A Single Candle to Warm a Home

The pathetic drizzle that was cast from the sky like an unwanted pest settled coldly on the River Winding. It was the first rain the citizens of Citadel had seen in a month and a half, because, for a month and a half, the only precipitation that had fallen from the skies was soft sheets of snow. So it happened that, for a month and a half and only that, Lady Kathelind of Greenlond was allowed to grieve the death of her father in peace. She’d taken to walking alone in the cold, white forest just outside Grenadallon. When she was far enough from the grounds, sound would begin to fade until all that she heard was the soft pitter patter of snow settling on the already blanketed floor. Kathelind would sit there for hours at a time, relishing the sound of silence, willing her mind to become as empty as the air before her. That month and a half of forest dwelling was exactly what she needed, exactly what she deserved, and it was over far, far too quickly.
At the first sight of rain, the clergy was sending notices out to all of the notables of Farlond. Kathelind was, of course, visited by the Archbishop himself, who informed her the service would take place in just two hours. Time vanished after his announcement.
She sat under a canopy, gazing out to the River Winding, watching the mist glance over the surface. There were so, so many thoughts available to Kathelind then, but she only focused on one.
A drizzle, really? It was insulting. Any duke, especially a beloved one, shouldn’t be sent to Eathe in anything less than a certified downpour. And yet, there she was, watching drip after dismal drop sink into the river, knowing her father had been cheated of his life, and now he’d be cheated of his death, too. Were the powers in Farlond really that hungry for her land? Couldn’t they at least wait for a respectable rain? Were they really so cold-hearted?
Glancing at the ancient Archbishop Sewell, who was delivering a particularly lovely speech about her father, Kathelind tried to remind herself that it was not the old man’s fault the funeral had been held under barely qualifying conditions. To her left three seats sat the Duke of Galloway, a disagreeable, portly fellow with all of the age of a grandfather yet none of the wisdom, and next to him, the Duke of Harfellow, a man in his late thirties who might have been charming if he wasn’t trying to steal her land. The dubious duo had, in Kathelind’s mind, undoubtedly pressured Sewell into holding the service as soon as was possible. Lord Galloworn, in particular, had a lot to gain if Kathelind was deemed unfit to govern. His nephew had recently become next in line for the duchy by marrying her second cousin Lady Elysande. A perfectly fine woman, in her own right, even if she was incapable of holding intelligent conversation.
“As we remember the life of a beloved duke, let us not forget to send our thoughts and prayers to his only child, Lady Kathelind. Many of us know exactly how tough it is to lose one parent, and our dear Lady Kathelind, in her short lifetime, has lost both. See that she is treated well and kindly, and think of her when you pray.” Archbishop said diplomatically of her.
Kathelind nodded gently at the man, knowing he was simply trying to help. Like many who had thought fondly of her father, Sewell had taken on a paternal role where Kathelind was concerned. She didn’t mind, for the most part, as he did offer some comfort at times when comfort was needed, but for all that he did to play the father, the fact still remained: hers was dead.
Following that, Archbishop Sewell held her father’s urn of ashes out reverently towards the River Winding. “Let us bless these remains and pray they find their way to Eathe.”
Sprinkling her father into the river, Sewell led the attendees in the traditional Eathian funeral prayer, but Kathelind was far too busy trying to stop the tears from running down her cheeks to pay any mind to it. For many other ladies, it would be perfectly acceptable, expected even, that they cry at their father’s funeral. It was what many expected of Kathelind, too, and that was exactly why she must not.
Sniffing softly, Kathelind watched with morbid sereness as the service concluded. All her life she’d had her father to protect her and educate her, to allow her to live as she pleased and indulge her when she inquired about matters a woman simply should not be interested in. He’d spent his time with her grooming her, teaching her not how to be a duchess, but how to be a duke. He’d told her once how much she’d be tested and tried when he passed away, how difficult it would be, how she’d have to stay strong and stay smart in the toughest of times. But Kathelind, she’d felt so prepared, so educated before he died, she’d felt she could stand in the way of anything. Of course now, as she observed the passing of her father, Kathelind understood how vulnerable she really was.
