Post by Lisa on Jun 28, 2010 13:08:47 GMT 10
Title: Tangled Webs
Word Count: 3,060
Rating: PG
Summary: When Princess Vania comes to Mastiff, everything in Owen’s world changes.
Notes: This is a side-story to Out of Nothing at All, my 31_days fic. Rosie pointed something out that I had to play with a bit.
464 H.E. – Fort Mastiff
“I know you’re not happy about having new fighters to house and feed, my lord, but this war has dwindled down into something my groups are better able to handle.” The princess did not move her dark eyes away from Lord Wyldon’s, matching him in directness.
She looked a lot like her mother, Owen thought. So much so that other soldiers were wandering over to stare. He nudged one on his way once he noted the way Lord Wyldon was getting more and more irritated.
“And you’re commanding this group, your highness?” His former knight-master’s tone was icy.
“Second in command, my lord.” Even though she was matching his sternness frown for frown, it was impossible not to hear the pride in her voice.
And she had every right to be proud, Owen knew. Within three years of joining the Riders, this infamous princess had defied everyone’s expectations and had proven herself to be every bit as talented as her mother. Many had been shocked, in fact, when the king had allowed his youngest daughter to join the Riders. There were rumors that the Empress of Carthak had once wanted to train as a knight and was refused by her father, be it for political alliances or over-protectiveness. People couldn’t help but wonder why this daughter was different – if he was tired of forcing his hand, or if it was true that youngest children got everything they wanted. But Owen suspected it was her wide stubborn mouth and hard eyes demanding that she get what she wanted and deserved.
She actually put him in mind of Margarry of Cavall; they shared something in common. Most likely their willfulness.
“Are these the orders of Commander Larse, that you work from Mastiff?” Wyldon’s voice was still rigid. His frown had deepened. While anyone could see that he wasn’t pleased with this turn of events, no one knew as well as Owen exactly how displeased he was.
She nodded once and flipped her long, brown braid back over her shoulder. “Right now we’re spread thin, certainly, but I think we’ve got a better chance at picking off the fast-moving raiders than your men do.”
“That girl’s got her father’s silver tongue,” one soldier murmured loudly enough that everyone could hear. The corner of Princess Vania’s lips twitched ever so slightly, into the barest hint of a smile. Lord Wyldon, however, glared at the offending man.
“You,” he commanded, glaring. “Out.”
“There are only eight of us, sir, and we’re willing to bunk anywhere you can keep us.” Wyldon raised his eyebrows to alarming heights, but the princess shrugged him off. “We’ve camped in worse places on the way north,” she added.
“The princess can have my room,” Owen blurted. It was inappropriate that he should keep the room he’d had as a squire, anyway, now that he wasn’t at Lord Wyldon’s beck and call anymore. Well, not officially.
“I would appreciate that,” Vania said with a smile. “I’ll bunk there with two of the girls in my group, since I know some knights,” she glanced wickedly up at Lord Wyldon, “are still very conservative about men and women sharing combat quarters.”
Wyldon sighed and rubbed his temples. “I suppose I don’t have a say in this, do I?”
“You can complain to the general, my lord. He approved of this assignment.”
Owen knew that Wyldon would rather die than issue a complaint to anyone.
“That won’t be necessary.” His lips were pressed together in a tight line. “Owen, would you show her highness around the fort and to her new quarters? We’ll have the men housed in Rengar’s room.” He bowed gracefully to the princess.
With a quick nod, Owen led the princess through her new home, pointing out various important locations. “He’s a nice man. Really.”
“I know he is.”
“Have you had the pleasure of speaking with him before?”
She nodded, smiling. “He helped me with my shooting. It was a long time ago.”
“Must’ve been. He’s been away from the palace for the last five years.” He led her down the interior corridor to his room and opened the door. “I can have my things cleared out in a jiffy.”
“I really do appreciate the offer, Sir Owen. I haven’t slept in a real bed in at least seven months.”
He shuddered, drawing a girlish laugh from her.
“It’s not so bad. Have you gone soft up here in your cozy fortress?”
“Have you been on the road all this time?”
“Riders live on the road, traveling from town to town. While you fellows have been keeping the northern border safe, I’ve been traversing the southern parts of the country, assisting towns with bandit troubles.”
With a frown, he pulled began pulling his few personal belongings off of a shelf. “In the south, you say? Were you near Jesslaw? We have a history of bandits in the region.”
