“What of him?” Lucan asked. Master Saltner wasn’t even in Silvergate. He’d handed the affairs of the town to his son and headed a caravan of great importance to the west.
“I’ve gotten word that he has been conspiring with The Yellow Parchment guild,” Thomas said. “They are swallowing up the council seats in the Merchant House.”
Lucan cocked his head. “How?” The Yellow Parchments were their allies in the canal undertaking, though they were third to The Golden Wheel and The Blue Guild. It was odd, though not unexpected, for them to be making waves in Silvergate.
“There are many friendships and alliances among the wealthiest merchants like your lawfather and the guilds,” Thomas said. “It seems Master Saltner and The Yellow Parchments have garnered some agreement from said allies. The only resistance they face in the council now is from The Golden Wheel, who are trying to hold on to some seats. Small merchants are otherwise being driven out.”
Lucan nodded slowly. He took a moment to think, then his eyes settled on Thomas again. “Is Ainsley in Silvergate?”
“Ainsley Rooklet?” Thomas said with a quirked brow. Upon Lucan’s nod, he answered, “I believe he is in Silvergate.”
Lucan nodded and pointed a finger. “Summon him.”
Still perplexed, Thomas nodded.
It wasn’t long before Lucan’s friend was brought before him. The young merchant looked better than he’d ever seen him, dressed in a bright blue tunic over a hose. A fine leather belt cinched his waist, and Lucan noted the two gold rings that now adorned his hand. Ainsley had been doing well for himself, it seemed.
“My lord.” The young merchant bowed.
“Ainsley, my friend,” Lucan said, gesturing for him to be at ease. “I’ve summoned you here for a matter pertaining to the Merchant House.”
“Command me, my lord.”
“You do not have to be so formal, my friend,” Lucan said, pointing for him to step closer to the table. “I have heard of a matter in the Merchant House that has to do with my lawfather and one of the guilds.” Lucan went on to explain what Thomas had told him, waiting for Ainsley to ascertain it.
“Indeed,” Ainsley said. “That is the truth. I’d thought that it was what you wanted, Lord Lucan.”
“It is not,” Lucan said simply. “I want you to rally all the good merchants such as yourself and begin vying for seats. Thomas here,” he gestured for the steward to step forward, “will bring you to the Wheel’s emissary in Silvergate. Ally yourself with him if you must. What I want in my Merchant House, Ainsley, is balance. Regardless of who upsets this balance, they would never be doing it on my behalf.”
Ainsley nodded. “I understand, my lord.”
Lucan gave him his leave, and Thomas followed the merchant out, and as the latter was leaving, Lucan gestured for him to return, and the steward nodded. This whole affair could become rather ugly if he tried to amend it rashly. If he was too heavy-handed, then the perceived freedom of the Merchant House could be damaged, and that would ruin years of efforts.
He had some time to think, but soon, the old steward came back.
“I want you to go to Bartram Saltner,” Lucan told him. Lilian’s older brother was the one handling the Saltner affairs in Silvergate for the time being. “Tell him that I gave them the seat at the head of the Merchant House’s table and that I can take it back. I will have no scheming and plotting in my estate, or I will find another master for the House.”
Thomas gave him a simple nod, and Lucan knew it would be done.
The steward departed, and Lucan had some time to ponder the affairs of the estate. There were still too many uncertainties for his liking. The lack of canal laborers. A pretender that may come for the Ardens at any time. And the war in the north.
Cordell’s arrival interrupted his thoughts.
“Have you spoken to him?”
The sergeant-at-arms nodded. Lucan had sent him to discuss the particulars with Sir Sarin. “He doesn’t know the precise number of men that the pretender can raise against us. It seems that it would be decided by how many his overlord can gather without weakening his fronts against his enemies in the Shattered Kingdom.”
“Ah.” Lucan rubbed his chin. “So he has other fronts to keep in mind. That makes matters simpler.”
“Not quite, my lord,” Cordell said with a wry smile. “It appears that the pretender’s liege has been finding common grounds with his neighbors and former enemies as of late. His forces will soon be freed from most of their entanglements.”
Lucan narrowed his eyes. As of late, he thought. He did not know why, but he smelled a certain royal. Somehow, the princess’s fingers had reached the Shattered Kingdom, and every day, there was further proof that she was way too keen on the Ardens’ affairs. The question that remained now was, why did she wish for their fall? If she was indeed conspiring with the pretender, what was her purpose?
“Very well,” Lucan said. “At such a time as this, we can only prepare for war.”
Cordell nodded, and Lucan soon gave him, too, his leave.
In the dark cellar of the keep, a side chamber had been emptied save for a chair. The purpose of the chair was to hold one young man, a certain miller. His eyes were covered by a thick black cloth. His hands were tied to the chair. And the only company he had was one man and one woman.
Lucan and Lyanna.
He did not know that, however. He only knew what he was told.
Lucan cocked his head questioningly, and Lyanna nodded. He stepped forward, gripping the miller’s shoulder with a tight fist.
The man shuddered. “M-m’lord, I swear–”
“Hush,” Lucan said, his grip still tight on his shoulder. He waited until it was numb, then removed it, and Lyanna silently stepped forward, placing her hand in his stead.
“Now,” Lucan continued. “You will answer my questions.”
“Ye-yes, m’lord,” the miller sputtered, spittle stringing down to his thighs.
“What is your profession?”
“I am a miller, m’lord.”
Lyanna nodded. Truth.
“And if I wished for you to be a blacksmith.”
“Then I would follow your command, m’lord!”
