Her father’s office was a study of contrasts. Luscious, thick wool carpets from Auenland coated the floor in half an inch of padding. The desk was carved mahogany from the Darkling Forest. The seats were upholstered in linen colored in the family motif with vibrant and expensive dyes.

  The walls were covered in elegant tapestries depicting their lands, each hamlet shown in the direction it stood. Even an imported image of the Capital, a resplendent Phoenix rising above it, stood to the southeast. While the west wall, to the Baron's back, showed images from across the river. Rift monsters, damaged townships and a few battles.

  And underneath it all was simple, thick stone. Walls, floor and arched ceiling. Arrow slit windows, four feet in height and backed by a bastion slit, a wider opening cut into the five-foot-thick wall so a defender would have a wider field of fire, peaked from between battle tapestries and a thick crossbar for the solid oak door tried to hide behind another.

  A comfortable, elegant veneer over rigid and unyielding defense.

  “Sit my dear. Sit and have a sip. When you’re ready, and only then, mind, tell me about it.”

  Ermina did as she was told. Dropping gingerly to an equally well upholstered lounge in front of his desk. He forewent the desk and its imposing height today, sitting beside her on a matching lounge, handing a steaming goblet over.

  She inhaled gratefully, the sweet scent of wine and spices releasing something inside her. It was a smell of comfort and safety. And her body reacted, even if her mind did not. Not fully at least. She hadn’t really noticed, or rather had time to pay them attention, but her nerves sang to her. Twisted as tight as lute strings.

  She blew gently, then took a sip. Letting the hot liquid and its gloriously decadent taste trickle down her throat and warm her to the core. She didn’t rush. She knew better. Take the time needed when you had it, to organize. To make sense of the chaos. Rearranging recent memories. Dissecting them for hints and details she might not have paid attention to at the time.

  Just as Mother taught her. The familiar sting of loss never really went away, but she’d learned to deal with it. She blessed Tycelus, goddess of fate and fortune, that she did not have another name to add to that book today. Tycelus and Lord Ethan.

  With a sigh, she set the goblet down and turned to her father. “They were waiting on the northern road back from Cervendorf. I don’t know what gave them away, but Lord Ethan spotted them early. Early enough to have me fall back. Early enough to spook them. Then it was arrows everywhere and Harold grunting in pain.”

  “His shield blocked my vision, so I don’t know exactly what happened in those first few moments. But by the time I did, there must have been half a dozen men dead from thrown spears, and Lord Ethan and three of his men were sprinting up the hill.”

  She picked up her goblet again, surprised for a moment that her hand was shaking, but not willing to let it delay her. She took a harsh swallow, then continued. “It was… abrupt. Not like the fencing exhibitions the knights do. A few seconds of brutality and it was over. He must have slaughtered 4 of them himself! Like wolves among sheep! They didn’t fight. They just… Died.”

  “It made… little sense. Arrows that nearly killed Harold, they just bounced off! Dark hoods, cloaks and armor but wet papyrus. Like a different world, different rules.” She waved her hands, unable to fully explain.

  And yet he nodded, eyes deep and clear with both acceptance and understanding. “It’s one thing to hear about the tyranny of class, tier and equipage, my dear, another quite another to see. For all that it can cost several years of a townsman’s wages to outfit each of them, high-end armored troops are a law unto themselves. We pay those prices for a good reason.”

  “But about these Snatchers. Describe them.”

  She let the memories play out. Short snippets chosen carefully from before the… mess. She teased them out, words she hadn’t realized she’d heard, comparisons she hadn’t made at the time. “Shorter and dark-haired. More southern blood than northern. Dark cloaks, leather jerkins, wooden bows about 2 feet in length. I saw some bowmen practicing in Lord Ethans camp, they were completely different. Bone and hide with curves in two directions versus a straight length of wood. A little better than a deer bow, from what Lord Ethan said to that older knight of his. Sir Conner I think.”

  She thought about it, then shrugged. “They brought one and a quiver of arrows back with them, so you can see for yourself.”

  “They did? Then continue, I’ll take that look. But later. What else.”

  “They left one alive. Well at least for a while. His man… well he did things I’d rather not talk about.”

  The baron nodded, satisfaction and sudden intensity lighting up his eyes. “He talked?”

  “Yes, though he knew little. I was the target and the drop off was a day east down the Servetcha canal. And they had been waiting for me for around two weeks now.”

  He smiled widely with a great deal of teeth. “Two weeks you say, then they won’t know when to expect them at this drop off.”

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  “That is… likely Father.”

  “Good. But continue. What else?”

  “Their accents were pure southerner and they claimed to have hired out of the Adventureres guild in Caberheim for what was described as ‘a handful of shiny, newly minted Obstrgartenfeld silvers,’ each.” She paused, then continued. “I believe he brought those back as well.”

  Her father snorted easily. “Former Bandsman? Yes, they brought back the silvers. And any others that might have been keeping them company. Not that they mean much in themselves.”

  She nodded. “It’s too pat. Too obvious. Brightly so, shining to hide the real plotters behind.”

  “True. We’ll make a try at the drop point, but it will depend on a great deal of luck. If this plotter is even halfway competent, those waiting will not be in livery.” He stood and walked over to a narrow window, speaking half to himself and half to her. “No, they’ll be just another link in the chain. Not that we won’t try, incompetence of a subordinate has sunk more than one careful plotter. Either way, a response is required, and we shall give it!” He nodded fiercely, then, taking a deep breath, turned back to her.