“We might’ve skirted the fief, but there was nothing in particular going on there,” she replied, dropping the bag that she had worn over one shoulder. It landed with a thud; she had a queen’s posture, carrying burdens without her shoulders rounding or her back slouching.
“I was planning on going back, once I got my shield, to rid the south of all bandits.”
Her intense brown eyes were locked on his, reminiscent of his former knight-master. “You should’ve become a Rider instead,” she said with a smirk.
“My mother wanted me to be a knight,” he said firmly. “She told me that just a few days before she was murdered. By bandits.”
The princess sat down on the bed, sighing. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
He liked that her voice was low and serious. He’d heard the queen speak on several occasions as a page, and her daughter had a similar pitch – one that made everything she say come off as very important and substantial. “It was twelve years ago,” he finally replied. “But thank you.”
“So what does one do for fun around here?” she asked, her wide mouth twisting into a smile that was almost feral.
“Chop up Scanrans,” Owen answered, collecting the last of his things and tossing them into his own traveling bags. He gave her a quick salute. He wouldn’t have been able to properly bow with his bags and, to be honest, she didn’t look like the sort who wanted to be bowed to.
“Thanks, Sir Owen.”
“Just call me Owen.”
“And please just call me Vania. I’m not a princess here – just another Rider.”
***
The princess threw Owen off kilter with her easy smiles and low-pitched laughter. Within a week of her arrival, they had spent their meager free time together, resupplying the Riders or simply sitting in her room, chatting about their goals and war experiences. A fairly solid friendship had developed between them, which he didn’t understand. He’d never felt comfortable around women, save Kel or Margarry. Vania was like both of them, with her practicality and her love of adventure.
One afternoon Owen was passing the common mess when he noticed the Riders grouped around one end of a table. They were eating and pouring over maps, and Vania was at the end closest to him. Soldiers who finished their meals would nod at the princess, offering a jolly salute as they passed.
“You know,” Owen whispered to her, “Lord Wyldon would prefer you ate in the officers’ mess.”
She gazed at him levelly over the heads of the other Riders. “This is the best time to meet. And riders, you might recall, are recruited from the common classes, for the most part. This group wouldn’t be allowed to meet with me if I took my lunch elsewhere.”
“Lord Wyldon would probably let you use his office while he’s out on patrol.”
“He doesn’t want us here enough as it is,” she replied, stepping away from the group for a moment. “It’s the same for every other Rider groups – we’re treated as burdens when our work does more help for the forts than any of their scouting missions.”
“Maybe it’s because you’re outside of the commander’s control, and follow no one’s orders but your own.”
“I follow the orders of Commander Larse.”
“And who does he respond to?”
“Generals and kings,” she said, flashing a triumphant smile. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to my work.”
“Sir Owen.” The cool, crisp voice was one that had the ability to make Owen jump to attention. Lord Wyldon stood in the doorway of the mess, frowning.
“Coming, sir.” When he’d reached Wyldon’s side, the two walked together a short ways from the mess hall.
“You’ve taken a keen interest and it won’t do.”
“Excuse me, sir?”
“Come. I have a missive for you,” Wyldon said, leading him to his office. Upon entering the small room, he gestured to the chair and closed the door.
Owen sat, feeling nervous. His former knight-master sat across from him, his face grim. Rifling through a stack of letters and reports, he pulled out a small, square folded letter that was stamped shut with the Cavall coat of arms. The sight of that sword-wielding dog made Owen’s heart skip a beat in anticipation.
“Should I give this to you?” Wyldon asked dryly, tapping the letter against his palm.
“Uh, come again, sir?”
“Princess Vania seems to like you very much. And as far as I can tell, you reciprocate these feelings. I’m not going to have you playing with my daughter’s heart.”
Owen blinked. “I’m completely devoted to Marga—”
“Lady.”
“Lady Margarry,” he finished.
“Have you made this clear to the princess?”
Heat rose to Owen’s face. “It hasn’t come up, my lord.”
“I suspected as much.” He handed him the letter, his action jerky and swift. He stood and crossed to the fireplace, his back to Owen. “I was under the impression that you both considered yourselves to be very much in love with each other.”
“We are.”
