The Curse of Chalion

It was clear that the fast gallop was an inexpressible joy to Iselle, as she shook out the knots and strains of her trammeled existence in the castle. A day in the saddle in the crisp early-winter air, going and returning from an otherwise futile interview, brightened her eye and put color in her cheeks. Lady Betriz was no less invigorated. The four Baocian guards told off to ride with them kept up, but only just, laboring along with their horses; Cazaril concealed agony. He passed blood again that evening, which he'd not done for some days, and Dondo's nightly serenade proved especially shattering because, for the first time, Cazaril's inward ear could make out words in the cries. They weren't words that made any sense, but they were distinguishable. Would more follow?

Dreading another such ride, Cazaril wearily climbed the stairs to Iselle's chambers late the next morning. He had just eased himself stiffly into his chair at his desk and taken up his account book, when Royina Sara appeared, accompanied by two of her ladies. She wafted past Cazaril in a cloud of white wool. He scrambled to his feet in surprise and bowed deeply; she acknowledged his existence with a faint, faraway nod.

A flurry of feminine voices in the forbidden chambers beyond announced her visit to her sister-in-law. Both the royina's ladies-in-waiting and Nan dy Vrit were exiled to the sitting room, where they sat sewing and quietly gossiping. After about half an hour, Royina Sara came out again and crossed through Cazaril's office antechamber with the same unsmiling abstraction.

Betriz followed shortly. "The royesse bids you attend upon her in her sitting chamber," she told Cazaril. Her black eyebrows were crimped tight with worry. Cazaril rose at once and followed her inside.

Iselle sat in a carved chair, her hands clenched upon its arms, pale and breathing heavily. "Infamous! My brother is infamous, Cazaril!" she told him as he made his bow and pulled a stool up to her knee.

"My lady?" he inquired, and let himself down as carefully as he could. Last night's belly cramp still lingered, and stabbed him if he moved too quickly.

"No marriage without my consent, aye, he spoke that truly enough—but none without dy Jironal's consent, either! Sara has whispered it to me. After his brother's death, but before he rode out of Cardegoss to seek the murderer, the chancellor closeted himself with my brother and persuaded him to make a codicil to his will. In the event of Orico's death, the chancellor is made regent for my brother Teidez—"

"I believe that arrangement has been known for quite some time, Royesse. There is a regency council set up to advise him, as well. The provincars of Chalion would not let that much power pass to one of their number without a check."

"Yes, yes, I knew that, but—"

"The codicil does not attempt to abolish the council, does it?" asked Cazaril in alarm. "That would set the lords in an uproar."

"No, that part is left all as it was. But formerly, I was to be the ward of my grandmother and my uncle the provincar of Baocia. Now, I am to be transferred to dy Jironal's own wardship. There is no council to check that! And listen, Cazaril! The term of his guardianship is set to be until I marry, and permission for my marriage is left entirely in his hands! He can keep me unwed till I die of old age, if he chooses!"

Cazaril concealed his unease and held up a soothing hand. "Surely not. He must die of old age long before you. And well before that, when Teidez comes to his man's estate and the full powers of the royacy, he can free you with a royal decree."

"Teidez's majority is set at twenty-five years, Cazaril!"

A decade ago, Cazaril would have shared her outrage at this lengthy term. Now it sounded more like a good idea. But not, granted, with dy Jironal in the saddle instead.

"I would be almost twenty-eight years old!"

Twelve more years for the curse to work upon her, and within her... no, it was not good by any measure.

"He could dismiss you from my household instantly!"

You have another Patroness, who has not chosen to dismiss me yet. "I grant you have cause for concern, Royesse, but don't borrow trouble before its time. None of this matters while Orico lives."

"He is not well, Sara says."

"He is not very fit," Cazaril agreed cautiously. "But he's not by any means an old man. He's barely more than forty."

By the expression on Iselle's face, she found that quite aged enough. "He is more... not-well than he appears. Sara says."

Cazaril hesitated. "Is she that intimate with him, to know this? I had thought them estranged."