The post service feast was everything Kathelind expected that it would be. She was tried and tried again by the upper class civilians who bothered her with faked apologies and condolences about her father. “Good morning, Lady Greenlee, so sorry to hear about Lord Grellorn, Lady Greenlee. You must be in such terrible agony, Lady Greenlee. Are you quite well, Lady Greenlee,” Was only a sampling of the sort of attention that she received. While there were a select few people who showed her genuine sympathy, for the most part Kathelind was under the impression the noblemen and noble ladies of Farlond were mostly pressing to see if they could manage to unravel her.
And why shouldn’t they, either? Kathelind didn’t play their games, she didn’t simper at balls or make small talk with marquesses. As point of fact, Kathelind made a concerted to effort to treat noblemen as another nobleman might, and, really, she avoided the ladies altogether. In only four years of being out in society, the recently named Duchess of Greenland had earned herself one of the most infamous reputations in at least a hundred years. That the gentry was forced to accept her and turn a blind eye to her masculine behavior only fueled their ever growing disdain.
“Lady Kathelind,” A somber voice called to her in a rare moment where she had managed to sneak away from the crowds. She was in the middle of downing a generous ration of wine, something she wasn’t too keen on people witnessing. “My deepest condolences. Lord Grellorn was the best of us, you know.”
Coolly, she turned to face her addressor. He was decidedly not a man she held in particularly high esteem. “Lord Harfellorn, I hope you will not take this poorly, but it is incumbent on me to remind you that I am no longer Lady Kathelind. You may refer to me as Lady Greenlee, instead.”
“Of course, Lady Greenlee.” He afforded her a small bow of his head. “Please forgive my lapse in judgement.”
Waving his apology off, she said, “Think nothing of it, Lord Harfellorn.”
“Now, Lady Greenlee, I know you must not wish to discuss politics on such a day--”
“Rather the contrary, Lord Harfellorn.” She countered. “All anyone will talk about is my father, it’d be nice to discuss something else.”
He laughed, albeit a little nervously. Kathelind was much franker than most, and had become well acquainted with awkward laughter as a result. Still, the Duke of Harfellow did not back down, much to his credit. “I imagine that would be tiring, yes. I remember my own father’s funeral. I, well, I didn’t have much patience to handle anyone then. You’re much better off than I was, I must say.”
Kathelind’s eyebrows shot up involuntarily at his kind comment. “So what is it you wanted to discuss, Lord Harfellorn?”
“As you may very well be aware, our duchies have never been the best of friends.” He acknowledged. “However, I bear you no ill will personally. Should you keep your title and land, I think it would be beneficial to us both to put this silly feud aside.”
For a man who had, in every other interaction she’d had with him, been the least confrontational of all the dukes, he was showing an incredible amount of straightforwardness. Kathelind would be lying if she said she didn’t appreciate it.
That said, he also had the gall to bring up the fact that her entire livelihood was up in the air, everything she’d ever worked for could vanish in the blink an eye. To make matters worse, Harfellorn was one of the men who’d decide if she got to inherit what was rightly hers.
“Very well, Lord Harfellorn.” She eyed him carefully, still unsure of his motives. Did he mean to convert her to his political party? Or perhaps he considered her joining the council an inevitability, and wanted to form an alliance, only to betray her and make her the fool. “I agree with you that this feud has run its course long enough.”
He smiled, clearly satisfied with her response.
“However,” She started, and the smile disappeared from his face. “You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t trust you, yet. Show me your good faith in the ways that you can, and perhaps we can strike an accord.”
Crossing his arms, the duke smirked at her. “Ever diplomatic, eh, Lady Greenlee? You are fair, fair indeed.”
“A paragon of justice, I am.” She replied dryly, inspecting the duke more closely than she had been previously. He was, unlike many others on the council, not a wholly unattractive man. Golden blond hair and amber eyes had once made him the heartthrob of Farlond. Much to the dismay of many a noble woman, the duke had not married, claiming fervor for his career prevented him from dedicating the appropriate amount of time to finding a wife. Curious how when Kathelind said the same thing with regards to her lack of husband, she was not lauded for it. She was rather labeled a spinster instead.
He chuckled softly, then opened his mouth as if to say something. It closed almost immediately as he focused on something, or rather someone, behind her.
“Well met, Calham.” Harfellorn said as the mage approached. His jovial expression faded instantly.