Wyldon turned to face him, his expression angrier than Owen had seen in years. “I will not have this, Sir Owen. I won’t have you dally with one girl while betrothed with another, especially if it’s my own daughter. I thought that you would become more responsible and reliable with the earning of your shield, but I also believed that trustworthiness would come along as well.”
A mixture of emotions washed over Owen – the greatest of which were guilt that he had not yet mentioned Margarry to Vania, even if he had no intentions toward the princess and shame that Wyldon thought so little of him. They had worked closely together for years, since Owen was just fifteen years old. He thought that after three years as his squire and three more years under his command as a knight, Wyldon would have gauged him better.
He turned the letter over and over in his hand, his beloved’s careful writing blurring in his vision. “My lord,” he began slowly, “I have no intention of losing the trust I’ve gained with either you or your daughter. While my conversations with Van—Princess Vania—have not reached the personal levels of talking about the lives we’ve left behind, you should know that the letter I sent just yesterday to Margarry told her our conversations’ content. I have no intention of deceiving anyone.”
Wyldon nodded curtly, his frown still deeply etched into his face.
“I understand your concerns,” Owen continued, “but I love your daughter and wouldn’t ever hurt her.”
***
He was on the wall for sentry-duty the next night when he got a chance to speak to Vania again. She looked tired and worn out – there had been a skirmish that afternoon for the Riders on their patrol – but he liked that she still made a point to help out around the fort.
“Have you ever… had suspicions that you were afraid to mention?” she asked, standing at his side. Her voice, normally so cool and even, shook.
“I’m not in love with you,” he blurted out, his face burning.
She stared at him as though he had grown a second head. “Well, that’s good to know, since I’m not in love with you, either.”
A part of him wanted to melt into the wall. “I’m sorry,” he said, wincing. “My lord was lecturing me about leading you on; I’m betrothed, and he thought my conversations with you had sent the wrong message to you.”
Her mouth, usually quick to smile, turned down. “Why would he…?”
“I’m planning to marry his daughter,” he replied quickly. “Next year, if we can.”
“He’s very protective of the things he cares about, isn’t he?” She stared into the night, her dark eyes fixed on something far beyond his range of vision. Perhaps on nothing.
“Yes.” Owen had fought with Wyldon enough in battle to see the way he looked after his men – especially Owen himself. “But – what were you talking about before? The suspicions you were afraid to mention?”
With a heavy sigh, she turned her back against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest. “Have you ever wondered if you… if you weren’t really who you thought you were?”
“What do you mean?”
“This can’t go beyond you and me,” she warned him. “Can you keep secrets?”
“I can try,” he replied weakly.
“I asked to be posted here.”
“Why?”
“Because I needed to learn more about Lord Wyldon.” She took a deep breath. “He was once close to my mother.”
This time Owen got to look at her as if she’d grown another head. “It was well known amongst the pages that he didn’t much care for the queen.”
“I’ve heard those rumors as well. But it doesn’t change the facts that I’ve heard from my own parents.”
“What do you mean?”
She swallowed before continuing. “I think – well, no, I’m certain that my mother had an affair with him. Before I was born.”
Owen was struck dumb. Lord Wyldon was an honorable man who loved his wife very much. In fact, he’d never seen a more loving couple than when he first returned to Cavall with his knight master. He told Vania as much.
“My mother has a handkerchief of his. It’s falling apart, it’s so old. But it has his initials embroidered on it.”
“Mabye it’s someone else’s,” he said, his voice breaking. “A friend from Carmine Tower, or Cormalian, or anywhere else in the realm.”
She shook her head. “Think about it, Owen. Why would my father let me join the Riders, instead of worrying about my potential state marriage, like he did with Kally? I’m the only one he hasn’t arranged a marriage for. If word got out that I wasn’t his child, it could ruin Tortall. So it’s safer to let me do what I want.”
“You have no evidence,” Owen whispered.
“I’ve searched Mother’s rooms,” she confessed, her voice low. “It was when I was searching for anything that I came across the handkerchief. My mother has no personal journal – it could be used against her, especially if she were relaying a love affair.”
“A lack of evidence isn’t the same thing—”
“Owen,” she cut him off insistently. “I heard my father say something to her once. It was when Lord Wyldon resigned – I was twelve years old, and Roald had just become a knight. Tensions were high and I don’t think he even realized I was there.”
