The Curse of Chalion

"Yes, of course you must bring him to me. Think it through. If I leave Chalion to be wed in Ibra, dy Jironal will declare me in rebellion, forcing me to return at the head of a column of foreign troops. But if I seize my ground from the very first instant, I will never have to wrest it back. You taught me that!"

I did... ?

She leaned forward, growing more intent. "I will have Royse Bergon, yes, but I will not give up Chalion to get him, no, not one yard of soil. Not to dy Jironal, and not to the Fox either. These are my terms. Bergon and I will each of us inherit our respective crowns to ourselves. Bergon will hold authority in Chalion as roya-consort, and I will hold authority in Ibra as royina-consort, each through the other, reciprocally and equally. Our future son—the Mother and Father willing—to inherit and join them into one crown thereafter. But my future authority in Chalion is to be mine, not made over as dowry to my spouse. I will not be turned into a Sara, a mere and disregarded wife, silenced in my own councils!"

"The Fox will be greedy for more."

Her chin came up. "This is why I must have you as my envoy and no other. If you cannot get me Royse Bergon on terms that do not violate my future sovereignty, then turn around and ride home. And upon Orico's death, I will raise my banner against dy Jironal myself." Her mouth set in a grim line; her black shadow roiled. "Curse or no curse, I will not be Martou dy Jironal's bridled mare to ride to his spurring."

Yes—Iselle had the nerve, the will, and the wit to resist dy Jironal as Orico did not; as Teidez would never have. Cazaril could see it in her eyes, could see armies with pennoned lances writhing in the black dark hanging around her like a pall of smoke from a burning town. This was the form that the curse of her House would take in the next generation: not personal sorrow, but civil war between royal and noble faction, tearing the country apart from end to end.

Unless she could shrug off House and curse both, and pass into the protection of Bergon...

"I will ride for you, Royesse."

"Good." She sat back and swept her hand over the blank parchments. "Now we must make several letters. The first shall be your letter of authority to the Fox, and I think it should be in my own hand. You've read and written treaties. You must tell me all the right phrases, so I do not sound like an ignorant girl."

"I'll do my best, but am no lawyer, Iselle."

She shrugged. "If we succeed, I will have swords to back my words. And if we do not, no legal niceties will make them stand. Let them be plain and clear. Begin..."

A grueling three-quarters of an hour of lip-biting concentration resulted in a clean draft, which Iselle signed with a flourish and sealed with her seal ring. Betriz, meanwhile, had finished collecting and inventorying the little pile of coins and jewelry.

"Is that all the coin we have?" asked Iselle.

"Unfortunately, yes," sighed Betriz.

"Well, he'll just have to pawn the jewelry when he gets to Valenda, or some other safe place." Iselle wrapped the silk around the gauds and shoved them across the table to Cazaril. "Your purse, my lord. Daughter grant it is enough to get you there and back."

"More than enough, if I am not cheated."

"Mind you, this is to spend, not save. You are to put on a good show as my representative in Ibra. Remember to dress. And Royse Bergon is to travel in a style befitting his rank and mine, and no shame to Chalion."

"That could be tricky. I mean, without the army. I will bend my thoughts to it. Much will depend on, well, a number of unsettled things. Which reminds me. We must have a secure means of communication. Dy Jironal or his spies will surely be making all efforts to intercept any letters you receive."

"Ah."

"There is a very simple cipher that is nonetheless nearly impossible to break. It depends upon having two copies of the same printing of some book. One goes with me, one stays with you two. Three-number sequences pick out words—page number, line number, and rank in the line—which the recipient then works backward to find the word again. You do not always use the same numberings for the same words, but find them on another page, if you can. There are better ciphers, but there is no time to teach them to you. I, uh... have not two of any book, though."

"I will find two such books before you leave tomorrow," said Betriz sturdily.

"Thank you." Cazaril rubbed his forehead. It was madness to undertake to ride, sick and maybe bleeding, over the mountains in midwinter. He would fall off his horse into the snows and freeze, and he and his horse and his letters of authorization would all be eaten by the wolves.

"Iselle. My heart is willing. But my body is occupied territory, half­laid waste. I am afraid I will fail in the journey. My friend March dy Palliar is a good rider and a strong sword arm. May I offer him as your envoy instead?"