The man whom Harfellorn addressed, Archmage Calham Fallorn, was a person with whom Kathelind had been acquainted for many years, and yet never anything more than simply acquainted. He was a cold, sullen man who seemed to experience neither joy nor passion. Kathelind had always supposed this was on account of his apparent genius; the mage had somehow accomplished more in his twenty eight years than many men dreamed of accomplishing in a lifetime.
Raising an eyebrow, Kathelind observed the frosty interaction with no small amount of amusement. While she did not know the particulars of everything that happened on the Council of Dukes, she had heard that Calham had voted against Harfellorn in a recent meeting. She didn’t know what it was they’d been voting on, but supposedly Calham had been seen as the wild card, the vote to decide the tie, although that role technically lied with the king.
“Likewise, Oweyn.” The mage replied, voice icy and hard. Turning to Kathelind, he said, “I beg your pardon, Lady Greenlee, but I am to depart soon, and I wished to pay my condolences before disappearing.”
“Of course, Archmage.” She smiled at him politely. “Thank you for your thoughts.”
The mage pursed his lips and paused a second, perhaps wondering if he should say something else. He regarded her intensely for a moment before flicking his eyes over to Harfellorn, and decided that whatever he had to say, it was best not said in front of the duke. Calham nodded to her curtly before taking off.
Kathelind watched him walk away with a critical eye. Judging on expression, the mage seemed no different than he would any other day. Whether he was just so excellent at keeping his emotions hidden, or he really wasn’t bothered about the passing of her father, Kathelind didn’t know, nor did she care. His dispassionate attitude vexed her all the same.
She scoffed and looked to the ground before returning to Harfellorn’s attentions and
saying, “Apologies, my lord.”
“Nonsense, Lady Greenlee.” He smiled at her. “Calham’s quite… severe, I dare say.”
Raising her eyebrows in agreement, she replied easily, “You can say that again.”
“An unusual alliance, if you don’t mind me saying, Lady Greenlee.” He commented, causing her confusion.
“I’m sorry, Lord Harfellorn, I don’t believe I follow.”
“Calham and your father.” He explained, as if it were plain as day. “No one could have expected that, not in a million years.”
It was Kathelind’s turn to find her face harden. Maybe it seemed odd to Harfellorn, but then again, Harfellorn really didn’t understand anything about the relationship between Calham and her father. “They had well-aligned political goals.”
“Maybe at the end.” Harfellorn replied, skeptical of the verity of her statement. “What I don’t understand is how they became allies in the first place, Lady Greenlee.”
“A mystery to us all, Lord Harfellorn.” She replied coolly, hoping it would be enough to end the discussion. Fortunately for Kathelind, it was, and she was saved from having to converse on such a touchy subject any more. For as much as Harfellorn might misjudge the relationship Calham had with her father, Kathelind understood it quite well.

Clasping a delicate diamond necklace on, Kathelind stepped through the grand double doors into what was perhaps the most gorgeous room in all of Farlond, The Crystal Library. It was named so for its abundance of jeweled chandeliers that kept the reserve of books so well lit. Scholars from all over dreamed of paying a visit to the archives, if not for its magnificent beauty, then for its superior selection in tomes. Nowhere in the world was there as complete collection of histories as there was in The Crystal Library.
Kathelind, of course, having recently become the Duchess of Greenlond, was now the curator of The Crystal Library, which meant, unfortunately, having to handle bothersome scholars at the most inopportune of times. Thirty minutes was all she had before her gondola would depart for Citadel, which, on its own, wasn’t quite enough time for her to get her coiffure under control. Of course, then the Archmage had to go and request her presence, making her early afternoon far more stressful than it needed to be.
“Lady Greenlee, thank you for taking the time to see me on such short notice.” A familiar voice rumbled towards her like soft thunder as the man to whom it belonged turned to face her.
Looking at him, it as easy to see why many noblewomen made the mistake of considering Calham Fallorn attractive. He did, to give credit where credit was due, have wide set shoulders, flaming red hair, and keen eyes that, when they weren’t glaring at you, could be rather pleasing to regard. That mixed with his seat on the Council of Dukes made him one of the more eligible bachelors in Farlond, which is why many noblewomen made the sorry error of trying to flirt with the man. Fortunately enough for Kathelind, she’d met Calham well before she’d entered society, and had become acquainted with that severe aura and frigid gaze he so often donned before she’d even realized that boys did not, in fact, have cooties.
