Chapter 1 - Coming of Age

The marketplace crowd jostled noisily, vendors crying out wares and shoppers bargaining for cheaper prices. Andre smiled as he made his way through the crush, glad that in all the bustle he could go unrecognized. He lingered some time over a stall displaying several brightly colored birds in wicker cages, then inspected the offerings of a clothe seller. When one vendor, bolder than the rest, thrust a stick of candied dates at him, Andre tossed the man a coin and accepted the treat, savoring not only the sweetness, but also the sheer freedom of the market on a fine spring day. He joined the circle around a story-teller and listened as entranced as the others as the old man related a heroic tale of brave knights and fair maidens, applauding with the rest and adding a silver piece when the bowl was passed.

Toward late afternoon, with the shadows getting longer and his moderate purse exhausted, Andre reluctantly turned his steps homeward. The castle sat at the crest of the hill, a good distance from the lower parts of the town, but Andre welcomed the walk, pausing briefly to admire the glowing sunset.

The guards at the gate sprang to attention and saluted smartly as he approached, and Andre grimaced to himself. Back to being the duke's son. Back to lessons and etiquette and the polite exterior he presented to the world. Andre smoothed his face into a pleasant but blank mask and nodded curtly at the guards as he passed. Almost as soon as he stepped within, a page materialized with a summons from his father.

"Where have you been?" Cecil Padwing demanded as his son slipped into his study, setting aside a book and a glass of wine.

"I was walking in the marketplace, your grace. Master Califf gave me the afternoon off. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."

The duke looked somewhat appeased at Andre's contrite tone, gesturing for him to sit. The early spring air was still quite chilly, and Andre sank gratefully into an armchair next to the cheerfully crackling fire. The rest of the room was left in relative darkness, with only one lit lamp on the table beside his father's chair.

Cecil steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair, studying his son behind hooded eyes. Andre returned the scrutiny calmly, though he was painfully aware of the dust stains he had acquired in the market. Finally the duke nodded as though satisfied and picked up his wineglass, rolling it gently in his hand.

"You turn seventeen in a week's time. A fit occassion for a celebration."

Andre nodded cautiously. He had been expecting this talk for some time. "Yes, sir."

"A holiday for the town then. And a feast of course. I shall send out the invitations tomorrow. This would be a good opportunity to confirm you as my heir and the future duke. It's a simple enough ceremony. I trust you know what it involves?" Andre nodded again. "Very well. That is all. Do you have any questions?"

Andre hesitated slightly. "What happens afterwards? After I'm seventeen?"

"It is high time you were introduced to the Imperial Court. After the investiture ceremony and the feast, you will represent Savois at Tryton. Captain Raynor will accompany you of course. What you do at court..." the gray eyes flashed briefly. "Well, I'm sure you will have your own plans."

"Yes, sir." Andre recognized the tone of dismissal. He rose and bowed gracefully before withdrawing.

***

Refreshed by a bath and a light dinner, Andre made his way to his grandmother's sitting room. It was her custom to enjoy a little music every evening, and as he drew closer to the door, he could hear the soft sound of a lute drifting down the hall. A muffled "Come in" answered his knock. Within, the room was dimly lit. One of the dowager's maids-in-waiting sat by the open window, her fingers stilled on the strings of her lute.

"Grandmother." Andre approached her chair with a smile and kissed her proffered hand. "You wished to see me?"

"Yes. Leave us, Louise." The old lady's voice sounded thin and reedy, but the dark eyes still gleamed with intelligence. Her maid quickly withdrew. "Sit, child." She regarded him solemnly. "I heard your father is planning a ceremony for your coming-of-age."

"He wishes to confirm me as his heir and the next duke, that I may represent Savois at the Imperial Court."

Delores Padwing sighed. "So the time has finally come. After all these years, you will go to Tryton. Is it what you wish, child?"

"It is what I have spent many years preparing for, grandmother."

"So I shall lose you too."

Andre smiled weakly. "You make it sound as though we will never see each other again. The Imperial Court is hardly prison, grandmother."

"Isn't it?" Her voice turned hard. "I'm old, Andre, not senile. Tryton, the Emperor's City, where the rich and powerful disport themselves. Do you think I cannot guess at what games he will put you to? It will change you, Andre, change you until you yourself do not know your heart." Her voice sent a shiver down his spine. The silence stretched. Then her voice whispered, "I'm afraid for you, child."

