CHAPTER FOUR

Baron Lixel’s Residence, Margalit

T he negotiations between Maximilian, King of Escator, and Lady Ishbel Brunelle took many days, the process not helped by the marked hostility between Ishbel and StarWeb. Lixel was beginning to wish Maximilian had never included StarWeb in his delegation, for the birdwoman was proving more than awkward to deal with. Coupled with this was the fact Ishbel was conducting her own negotiations, unheard of when generally a woman’s parents or legal guardians did the negotiating on her behalf.

But then, this wasn’t precisely a normal family situation, was it?

By the third day of the negotiations, Lixel had become painfully aware that without StarWeb they might have concluded the entire deal within a brief three hours, and that mostly spent deciding over which wine they’d prefer to settle the matter. He wasn’t sure how much latitude Maximilian had given StarWeb, but was beginning to suspect the Icarii woman was overstepping the bounds.

The matter of the dowry, the lands, the manorial rights, the riches, and the marriage itself, all hung on one issue. According to StarWeb, Maximilian insisted that while a marriage ceremony could take place, the marriage would not be officially ratified, or made legal, until Ishbel produced a live child.

At that Ishbel had balked. “A marriage is between a man and a woman,” she insisted. “It does not depend on children for legality.”

“Nonetheless,” StarWeb countered, “children are important to Maximilian, and the marriage will be as nothing to him without them.”

“It is an insult to me,” Ishbel said, “to suggest that I am nothing without the production of children. That I am nothing but a vessel in which to carry a child.”

The talks had centered on this argument for almost three days, and Lixel was despairing of finding any way round it. He tended to side with Ishbel. It was insulting to her to hinge the marriage’s legality on the production of live children; a marriage was far, far more than the children it created…it was an alliance between a man and a woman, between their families and their lands, and the children were incidental, if generally much desired and loved.

Lixel had also begun to half suspect that these demands made of Ishbel were in the manner of a test.

Maximilian, through StarWeb, was pushing Ishbel as far as he dared, perhaps to see what manner of woman she was.

Or perhaps what manner of offer she truly represented.

“What Maximilian would like,” StarWeb said for the hundredth time, “is that you meet and, if all is agreeable, that a civil marriage ceremony take place…between the man Maximilian and the woman Ishbel, if you like. Once a child is born, then the marriage becomes a legality, between the King of Escator and the Lady Ishbel Brunelle.”

“The child would be a bastard,” Ishbel said, as she had been saying for three days.

“Not so,” said StarWeb. “There has already been a marriage ceremony…it just has not been ratified.

The child would not be regarded as a bastard at all.”

Lixel closed his eyes, trying to summon the strength to step in and try to mediate some compromise. But before he could do so, Ishbel spoke again.

“Perhaps if Maximilian would agree not to wait until the child is born to ratify the marriage, but to do so when it is clear that I carry Maximilian’s child.”

Lixel opened his eyes, astounded at this concession on Ishbel’s part. There had been no hint of it until now, but to give way that much ground…even if the concession had been days in the arriving…

“Done!” said StarWeb. “Marriage shall be ratified when you are pregnant…and in Ruen.”

“Accepted,” said Ishbel. “Although the dowry won’t be Maximilian’s until the marriage is ratified, either.

Until then, I remain in control of all properties and rights.”

Lixel looked at StarWeb, sure she would object. To his surprise, she inclined her head. “Then I am sure Maximilian will be most keen to get you pregnant,” she said. “You shall surely not lack any attention from your husband.”

“That’s going too far, StarWeb,” Lixel put in, noting that Ishbel had colored faintly at that last. “You overreach yourself.”

StarWeb shrugged, not in the slightest bit apologetic, and Lixel thought he’d best regain some control of the situation.

“It is a long and arduous journey between Margalit and Ruen, my lady,” he said to Ishbel. “May I suggest, should Maximilian be agreeable to the terms mooted about this table, that you meet halfway?

Perhaps at Pelemere? That way, it is not so far distant for either of you to return home if, at the eventual meeting, you don’t suit each other.”

Ishbel hesitated, then inclined her head. “Agreed,” she said, and StarWeb smiled.

“Then I shall return immediately to Ruen,” she said, “and put it to Maximilian. I am sure he shall agree.”

She rose. “At Pelemere then, my lady,” and with that she stepped to the window and lifted out into the gloomy sky.

Ishbel hoped she had done the right thing. She’d held out as long as she could, loathing StarWeb for her persistence, and for putting her, Ishbel, archpriestess of the Coil, into such a vile and humiliating position.

She hadn’t wanted to capitulate at all, but the Great Serpent had been so insistent the marriage take place…and if the only way that it was going to take place was to agree that it need not be ratified until she was pregnant, well then…

She had not been going to agree, but last night she’d dreamed that the Great Serpent had appeared before her, on his knees (if a serpent could manage such a feat), reminding her that the marriage must take place. It must. So much depended on it.

Shaken and worried, Ishbel had capitulated as far as her own pride would allow her.

Ishbel sighed, her hand creeping over her belly, hesitating, then making the sign of the Coil. She would be unable to get pregnant—if Maximilian thought he’d get an heir out of her then he would be sadly disappointed—because she’d given up all her reproductive abilities when she’d been inducted into the Coil.

Would it matter?

No, she decided. A civil marriage would still take place—the marriage would be legal—but the formal union between her and Maximilian, between their lands and wealth and titles, would never eventuate. A marriage with the man would surely be enough for the Great Serpent. It was all he had wanted. Surely.

Ishbel wondered if she even need bed with him. Perhaps she’d manage to find a way around that, as well.

A thousand leagues to the southwest, Ba’al’uz sat cross-legged in the open window of his chamber in the palace of Aqhat, staring at the great pyramid across the River Lhyl.

Tonight Kanubai communicated less in whispers than in shared emotion. There was seething resentment directed toward Isaiah, which Ba’al’uz could understand, given his own seething resentment of the tyrant, although he did not yet understand why Kanubai should also resent him so much—and with the faintest undertone of fear.

Ba’al’uz also felt a dark hatred at imprisonment from Kanubai, as well as a cold, terrifying desire for revenge.

The cold desire for revenge was something Ba’al’uz understood very well.

And there was something else, a formless worry, that Kanubai enunciated more in emotion than in words.

Every so often, though, a whispered phrase came through, although what Ba’al’uz was supposed to make of “The Lord of Elcho Falling,” he had no idea.

The Lord of Elcho Falling stirs.

There was more hatred and worry underpinning that phrase, and so Ba’al’uz decided that he would hate and fear the Lord of Elcho Falling as well.

He would kill him, he thought, should he ever meet him.