Courting

T HE MAER HAD NOT called on me for two days.

I was trapped in my rooms, and near mad with boredom and irritation. Worst was the fact that I didn’t know why the Maer wasn’t calling on me. Was he busy? Had I offended him? I thought of sending him a card along with the gold ring Bredon had given me. But if Alveron were testing my patience, that could be a grave mistake.

But I was impatient. I had come here to gain a patron, or at least some assistance in my pursuit of the Amyr. So far, all I had to show for my time in the Maer’s service was a profoundly flattened ass. If it hadn’t been for Bredon, I swear I would have gone frothing mad.

Worse, my lute and Denna’s lovely case were only two days away from becoming someone else’s property. I had hoped by this point to have gained enough of the Maer’s favor that I could ask him for the money I needed to get it out of pawn. I’d wanted him to be indebted to me, not the other way around. Once you owe something to a member of the nobility, it is notoriously difficult to work your way free of their debt.

But if Alveron’s lack of summons was any indication, I seemed to be far from his good graces. I racked my memory, trying to think of what I might have said during our last conversation that could have offended him.

I’d pulled a card from the drawer and was trying to think of a politic way of asking the Maer for money when a knock came at the door. Thinking it was my lunch come early, I called for the boy to leave it on the table.

There was a significant pause that roused me from my reverie. I hurried to the door and was startled to see the Maer’s manservant, Stapes, standing outside. Alveron’s summons had always been delivered by runner before.

“The Maer would like to see you,” he said. I noticed the manservant looked worn around the edges. His eyes were weary, as if he hadn’t been sleeping enough.

“In the garden?”

“In his rooms,” Stapes said. “I will take you there.”

If the gossiping courtiers were to be believed, Alveron rarely received visitors in his rooms. As I fell into step behind Stapes, I couldn’t help but feel relief. Anything was better than waiting.

* * *

Alveron was propped upright in his great feather bed. He seemed paler and thinner than when I’d seen him last. His eyes were still clear and sharp, but today they held something else, some hard emotion.

He gestured to a nearby chair. “Kvothe. Come in. Sit down.” His voice was weaker too, but it still carried the weight of command. I sat at his bedside, sensing the time was not appropriate for thanking him for the privilege.

“Do you know how old I am, Kvothe?” he said without preamble.

“No, your grace.”

“What would your guess be? How old do I seem?” I caught the hard emotion in his eyes again: anger. A slow, smoldering anger, like hot coals beneath a thin layer of ash.

My mind raced, trying to decide what the best answer might be. I didn’t want to risk giving offense, but flattery irritated the Maer unless it was done with consummate subtlety and skill.

My last resort then. Honesty. “Fifty-one, your grace. Perhaps fifty-two.”

He nodded slowly, his anger seeming to fade like thunder in the distance. “Never ask a young man your age. I am forty, with a birthday next span. You’re right though, I look fifty years if I look a day. Some might even say you were being generous.” His hands smoothed the bedcovers absently. “It’s a terrible thing, growing old before your time.”

He stiffened in pain, grimacing. After a moment it passed, and he drew a deep breath. A faint sheen of sweat covered his face. “I don’t know how long I’ll be able to speak with you. I don’t seem to be doing very well today.”

I stood. “Should I fetch Caudicus, your grace?”

“No,” he spat. “Sit down.”

I did.

“This damnable sickness has crept on me this last month, adding years and making me feel them. I have spent my life tending to my lands, but I have been lax in one regard. I have no family, no heir.”

“Do you mean to take a wife, your grace?”

He sagged against his pillows. “The rumor has finally gotten around, has it?”

“No, your grace. I guessed it from what you’ve said in some of our conversations.”

He gave me a penetrating look. “Truthfully? A guess and not from a rumor?”

“Truthfully, your grace. There are rumors, a whole courtload, if you’ll excuse the expression.”

“ ‘Courtload.’ That’s good.” He smiled a thin whisper of a smile.

“But most of it concerns some mysterious visitor from the west.” I performed a small seated bow. “There’s nothing of marriage. Everyone sees you as the world’s first bachelor.”

“Ah,” he said, his face showing his relief. “That used to be the case. My father tried to marry me off when I was younger. I was rather strong-headed about not taking a wife at the time. That’s another problem with power. If you possess too much, people don’t dare point out your mistakes. Power can be a terrible thing.”

“I imagine so, your grace.”

“It takes away your choices,” he said. “It gives a man opportunities, but at the same time it takes others away. My situation is difficult, to say the least.”

Over the course of my life I’ve been hungry too many times to feel much empathy for the nobility. But the Maer looked so pale and weak as he lay there that I felt a flicker of sympathy. “What situation is that, your grace?”

