The answer came two days later, brought by the same messenger. It was not as understanding as Peto had hoped.
You know exactly what people will think, his mother wrote. Kislovans will assume you are so anxious for a marriage with their rulers that when you could not have one Obour bride, you picked another. As for myself, I speak for most of Sundell when I wonder why you cannot find a bride among your own. Come home, Peto, I'm sure if you look again you'll find someone more than suitable here.
Peto showed Ilsabet the letter almost apologetically. "I thought it best to ask her before speaking to you," he said. "But as you see…"
Ilsabet frowned and looked away to hide her disappointment. This was exactly the reaction he'd hoped for.
"… she'll have to be reminded who is ruler and why I would make such a decision. Will you come to Sundell with me as my bride?"
"Bride?" Ilsabet had her terms all prepared, but now that the matter was in the open, she wasn't certain how to proceed. "When Mihael died, I became the last Obour. Do you understand?" she said.
"If you don't marry, you'll certainly be the last."
"I made a vow. I can't give up my name."
He considered this. "Then keep it," he said.
Ilsabet went into his arms and kissed him, astonished at how much pleasure she got from the touch. Cinder other circumstances she would find him a charming man.
He pushed her to arm's length, looking at her face with the same adoration her father had. Ilsabet realized that he loved her, as well as desired her. Someday, she vowed, he would know the truth about how Marishka had died.
"And our son will have both names?" Ilsabet asked, pressing her case gently.
"It is done in some of the northern provinces when the mother's family is of high noble blood. The move will undoubtedly cause some talk in Sundell, but once the nobles meet you they'll understand why I agree to this. Besides, it is fitting for a man who will rule both countries."
"And who will rule Kislova for our son?" It was the heart of her demand, but to say it outright would seem too mercenary. She couldn't risk that.
"I've never thought of Kislova as mine," he said. "When Mihael was alive, I considered it his. Now that he is gone, I have consulted with Lord Jorani and Lord Ruven. They tell me that there are women running estates in this land. Why can't a woman rule it?"
"Me?" Ilsabet looked no more shocked than she felt, though for a different reason. She'd expected the bargaining to be more difficult.
"I return it to you as my wedding gift."
Ilsabet closed her eyes, wanting to laugh and cry.
"Isn't it what you want?" he asked.
"Oh, yes. But Peto, it means that we'll be apart," she said, trying to sound upset by that prospect.
"Not so often. Shadow and Nimbus are close enough. And when you are with me, Lord Jorani or Ruven or whomever you wish can rule in your place."
She kissed him again.
"What kind of a wedding would you like?" he asked.
"None." She laughed at his sudden shock. "I mean I wish no feast, no dancing, no complex ceremony. I experienced all that with Marishka. I don't think I could bear to stand in her place. There would be too many memories." She touched his cheek. "I'd like to wed soon," she said.
That evening, with not even Jorani to confide in, she opened her journal and made a single entry. "It seemed to be so right to kiss him. It occurs to me I will have to make an effort to keep my wits about me when dealing with him. It would be easy to forget he is the enemy."
Two nights later, just as the sun was setting, Peto and Ilsabet exchanged their vows in a small ceremony attended only by Jorani and Shaul and a handful of Sundell officers. Afterward, they drank a toast with Sundell wine, a second from the vineyards west of Pirie. Jorani had brought his lute and played a slow wedding song. He managed to smile as he did so. The expression always looked out of place on him, so he doubted anyone noticed how strained it really was.
While he played, he noticed that Ilsabet was staring past him, her expression so intense that he could only assume she was having second thoughts or her conscience troubled her. He moved quickly to her side and brushed his lips against her cheek, whispering quickly, "A bride should not look so pensive at her wedding ceremony."
"I was thinking of my sister," she said, her expression softening somewhat as she turned her attention back to her husband.
Jorani left the hall before the wedding couple. He'd considered carrying up a bottle of brandy to his tower but decided against it. There were safer potions to bring him sleep if sleep had been what he desired. Instead, he sought out one of the serving girls who'd given hints of being attracted to him.
They went down the fog-shrouded stairs that led to the river and bathed in its chilly waters. After they spread blankets on the stone ledge above the high-water mark, he took her in his arms.
As he kissed her, he looked up at the castle walls, at Peto's chambers, where the lamps glowed dimly.
When he woke late the following morning, Shaul was waiting for him downstairs with a dozen matters that needed immediate attention. Jorani appreciated that. In the days that followed he tried not to think of Ilsabet at all. Life became easier yet when the seemingly well-matched couple left for Sundell.
EIGHTEEN
From the Diary of Baroness Ilsabet
My entire world has changed, I have never seen such splendor. I could fill half a book with a description of just my own rooms here in Sundell. But I shall describe the journey in order.
Dusk was falling when we reached the forest near the border. An hour later, we stopped at the guardhouse where Sundell and Kislova guards served together. While Peto met briefly with his troops, I got out of the coach, saying I needed to stretch my legs and get a drink of water.
After I'd lowered the dipper into their water barrel, I tossed in a few potent grains of my powder. As I started back to the coach, the captain of the Sundell guards joined me and asked if I wanted something to eat. "Or, if you prefer, I have a bottle of red wine sent to me from my mother as a birthday gift."
"You shouldn't share that," I commented.
"I wouldn't with any of the men, but I'd be honored to pour a glass for you."
I saw possibilities in this and followed him into the guardhouse.
The wine was exquisite, and in a beautiful decanter. As I admired the cutwork in the glass, I lifted the stopper and dropped in a few more grains of the sand. As we started back to the coach, I let the remains from my kerchief fall onto the ground just inside the guardhouse door.
I pictured them sleeping on the warm summer nights, the guardhouse door open, the breeze picking up the dust, swirling it through their room. I saw their captain, tired and homesick, drinking his wine. And, of course, everyone needed water.
Things would not be peaceful there for long.
As we went on, the land slowly leveled. In the moonlight, we passed cleared fields amid the thick forest, well-tended farms, and horses roaming their ranges. It must be a peaceful land, I thought, but then prosperous lands usually are.
We stopped for the night at an inn that was the centerpiece of a small town. The public room was packed with people who had come to see their ruler and his new bride. They watched while we ate, cheered Peto when he made a toast, then began beating their feet against the wooden floor until he kissed me. I took some comfort in the barbaric display. It's good to know that they aren't entirely civilized.
They are also a large people. Their faces are uniformly round, their hair in shades from flax to chestnut. The men are heavyset, the women buxom. Many are obese, but the food is excellent and plentiful, so I suppose that is to be expected.
We retired to a bedroom that was plush even by the standards of Nimbus Castle. Once we closed the door, the music below stopped. If they expected to hear the bedsprings squeaking, they were disappointed. It was Peto's turn to be exhausted, and we slept soundly.