Lucan felt somewhat unsettled by how terrified the young man was, but if his accuser was truthful, then he’d deserve more than what he’d gotten till now. “Again then, what is your profession?”
“A blacksmith, m’lord.”
Lyanna shook her head. Lie.
“Good,” Lucan said. In truth, he still had some doubts about Lyanna’s Skill even if he believed her, and he’d at least wished that she’d ascertain her own means before they began.
“Your name?”
“Yacob, m’lord.”
“You must be truthful with me, Yacob.”
“I-I swear, m’lord, I do not lie.”
“Then tell me,” Lucan said. “Did you take Narya, daughter of the weaver, against her will?”
“No, m’lord,” the miller nearly screamed. “She was willing, I swear! I swear!”
Lucan eyed Lyanna, who only paused for a moment before giving him a firm nod. Truth.
Lucan suppressed a sigh. This complicated matters somewhat, even if it was a relief. Rapers demanded certain measures of punishment. Not only that, in the villages, it was rare to see, and if it had truly happened, it would have filled Twinstead with uncertainty. Every man, woman, and child in the village knew each other, even as its boundaries expanded. Should such a heinous crime occur between its inhabitants, it would shake the village’s foundation. Impropriety wasn’t uncommon in such settlements, even infidelity sometimes. However, rape was the sort of violence they rarely saw.
“How do you know the girl then, Yacob?”
“She has been my lover for two years, m’lord.”
Lyanna nodded. Truth again.
“If so, why then would she accuse you of such a crime?” Lucan asked, perplexed.
Yacob stuttered over his words, hemming and hawing for a few moments, before Lucan lost his patience.
“Speak!”
“She-she expected me to wed her, m’lord.”
Again, a nod.
Lucan hummed. “I see. I see.” He paused for a moment. “Why would she expect that then?”
“Because I lay with her, m’lord?”
This time, Lyanna paused, then shook her head.
Lucan leaned over the miller, mouth close to his ear. “You promised me the truth, Yacob, remember?” He took a breath. “Now, I ask you, did you promise to wed Narya, daughter of the weaver?”
Yacob swallowed, answering slowly, “No, m’lord I–”
Lyanna was shaking her head before he finished. And Lucan, infuriated, cuffed him on the back of the head. His next words were a growl that threatened to break the confines of the cellar. “I swear by the Elders, you lying fool, if you do not speak the truth to me now, I will hang you as a raper and be done with it.”
“M’lord, m’lord, I swear,” the young miller sputtered again. “I-I might have told her once that I would wed her, but meant…I was young. I-I…”
Lucan straightened up and sighed, seeing Lyanna’s nod. Yacob was barely a man, seventeen winters at most. It seemed he’d made a promise he couldn’t live up to.
Without a word, Lucan gestured for Lyanna to follow him out. They left the young man behind and ascended the stairs.
“Are you certain of your deductions?” Lucan asked, his voice suppressed.
“I am.”
He nodded silently at that. Though Twinstead was spared the brutality of the accusation, Lucan had to contend with the difficulty of the truth. He would have to pass judgment.
Soon, he sent Lyanna away to avoid suspicion and returned to the lord’s hall. It was a modest thing, as it has ever been. Lucan took the high seat while it was still empty, with Thomas and one of the men-at-arms attending him.
After a time, he gestured for his steward, who stepped out of the hall and soon returned with a crowd at his back.
The families of both Yacob and Narya entered, each taking a side of the hall, fathers and mothers eying each other with hostile gazes.
Narya stood shielded by the bodies of her family. Even Lucan couldn’t see her from his high seat. He waited, however, and soon, two guardsmen drove Yacob into the hall to stand before him. His hands had been untied, his blindfold removed, and his face much ruddier than it had been in the cellar. Still, he didn’t raise his eyes to meet Lucan’s.
“Narya and her father may step forward,” Lucan commanded.
The girl, perhaps a year younger than Yacob, trailed after he father, who came forward to stand beside Yacob, not neglecting to throw a glare his way.
“Now,” Lucan said. “I shall speak the truth that neither of you spoke to me, even though truth is what I am owed.”
Yacob kept his eyes to the ground, while Narya and her father gave him an uncertain look.
First, Lucan’s eyes found the girl’s, boring into them. “This man did not take you against your will.”
“My lord–”
“Silence!” Lucan’s voice overwhelmed her father’s. Next, he turned to Yacob. “You promised this girl marriage, that you would wed her when the time came, and only then she lay with you willingly.”
Yacob nodded, not daring to deny it.
Lucan looked between them. Narya wouldn’t meet his eyes, but her father appeared furious. Perhaps he didn’t know, after all.
“This is my judgment,” he continued. “If she will have him, Yacob shall wed Narya, and they shall be bound for life.” He turned to the girl, who had still not spoken. “That is my judgment, and should either of you refuse it, I shall pass judgment for the lies that I have been told. You do not get to lie to your lord freely. Should you accept this agreement, however, I shall forgive your transgressions.” Again, his eyes bored into the girl’s. “Tell me now, Narya. Did I speak the truth, or did I not?”
The girl hesitated, eyes shifting between him and her father. She gulped, then she muttered something that no one could hear.
“Speak up, lass,” Thomas said.
“He didn’t force me,” she said, and her father’s furious eyes turned on her.
Lucan pitied the man. He even forgave the furious look he’d leveled at him before, considering the storm in his mind at such a time.
“Then let the truth be known and the judgment passed,” Lucan said.
Afterwards, the families were led outside, where guardsmen would mediate between them until the wedding happened with no incident.
Once they were alone, Lucan turned to the old steward. “Spread the word.”
Thomas gave him a simple nod.