Dorrin took the scroll case, untied the intricate knots, and slid out a scroll sealed with the royal mark as well as bound with a twist of rose and silver ribbons.
“He wrote it himself,” the messenger said. “He wanted no scribe to have knowledge of it.”
Dorrin slid her thumbnail under the seal and cracked it, then unrolled the scroll. It began as all royal documents did, flowery and formal … Greetings from the Crown of Tsaia to Captain Dorrin Verrakai, formerly under command of Kieri Artfiel Phelan, Duke of Phelan, now rightful King of Lyonya … but then the sense of the next section hit her. It is Our wish that you accept the charge here laid upon you, to take the title of Duke Verrakai …
“You … he … cannot be serious.” Dorrin was sure her face had paled. It would not do to say that the prince was crazy, but he must have lost all reason to think elevating an exiled Verrakai mercenary to the dukedom would work. She had not been there—she had refused to think of it as home for over two decades now—since her last, successful flight.
“I assure you, Captain, that the prince is serious. Pray read the rest. No other member of the family is free from the taint of treason; you alone are known to be a loyal friend to Kieri Phelan. The prince charged me to tell you that he is convinced breaking up the duchy would create more problems. It needs a strong duke—duchess—and you have both command and combat experience.”
She did, that was true. She read the rest, the formal phrases explaining why her uncles and aunts, her siblings, her cousins, were under order of attainder. Haron Vasli, the Duke who was, and his brother Kalin, are dead, following a merciless attack on my person, resulting in the deaths of the Marshal-Judicar and the Knight-Commander of the Bells. Dorrin shivered. Other Verrakai have ignored a summons to court. We have reports that Haron’s next brother fled south, to Konhalt. That she could well believe. Konhalt, a minor family, had been allied to Verrakai since the Girdish wars, though with one branch that had moved north and away. We need decisive, quick action to take control of Verrakai and prevent open rebellion. Indeed they did need that. You are authorized to use whatever force you must. Did that mean—could it mean—using magery against magery? But even if he allowed it, hers was too weak.
Dorrin read on; the prince explained why he had decided against breaking up the Verrakai holdings and handing them over to others. Doing that before he was finally crowned would cause more chaos, possibly even civil war. He could not afford to wait until his Midsummer coronation. He must act quickly. If she accepted, he would send further instructions to meet her on return to Tsaia.
Her imagination flared, showing her the great steading as it had been, the old stone of the original keep still standing, the more modern mansion and outbuildings around it. She saw herself arriving there with loyal troops behind her, striding up those steps worn by the feet of centuries, into the great hall … her imagination stopped short before peopling that hall with any of the relatives and servants likely to be there. Not her uncle the late duke, or her uncle his brother or her father, dead a decade by rumor. Her mother? Perhaps. Her aunt? Cousins? She shivered. She could not go back there, not after all these years, not to face their malice, their magery.
And yet. If not Dorrin Duke Verrakai, who could possibly take over? Did the people Verrakai ruled deserve to be scattered, handed over to strangers who might not understand what they had endured? If Konhalt also fell, as the prince’s letter suggested, who else—?
“It is not a royal command,” the messenger said, when she looked up. “The prince realizes that you have been estranged from your family these many years. But it is a heartfelt request.”
“He will need an answer quickly,” Dorrin said. “It must be settled …”
“He is sorry to inconvenience you …” the messenger said.
Dorrin almost laughed. Inconvenience? If she accepted, governing Verrakai would be far more than an inconvenience. “My situation here must be settled before I give my answer,” she said. “I must speak to the king, and arrange for someone to command the troops I brought with me.”
“Then you accept?”
This weight she had never sought, never wanted, never dreamed of, settled on her shoulders. “I will give you my answer when I have spoken to the king, who is still my liege.”
But he had read her real answer in her eyes, for now he was smiling. “Of course, my … Captain.”
“And now,” Dorrin said, ringing for servants, “you must take refreshment, and rest. Whatever my answer, you have a long, cold ride ahead of you.”
The king was studying rows of figures and making notes as she came into the small dining hall.
“Sir King,” Dorrin said. He looked up and smiled.
“What, Captain?” His expression sobered. “You’re upset … the troops?”
“A messenger from Tsaia, from the prince—for me.”
“He wants the cohort back,” Kieri said. “He wrote me.”
Dorrin shook her head. “Not that—he wants me to take over Verrakai. As the only—as he puts it—honorable Verrakai of my generation.” She laid the scroll before him, and watched as he unrolled it.
“That’s … interesting,” he said as he read.
“No, Sir King, that’s terrifying. And worse, I feel a pull …”
“You’d be good, Dorrin,” he said, looking up. “You are the best Verrakai; you could change the family history.”
“But you know my story, my lord. The family hates me, and I left …” He gestured to a chair and she sat, too tense to relax into it.
“Dorrin. Captain. Change comes. I must give up my land and my Company, abandon the home and life I made for myself, the people I swore to protect and care for, to assume the responsibility for these people, this place … to assume the responsibility of a king. Even the Company will not be the same—”
“I know.” Tears stung her eyes. The Company without Kieri Phelan—she had already contemplated that, with misery. Jandelir Arcolin was a fine man, a good commander, but he was not Kieri Phelan.
“Then perhaps it is time for you, too, to take a bold leap.”
“I understand that things will never be as they were. But this—this is different.”
“And yet you feel a pull. At some level, Dorrin, you want it. You have always wanted to redeem your family.”
She sighed. “Yes. But I cannot imagine how it can be successful. How to go about it.”
He laughed, startling her. “Oh, Dorrin—do you not remember when we were building the stronghold in the north? No one thought that would be successful. An upstart no-name granted land and title? No family fortune? And yet you joined me, and now—barring the fact that I can no longer be there—it is a thriving land. You have more experience than I had then.”
“If I can gain the support of the people, who have known only bad Verrakai.” And if the magelords still there didn’t kill her outright.
He cocked his head. “What you really doubt is yourself, not your people.”
Your people. He said it as if he knew already that she would take it on.
“In a way, yes.” She spoke slowly. “Back there, in that setting, away from the Company—from you—what if it comes back?” The fear, the immobility, against their power.
“What is it you fear, Dorrin?”
“I never told you what the Knight-Commander told me—”
“You wear the ruby. You would not have been knighted if there’d been much wrong.”
“Yes, I wear the ruby. But I wanted more. Wanted to be what Paks is. He said I bore the same flaws, heart-deep, as those I fled. That no Verrakai could be free of them—”
“You wanted to be a paladin?” He sounded surprised, but less so than she’d feared.