“It is nothing at all, Archmage. And please, call me Kathelind.” She smiled at him before curtseying. “We’ve known each other far too long for such honorifics.”
“If you wish.” He replied evenly, face a mask without emotion. “Call me Cal, then.”
“Of course, Cal.” She held her smile. With men such as the Archmage, it was important to never let them suspect you were bothered by their intensity. Kathelind was, of course, quite bothered, she’d always had been, but she would not lead him to believe so. “Now, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Firstly, I am here to return a book I borrowed before the passing of your father.” He gestured to a tome on the table next to him that Kathelind recognized. She’d remembered it for its peculiar cover, which was embossed with Aeschine. That, on it’s own, was not particularly exceptional, except that the silver tree was depicted with a full set of leaves. At the time she’d seen it, which had been when Calham and her father had been deep in conversation just three months ago, she’d wondered exactly how ancient it was to picture Aeschine so lush. “Secondly, I’d like to ask permission to freely use this library for my research.”
“Thank you for taking the time to return this book, Cal.” She responded. “It is greatly appreciated. As for the library, I don’t think that will be much trouble at all, providing you can do me a favor.”
Calham raised his eyebrow with a decidedly unamused expression to accompany it. Rumor had it that Calham, despite being on the Council of Dukes, had little patience for political games. “And what’s that?”
She laughed lightly, and albeit a little nervously at his display of disdain. Kathelind hoped he didn’t recognize the latter emotion for what it was. “I’d like your vote in today’s coming meeting.”
“Vote about what?” He asked, piercing eyes regarding her with scrutiny.
“About my seat on the council.” She said carefully. To her, it was just so obvious, but he looked at her like she might be the most foolish girl he’d ever met. Needless to say, Kathelind did not appreciate the glare.
A hot, angered blush settled on her cheeks before she could reign in her emotions.
“That vote has already taken place, Kathelind.” He stated.
“What?” She faltered, thrown off-guard by his announcement. “But the funeral was only yesterday. Has my fate already been sealed then?”
Crossing his arms, the mage leaned against a nearby table. “The vote was only to determine if you were allowed to hold control of the seat. We don’t want to bother arguing about the legal fallout if everything will just pass to that cousin of yours. It would be a moot point, really.”
“So I take it I get to keep my seat, then?” She raised an eyebrow, feeling triumphant. “The king wouldn’t have called the entire council to meet if everything was passing to my cousin.”
He nodded apathetically in affirmation.
Kathelind tried to reign in her smile, but it was hard. Of course retaining control of her seat was only the first battle, but it was a decidedly important one.
“Well, unfortunately, Cal, I don’t know that I can let you use my library if I don’t know what to extract from you in exchange.” She replied easily, still trying suppress her grin, feeling more self-assured than she had all afternoon.
The mage rolled his eyes in what had to be the most blatant display of emotion he’d shown the entire conversation.
“I have an idea, Kathelind.” He said evenly. “You’ll have to wait until after the meeting is over to see if my hunch is correct, but I suspect I can help you out in a way you’ll very much be needing.”
“My father always told me to be suspicious of favorable deals.” She countered. “If it’s something I’ll very much be needing and all you’re getting is access to the library, what am I missing?”
“My research is very important, Kathelind.” He said, as if that were enough explanation on it’s own. It wasn’t, but it did pique her interest.
“Pray tell, Cal, what are you researching?”
He stared coolly at her for a dead few seconds before replying, solemnly, “Cures for
lupus.”
Kathelind’s emotions spun on a dime. In truth, she should have known better, too. Conversations with Calham were never easy; he always tested her. Every time they met she was determined to keep her attitude upbeat, if only to prove she wouldn’t be brought down by that severe tone of his, that his glares had no effect on her even when they did. She’d been doing well enough, or at least as well as could be expected, but then he had to go and mention lupus.
Her face hardened almost immediately. “A noble pursuit, Calham.”
If Kathelind didn’t know better, she would have said his eyes softened, but that was definitely impossible. “I’m sorry, Kathelind.”
