Gudruny pulled out the trundle as Sandry banked the fire again. “What of your children?” Sandry asked once she had climbed back into bed. “What happens to them?”

Gudruny smiled wanly as she sat on the trundle. “They will remain with me,” she said, turning to blow out the candles. “The children belong to the mother, as they do everywhere.” She took off her shoes by the glow from Sandry’s crystal, and crawled under the blankets of the trundle bed, which had been made up for the maid Sandry didn’t have. “The father may pay—must pay—for their keeping, but the children are the mother’s. That is something the empress approves. I will get to keep my children, since she has decreed that the only bloodlines the law need concern itself with are the mother’s.”

“Of course,” murmured Sandry, her eyes sliding closed. “So the fathers of her own daughters cannot claim the throne in their name. I’ll have to hear testimony,” she murmured. “Hear what those who know you have to say. After so much has been done wrong here, I must be sure to do right.”

If Gudruny answered, Sandry did not hear. She was fast asleep.

9

The 1st day of Rose Moon, 1043 K. F.

Clehamat Landreg to

Pofkim Village, Namorn

Daja woke to shouting. A glance at the bolted shutters showed bits of pale morning light creeping through the cracks in the wood. She went to her chamber door and opened it.

“—rot you, I know she slithered in somehow!” came a muffled roar from the ground floor below. “She was gone all night! Gudruny, I know you’re here! You’d best pray, because when I—take your hands off me, oaf!”

Frowning, Daja pulled a robe over her nightshirt and went out to the gallery around the main hall to see what was going on. Footmen struggled with a wiry commoner whose face was full of rage. It was the commoner who yelled for someone named Gudruny.

Across the gallery the courtiers ventured from their rooms, looking as if they could use a few more hours in bed. Briar emerged from his chamber, saying back over his shoulder, “Stay here, Zhegorz. Some kaq has his underclothes in a twist.” He came to stand beside Daja, taking in the scene below.

A third door on their side of the gallery slammed open with a crack that drew everyone’s attention. Tris surged to the gallery rail, robe and nightgown flying in a wind that rattled all of her braids, released from their coil for the night. Seeing her red, sharp-nosed face, framed by moving lightning bolts, the people downstairs went still. Tris gripped Chime with both hands as the glass dragon screeched with distress, shimmering with lightning of her own.

“Quiet,” Tris ordered Chime. To Daja’s surprise, Chime obeyed. To the people downstairs, Tris said, “This is not what I expected in a nobleman’s house. Who are you, and how dare you wake us?”

Now Ambros and Ealaga emerged from their rooms. From the look of them they had started to dress before the fuss broke out.

“Do you stand between a man and his lawful wife, it is you who are in the wrong, Viymese or no!” shouted the troublemaker. “My wife sneaked in here last night, telling all manner of lies, I don’t doubt, and I will have her back!”

“A missing wife does not grant you an excuse to disrupt others’ households in this coarse manner, Halmar Iarun,” Ambros said coldly, leaning on the gallery rail. “Where is your respect for the clehame? She is here at last, and this is the welcome you give her?”

Sandry marched from her room, towing a rumpled woman with coarse, brownish-blond hair. “If this is Halmar Iarun, then I am glad he is here,” she announced flatly. “You, down there—you are the man who kidnapped this woman and forced her to sign a marriage contract ten years ago?”

“Uh-oh,” muttered Briar. “She’s all on Her Nobleness already.”

“It’s too early,” grumbled Daja. Briar was right. All three of them had seen that stubborn jut of Sandry’s chin and the blaze of her eyes before. In this mood, Sandry was capable of facing armies armed only with her noble blood.

“I am her wedded husband under law,” barked Halmar. “Halmar Iarun, miller.”

“Down, cur!” barked one of the footmen, kicking Halmar’s legs from under him. The man thudded to his knees. “The clehame can have you beaten for your lack of due respect!”

Halmar bowed his head.

“Are you finished?” Sandry demanded, her eyes on the footman.

He looked at her, swallowed hard, and went down on one knee to her, all without releasing his grip on Halmar’s arm. His companion, still holding the miller’s other arm, slowly went to one knee as well. Every other servant in the lower hall did the same.

Briar looked at Daja and rolled his eyes.

“Poppycock,” muttered Tris.

Sandry glanced at them, frowned, then looked down at Halmar again. “I have news for you as your liege lord, Halmar Iarun. Your wife Gudruny has asked me for her freedom, as is her right under law?” Sandry glanced at Ambros, who nodded. “Well,” continued Sandry, “I decree that she is now free of you. Your marriage is at an end. You will pay for the care of your children by her. That is my right under the law. And shame to you, for using such a disgusting trick to marry her!”

“She was lucky to get me!” Halmar cried, trying to drag free of the men who gripped his arms. “Her family didn’t have a hole-less garment to their names, did she tell you that? Holding up her nose at the likes of me when everyone knew she hadn’t a copper of dowry. I did her a favor to marry her. I’ll provide for my children—I’m no naliz, to let my own blood go hungry! But she’ll see not an argib from me in back wages, or whatever you womenfolk cook up between you—”