Page 6 of In Darkness Forged

“My dear Aislin, of course I’ve heard of you,” Sandric drawled. “My father regularly curses the loss of his seer, so you’d best pray he’s in a good mood before you present your petition.” His eyes narrowed suddenly. “And yet, if not…”

Without warning, he reached down and grabbed her wrist. “I am suddenly overcome with the desire to help you, little Aislin. Come with me.”

Before she could fully grasp his intentions, Aislin was being towed relentlessly through the crowd in Sandric’s wake. Even the silk and velvet-clad visitors parted to let them pass, staring after the unlikely pair in shock or irritation as they burst through the doors of the manor and entered almost immediately into the great hall.

The enormous, high-ceilinged room somehow managed to be crowded, between well-dressed guests standing about and the bustle of servants carrying bags, trunks, and trays in every direction. And on one end of that room, Lord Dreichel himself held court beneath a wall that was little more than a shrine to his family’s greatness.

Aislin had seen the impressive display once before, when she was very small. From floor to ceiling, the wall was crowded with artifacts that boasted of the family’s consequence—from tapestries and portraits of their noble ancestors, to shields, weapons, and heraldry. And in the exact center, directly behind Lord Dreichel’s enormous oaken chair, was the shield.

Guardian of the Dreichels’ home and their magic, or so the legend claimed, the Shield of Evernight was made of dark, featureless metal, as hard and unforgiving as the night itself. But set in the center was a stone—round and smooth and unassuming—that glowed with a soft, white radiance, like a star in the depths of that wrought metal night.

It had been glowing since the day the Dreichels acquired it some eighty years before, and the stories (or Lord Dreichel’s hopeful imagination) claimed that the family would thrive for as long as the stone continued to shine on their ancestral lands.

Or some such rot. Aislin thought that perhaps an emphasis on respect for one’s neighbors and responsibility for one’s actions might be more to the point, but what did she know?

Sandric paused for a moment in the midst of the hall, as if trying to determine how best to approach his father. Aislin took advantage of his distraction to remove her hand from his grip, and not a moment too soon. Lord Dreichel spotted his son, his face lit up with an uncomfortable approximation of joy, and he held out his hand.

“My son, we were just speaking of you! Come and join us.”

Too late, Sandric seemed to become aware of who already stood next to his father—an elaborately dressed older couple and a young woman about Aislin’s age. She was cool and pale and golden-haired, and while her gaze seemed fixed on Sandric, her face remained smoothly expressionless, leaving no hint of whether she shared his misgivings over these proceedings.

Lord Dreichel’s heir froze for the space of a few breaths, his face turning to a cynical mask before his feet seemed to carry him forward of their own accord to join his father. For a single brief moment, Aislin almost felt sorry for him.

“Yes, Father?” Sandric’s drawl sounded dangerously lazy, even to Aislin, but Lord Dreichel seemed not to notice.

The master of Glencliffe Manor was a stocky man of average height with graying hair, a close-clipped beard, and icy gray eyes. He typically wore dark clothing and a stern expression, though that expression could change in the space of a moment. Despite his mercurial temper, he had never been a particularly terrifying sight to Aislin… until today.

Until she’d realized he held the power to render her homeless with a word. She’d known he owned their cottage but had never dreamed he would bother to throw them out. Had not realized the depths of his anger at being deprived of a seer’s magic. Perhaps she should have, but she’d been too busy simply surviving.

“I believe you must remember Lady Eileen,” Lord Dreichel said, all but pushing his son towards the young woman at his side.

“How could I forget?” Sandric replied through clenched teeth.

“Indeed.” His father shot him a dangerous look. “Given the length of your acquaintance, we were just discussing the idea of moving up your wedding date and joining our families by the end of the fortnight. Travel being what it is, this seems an excellent opportunity, and I see no reason to delay.”

Aislin saw Lady Eileen jerk slightly, as if she were just as surprised by this announcement as Sandric.

But it was Sandric whose blue eyes blazed with sudden anger as he regarded his father, bitter animosity radiating from every line of his body.

“Yousaw no reason to delay?”

Lord Dreichel stiffened, and Aislin winced as she realized Sandric had utterly ruined her chances of approaching his father tonight. Indeed, a debacle of this magnitude might have destroyed her hopes entirely.

“Surely you do not intend to disrespect either Lady Eileen or Lord Nevenhall,” the elder Dreichel said, ice dripping from his tone.

“No, surely I would neverdare,” Sandric snarled, all pretense of politeness vanished. “Just as I have never dared reach for anything I truly wanted. Never dared step outside your plans for my life. After all, why would I not be thrilled to sacrifice myself for your ambitions? For your hunger for alliances that will cement your power at court? How could I not beecstaticto be married to a woman I barely know, for no reason other than our parents’ scheming?”

Suddenly, Aislin wanted very much to be elsewhere. But when she tried to back away, a wall of onlookers seemed to have solidified behind her, and there was nowhere for her to go.

“You will show respect for our guests,” Lord Dreichel demanded harshly, “or you will remove yourself from the room until you can offer sufficient apology for your failures in basic courtesy.”

“Respect?” Sandric’s smile grew mocking. “Do you mean the kind of respect and consideration you have granted your own son in the matter of his future happiness? Yes, Father. I will show our guestsexactlythat much respect.”

He turned to Lord Nevenhall and tilted his head, eyes glittering with animosity. “I apologize for making my sentiments clear at this late date, but I confess that I do not care what plans you may have made or what designs you may have on my family’s name and reputation. I have no desire for this marriage, and I do not intend to go through with it.”

The visiting lord seemed to gather himself and began to project offended dignity. “Promises have been made, Lord Sandric, and we have taken the great risk and expense of traveling here with certain expectations. You cannot simply say you will not marry my daughter without making restitution for both the expense and the offense.”

“Oh, can’t I?” Sandric sneered. “When you have just betrayed your true intentions by demanding money instead of my name? Then here!” He turned, reached up, and lifted the Shield of Evernight from where it hung on the wall. “Have this instead. It’s worth far more than I am, anyway. It represents the sum total of my family’s name and reputation. The repository of my father’s unfounded hopes and the source of his ambition. A chunk of metal and a rock, which he has always treated with more care and concern than he has shown towards any living member of his family. Take this in my place, and may it bring you as much joy and good fortune as it has brought me.”

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