“What did he say?”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to repeat it. It was one of their breakfast spats – when they have their occasional arguments they get cold and impersonal and say cruel things, trying to make the other react. Lord Wyldon was mentioned by Father in, well, a rather crude manner. And Mother didn’t deny it – she didn’t even react.”
“And you think he’s your father?” he asked incredulously.
She nodded. “It’s possible.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Look at me, Owen,” she urged.
He did so, and saw his knight master’s expression on her face, as well as his dark eyes and square jaw and even the slight cleft in his chin. He remembered that he had been reminded of Margarry when she first arrived, and he hadn’t known why. “This is just confirmational bias,” he whispered. “We’re looking for the similarities.”
“Have you met all of Lord Wyldon’s daughters?”
“Only two – his eldest and youngest.”
“You should meet Lady Cathrea,” she murmured. “She looks just like me.”
“She lives at the temple of the Mother Goddess,” Owen pointed out. “I can’t meet her if she doesn’t leave the grounds.”
“Trust me, then,” Vania said loftily, “because I saw her a year ago when I went there for a Midsummer service.”
Owen digested this information, trying to reconcile everything he knew about Wyldon with what he was hearing now. It made no sense – Wyldon loved Lady Vivenne, and he was a perfect family man. He was too noble to have an affair, let alone an affair with the wife of the man he’d sworn fealty to. But then he recalled the vagueness of his words from the day before: I won’t have you dally with one girl while betrothed with another, especially if it’s my own daughter, and his anger at the soldier who said the princess had her father’s way with words. “He knows,” Owen said in a low voice.
Vania’s face paled slightly. “I suppose I should talk to him, then.”
“Maybe it’s best to pretend you don’t know.”
“Owen, if he’s my—my father, I want him in my life as more than just a district commander.” She smiled nervously at him and squared her shoulders before walking away from his post. “And now’s a good a time as any to start that,” she said.
“Good luck,” he offered.
“Thank you. Just think, Owen – you’ll be my brother by marriage next year, though you and I are among the only ones who’ll know. Maybe after this war is over, we can hunt bandits together – as family.” With a jaunty salute, she walked away, heading toward Lord Wyldon’s quarters.
Owen turned back to look out over the wall, lost in thought. This was one conversation he wouldn’t be able to share with Margarry, and the idea of keeping such a secret made him feel ill at ease.
Word Count: 3,060
Rating: PG
Summary: When Princess Vania comes to Mastiff, everything in Owen’s world changes.
Notes: This is a side-story to Out of Nothing at All, my 31_days fic. Rosie pointed something out that I had to play with a bit.
464 H.E. – Fort Mastiff
“I know you’re not happy about having new fighters to house and feed, my lord, but this war has dwindled down into something my groups are better able to handle.” The princess did not move her dark eyes away from Lord Wyldon’s, matching him in directness.
She looked a lot like her mother, Owen thought. So much so that other soldiers were wandering over to stare. He nudged one on his way once he noted the way Lord Wyldon was getting more and more irritated.
“And you’re commanding this group, your highness?” His former knight-master’s tone was icy.
“Second in command, my lord.” Even though she was matching his sternness frown for frown, it was impossible not to hear the pride in her voice.
And she had every right to be proud, Owen knew. Within three years of joining the Riders, this infamous princess had defied everyone’s expectations and had proven herself to be every bit as talented as her mother. Many had been shocked, in fact, when the king had allowed his youngest daughter to join the Riders. There were rumors that the Empress of Carthak had once wanted to train as a knight and was refused by her father, be it for political alliances or over-protectiveness. People couldn’t help but wonder why this daughter was different – if he was tired of forcing his hand, or if it was true that youngest children got everything they wanted. But Owen suspected it was her wide stubborn mouth and hard eyes demanding that she get what she wanted and deserved.
She actually put him in mind of Margarry of Cavall; they shared something in common. Most likely their willfulness.
“Are these the orders of Commander Larse, that you work from Mastiff?” Wyldon’s voice was still rigid. His frown had deepened. While anyone could see that he wasn’t pleased with this turn of events, no one knew as well as Owen exactly how displeased he was.
She nodded once and flipped her long, brown braid back over her shoulder. “Right now we’re spread thin, certainly, but I think we’ve got a better chance at picking off the fast-moving raiders than your men do.”
“That girl’s got her father’s silver tongue,” one soldier murmured loudly enough that everyone could hear. The corner of Princess Vania’s lips twitched ever so slightly, into the barest hint of a smile. Lord Wyldon, however, glared at the offending man.
