Kings of the North - Elizabeth Moon [115]
Bells rang; trumpets blared; ahead of him the line edged forward. Another count-nominate—for the established county of Konhalt, whose count had been attainted as a Verrakai supporter—and two barons-nominate, both heirs of men who had died in the past year, waited with Arcolin. Behind each, a servant carried the court robe, carefully folded, and another held the staff with the nominate’s pennant showing the mark and colors.
When the nobles were all in place, ranged on either side of the hall, the nominates were led in by the Lord Herald in order of seniority. Duke Mahieran presented count-nominate Konhalt to the king and Council; when he had made his oath of fealty to the king, the king put on him the chain of office, kissed his forehead. When he stood again, the servant helped him into his robe, and Mahieran led him to his place in the row of counts, who moved aside for him.
Arcolin came next. Dorrin, as his sponsor, proclaimed him to the king and led him forward. He knelt, made his vows, received the chain of office and the kiss, and then felt the weight of the court robe on his shoulders. As he was the lowest-ranking count, only barons had to shift position to give him room.
The barons-nominate went through their investitures without incident, and when the king declared the ceremony over, they all moved on to the reception rooms. Arcolin had expected to find himself isolated among the other counts, but the dukes he’d met while carrying messages from Kieri all came to congratulate him.
“We need someone strong in the North Marches,” Duke Marrakai said. “Someone who knows the territory, who has troops already there. Of course we all have sons who might like a grant of their own, but you’re far more qualified than any of my brood.” From the emphasis, it was clear Marrakai thought his own brood more qualified than anyone else’s.
Arcolin felt out of place at first, but by the end of the day, being addressed as “my lord Count” and chatting with other counts and dukes as if he were, in truth, a noble of Tsaia, felt normal. He sensed no real hostility. For all the opportunity the North Marches offered, the dangers of its position next to Pargun, the history of orc attacks and invasions, meant that second thoughts had cooled the interest of many of the lords and their sons.
He could not help but notice another factor: barons, counts, and even dukes introducing their families to him, particularly those families including daughters of marriageable age and sons who might benefit from a few years as someone else’s squire. He was careful to give no immediate encouragement, but thinking ahead—Kieri had had squires, and they had been helpful. Dorrin had squires now, all dukes’ children. He would need squires. A wife, though … he was not ready to consider that. Though the girls, in their best court dress, were certainly lovely, he could not imagine any of them being content in the north while he was away in the south every year. As well, he did not yet grasp the undercurrents within the court; a hasty alliance could be disastrous for him and for his land.
His land. He thought that now without hesitation, automatically. His land, his people, his Company … his king, in that palace. He wondered when Kieri had felt it normal for the first time … Kieri had been younger and perhaps had imagined it before, as he himself had not. And how was Kieri coming to grips with a change every bit as great as his own? Had Kieri chosen a wife?
In the next few days, Arcolin dealt with the necessary business: the banker, the judicar, a courier to ride south and tell Burek what had happened and where he was going, another to ride north at least as far as the Duke’s—no, his—south border and