretion.” Timu put one hand on the back of Wythe’s neck, making her shiver, though not with cold.

“You are discreet, are you not, Eveni?” he called out to the driver’s stolid back.

“Yes, your lordship,” the man called back. And he truly did not even imagine turning around in the next quarter of an hour, in spite of the sighs and laughter he heard in the sleigh behind him. The sounds were both appropriate and pleasing, as far as he was concerned. After all, if the lord and lady were happy and fruitful, the estate would be also.

 

The strong farm horses, changed when they stopped for an early supper at the inn at Naamo, were able to bring the sleighs to their destination well before midnight. The prince and princess were in the castle yard to meet the travelers, Princess Elian having received her mother’s communication that the party was approaching on the eastern road above the city.

Prince Renhold greeted all his in-laws warmly, but held Wythe in particular in a long embrace, immediately seeking out the old link between their minds to communicate, “I am so glad to see you -- and I am so sorry for the words we had at our last meeting.”

“I was at fault too, Renhold -- I never really believed that you wished to harm me.” Renhold gave her an extra squeeze before releasing her, and he was smiling as he took her hand and Timu’s, to lead them through the old castle entrance, lit with flaring torches.

“So you finally made an honest woman of our little maga -- Lady Maarinen now, I should say.”

“And soon ‘Mama’ too,” said Princess Elian, giving Wythe a kiss on the cheek. “Are you well, dear?”

“I feel wonderful, Elian.”

“No illness in the morning?”

“Wythe is the healthiest girl I have ever known,” Lord Arvi told his daughter. “There will be no need for you to fuss over her.” The look on Elian’s face in the torchlight as they proceeded through the stone corridors to the new palace showed that she would not give up her concerns only on the word of her father. The four new arrivals at court shared a look of resignation with each other, and each directed a sympathetic glance at Renhold. The prince seemed oblivious, however.

“Your chambers are ready. Elian thought you might like your old rooms, Timu -- for sentimental reasons, I imagine. And we have rooms for you, my lady Mother, in the royal apartment. Will you all come and have a glass of brandy before bed?”

“That would be well,” said Lord Arvi, “to remove the chill of our journey.” After the vast darkness of the Vaaselian winter night and the stark chill of the old castle, the new palace was warm and bright, with its wood paneling, thick Albraharan rugs, and soft lamplight. In the sitting room of the royal apartment King Hendric was awaiting the travelers, and he rose to greet them, not waiting for any obeisance, but embracing them all in turn. Wythe had not been permitted to see him, when last she was in Essin the previous summer, and she was shocked to see the signs of age that had overtaken him. His beard and hair were now quite gray, and even his body seemed to have withered, though he was only a little older than her own parents. His reign had seen many troubles, and though now it was really Renhold who ruled, those trials must have taken their toll. But his eyes were lively, and he was truly glad to see all of his guests. He undertook to pour the brandy himself, though Elian laid a hand on his arm, saying “Elderberry wine, I think, for Wythe.”

When all were settled near the fire with their drinks, Renhold launched the conversation immediately into the subject of the Maarinen estate, and Timu’s plans for it.

“I think this is the best thing you could have done, for both your family and your country. Arn would have taken the responsibility, but his heart would not have been in it, and your people would not have prospered as they should. They can count on you to get them the best prices for their goods, after all your experience with Master Fareesh in the Albrahar and Xanthia trade.”

“And Timu truly loves the land,” said Wythe. “That is what the people appreciate.”

“And the house of Maarinen will be borne into the future,” said Lady Berte, smiling at her young daughter-in-law. “Arn will never marry -- he loves his books more than he could ever love a woman.”

“I always knew that Timu and Wythe would one day see reason,” Elian declared, seeming not to notice the sighs her remark elicited from her brother and his wife, and even from her husband.

“There are many good reasons for me to take up my duty,” Timu said. “And fulfill my heart’s desire,” he added in thought to Wythe, and she put her hand on his knee to acknowledge the sentiment. “I require my place on the Council of Lords if we are to resolve the issue of the Telmi, for one thing.”

This subject elicited deep sighs from both Renhold and King Hendric.

“There are many lords who see one simple way to resolve the conflict,” King Hendric said ruefully.

“It would not be so simple,” Wythe replied, aware that she was entering dangerous territory even without the warning she fe