A Brother's Price (24 page)

‘‘You will! I am still the Queen Mother Elder. You are my subject. I say you will not marry Jerin Whistler without your sister’s approval. Push me any further Ren, and I will refuse the marriage totally.’’

Ren clenched her teeth together, balling her hands into fists, trying to keep her anger in. Her mother meant it. It had been years since she’d heard such a decree, since she had lost favorite toys and been barred from outings as a child with such rulings.

‘‘I’m sorry you’ve set your heart on this boy,’’ her mother said in a softer tone. ‘‘But our line can ill afford discord between husband and wife again. Trini tried to block the marriage to Keifer, and no one listened. This time, we will listen to everyone.’’

Eldest Moorland cracked the door to Ren’s study and peered in. ‘‘Have you seen Cullen?’’

Ren waved her in. ‘‘He’s usually either with Lylia or Jerin.’’

Ren’s cousin sat, shaking her head and sighing. ‘‘The younger Whistlers are in the billiard room with Lylia and Odelia. Eldest Whistler is apparently trying to track me down, so I assume it’s safe to say that he’s not with her.’’

An unmarried Eldest sister looking for the Eldest sister of a marriageable man—it wasn’t difficult to guess what Whistler wanted. ‘‘What are you going to say?’’

Moorland sighed again. ‘‘Are you going to offer for Jerin? It makes a difference for us.’’

In other words, would the Whistlers continue to be poor landed gentry or would they be sisters-in-law to the princesses? Commoners might sell their brothers to
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the highest monetary bidder, but noble brothers went to the most powerful political tie.

Ren sighed. She owed it to her cousin to be truthful on the matter. In sketchy details, she told Moorland where negotiations stood. ‘‘Not a word of this, though, should leave this room. I don’t want to raise Jerin’s hopes, only to disappoint him. If he has to marry someone else, I would rather he be ignorant that we love him.’’

‘‘So that’s the way the wind blows? Well, yes, let him start with his wives with a clean slate, so to speak.’’

Ren flinched at the idea of another family being Jerin’s wives. A knock at the door saved her from having to reply. ‘‘Yes?’’

Eldest Whistler opened the door and stood in the doorway. ‘‘Eldest Moorland, I would like to speak with you.’’

Moorland made a gesture to indicate that now was as good a time as any. ‘‘It would spare me having to repeat it all to my cousin anyhow.’’

‘‘We wish to marry Cullen.’’

There was a shout from behind the heavy drapes and Cullen tumbled out from his velvet hiding spot. He gave another whoop of delight and flung himself into Eldest Whistler’s arms. Whistler shook her head, smiling indulgently, and was soundly kissed. Ren had never thought of Cullen as a sexual creature—in that moment of frank passion, she realized he was as mature in that matter as Jerin. Her heart went out to Eldest Whistler and Cullen.

‘‘Cullen!’’ Moorland growled. ‘‘We haven’t accepted. We haven’t even heard terms.’’

‘‘I want to marry them! Things will work out for Ren. I know they will. It’s not like any of those other fusspots would ever offer for me, anyhow. They want a biddable, beautiful man.’’

‘‘You are beautiful.’’ Whistler didn’t address biddable, but Ren had no doubt that Eldest Whistler could keep
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Cullen in line. ‘‘But Moorland is right. We need to discuss terms. We’re not nobles with deep pockets. We might not be able to afford your brother’s price.’’

Cullen clung to Whistler, throwing his sister a tragic, pleading look. ‘‘I want to marry them. They would be good to me; I’ve seen them with Jerin. They have little brothers; I’d have other men around. They would teach me how to ri—’’ Cullen broke off at the word ‘‘ride’’

before it escaped completely, and changed it to ‘‘—write and read.’’

‘‘We can only afford two thousand crowns for the scamp,’’ Eldest Whistler said. ‘‘Payable on Jerin’s betrothal. We might be able to work up more, but we’ll have to take futures out on our little brothers. It would take time to raise more money.’’