  “Other than the ambush, what did you think of Lord Ethan?”

  “He asks, hmm, depressingly ignorant questions at times. But never more than once, I’ll give him that credit. And he listens to my explanation, which is more than I can say for most of the men you’ve had me teach. Including Yondger before he went off to war.” She carefully didn’t mention Sirus nor Belgepher. May Kiron treat them kindly.

  “Ahh? You like him then?”

  She gave him a concerned look. “He is an upright nobleman. Unpolished perhaps, but solidly what he appears to be. Not fake as many young scions are. A refreshing man really, if occasionally aggravatingly blunt. I admit to enjoying his company.”

  “Excellent! Excellent! Because I do believe you shall marry him.”

  “Father!” She straightened up abruptly, eyes wide. She knew something was up but this… “I barely know him! You promised me-”

  “Ahh, ahh! Enough of that, young Lady.” He glared. “You have not been a child for years, don’t suddenly regress. I promised to hear you out if you had objections. And I shall. No more than that. As my daughter, you have always been a counter in the great game. One that I will use as gently as possible, but use you I will.” He stared at her for an extra moment, daring her to disagree. Then sighed.

  “Still, I could indeed offer him one of your younger sisters. But it would be to your loss. And his. This is an opportunity for you. And one that, honestly, I do not see coming again.”

  She grit her teeth. Forcing back the first four, then five things that came to mind. With a deep breath, she forced her voice to a low, calm tone. “Why?”

  “I shouldn’t have to explain this, Daughter. What will happen when your brothers return? When Caleb takes his rightful place?”

  She looked down. She hadn’t wanted to think about that. She had a degree of power, if not authority, in the management of the fief. But that power was traditionally given to the Heir apparent as a learning position. When they returned, she would be… left to her leisure.

  He read it easily from her eyes. “Yes. Just so. Will you enjoy idleness? You might improve your needlework or perhaps take up tapisseria?” She flinched, imagining for a moment a life stuck in the Bowers amidst the gossip and back-biting.

  He smiled at her sadly. “For as long as I live, I will guarantee you a comfortable place, my dear.”

  “But the rules of propriety will not spare you. You will be at the disposal of the new lady of the keep. Nor can I promise you the traditional escape.” Marriage, the only escape for daughters from a sister-in-law and mistress of the castle. “Your younger sisters have a chance.” Younger and prettier. Especially Belphina with her winsome smiles, she mused fondly. At least he didn’t say it out loud, but they both knew it to be true. She was in her prime, ripe for marriage. While Ermina… was not.

  At twenty-three years of age, she was looking more and more towards spinsterhood.

  “You’ve read the casualty lists. Eligible young ladies out number eligible men nearly 2 to 1. Lesser ladies might end up as mistresses, but not my daughters. Not unless it was a higher title, and I’d save you the misery and offer poison before I sent you to OUR duke.”

  She shuddered. The stories that got out about that court!

  “But a new fief… you told me it’s a gamble, and not always a good one.”

  “Because it is a gamble. But good or bad depends on the man. And this one is made of better stuff than tier 1 iron.”

  She nodded, reluctantly perhaps, but she could not deny it.

  “But his weaknesses are as apparent as his strengths. In warfare, you’ll find few better. In high-end troops, many a vested baron is envious of those Lancers. And those knights! That’s a pool of talent I’d love to poach!”

  “But. They’re rough about the edges in all the wrong ways. Unrefined and ignorant of both the great game and the management of a fief. They could easily sink under unintended insults. You could bridge those gaps. You could be more than just a pretty face, but a critical and valued pillar of support.”

  “If he will listen to a woman.” She pointed out, a bit waspishly.

  “Which you just finished telling me he has and will. Don’t cut your nose to spite your face, my dear. If you look hard enough, I don’t doubt you will find reasons to turn him down. But the reverse is also true. Perhaps more so.”

  “Come, come lass. You’d be lady of the manor. A position you will lose when your brother marries. And that will be within a six month. Two to one, after all.”

  “I’ll… that is, will you let me think on it?”

  “Yes daughter, think of it. But not for too long. I’d love to give you a proper courtship. A season of romance, gifts and even a poem or three. But it won’t happen. We might have a month. Resupply, cold weather gear, training and some advice he owes me. Yes. A month. In the meantime, to make the most of it, you will continue to teach him-”

  She opened her mouth, eyes going wide, but he talked over her. “-stewardship and sit in on his propriety lessons with that imperial tutor. Such men can miss the details you were born into. Whether you say yes or no, he paid, and paid well for such lessons. Just by returning you to me.” He gave her a sharp, warning glance. “Unspoiled!”

  She flinched again… that, well, she’d rather not think about it. Her stomach clenched and a potent mix of fear, adrenaline and nausea made her head fair to spin. She clamped down on it. Refusing to faint like some delicate and spoiled flower.

  He was right about one thing. She was no longer a child. She’d not act the fool. Neither from fear nor as yet one more of Aphrasias' ever-famous jests!

  She’d think it through. And then some.

  After all, the lady of a rustic border baronet or the poor relation in a comfortable keep, little better than a servant of whoever Caleb picked. And with his taste in women…

  Suddenly, rough didn’t sound so bad. He wasn’t unhandsome and with his skill at arms, their neighbors would at least be polite!

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