Andre reached wordlessly across the intervening space and took one of her hands in his own. Her grasp tightened on his, and he groped for some words of comfort. "All these years, ever since I was but a boy, your memory has been a blessing and a balm. I cannot see what the future holds for me, grandmother, but I do not fear, because even in my darkest moments, you will be in my heart." Her hand trembled, and he felt a sudden wetness where her tears fell silently. For some minutes, they took comfort in each other's presence, as they had a hundred times before.

"Ah, child..." she said finally, gently patting his hand. "Stars bless you, for I think you will need it." A coughing fit interrupted her, and Andre frowned in concern.

"You shouldn't be sitting in this chilly air, grandmother." He rose and went to the window. "Let me call a servant, to light a fire and bring you a warm blanket."

"Oh, nonsense. If I have survived war and famine and childbirth, not to mention your father, I can survive a little cool air. It's too stiffling in here with a fire." Nonetheless, she made no complaint when he closed the window and lit the lamps along the wall, dispelling the darkness. "Come, sit again and tell me of your day."

Andre obeyed, first fetching a lap blanket for her. Glad that her earlier air of gloom seemed to have passed, he gave her a spirited account of all that he had seen in the marketplace, and the rest of the evening passed in talk and laughter.

***

Newly washed and clad in the traditional white silk tunic and brown hosen, Andre knelt in the middle of the castle's gardens. The air smelled crisp and fresh and the warm light of fireflies flickered over the lawn. A nearby fountain gurgled and splashed. Overhead, countless stars twinkled like tiny diamonds scattered on black velvet. Gazing up at them, Andre felt comforted at their presence. Tomorrow he would be seventeen. Tonight he fasted and shared the vigil of the stars.

Andre closed his eyes and let the stillness wash over him, cleansing the turmoil of day and leaving his thoughts clear. "Reflect on your life so far, and on your future," his father had told him, invoking the ancient ceremony. "Be honest with yourself, now and forever, and let Y'zov's gift guide you."

My life so far, thought Andre with a touch of irony, has been one continuous training ground, and my future promises to be the testing ground of that training. Ten years spent at Brushmire, learning how to be the perfect courtier as well as skill with swords, daggers, and unarmed combat. Working from dawn 'til dusk and falling exhausted into bed each night. I can still remember days together when the only living soul I saw was Captain Raynor. These last two years, though, have been good, he admitted with a smile.

His thoughts wandered back to the time right after his fifteenth birthday. His father had been visiting Brushmire, his country estate, and once again Andre had demonstrated what new skills he had acquired. That night, unable to sleep, he had wandered the halls, avoiding the faceless servants. Voices inside the library drew his attention, and he had crouched outside the door, partly concealed behind a potted plant, and eavesdropped shamelessly.

"You can't keep the boy here forever, Cecil!" his grandmother's voice, agitated. "He's fifteen, and knowing not a thing of the outside world, save what his instructors have told him. He's your heir, how will he ever take over Savois? He's never even seen the town he's going to rule over!" Not quite true, as Andre had been allowed a trip to Savois with Captain Raynor the summer past, but had been kept on a short leash.

"He'll learn when the time comes," replied the duke calmly. "For now there are more important things for him to concentrate on."

"You mean your insane revenge? It's got nothing to do with him! Will you sacrifice him and with him the future of the land and people to your thirst for vengeance?"

"Enough! I have made my decision, mother, and not all your pleading will gainsay it!"

Silence in the chamber. Soft footsteps approached Andre's hiding's place, making him crouch down further, then turned down a side hall. Andre crept closer to the door, risking a peek inside just as a third voice spoke. He recognized the deep rumble of Captain Raynor.

"The duchess may have a point, your grace," Raynor sounded hesitant, as well he might considering the duke's temper. "I know you've plans for the lad," he continued hurriedly, "but there're little reason for keeping him here any longer. He's learned his lessons, and learned them well, and it might be a good idea to acquaint him with the wider world. Begging your grace's pardon, but 'twould be foolishness to send the lad off to court as he is now. Precious few souls even know of his existence. It would cause talk, your grace. Better to introduce him to the local gentry, let him cut his court teeth on these country nobles, rather than face the Imperial Court unprepared."