Moorland looked from Cullen to Eldest Whistler and then to Ren. The woman who loved her brother warred with the woman responsible for her family’s best interests. Ren could offer nothing, and waited, sure that Cullen would lose out. Amazingly, though, Moorland said, ‘‘You won’t have to work up more. We’ll settle on the two thousand. It doesn’t pay to beggar your sisters-in-law.’’

Whistler had been braced for a no and looked as stunned as Ren felt. Shouting, Cullen leaped to hug his sister, then mauled Ren in a hasty, exuberant hug, kissed Eldest Whistler again, and dragged her off in search of Lylia, Jerin, and the others to break the news. The office seemed bare after they were gone, like someone had plucked the sun from the sky, leaving vast emptiness behind.

‘‘Why did you say yes?’’ Ren asked Moorland. ‘‘You know it’s unlikely we’ll be able to marry Jerin.’’

‘‘Mother calls your father her sacrificial lamb sometimes. He bought us a lot of power, at the cost of being poisoned at the age of thirty-five. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with the same guilt my mother carries.’’

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*

*

*

Ren woke the next morning from another night of horrific dreams. The worst nightmare started in the garden, where she talked to Trini as her sister deadheaded the roses. Ren realized suddenly that the wilted flowers had Halley’s face, and the cut stems seeped blood. Ren pulled up the rosebushes to find Halley buried underneath, but then her mothers wouldn’t come to the garden to see the body. Every time she gripped their hands, they would slide away like a bar of wet soap. She woke in the dark, crying in frustration and fear. Other dreams plagued her after she went back to sleep, none as vivid, but all filled with pain and the sense of loss. She was still in bed when Raven came in.

‘‘I received this via regular post.’’ Raven held out a battered envelope.

Ren took it. It was addressed to ‘‘R. Tern’’ at Raven’s town house address; the captain had torn the canceled stamps in opening the envelope. Inside was a common sheet of foolscap, folded once. Ren pulled it free, and the word ‘‘Eldest’’ in Halley’s bold script made her catch her breath.

So you’ve lost your heart to the son of landed
gentry? Well done. No need for a formal meeting
for me. I approve your choice. Proceed with the
wedding plans. I’ll be there. Now, call off the dogs!

Your little sister.

Ren turned the paper, knowing that there was no more, but feeling as if there should be. ‘‘Where is she?

How does she know about Jerin? Why hasn’t she put any names on this? Why address it to you?’’

‘‘She sent it to me so only you and I would see it, instead of the whole palace staff. By the amount of the postage, I’d say she’s close by, though.’’

‘‘And no names so if someone was to see it, they’d be none the wiser of who it was from and who it was for.’’

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‘‘Aye,’’ Raven said.

Ren sighed, and then, as reality dawned on her, smiled. ‘‘She’s approved of Jerin! We can make an offer!

She’s approved!’’

Jerin’s face was starting to hurt from smiling so much, but he couldn’t stop.

I’m betrothed to Ren and Odelia and Lylia.
All was not perfect, of course.

Princess Trini stayed on the edges of his awareness, watching him, wary like a horse broken with a heavy hand and now distrustful. Princess Halley remained a complete unknown; no one seemed willing even to talk about her. All he knew about her was that she, like all her sisters, was red-haired and strong-willed. Summer sulked because, with Jerin fetching the hoped-for four thousand crowns, the family would definitely split at Corelle. Cullen would be the older sisters’

husband. Eldest and Corelle had already fought often over using futures on Doric to purchase a husband for the middle sisters. Worst of all, once Jerin’s brother’s price was in their hands, his sisters needed to buy Cullen and leave immediately; they had tickets for passage upriver on a boat that left at noon.

Still, he couldn’t stop smiling.

It was decided to sign both contracts at the same time. Ren came in the morning, while he was still damp from his bath, for the prenuptial inspection. It was difficult to tell which of them was more embarrassed—Ren, he, or Eldest. Despite her blush, Ren’s eyes glowed with an excitement that sent his heart racing and other parts of his body reacting.