Alveron struggled to sit upright against his pillows. “If I am to be married, it must be to someone suitable. Someone from a family well-positioned as my own. Not only that, but this cannot be a marriage of alliance. The girl must be young enough to—” He cleared his throat, a papery noise. “Produce an heir. Several if possible.” He looked up at me. “Do you begin to see my problem?”

I nodded slowly. “Just the bare shape of it, your grace. How many such daughters are there?”

“A bare handful,” Alveron said, a hint of the old fire coming back to his voice. “But it can’t be one of the young women the king has under his control. Bargaining chips and treaty sealers. My family has fought to hold our plenary powers since the founding of Vintas. I won’t negotiate with that bastard Roderic for a wife. I won’t remit a grain of power to him.”

“How many women are beyond the king’s control, your grace?”

“One.” The word fell like a lead weight. “And that is not the worst of it. The woman is perfect in every way. Her family is respectable. She is educated. Young. Beautiful.” The last word seemed to come hard to him.

“She is pursued by a flock of love-struck courtiers, strong young men with honey on their tongues. They want her for every reason, her name, her land, her wit.” He gave a long pause. “How will she respond to the courting of a sick old man who walks with a stick when he can walk at all?” His mouth twisted, as if the words were bitter.

“But surely your position . . .” I began.

He lifted a hand and looked me squarely in the eye. “Would you marry a woman you had bought?”

I looked down. “No, your grace.”

“Neither will I. The thought of using my position to persuade this girl to marry me is . . . distasteful.”

We were quiet for a moment. Outside the window I watched two squirrels chase each other around the tall trunk of an ash tree. “Your grace, if I am going to help you pay court to this lady . . .” I felt the heat of the Maer’s anger before I turned to see it. “I beg pardon, your grace. I’ve overstepped myself.”

“Is this another one of your guesses then?”

“Yes, your grace.”

He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment. Then he sighed, and the tension in the room faded. “I must ask your pardon. This clawing pain wears my temper thin, and it is not my custom to discuss personal matters with strangers, much less have them guessed from underneath me. Tell me the rest of what you guess. Be bold, if you must.”

I breathed a little easier. “I guess you want to marry this woman. To suit your duty, primarily, but also because you love her.”

There was another pause, not so bad as the last one, but tense nonetheless. “Love,” he said slowly, “is a word the foolish use too often. She is worthy of love, that is certain. And I have a fondness for her.” He looked uncomfortable. “That is all I will say.” He turned to look at me. “Can I count on your discretion?”

“Of course, your grace. But why so secretive about it?”

“I prefer to move at a time of my own choosing. Rumor forces us to act before we are ready, or ruins a situation before it becomes fully ripe.”

“I understand. What is the lady’s name?”

“Meluan Lackless,” he said her name carefully. “Now, I have discovered for myself that you are charming and well-mannered. What’s more, Count Threpe assures me you are a great maker and player of songs. These things are exactly what I need. Will you enter my service in this regard?”

I hesitated. “How exactly will your grace be putting me to use?”

He gave me a skeptical look. “I would think it rather obvious for so excellent a guesser as yourself.”

“I know you hope to court the lady, your grace. But I don’t know how . Do you want me to compose a letter or two? Write her songs? Will I climb balconies by moonlight to leave flowers on her windowsill? Dance with her wearing a mask, claiming your name as my own?” I gave him a wan smile. “I’m not much of a dancer, your grace.”

Alveron gave a deep, honest laugh, but even through the joyful sound of it, I could tell the act of laughing pained him. “I was thinking more of the first two,” he admitted, sinking back into the pillows, his eyes heavy.

I nodded. “I’ll need to know more about her, your grace. Trying to court a woman without knowing her would be worse than foolish.”

Alveron nodded tiredly. “Caudicus can lay the groundwork for you. He knows a great deal about the history of the families. Family is the foundation upon which a man stands. You’ll need to know where she comes from if you’re to court her.” He motioned me closer and held out an iron ring, his arm trembling with the effort of staying in the air. “Show this to Caudicus and he will know you are on my business.”

I took it quickly. “Does he know you plan to marry?”

“No!” Alveron’s eyes flew open. “Do not speak of this to anyone! Invent some reason for your inquiries. Fetch my medicine.”

He lay back, closing his eyes. As I left I heard him speaking faintly: “Sometimes they don’t give it knowingly, sometimes they don’t give it willingly. Nevertheless . . . all power.”

“Yes, your grace,” I said, but he had already fallen into a fitful sleep before I left the room.

Date: 2015-02-03; view: 869