"He's things to learn yet, before he's ready."

"Aye, and he can learn them at Savois as well as he can here. I realize the...intensity of the lad's training may cause talk, and that's why he's been here and out of sight for so long, but truth is, the rest of his lessons are innocent enough, and not likely to inspire gossip."

And in the end father agreed, thought Andre wryly, coming back to the present. Grandmother's pleading couldn't move him, but he acceded to Captain Raynor's cold logic. Well, never look a gift horse in the mouth.

The lessons had continued, but at a more relaxed pace. He had indeed been introduced into the social circles of Savois, attending dances and parties, and acquiring the polish that, hopefully, would stand him in good stead at Tryton. Meanwhile, he had free access to the town on his days off and could see his grandmother whenever he wished. Many times she had taken him riding in her open carriage, rattling along the narrow streets and talking for hours. Andre had long ago realized that these, too, were lessons. Not in weaponry or politics, but in ruling, and the responsibilities that came with it.

"Someday, Andre, you will be the Duke of Savois," she told him gravely as they passed commoners in the street. Many of them called out and waved at the carriage; if the people of Savois did not particularly favor their Duke and regarded him as eccentric at best, they at least loved their Duchess well. "Someday it will be your duty to see to the welfare of these people. The Duchy of Savois is small, for a dukedom, but its management still requires care. Rule wisely and well, and your people prosper. Rule foolishly, and it is they who suffer." Then she would discuss some point of civil law, or maybe the implications of trade on the local economy, the myriad concerns of a landed nobleman.

Not that I'm going to have many chances to put her advice to good use, Andre mused, shivering in the cool night air. From the past, his thoughts turned to the future. What he had heard of the Imperial Court filled him with apprehension. The largest and most magnificent city in the Empire, Tryton boasted a wide variety of cultural pursuits for all tastes. It was also renowned for its political intrigues, no few of which ended in scandal or ruin for those involved.

If only simple scandal is what worries me. I'd welcome an Imperial reprimand and a disgraceful exile from court. The thought drew a grim chuckle. No, if -my- intrigues blow up, the least I could expect is a long, drawn-out, and probably very public execution. Andre sobered. And the Imperial Army erasing Savois from the map. Innocent people dying. Then he shuddered. Who am I fooling? Innocents will die if I succeed too.

The enormity of his undertaking suddenly overwhelmed Andre. The Mezaleen Empire stretched from coast to coast on Xaltra. Few indeed were the places where its laws did not hold sway, and none at all where its influence did not reach. To infiltrate its very heart, to mingle daily with its courtiers and officials and spies, seemed nothing short of madness. Yet what purpose did his life have, if not this? It was what he had been raised for, the single goal driven since near infancy into his being. More than that, it was the one thing his father cared for, the one obsession that brought color to his cheeks, brightened his eyes, and made him look with any interest at his son. Andre bowed his head with a sigh. Whatever his own qualms, he could not contemplate disobeying the duke. Though he would not admit it even to himself, Andre would have given his soul for a chance to prove his worth to his father.

A hand touched him gently on the shoulder, and Andre jumped slightly, lost as he was in his revery. Captain Raynor stood beside him, silhouetted against the purples and reds of the new dawn. Andre blinked, surprised at the speed with which the night had fled. He lifted his eyes once more to the stars that were slowly fading. "Y'zov," he whispered, "You bid us choose our own fates, and to help us you gifted us with a compass by which we may nagivate our choices. Be kind to your children, who must live this mortal life with only our own wisdom to guide us. Shine your light upon my path, for it lies in a darkness I cannot penetrate."

Painfully, he climbed to his feet, stiff and sore with staying in one position so long. His hosen were damp with dew, and he felt a wave of dizziness as he stood, and remembered that he had not eaten since lunch the day before. Captain Raynor, clad in his ceremonial Silver uniform, gestured for him to follow and started back toward the castle. Andre lingered a moment longer, gazing back at the compressed grass where he had knelt. His last thought as he left was to wonder what judgement Y'zov reserved for those who, knowing where their duty and honor lay, delibrately chose a path to damnation.