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‘‘I’m satisfied.’’ With a grin, Ren picked up his dressing gown and helped him into it. ‘‘Everything seems to be in good working order.’’

‘‘But you knew that,’’ Eldest said.

‘‘I would not be so cavalier,’’ Ren warned. ‘‘You have Cullen’s inspection yet, and you are more guilty of dalliance than I am.’’

Eldest faked innocence. ‘‘Oh, I was talking about the sperm test.’’

That only made Ren smile wider and Jerin blush more. Cullen’s report indicated that Jerin’s elder sisters could expect the normal number of boys from their new husband. The doctor hand-delivered Jerin’s report, fortunately hours later, just to see ‘‘the amazing specimen of male virility’’ herself. His sisters had been exceedingly smug about the report; one would think they had filled the small glass jar themselves. Cullen, thankfully, did not take it as a personal slight on himself. Ren apparently already had all the originals noted on his birth certificate researched and double-checked, so this visual check for inbred deformities was the last formality.

Betrothals are for women; marriages are for gods. While solemn, there was no mistaking the betrothal for anything but what it was: a purchase. Ren handed over Jerin’s brother’s price in four small strongboxes, and signed the betrothal contract. Eldest Whistler counted through the boxes separately, verifying that each contained a thousand crowns, then countersigned the contract. Eldest took Jerin’s hand, led him to Ren’s side, and gave his hand over to the princess. Ren clasped his hand tight, taking ownership.

Then it was time for Cullen’s betrothal. The Moorlands received two of the four boxes. Eldest Whistler and Eldest Moorland signed as the heads of their families. Eldest Moorland gave Eldest Whistler Cullen’s hand.

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It was done. Cullen’s wedding would be in a month at Heron Landing. Jerin’s royal marriage would need an additional two months to plan. Hopefully, Princess Halley would reappear in time for the wedding. They had a betrothal lunch, and then, with lots of hugging and kissing, Cullen and the Whistlers said good-bye.

‘‘Take good care of my little brother,’’ Moorland said.

‘‘We will,’’ Whistler promised.

‘‘These are the husbands’ quarters,’’ Ren said, unlocking the doors and pushing them open. His new family stood around him, waiting for his reaction, and Jerin could only gasp. All previous splendor of the palace paled to this. His first impression was of vaulting ceilings, the flood of sunlight from a wall of windows across the room, the soft murmur of water, the smell of roses, a splash of cool green to his far left.

‘‘Go on.’’ Lylia slipped around to the front to tug his hand gently. ‘‘From the balcony you can see forever.’’

He entered the room, not sure where to look first, feeling doll-sized against the scale of the room. There was a fireplace he could stand inside. A massive grand piano sat dwarfed in one corner. Settees and lounges that would have crowded any room in the Whistler home littered the room like chains of islands, surrounded by great expanses of polished marble and shoals of carpets.

‘‘There’s a private rose garden with a fountain,’’ Trini murmured from behind him.

‘‘Over there is the bedroom!’’ Odelia pointed out double doors opened to expose another vast chamber and a huge bed on a raised dais.

‘‘If there is anything you don’t like, we can have it changed,’’ Ren stated, unlocking the door to the balcony. It was deceiving, that door. Wrought iron twisting and curling, painted white, backed by glass. It looked bright and open, but it could keep out an army. The sunbaked balcony of dressed stone looked out
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over the cliffs—in essence, protected by the sheer drop. Below, the sprawling city, the glittering river, and then the green roll of fields went out as far as the eye could see. He stared out, feeling suddenly small and lost. Ren sensed his distress, and touched his shoulder, concern in her eyes. He reached out for comfort and she came into his arms.

‘‘I’m sorry,’’ she whispered for his ears alone. ‘‘I know it’s confining after the freedom of your farm, but it’s to keep us all safe.’’

‘‘When we were little,’’ Odelia called, oblivious to his distress, skipping and hopping on the wide paving stone,

‘‘we ate breakfast with Papa out here, and then played hopscotch. This is the best place for hopscotch in the whole palace.’’

