Page 43 of Among the Burning Flowers
Liuthe Dabanon utt Brudstath, Dowager Princess of Mentendon, received them in the Swan Chamber. Aubrecht thought his aunt had never looked frailer. Though she was much younger than Leovart, the sweat had nearly killed her in her forties, leaving her thin and grey.
‘Aunt.’ Ermuna kissed her papery cheek. ‘Where is Granduncle?’
‘Another ague. His physician is tending him,’ Liuthe said. ‘I dare not give him these tidings.’
Aubrecht joined the two people who were already seated at the table. Clothild was his fourth cousin, while Gaspart was his third, once removed. He chose the chair beside Clothild, whose flaxen hair was nearly hidden by a stickelchen, an unmistakably Mentish headdress. She was the only person in the room who was not, and had never been, a redhead.
‘Brecht,’ Gaspart said. ‘I hear you’re finally to be married, come autumn.’ He rubbed his bloodshot eyes. ‘Treasure your sleep, for the love of the Saint. You’ll be a father before long.’
Aubrecht grimaced. ‘Is Henselt still restless?’
‘He won’t settle with the wet nurse.’
‘Think of the poor souls who have no wet nurses to rely on,’ Clothild said lightly. ‘You have it easy, dear cousin.’ Gaspart grunted and reached for the wine. ‘Such joyful news, Aubrecht. When will the Donmata arrive?’
‘By the end of summer, I hope.’ Aubrecht smiled. ‘I think you will love her, Clothild.’
‘I have no doubt, if you do. We all look forward to meeting her, after so much anticipation.’
‘I met her in Ascalon,’ Gaspart reminded her. ‘The first and last time she was ever seen in public, as far as I know. Do you think she’ll be up to this great progress of yours, Aubrecht?’
‘Of course,’ Aubrecht said. ‘She is a princess.’
‘A princess in a tower.’
Aubrecht hardly noticed the remark, too busy watching his aunt. Liuthe was usually a woman of good humour, despite the sorrow she carried, but her face held as little mirth as a skull.
The twins were considered too young for these family meetings – they would be allowed to join when they were twenty – so the last to arrive was Aleidine Teldan utt Kantmarkt, Dowager Duchess of Zeedeur. Despite the early hour, she was dressed as well as ever.
‘Liuthe,’ she said. ‘I planned to return to Zeedeur tomorrow. Do I need to stay?’
‘I would be grateful if you did, Ally.’
Aleidine sat beside Aubrecht, who gave her a nod. While Aleidine was no Lievelyn, her late aunt had married his grandfather, and she always gave shrewd council. She had opened her home in Zeedeur to him many times.
‘How are you, Aubrecht?’ she asked him. ‘How is the Donmata?’
Aubrecht grinned. ‘Does everyone know now?’
‘His Royal Highness sent word to us yesterday,’ Aleidine said, the corners of her eyes crinkling. ‘I so enjoyed meeting Her Radiance in Ascalon. A fine match for our clever prince.’
At last, Liuthe took her place at the end of the table, using her cane for support. They all watched her with curiosity.
‘I bear strange and distressing tidings,’ she said. ‘I hardly know how to break them to you.’
‘This family is accustomed to anguish,’ Gaspart said in a dry tone. ‘Let us hear it, Liuthe.’
‘Yscalin has declared its allegiance to the Nameless One.’
The table was silent. She might as well have said that Yscalin had declared its allegiance to apple tarts.
‘The Nameless One,’ Ermuna echoed. ‘Aunt, what can you mean?’
‘A letter arrived from Cárscaro, informing us that Yscalin has broken from the Chainmail of Virtudom. The Saint nolonger holds sway there,’ Liuthe said. ‘We should expect war against his followers, and if we do not pledge to serve wyrmkind, then we shall fall.’
Aubrecht could only stare at her.
‘I … feel as if I am in a dream,’ Aleidine said, with a faint laugh. Clothild had twin lines between her eyebrows, a sign that she was sinking deep in thought. ‘Are you in earnest, Liuthe?’