“You,” he commanded, glaring. “Out.”
“There are only eight of us, sir, and we’re willing to bunk anywhere you can keep us.” Wyldon raised his eyebrows to alarming heights, but the princess shrugged him off. “We’ve camped in worse places on the way north,” she added.
“The princess can have my room,” Owen blurted. It was inappropriate that he should keep the room he’d had as a squire, anyway, now that he wasn’t at Lord Wyldon’s beck and call anymore. Well, not officially.
“I would appreciate that,” Vania said with a smile. “I’ll bunk there with two of the girls in my group, since I know some knights,” she glanced wickedly up at Lord Wyldon, “are still very conservative about men and women sharing combat quarters.”
Wyldon sighed and rubbed his temples. “I suppose I don’t have a say in this, do I?”
“You can complain to the general, my lord. He approved of this assignment.”
Owen knew that Wyldon would rather die than issue a complaint to anyone.
“That won’t be necessary.” His lips were pressed together in a tight line. “Owen, would you show her highness around the fort and to her new quarters? We’ll have the men housed in Rengar’s room.” He bowed gracefully to the princess.
With a quick nod, Owen led the princess through her new home, pointing out various important locations. “He’s a nice man. Really.”
“I know he is.”
“Have you had the pleasure of speaking with him before?”
She nodded, smiling. “He helped me with my shooting. It was a long time ago.”
“Must’ve been. He’s been away from the palace for the last five years.” He led her down the interior corridor to his room and opened the door. “I can have my things cleared out in a jiffy.”
“I really do appreciate the offer, Sir Owen. I haven’t slept in a real bed in at least seven months.”
He shuddered, drawing a girlish laugh from her.
“It’s not so bad. Have you gone soft up here in your cozy fortress?”
“Have you been on the road all this time?”
“Riders live on the road, traveling from town to town. While you fellows have been keeping the northern border safe, I’ve been traversing the southern parts of the country, assisting towns with bandit troubles.”
With a frown, he pulled began pulling his few personal belongings off of a shelf. “In the south, you say? Were you near Jesslaw? We have a history of bandits in the region.”
“We might’ve skirted the fief, but there was nothing in particular going on there,” she replied, dropping the bag that she had worn over one shoulder. It landed with a thud; she had a queen’s posture, carrying burdens without her shoulders rounding or her back slouching.
“I was planning on going back, once I got my shield, to rid the south of all bandits.”
Her intense brown eyes were locked on his, reminiscent of his former knight-master. “You should’ve become a Rider instead,” she said with a smirk.
“My mother wanted me to be a knight,” he said firmly. “She told me that just a few days before she was murdered. By bandits.”
The princess sat down on the bed, sighing. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
He liked that her voice was low and serious. He’d heard the queen speak on several occasions as a page, and her daughter had a similar pitch – one that made everything she say come off as very important and substantial. “It was twelve years ago,” he finally replied. “But thank you.”
“So what does one do for fun around here?” she asked, her wide mouth twisting into a smile that was almost feral.
“Chop up Scanrans,” Owen answered, collecting the last of his things and tossing them into his own traveling bags. He gave her a quick salute. He wouldn’t have been able to properly bow with his bags and, to be honest, she didn’t look like the sort who wanted to be bowed to.
“Thanks, Sir Owen.”
“Just call me Owen.”
“And please just call me Vania. I’m not a princess here – just another Rider.”
***
The princess threw Owen off kilter with her easy smiles and low-pitched laughter. Within a week of her arrival, they had spent their meager free time together, resupplying the Riders or simply sitting in her room, chatting about their goals and war experiences. A fairly solid friendship had developed between them, which he didn’t understand. He’d never felt comfortable around women, save Kel or Margarry. Vania was like both of them, with her practicality and her love of adventure.
One afternoon Owen was passing the common mess when he noticed the Riders grouped around one end of a table. They were eating and pouring over maps, and Vania was at the end closest to him. Soldiers who finished their meals would nod at the princess, offering a jolly salute as they passed.
“You know,” Owen whispered to her, “Lord Wyldon would prefer you ate in the officers’ mess.”
She gazed at him levelly over the heads of the other Riders. “This is the best time to meet. And riders, you might recall, are recruited from the common classes, for the most part. This group wouldn’t be allowed to meet with me if I took my lunch elsewhere.”
