"… In the last few days, there have been three mysterious deaths in the dungeons of the castle. The victims were outlaws who had been preying on shipments of goods between Kislova and Sundell. They'd been jailed in the town but escaped. When recaptured, they were brought here, as it is well known that no one escapes the castle's cells.
"They were hard, dangerous men, and they would have undoubtedly been executed after evidence against them was heard. However, in the days before their hearing, they began having frequent fallings-out. When they came to blows, they were separated.
"On the night before their hearing, one of the prisoners began to scream as if in terrible pain. The guard held a torch close to the cell but could see no reason for the man's agony. Because of the man's history, he decided the screams were some sort of trick to get him to open the cell door, and he ignored them. Later, the other outlaws also began to cry out, but again the guard could see nothing and thought it a trick.
"Gradually, the screams subsided. The guard assumed the men had tired of their useless ruse. In the morning, when trays of food were brought, two of the men were dead, the third unconscious. All had welts covering their bodies, as if they had been burned with hot coals. Indeed, it seemed they felt as if they were burning, for they had clawed at their clothing and scratched their skin trying to put out the invisible flames. The one survivor remains unconscious, but cries out often.
"Our healer suspects some plague. I remember the rats and wonder.
"The baron asked me to write you to return at once and lend us what assistance you can…"
Unable to ignore the summons, Jorani set a slow pace back to the castle, still not knowing what course to take, certain of only two things-
A single word or even a suggestion to Peto of what Ilsabet had done, and she would be killed; rightfully so.
And he could not bear to see her die.
When he reached the castle, he found the courtyard more crowded than it had been on Peto's ill-fated wedding day. Merchants from Pirie mingled with the Sundell officers and Kislovan nobles. Lord Ruven had even traveled from Tygelt along with his wife, Alasyn, a beautiful woman with a quiet dignity that had impressed Jorani often.
The Sundell guards who had ridden in with Jorani went directly to the stables, leaving him holding tightly to the reins of his nervous horse and trying to find a servant to take it from him.
"What's going on?" he finally asked one of the sta-bleboys who was trying to lead Lord Ruven's spirited team away from the crowd before someone was injured by their hooves.
"The baron is holding a feast for the Baroness Ilsabet."
"A feast is it? Whatever for?"
"She's going to swear her loyalty to him."
The words had all the effect of a hard blow between the eyes. For an instant, Jorani was speechless with shock and astonishment. Then, he thrust his horse's reins into a servant's hand and ran up the stairs to his tower room where he washed and dressed quickly.
In a different section of the castle, Ilsabet stood in the center of her dressing room surrounded by Mar-ishka's legacy. Her mother's gowns were there, Mar-ishka's own, and the few pieces that Lady Lorena had given her-all of them reminders of the Obour women who had died.
Greta had used all her considerable skill on Ilsa-bet's thin hair. She'd tied it at the crown then used the hot iron to form tight ringlets that fell over her mistress's shoulders. When she'd finished, she helped Ilsabet into the gown she'd chosen.
"Leave me," she said to Greta.
Once alone, Ilsabet studied herself in the mirror, trying to see what Peto would see. She pictured herself, the demure subject, kneeling before him-swearing allegiance for the sake of peace between their families, their countries. Swearing, she had made it clear to him, not because he'd ordered her to do so, but because he had earned her respect.
Just before she turned to go, she put of few drops of perfume at her temples and in the hollow between her breasts. Marishka had worn a scent much like this. Ilsabet had enhanced it a bit, enough to make it as potent as it was beautiful.
She heard a knock, then Mihael politely asking if he could escort her down. She knew Mihael privately gloated. No doubt he had spent the better part of the last few days congratulating himself for being so blunt with her. How would he feel, she wondered, if he knew that she had already made her decision and had been merely waiting for him to suggest it?
She saw no point in openly opposing him. Tonight she would kneel before Peto, would kiss his foot. A moment of debasement and the last barrier between Peto and his new Kislovan subjects would end. Peto was homesick, and Marishka's death had made it worse. It was only a matter of time before Peto left here, and he had already pledged to put Mihael in charge.
Kislova would return to the Obours. They would not have the power they once did, but at least an Obour would rule. And someday the power would return to them; she had her plans ready to assure it.
By the time Jorani joined the other guests below, he'd heard the rumors concerning Ilsabet's apparent change of heart. The servants could speak of little else but the sounds of weeping coming from Ilsabet's room, the quiet conversations between sister and brother, ending with her decision to swear loyalty to her new lord.
Jorani knew no one could persuade Ilsabet to do anything she did not want to do. Certain of this, he stood with the other guests and watched Ilsabet enter the room, hoping for an answer to the puzzle of her actions.
The crowd parted when Ilsabet entered, falling silent when they saw her. She had chosen a simple gown of deep green silk. The color made her fair complexion look even lighter and gave it a translucent quality as well. Features that had once been almost gaunt now appeared delicate. Eyes that were once considered pale now seemed exotic. Her hair curled and shone like platinum against the deeply colored fabric.
As she walked straight to the raised table where Peto was waiting, she moved confidently, serenely; a queen secure in her castle, mistress of the halls and the people within them.
The change from the plain, shy girl who dreamt of power to this magnificently beautiful woman was so sudden and so striking, it seemed to Jorani there had to be some kind of sorcery involved.
When she stood before Peto, they both hesitated, and for a moment it seemed Peto might kneel before her. She broke the tension, falling to one knee, reciting the oath in a loud, clear voice, then pressing her lips to his boot. When she moved back, he took her hand, helping her to her feet.
She turned to face the nobles and the wealthy of Kislova and said, "I swear allegiance to Baron Peto Casse not because of any threat he made to me, but because I have seen the peace he has brought to our people, and the promise of a prosperous alliance of our domains."
The musicians began a slow romantic song. Jorani wondered if it had been on Peto's cue or Ilsa-bet's. As he watched, still stunned by the incredible changes in her, Peto led her into the center of the room and began the intricate motions of the dance. With their arms raised, their palms touching, they began circling right, then left. The tempo quickened. They moved closer together and began the elegant steps of a stylized waltz, whirling around the edge of the dance floor.
Peto seemed pale, dizzy, but when the dance ended, he stayed with Ilsabet for another, and another. The band knew what their lord wished. The waltzes continued while Peto held her close, smiling at her wit, laughing when she laughed.
Jorani heard no mutter of Peto's fickleness and how he should not be flirting with the sister of his dead bride only weeks after the funeral. Instead the guests were all smiling happily, commenting on Ilsa-bet's brief speech as if they were witnessing some idealized growing romance between their queen and an invading lord.