Crossroads and Other Tales of Valdemar

The Lord’s misgivings were no less than his wife’s, but he was neither as wealthy nor as well defended as he would have liked to be. It was also in his mind that if this last and unexpected child was a daughter, she would serve her family exceedingly well as Lady of Darkwall. And if it was a son, well then, all the better that he should have a Keep of his own and blood ties to Forgotten Keep.

And so they made the bargain. Darkwall’s Lady would have claimed the child when she was born, but Lady Beatrice would not hear of it. “We will raise our own daughter,” she said, “and teach her everything that you would wish her to know. Send tutors if you wish, but she will be fostered here. When she reaches the age of womanhood, then she may go.”

Lord Bertrand opened his mouth to upbraid her, but Darkwall’s Lady astonished him by inclining her head. “As you wish,” she said. “I shall send a nurse for her, and tutors when she reaches a suitable age.”

Lady Beatrice could hardly find fault with that. She bent her head in return.

The alliance was made and the agreement concluded, and it was settled. The Lord’s youngest child, with three months yet to go until she saw the world, was assured of a lordship and a future.

Lady Beatrice kept her misgivings to herself. She only spoke of them once, six years later, as she was dying. She summoned her daughter to her bedside and said, “Don’t ask what this means. Only remember it, word for word. Walk warily. Trust no one. Always keep your counsel, and remember everything that you see. We sold you for gold and soldiers, and we will keep that bargain—but you can make a new one of your own. Remember.” That last word came out as a sigh. “Never forget.”

“I’ll remember,” the child said.

Not long after that, Lady Beatrice died. But the bargain still held. The child, whom Lady Beatrice had named Merris, continued to live in her father’s Keep. Tutors from Darkwall came to teach her, and the Lady herself appeared once each year on Merris’ birthday, to celebrate it with her and to see how she had been growing.

She always professed herself pleased, or least not too terribly disappointed. Then she always went away as she had come, leaving the child in her father’s care.

But those days would not go on forever. When Merris reached her fourteenth birthday, the Lady would come as before, but this time she would take the child whom she had bought for so noble a price.

Merris ran up the stair at a pace that would have given her tutors palpitations. She meant to have her hair up and her skirts down and her breathing back to normal by the time she reached the schoolroom, but while she could, she gave way to the restless energy that had been tormenting her all day.

One month from today was her fourteenth birthday. Everyone knew what that meant. Her life in this Keep was nearly over. It was time, finally, for her to fulfill the bargain her parents had made.

She had been preparing for it since before she was born. She was not afraid, but her mother’s words had never left her.

She was going into a house of strangers. No matter how many tutors she had had, or how much instruction she was given in manners, deportment, and the conduct befitting a Lady of Darkwall, she had never visited the Keep she was to rule. She knew every nook and cranny, but only in books.

Her tutors never said anything but good of Darkwall. Still, servants talked, and Merris had sharp ears. She only caught fragments, whispers of fear, rumors that had no real substance—but they were enough to keep her on her guard.

Halfway up the stair, she stopped short. It was time to make herself decorous for Master Thellen and Mistress Patrizia, but that was not what brought her to so abrupt a halt. While she stood frozen, the bell rang at the gate.

Preparations for her birthday celebration were already underway. People had been coming and going for days. This morning alone, the bell had rung half a dozen times to let in trains of provisions, companies of workmen, and a succession of messengers bearing replies to the Lord’s invitation.

This felt different. It felt . . . bright.

She did not know what she meant by that, but she had to see. Even if her tutors set her a punishment, she reckoned it worth the cost. She turned and ran back down the stair.

There was always a commotion in the courtyard these days, but when Merris came out into it, there was a circle of unexpected quiet near the outer gate. Brightness filled it, shot through with the tinkle of bells.

She blinked hard. The blur of light resolved into a pair of white horses with bells on their bitless bridles, and a pair of men dressed in the same striking color. By that she knew that the horses were not horses, and the men were men, but not exactly ordinary.

Everyone knew about Heralds. Books and stories were full of them.