Prince of Dogs (Crown of Stars #2)

Prince of Dogs (Crown of Stars #2) Page 101

“‘And in the days to come not pride nor greed will fill his stomach,’” finished the cleric. She was a young woman, not much older than Alain himself, with crooked teeth, a pockmarked face, and a cheerful expression. “Your attention to the words of Our Lady and Lord marks you with favor, my lord.”

“Indeed,” said Lavastine. “So have They shown me Their favor.” He glanced at Alain. Bel, miraculously, appeared not to notice the aside. She moved away toward the other workshop, which was attached by a covered causeway to the main house.

“Three ships we may hope for in time, my lord,” she said, “but for now the seaways north are closed to us by the Eika. As you say, we must move slowly as we expand lest we overreach. In this room my daughters and I weave. In time we’ll expand to four looms. In time we hope also to hire more laborers and expand the farm as well. We have betrothed my daughter Agnes to a merchant’s son in Medemelacha. He’s an experienced sailor. In time he’ll take over the third boat, should Our Lord and Lady shower their favor upon our enterprise.”

“But Agnes is too young to be married!” said Alain, shocked.

Lavastine swatted away a fly and stepped back from the door into the weaving shop, held open by the cleric so that he could look inside. “How old is this daughter?”

“She is twelve, my lord. Her betrothed will come to live with us next year, but they won’t wed until she is fifteen or sixteen. If you will come this way.” It began to irritate Alain that she addressed all her conversation to Count Lavastine and none to him, as if he were a stranger. Yet certain small expressions familiar to him came and went on her face like so many private signals to him alone of her thoughts and of unspoken comments too personal to share with someone who did not know her intimately, the arched eyebrow that betrayed amusement, the dimple that hid annoyance, the pursed lips with which she swallowed any sign of satisfaction she considered unseemly. “We have bought more cows and will export cheese as well. We hope, in time, to bring a blacksmith here. As you can see, we have hired the Osna smith to come in twice a week and do work for us.” They crossed into the house itself, the long hall busy with women and girls setting out cups and bringing in platters of food from the cookhouse. Beside the threshold Alain saw an unpainted wooden shield, a helmet, and a spear. “We are are sending my eldest son Julien to the new duchess of Varingia as a man-at-arms, because we can afford to outfit him now.”

They had promised him to the church when he had wanted nothing more than to be a soldier! Stung with jealousy, he flushed in shame—but no one remarked on it. No one even paid attention to him. Of course it would be different for Julien. Julien was Aunt Bel’s legitimate child, her eldest son, and of course she would want to give him such an opportunity now that they had the means. They had done their best by him; it wasn’t their fault they hadn’t known who he really was … was it?

Aunt Bel went on, discussing various potential marriage alliances for her children and relations. To Alain’s consternation and utter confoundment, Count Lavastine appeared to relish these discussions; he asked questions and gave advice. Indeed, he treated Aunt Bel with the same distant familiarity as he did his own chatelaine, Dhuoda, a woman whose ability to run his household he respected enough to leave her alone to do her job.

“—and now that we have more business, we have brought in Sister Corinthia of Salia to write and read letters and do our accounts. We also hope to put Julien’s daughter, Blanche, into the church with a dowry. Sister Corinthia will teach her so that she isn’t unlettered when she goes.”

Julien’s daughter, the baby, was illegitimate, although Julien and his sweetheart had proclaimed publicly their intent to marry before the young woman’s death in childbed.

“You have done well,” said Count Lavastine. He was—perhaps—impressed. Alain was vastly irritated. He felt used, as if his family had only wanted him for what they could get from him, the count’s generous reward for his fosterage.

Aunt Bel glanced at Alain, then away. Her features were stern now. “It is nothing we looked for or expected, my lord,” she said as if she had heard Alain’s thoughts spoken out loud. Perhaps she had, seeing his expression. She knew him that well. He was ashamed. “But is it not said in the Holy Verses that ‘you shall eat the fruit of your own labors’?”

“‘You shall be happy and you shall prosper,’” quoted the young cleric, evidently eager to show off her knowledge of the Holy Verses, “‘and your daughters shall be like the fruitful vines and your sons like the rich stands of wheat. For the hearth-holder who lights each day a candle from the hearth in memory of the Chamber of Light, this shall be the blessing in store for her: She may share the prosperity of Saïs all the days of her life and live to see her children’s children!’”