***

The main hall shone resplendently with countless candles and torches along the walls. Beautiful tapestries, imported all the way from Carraway, depicted the gods at play, surrounded by the bounty of the earth. Ladies and gentlemen in rich attire gathered in clusters of conversation. Andre drifted among the groups, bowing to well-wishers and greeting new guests. Heads turned as he passed, and behind their feathered fans the young ladies giggled and whispered. Pleased with their admiration, Andre smiled and gave them a particularly elegant bow, drawing more giggles.

He prided himself on his dress, and he knew he cut a handsome figure. His doublet, a luxurious brown silk-and-velvet affair, brought out the highlights in his hair. His breeches were a deeper brown and showed off the lean muscles in his legs. Captain Raynor had grunted noncommitally when he had presented himself for inspection, but then the Captain knew as little about fashion as he knew much about battle tactics. The Duchess, on the other hand, had given him her warm approval, and the Duke had found no detail to criticize, which was a blessing in itself.

Andre blinked as the Duke himself appeared before him, leading an elderly gentleman he had never seen before, with black hair graying at the temples and a firm step. From his father's stern look Andre knew the man must be an important personnage.

"Andre, I would like you to meet His Grace the Duke of Ivington. Duke, may I present my son."

"Your grace," murmured Andre with some surprise, bowing deeply. Ivington was a large holding on the eastern edge of Alexia, well known for its rich mineral deposits. It was one of the foremost producers of iron in the Empire and if rumor held true, one of the chief arms suppliers of the Imperial Army.

"Duke Enrick is here with his cousin the Count of Montressor. His grace has heard much talk of the new mill design our worksmen have developed."

Of course, thought Andre. The new design, recently conceived by a local builder, allowed a watermill vastly improved efficiency, very useful for processing grain or wool. Or a foundry for iron smelting.

"I would be most pleased to arrange a tour, should your grace desire it," Andre offered, though he himself only knew the very basic rudiments of milling.

"Yes," drawled Enrick, his voice sleepy though his dark eyes were sharp. "Yes, I'm sure that will be delightful, Lord Padwing. I'll admit I'm slightly skeptical about the qualifications of this new mill. Not to sound disbelieving, of course, but one must be careful, when such claims are made."

"Certainly, your grace, I quite understand."

At that moment, the doors to the dining hall opened and Mortian Hodges, the portly and capable steward who had managed the castle's affairs for decades, announced that dinner was served. Andre joined the rest of the throng moving through the double doors and took the place of honor, at the right hand of the Duke. The Duchess sat across from him, and Duke Enrick, being the highest ranking guest, sat at Andre's side. Once all the guests had been seated, Cecil Padwing stood and quiet settled over the hall.

"Tonight we gather to celebrate the natality and coming of age of my son and the next Duke of Savois. He has undergone the ritual cleansing and vigil, and has spent the day reflecting on his ordeal." Meaning, thought Andre dryly, that I slept most of the day. He caught his grandmother's eyes and their amused glance told him she shared his thoughts. "Join me, ladies and gentlemen," continued the Duke, raising his glass, "in wishing him a joyful transition from the innocence of childhood to the responsibilities of an adult."

Applause filled the hall, the guests lifting their glasses to the toast. Andre rose and bowed his thanks.

"Now, let the feast begin!" Cecil Padwing spread his hands, and servants began circulating, bearing course after course. Soon the sound of talk and laughter tinkled through the hall.

At Andre's side, Duke Enrick made polite small talk, all the while giving away no sign of his true thoughts. That he had more on his mind than trade and commerce, Andre had no doubt. If trade secrets of the new mill were all that Enrick desired, Duke Padwing would have handled it himself, or their respective representatives. One did not triffle with the duke of an important holding, yet he had been introduced to Andre. So there was more to the matter, something that involved him. Unfortunately, neither of the two dukes seemed inclined to broach the subject. Well, that's just fine, thought Andre with a touch of exasperation. They'll come to it soon enough. In the meantime I'll just smile pleasantly and discuss the merits of the various forms of hazard in vogue at Court.