There was perhaps only one thing Kathelind could not stand from men more than condescension, and it was pity. The two were closely intertwined, but pity had the added insult of implying that she needed taking care of. Since her father had passed she’d felt increasingly more hurt by displays of pity because she needed the comfort, which meant that those arrogant men were right. What made Calham’s display of pity even worse than normal was that there was no arrogance in it, no condescension, just sympathy. And understanding. That she wanted to accept his compassion hurt her more than words could describe.
Turning her head to the side to break his eye contact, she focused solely on blinking back her tears. She would not cry before this man. He had come at a most inopportune time, he’d interrupted her preparations for an indescribably important meeting, and now he was threatening to make her cry. She would not.
“You are, of course--” She swallowed, scared by weak sound of her own voice. “Of course welcome to study such a charitable topic, Calham. Please register yourself with my conservator and follow the rules of the library, we can discuss the specifics of a deal at a later time. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to finish with my hair.”
“Kathelind, I...” He reached out as she began to turn for the door and caught her hand in his. His skin was warmer than she had expected from so cold a man.
Softly, she whispered, “It’s not your fault, Cal.”
He said nothing, but, fortunately, slowly let her hand slide from his. Once released from his grasp, Kathelind took off for her chambers, tears trickling down her cheeks despite herself.

“As first point of order, let’s all give a warm welcome and round of applause of our newest member on the council, Lady Greenlee, Duchess of Greenlond.” King Ialdir, a middle-aged, mustachioed fellow, smiled at her warmly before clapping generously.
“Congratulations, Lady Greenlee.” Lord Whithan smiled warmly at her from across the large oval table. They sat in the infamous Argument Hall, a room in the palace she had never before seen the interior of. Much to her disappointment, it wasn’t all that exciting a chamber.
“Thank you, Lord Whithan.” She returned his graciousness. After all, Whithan had likely voted in her favor. “You are too kind.”
“Your father would have been proud.” High General Havedon, a brusk man, who was everything you would expect from a military man of his standing, said in a tone that implied, he too was proud of her accomplishments.
Kathelind tried not to show her smile tighten at his statement, but was not sure how successful she was. “Thank you, General.”
“Kathelind,” The king started while putting on his reading spectacles, a move that made him look humorously scholarly. He regarded a paper in his hand with intrigue. “We’ve a couple of matters to iron out here today regarding your duchy and position on the council before we can continue onto other matters. I hope that is alright with you?”
“Of course, my king.” She replied evenly, knowing full well what to expect.
“Let’s get to it then.” He set down his paper decidedly. “Firstly, you’ll need to be getting married.”
There were only two reasons, as Kathelind could see, why the gentry cared that she be married. The first was that and unmarried woman in a position of power was the most dangerous sort of woman, and the noble class was hardly experienced at witnessing dangerous women in positions of power. The second was that there was only one way, excluding assassinations, for greedy noblemen to get their hands on her land, and that was through marriage.
Oddly enough, the reasons why a young duke should be married, to produce heirs, did not apply to her nearly as much. What did the Duke of Galloway care if she passed away with no heirs and her seat went to his nephew?
“If I may, your grace,” She proceeded carefully. “I should like to put forward the motion that I remain unmarried, for the time being, at least.”
“Oh?” The king raised a curious eyebrow, prompting her to continue. It was more encouragement than she thought she’d receive, so she went along with it.
“Yes, well, you see, we’re in a tenuous time, we are--”
“Which is why you should be married!” The Duke of Galloway started. “An unmarried woman running a duchy? Why, the gentry would have our heads!”
“If you’ll just let me--”
“Here, here.” The Duke of Sarsing agreed. “Far too improper. You are a lady of delicate breeding, Lady Kathelind, surely you understand.”
Clearing her throat, she retorted, “Lord Sarsedon, my title is no longer Lady Kathelind. It is Lady Greenlee now, as I am, lest you are unaware, Duchess and sole proprietor of Greenlond.”
The duke frowned at her reminder, but the king chuckled instead.
“As I was saying,” She continued, looking firmly at the king. “We’re in a tenuous time. We need undivided ruling decisions coming from Greenlond. You are all very well aware my lands are an important border against Channery, we cannot have two people making incongruous decisions about my duchy during wartime. It would be best if I remained unmarried. Fewer complications.”
