Kings of the North - Elizabeth Moon [114]
“I’m sure you did well,” Arcolin said, still struggling with his mixture of relief in Stammel’s recovery and fear of her power.
“Like a puppet,” Dorrin said. “I wore what they told me, went where they told me, said what the others said. Falk’s honor—it was terrifying at first, but then I realized more than half of them were scared of me. A Verrakai. Born magelord, using magery—they had to know that, just as I’d had the prince’s permission to use it. And then the aftermath—” She explained about the attack she had foiled and the king’s pardon. It did not make Arcolin any more comfortable. “It’s better now,” she said, “You’ve noticed my senior squire; he’s the king’s cousin. The king’s pressured them to accept me, but most are still so formal. I’ve missed you, Jandelir. The way we could talk, back north or in camp. I have no one like that now.”
“I’ve missed you and Cracolnya both—and at least I’ve still got Cracolnya. It’s not good, your being so alone. Will you marry?”
“Marry! Falk’s Oath, no! Why would I? I’m too old to bear a child, and don’t want to anyway. Ganarrion—distant cousin, cleared of treason and now back with the Royal Guard—will be my heir. I don’t want more complications, but I’d like someone—someone I can trust absolutely, who was never under Verrakai control—just to talk with. My people are improving, but they were ruled by blood magic for years. I have Selfer and my squires, but …”
“And I wanted to talk to you about that,” Arcolin said. “Selfer and that cohort. It’s rightly mine now, you know.”
She stared. “I hadn’t thought of that. You’re right; if you’ve got the Company, then that cohort is yours. I’ve been paying—could I just hire them?”
Arcolin shook his head. “I need more force in the south, Dorrin. The way things are down there, one cohort is too weak, and gives me too little flexibility. There’s plenty of work, but for larger units. Trying to find and replace a whole cohort this winter? No. I need them back … unless it’s critical for you.”
“No—though I trust them more than my own militia, my militia’s improved by having their example. I’ll miss … it’s my last connection to my whole life, Arcolin.”
“If a veteran wants to stay with you, I won’t argue,” Arcolin said. “Except Selfer—I can’t afford to lose a captain.”
“He wants to get back to the Company,” Dorrin said. “He asked for leave to spend Midwinter Feast up north. You have lost Siger already, though. Once we got to Chaya, he told Kieri he wanted to stay. He came from Lyonya originally.”
“I knew that but hadn’t thought of it in years. I’ll miss him,” Arcolin said. “He was with Kieri before I was. But there’s still Hofrin. And Stammel’s success with crossbows suggests to me that we could expand the archery units into the regular infantry.”
“Well, back to your court appearance,” Dorrin said. “Let’s see how well Kieri’s things fit you, while I explain the ritual.”
“Do I have to bow to you because you’re a duke?”
“No. But you do have to defer. And you do have to understand the argument that’s ended with you being made a count instead of a duke.”
“A count? I thought I’d start as baron.”
“The North Marches are too big and too important to be a baron’s grant. In fact, by size and position, it should be a dukedom, as it was. But because you’re still an unknown quantity to most of these people, and the population’s small, they’re unwilling to go that far. Count’s the middle choice. That means you won’t have to take the sleeves off Kieri’s count’s robe. Be glad it’s the Autumn Court, not Midsummer—I nearly suffocated in a ducal robe.”
“But—ribbons at the knee?”
“Kieri did it. You can too.”
The thought of Kieri Phelan in court dress with short breeches, ribbons at his knees, and those ridiculous court shoes … Arcolin wished he’d seen it.
His own appearance in court went more smoothly