“Lord Wyldon would probably let you use his office while he’s out on patrol.”
“He doesn’t want us here enough as it is,” she replied, stepping away from the group for a moment. “It’s the same for every other Rider groups – we’re treated as burdens when our work does more help for the forts than any of their scouting missions.”
“Maybe it’s because you’re outside of the commander’s control, and follow no one’s orders but your own.”
“I follow the orders of Commander Larse.”
“And who does he respond to?”
“Generals and kings,” she said, flashing a triumphant smile. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to my work.”
“Sir Owen.” The cool, crisp voice was one that had the ability to make Owen jump to attention. Lord Wyldon stood in the doorway of the mess, frowning.
“Coming, sir.” When he’d reached Wyldon’s side, the two walked together a short ways from the mess hall.
“You’ve taken a keen interest and it won’t do.”
“Excuse me, sir?”
“Come. I have a missive for you,” Wyldon said, leading him to his office. Upon entering the small room, he gestured to the chair and closed the door.
Owen sat, feeling nervous. His former knight-master sat across from him, his face grim. Rifling through a stack of letters and reports, he pulled out a small, square folded letter that was stamped shut with the Cavall coat of arms. The sight of that sword-wielding dog made Owen’s heart skip a beat in anticipation.
“Should I give this to you?” Wyldon asked dryly, tapping the letter against his palm.
“Uh, come again, sir?”
“Princess Vania seems to like you very much. And as far as I can tell, you reciprocate these feelings. I’m not going to have you playing with my daughter’s heart.”
Owen blinked. “I’m completely devoted to Marga—”
“Lady.”
“Lady Margarry,” he finished.
“Have you made this clear to the princess?”
Heat rose to Owen’s face. “It hasn’t come up, my lord.”
“I suspected as much.” He handed him the letter, his action jerky and swift. He stood and crossed to the fireplace, his back to Owen. “I was under the impression that you both considered yourselves to be very much in love with each other.”
“We are.”
Wyldon turned to face him, his expression angrier than Owen had seen in years. “I will not have this, Sir Owen. I won’t have you dally with one girl while betrothed with another, especially if it’s my own daughter. I thought that you would become more responsible and reliable with the earning of your shield, but I also believed that trustworthiness would come along as well.”
A mixture of emotions washed over Owen – the greatest of which were guilt that he had not yet mentioned Margarry to Vania, even if he had no intentions toward the princess and shame that Wyldon thought so little of him. They had worked closely together for years, since Owen was just fifteen years old. He thought that after three years as his squire and three more years under his command as a knight, Wyldon would have gauged him better.
He turned the letter over and over in his hand, his beloved’s careful writing blurring in his vision. “My lord,” he began slowly, “I have no intention of losing the trust I’ve gained with either you or your daughter. While my conversations with Van—Princess Vania—have not reached the personal levels of talking about the lives we’ve left behind, you should know that the letter I sent just yesterday to Margarry told her our conversations’ content. I have no intention of deceiving anyone.”
Wyldon nodded curtly, his frown still deeply etched into his face.
“I understand your concerns,” Owen continued, “but I love your daughter and wouldn’t ever hurt her.”
***
He was on the wall for sentry-duty the next night when he got a chance to speak to Vania again. She looked tired and worn out – there had been a skirmish that afternoon for the Riders on their patrol – but he liked that she still made a point to help out around the fort.
“Have you ever… had suspicions that you were afraid to mention?” she asked, standing at his side. Her voice, normally so cool and even, shook.
“I’m not in love with you,” he blurted out, his face burning.
She stared at him as though he had grown a second head. “Well, that’s good to know, since I’m not in love with you, either.”
A part of him wanted to melt into the wall. “I’m sorry,” he said, wincing. “My lord was lecturing me about leading you on; I’m betrothed, and he thought my conversations with you had sent the wrong message to you.”
Her mouth, usually quick to smile, turned down. “Why would he…?”
“I’m planning to marry his daughter,” he replied quickly. “Next year, if we can.”
“He’s very protective of the things he cares about, isn’t he?” She stared into the night, her dark eyes fixed on something far beyond his range of vision. Perhaps on nothing.
“Yes.” Owen had fought with Wyldon enough in battle to see the way he looked after his men – especially Owen himself. “But – what were you talking about before? The suspicions you were afraid to mention?”