“You make a convincing argument, Kathelind.” King Ialdir offered. “However, I’m afraid social upheaval of having an unmarried woman in a position such as yours might be worse than potentially divisive decisions regarding your duchy. My word is, ultimately, law when it comes to handling this expected war, but I can’t command the gentry what to think.”
While Kathelind wanted to counter his statement, she figured it best to save her energy, and the King’s patience, for matters she was more likely to win.
“Absolutely, your grace.” She agreed.
“Well, if that’s settled, I believe the more important question is how soon you must be married, Lady Greenlee.” The Duke of Harfellow chimed in. Despite the fact that Harfellorn had proven himself to be a decent, amiable man in the time that she’d known him, the truth was that Kathelind never fully trusted him, on account of the history between their families. The feud went back some time, having to do with her father denying his father a favorable trade deal, thus resulting in some economic crisis for the Harfellorns.
Lord Galloworn, Greenlond’s neighbor to the north, had sensed an opportunity to make an ally of Lord Harfellorn, and had helped the Harfellow duchy in it’s time of need. This would not have been much of an issue for Kathelind had it not been that Lord Harfellorn was her neighbor to the south, and together, Galloworn and Harfellorn had her sandwiched.
That said, where the Duke of Galloway had been scheming and slimey, the Duke of Harfellow had always shown her respect, something she could appreciate, even if she suspected he was trying to grab at her land.
“Indeed, Oweyn.” Lord Coventhan chimed in. “She cannot sit on the council unmarried for an extended period of time.”
“And how long is an extended period of time?” Kathelind wondered.
“How long were you hoping to have to find a husband, Kathelind?” The king asked.
“Six months, I think, would allow me such time as is necessary to find a proper--”
“Six months is far too long.” Lord Galloworn stated firmly.
“With all due respect, Lady Greenlee,” Lord Sarsedon started, “You’ve been in society for how long, now?”
“Four years, but I don’t see what that has to do with--”
“So you know all of the eligible bachelors then.” Galloworn barked, as if the statement proved his point. “Shouldn’t take you long to find one.”
“I may be acquainted, yes--”
“Lady Greenlee, you are currently the most marriageable gentlewoman in all of society.” Coventhan stated, almost coldly. “Proposals will be pouring in like the evening rain. I fail to see how you will need six months to select a husband.”
“I suspect it is not the amount of proposals Lady Greenlee is concerned with, but the quality.” Lord Whithan piped up, coming to her defense. As much as she appreciated the gesture, she didn’t want his help to earn the respect of her peers. “This is an exceptionally difficult decision she will have to make, and as such, she’ll be wanting to examine each suitor thoroughly.”
“By Eathe, Persefall.” Lord Galloworn exclaimed. “It’s not like she’s selecting from a band of ruffians.”
“Lady Greenlee does not want--” Calham started, but did not finish.
“Lady Greenlee,” Kathelind said firmly, struggling to work her way back into relevance. “Can speak for herself.”
A quiet settled in the hall as the Archmage’s eyes narrowed on her. Immediately she felt a pang of guilt for chastising him, but it was soon washed over with annoyance at his cold attitude.
“Given my status, there will be countless men out to marry me simply to gain control of my duchy and seat.” She stated. “In case you lords are not aware, I have no intention of relinquishing my seat or control of my duchy, and I do not wish to be usurped by a greedy nobleman. As such, it will take me time to sort through the men who only have eyes for power.”
“Kathelind, as much as I approve of your desire to govern your duchy,” The king started, “The only way we can prevent your future husband from having control over it is if he is not named the Duke of Greenlond.”
Lips tightening, Kathelind understood what he was saying although he had not expressly declared it. Her husband would undoubtedly be named the Duke of Greenlond.
“It can be a title, and title only.” She suggested.
“Forgive me for being crass, Lady Greenlee, but,” Harfellorn continued sheepishly, “If a man isn’t to gain a council seat or at least some control of your duchy, what is he to get by marrying you? What would set you apart from a baroness?”
“For one, I have a lot of money.” Kathelind folded her arms in protest. Even the more disagreeable dukes chortled at her comment.
“You do at that, Kathelind.” King Ialdir conceded, smiling warmly at her. “But I’d like to see you married to an earl at the worst, hopefully a marquess. You do understand that if you retaining sole ruling rights over your duchy, anyone above a baron in standing would actually be losing land, so to speak.”