By the end of the meal, Andre had learned nothing more of what was expected of him, though he was increasingly aware of his father's scrutiny. It was a relief when the servants cleared the last course and the band struck up a tune to begin the dance. Enrick excused himself to go speak to his cousin and Andre, frustrated and on edge, used the opportunity to escape his father's watchful gaze and mingle with the guests. He circulated easily, trading gossip and jests with his friends and offering unfailing courtesy to all.

"Well, here's the man of the hour!" exclaimed Lord Banteel, beaming at him. "Congratulations, Lord Padwing!"

"Thank you, my lord," Andre answered with a smile, glancing quizzically at the young lady at Banteel's side.

"Ah yes, of course. My lord, allow me to present my youngest daughter, Vivian," said Banteel, making the introductions. "She only just returned from her fosterage in Carraway last week, and already the suitors are calling." He gave a rueful sigh.

Andre laughed at his woe begotten expression. "Can you blame them, my lord, with such cause? My lady, your servant." He bowed over her hand, giving it a slight squeeze and causing her to blush delicately.

"Oh, you mustn't listen to everything father says." Her teeth flashed white. "He's such a dreadful tease, and it's so unfair now that all my sisters are wed or engaged, because he focuses it all on me."

"Then I must do my best to shield you from his unmerciful attentions. Will you do me the honor of this dance, my lady?"

"As you offer so gallantly, my lord, I would be delighted." She rested her hand on his arm, allowing him to escort her to the dance floor.

She was a slight thing, with deep, doe-like eyes and a figure that fit comfortably into his arms. They twirled effortlessly across the floor, her golden-brown dress billowing in shimmering shrouds around them. Andre relaxed as the dance continued, concentrating on his partner's smile rather than whatever plans his father and Enrick had hatched. He was disappointed when it finally ended, and another young lord, perhaps one of those suitors her father lamented, claimed her attention.

"You dance well, my lord."

Andre turned and once again encountered the gaze of Duke Enrick. "Thank you, your grace," he replied cautiously, wondering how long the Duke had been watching him.

Enrick smiled thinnly, absently swirling a glass of wine in his left hand and moving closer to Andre. "I hear that you will be joining the Imperial Court shortly, my lord?"

"Yes, your grace. My father thinks it time that Savois reestablished a presence there."

"Indeed." Enrick paused, peering into his glass before taking a sip. Andre held his impatience in check; sometimes silence draws out more than words. "Well, my lord," said Enrick after a moment, eyeing Andre appraisingly, "I myself plan on being in Tryton in a few days' time, as soon as my business here is concluded. I do not know if you have already made arrangements, but you have a courtier's skill. I would be happy to provide you with an introduction to the Court, should you desire one."

"Thank you, your grace," said Andre, blinking in surprise. "That is a most generous offer, and I accept gladly."

"Then it's settled." Enrick's smile was warmer this time. "Call upon me when you find yourself in Tryton, my lord, and I shall endeavor to make your initiation to Court a pleasant one."

Andre bowed his thanks, then straightened and watched thoughtfully as Enrick make his way through the crowd, trying to make sense of the encounter. He remembered Enrick's polite banter during dinner, and his father's hawk-like eyes watching. Then it occurred to him to wonder what price Enrick would pay for a new mill that could vastly improve his iron industry. He had thought that such details would be left to one of Enrick's retinue, but what if the price could not be counted in gold? An introduction to the Court from the Duke of Ivington, and the implied patronage therein, was a valuable commodity.

So that's why father brought him to meet me, thought Andre, bemused. They've probably already discussed it, but Enrick wouldn't want to stand patron to someone he doesn't even know. Tonight's fete gave him the perfect chance to see whether I'm worth his trouble or not. A courtier's skills indeed. If I had given the impression of a country boor, without the polish to warrant his attention, he would have left me to my own devices. Andre shook his head, sparing a grateful thought for all the hours that his instructors had spent drilling him in proper court behavior.

From across the room, he caught his father's eye. The Duke raised his brows in inquiry, and Andre, at last understanding the game, gave an affirmative nod. The Duke turned back to the lordling he had been addressing, a satisfied smile on his lips. Andre, still lost in thought, joined a group of his friends, glad that there was no artifice in their laughing jests. I guess I shall have to learn something more about mills now, he thought wryly. Pity none of my instructors thought fit to include those lessons into my daily regimen.

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