With a heavy sigh, she turned her back against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest. “Have you ever wondered if you… if you weren’t really who you thought you were?”
“What do you mean?”
“This can’t go beyond you and me,” she warned him. “Can you keep secrets?”
“I can try,” he replied weakly.
“I asked to be posted here.”
“Why?”
“Because I needed to learn more about Lord Wyldon.” She took a deep breath. “He was once close to my mother.”
This time Owen got to look at her as if she’d grown another head. “It was well known amongst the pages that he didn’t much care for the queen.”
“I’ve heard those rumors as well. But it doesn’t change the facts that I’ve heard from my own parents.”
“What do you mean?”
She swallowed before continuing. “I think – well, no, I’m certain that my mother had an affair with him. Before I was born.”
Owen was struck dumb. Lord Wyldon was an honorable man who loved his wife very much. In fact, he’d never seen a more loving couple than when he first returned to Cavall with his knight master. He told Vania as much.
“My mother has a handkerchief of his. It’s falling apart, it’s so old. But it has his initials embroidered on it.”
“Mabye it’s someone else’s,” he said, his voice breaking. “A friend from Carmine Tower, or Cormalian, or anywhere else in the realm.”
She shook her head. “Think about it, Owen. Why would my father let me join the Riders, instead of worrying about my potential state marriage, like he did with Kally? I’m the only one he hasn’t arranged a marriage for. If word got out that I wasn’t his child, it could ruin Tortall. So it’s safer to let me do what I want.”
“You have no evidence,” Owen whispered.
“I’ve searched Mother’s rooms,” she confessed, her voice low. “It was when I was searching for anything that I came across the handkerchief. My mother has no personal journal – it could be used against her, especially if she were relaying a love affair.”
“A lack of evidence isn’t the same thing—”
“Owen,” she cut him off insistently. “I heard my father say something to her once. It was when Lord Wyldon resigned – I was twelve years old, and Roald had just become a knight. Tensions were high and I don’t think he even realized I was there.”
“What did he say?”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to repeat it. It was one of their breakfast spats – when they have their occasional arguments they get cold and impersonal and say cruel things, trying to make the other react. Lord Wyldon was mentioned by Father in, well, a rather crude manner. And Mother didn’t deny it – she didn’t even react.”
“And you think he’s your father?” he asked incredulously.
She nodded. “It’s possible.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Look at me, Owen,” she urged.
He did so, and saw his knight master’s expression on her face, as well as his dark eyes and square jaw and even the slight cleft in his chin. He remembered that he had been reminded of Margarry when she first arrived, and he hadn’t known why. “This is just confirmational bias,” he whispered. “We’re looking for the similarities.”
“Have you met all of Lord Wyldon’s daughters?”
“Only two – his eldest and youngest.”
“You should meet Lady Cathrea,” she murmured. “She looks just like me.”
“She lives at the temple of the Mother Goddess,” Owen pointed out. “I can’t meet her if she doesn’t leave the grounds.”
“Trust me, then,” Vania said loftily, “because I saw her a year ago when I went there for a Midsummer service.”
Owen digested this information, trying to reconcile everything he knew about Wyldon with what he was hearing now. It made no sense – Wyldon loved Lady Vivenne, and he was a perfect family man. He was too noble to have an affair, let alone an affair with the wife of the man he’d sworn fealty to. But then he recalled the vagueness of his words from the day before: I won’t have you dally with one girl while betrothed with another, especially if it’s my own daughter, and his anger at the soldier who said the princess had her father’s way with words. “He knows,” Owen said in a low voice.
Vania’s face paled slightly. “I suppose I should talk to him, then.”
“Maybe it’s best to pretend you don’t know.”
“Owen, if he’s my—my father, I want him in my life as more than just a district commander.” She smiled nervously at him and squared her shoulders before walking away from his post. “And now’s a good a time as any to start that,” she said.
“Good luck,” he offered.
“Thank you. Just think, Owen – you’ll be my brother by marriage next year, though you and I are among the only ones who’ll know. Maybe after this war is over, we can hunt bandits together – as family.” With a jaunty salute, she walked away, heading toward Lord Wyldon’s quarters.
Owen turned back to look out over the wall, lost in thought. This was one conversation he wouldn’t be able to share with Margarry, and the idea of keeping such a secret made him feel ill at ease.