“They’d gain prestige and wealth.” She argued. “Not to mention my son, when I choose to have children, would be a duke.”
“Kathelind,” The king offered her a pitying look that discomforted her greatly. “Your husband will have power over the duchy. The best I can do for you is offer equal footing, whereby you rule as partners.”
“I want to keep my seat.” She said firmly. “Sharing ruling rights with my husband might be inevitable, but I will not relinquish my seat.”
“That, I believe, we can work with.” The king smiled.
“Still haven’t solved the matter of how long.” Galloworn grumbled.
“Three months,” She ventured. “Would be fair.”
“Lady Greenlee, given that you have only been recently inducted into the Council of Dukes, you will be unaware of this, but I feel it serves us to alert you to the fact that time, now more than ever, is of the essence.” Harfellorn regarded her with soft eyes. “A war is coming, Lady Greenlee, and it would be best for us to settle this matter before we become entrenched in battle. Your land, as you very well know, provides a key border.”
“If you want unified ruling decisions regarding my land during war time, it would behoove all of you to let me remain unmarried.” She contended.
“We’ve already stated that is certainly out of the question.” Coventhan said firmly.
“Still, I don’t see why three months isn’t an appropriate amount of time, even if a war is eminent.”
“Unfortunately, Lady Greenlee,” The General piped up, “The war is more eminent than it would appear to the general populace.”
“Well how eminent is it, then?” She wanted to know.
“One month.” Calham’s dark voice nearly echoed in the hall. “That’s about as much as you can reasonably expect.”
Her eyes fell on the mage, scrutinizing him, but the man betrayed no emotion. She thought about protesting, arguing the point like she had everything else, but where the other dukes contended to force her into an unfavorable position, Calham was merely stating facts. The finality in his voice said as much.
“Fine.” She ground her teeth in frustration. “I will find a husband in one month.”
“I beg your pardon, Lady Greenlee, but as you have already stated, there is a lot at stake in your marriage.” Lord Sarsedon started. “Not just any nobleman will do, you understand.”
Oh, she understood. On multiple accounts, she understood. Not just any man would do for her purposes, in fact, hardly any men would do for her. But what Sarsedon was hinting at was something else entirely. Not just any man in the gentry would be accepted by the Council of Dukes. Even men in this very room had power to lose or gain by getting her to marry whomever they wanted her to marry.
“Rest assured, Lord Sarsedon, I will choose an upstanding gentleman with all the best intentions.”
“You are young yet, Lady Greenlee.” Galloworn observed, a devious twinkle in his eye. “And as we all know, young ladies are prone to being swept away by the passions of love. How are we to protect your duchy from being gotten by a rake?”
Blushing, Kathelind tried her best to reign in her rage. While she disliked that old, grumpy men had stakes in her marriage, even she had to admit there was a valid reason why they should care. But to use her age and gender against her to claim that she was not capable of making wise decisions when it came to men, well it was the sort of thing that were she a man herself, implying such things would be of the greatest insult. Yet, she was a woman, and so the idea that she might be charmed by a rogue or some such nonsense seemed totally reasonable.
“I can assure you, Lord Galloworn,” She started, with gritted teeth, “I am perfectly able to keep myself from being swept away by the passions of love, as you so aptly put it.”
“You will have to excuse myself, and my peers, I expect, if we do not completely believe you on that point.” He countered.
Well, she would not excuse him. She couldn’t say as much, either, despite how much she wanted to.
“Lady Greenlee has proven herself to be a rational, level-headed woman in her twenty-three years.” Calham began. “And as we all know, she was raised with the training and education a young duke would receive. I don’t see why we shouldn’t expect she will make an appropriate decision regarding her marriage.”
Calham’s defense of her character was as eloquent as it was needed. Although she’d rather not admit to it, Kathelind knew the dukes would respect Calham’s words more than her own, or at least could not dismiss them quite as easily. Why she found herself angry at Calham for his support, she wasn’t quite sure, but she couldn’t stop the piercing stare from flying his way regardless.
The mage continued to observe her coolly, dead eyes trained on her like they would never budge, but fortunately, no one else on the council seemed to witness their silent battle.
“As right as you are, Archmage, you are not as steeped politically as the rest of us. Surely you can understand the minutia about this dilemma here might avoid even your keen eye.” Coventhan observed.
“If I wasn’t steeped in politics, Iohn, I doubt I’d be on the Council of Dukes.” Calham countered pointedly.
His response drew a couple of chuckles, including a rather hearty one from the king.
“Flippant as always, eh, Calham?” King Ialdir commented.
“Simply stating the facts.” He replied coolly.
“Hah! Of course you are.” The king smiled. “Have to love the young ones, always have such vigor in their responses.”
While Kathelind felt she certainly fell under the umbrella of “responds with vigor”, she was not so sure she would apply the same descriptor to Calham.
“Regardless,” The king cleared his throat. “I’ve heard enough of your cases. Kathelind, I expect you are of perfectly sound mind to make this decision without oversight.”
She couldn’t help but let a smile crack.
“However,” He said in a voice she did not like one bit. “Who you marry is, as we all recognize, extremely important. As such, we will have to have a vote to approve your future husband. You will, of course, be allowed to vote yourself.”
“But, my king--”
“I’ve said my piece, Kathelind.” He cut in firmly. “A vote will be held. The question is, how many votes will be necessary to approve a husband?”
She fumed, silently, as the men continued the conversation without her.
“A majority, surely.” Galloworn stated as if it were obvious.
“No, I rather think that is too many.” The king contemplated. “There’s too much at stake politically to require a majority. She’ll never be married then. Three, I think, ought to do the trick.”
“Why, that’s only a third!” Coventhan exclaimed.
“Perhaps three is too few. Four, then?”
Harfellorn, much to her surprise, agreed with the king. “Four is reasonable. You are correct, my king, in thinking that a majority will never be reached. But four is manageable.”
“And what if, by the end of a month’s time, four votes for a single candidate has not yet been achieved?” Kathelind wanted to know.
“Each duke will nominate a man,” The king started. “And the man with the most votes, regardless of how many, will become your husband.”
Kathelind stared at him, aghast. “It is easier, then, for a duke to choose my husband than it
is for me! Can we not say that the nomination of mine with the highest number of votes by the end of the month wins?”
“Surely not, Lady Greenlee.” Coventhan argued. “You’d only need nominate one, and regardless of how many votes he should receive, he would become your husband.”
“More besides, Kathelind, you’ll be able to nominate a man yourself, at the end of the
month, if you still haven’t found one.”
She scoffed. “I think you are missing the point, your grace. Such a method allows men more choice over my husband than they deserve to have.”
King Ialdir chuckled at her frankness, which annoyed Kathelind. Even with matters as grave as her marriage, no one took her seriously. “I understand your frustration, Kathelind. My own daughter, Gwenleigh, she’s in a similar situation, you might recall. You, like her, might resent me for this decision, but, as much as I hate to say it, this is for the best. The decision has been made.”
Her eyes sank upon hearing the king’s declaration.
“Very well.” She conceded.
“Now, to clarify regards to your duchy and your seat on the council once you become a married woman,” The king began, “The seat will remain yours even after you marry. It will pass to your heir, once you name one, and then only when you choose to abdicate. As for the duchy, your husband will only ever have as much say as you where the land is concerned. Given that the duchy is yours by birthright and yet he will own the title, I do not think I can determine who will have more power than the other. We’ll call it equal ruling rights, for now, and should problems arise, bring them to the council and we’ll address them then.”
The other dukes nodded in confirmation, clearly thinking that the king had been just in his ruling. Kathelind too, deep down, knew that he was probably fair in his decisions; allowing her to stay on the council in the first place was unprecedented and put on display just how highly the king thought of Varn Grellorn’s only child. But she couldn’t help but feel like she would be walking out of the Argument Hall with less power than she had had coming in. What made the matter worse was that she felt she had done all that she could do secure her land, and even still, she would lose half to her infamous future husband, whomever he might be.
Stepping through the threshold of the Argument Hall into one of the great palace corridors, intent on just getting back to her home where she could wallow in a glass of fine wine, Kathelind could not help but feel that she’d failed her father. If only she were stronger, if only she were wiser, she would not be the one to relinquish the Greenlond name to someone undeserving.