Jerin turned his back on the open sky and found the vast room transformed by the very presence of his new family. The Queen Mothers had followed them into the room, but stopped midway, taking up residence on the settees. His child brides darted about the room, exploring, laughing, and calling to one another. The huge room contained them comfortably, keeping them together without making them feel in each other’s way. Ren gave him a sad smile, so he hugged her.

‘‘Was this a good place when your father was alive?’’

Jerin asked.

‘‘It was my favorite part of the palace.’’

‘‘I’ll have to work on making it so again.’’

The husbands’ quarters were very much a place of history. The rooms had been cleaned and aired, but layers and layers of the generations remained. A cabinet of board games. A jeweled collection of kaleidoscopes. A sewing stand filled with musty supplies. A knitting basket with a half-finished baby blanket. A collection of music boxes. Even the massive wardrobes in the dressing room brimmed with clothes.

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‘‘After our husband was killed,’’ Queen Mother Elder said with slight bitterness, ‘‘Keifer wanted some of his nicer clothes. Then, after the explosion, none of us could stand the thought of dealing with them. We should have removed them before today.’’

Jerin lifted down one floral dressing gown, the silk floating in his hands. ‘‘It seems a shame. They’re beautiful.’’

‘‘Many of them have memories attached,’’ Ren said, taking the gown from him. ‘‘Not all of them good.’’

Even the good ones, Jerin reflected, could be painful.

‘‘What will you do with them?’’

‘‘Sell them to a ragpicker,’’ Odelia said.

‘‘I’d rather see them burned,’’ Ren said, ‘‘than to have strangers going over Papa’s things.’’

An idea occurred to Jerin, and he started to speak without thinking it through. ‘‘We could—’’ And then the thought reached its logical end. He was about to suggest sending the clothes to Cullen; his sisters could never provide such a rich wardrobe. Then he remembered the fate of the fine clothes the Queens had provided to his sisters; they were to be sold on the racks of his sisters’ new store. He winced at the realization that his sisters would be equal to ragpickers.

‘‘We could what?’’ Ren asked.

He considered saying, ‘‘Nothing,’’ but in truth, he couldn’t be sure that his sisters would sell them at the store. ‘‘We could send them to Cullen. My sisters could never afford the type of clothes he is used to.’’

Odelia laughed. ‘‘Cullen is probably withholding sexual services until he’s allowed to ride horses. These are barely clothes you could wear outside.’’

‘‘You could make holiday shirts for the little ones out of these,’’ Jerin pointed out. ‘‘Or curtains, or slipcovers for chairs.’’

Odelia and Lylia laughed.

Trini frowned at them. ‘‘Jerin’s right. It would be a
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horrible waste to burn them. There’s hundreds of crowns here in silk. The cost of one outfit probably could feed a poor family for a month.’’

More likely a year, but Jerin didn’t correct her. He smiled instead at the stray thought that one obscure corner of Queensland was going to be suddenly much more gaily dressed.

‘‘We’ll pack them up and send them,’’ Ren said.

‘‘Really?’’ Jerin asked.

Ren touched his face softly. ‘‘For another smile like that last one, I’d send my clothes too.’’

He could do naught but kiss her. Odelia and Lylia then claimed their share of his affection, so it was quite a while before they moved on. The bed, dressed in goose down and layers of softest linen, proved to be able to hold them all at once—blushing husband, affectionate wives, and giggling child brides. The Queen Mothers looked on, smiling indulgently, while the youngest princesses romped innocently on the bed. Jerin wondered what the Queens were thinking. Did they recall a similar moment from their marriage on the same bed? Or were they remembering how these laughing girls were conceived between these sheets? Or were they looking forward to grandchildren yet to be born?

The dinner gong tumbled them out of the bed. The youngest claimed him first, all but dragging him away, until Trini rescued him. She freed him, shooed the girls on, then shyly took his hand.

‘‘Betrothed.’’

The single word shot a bolt of happiness through him. He smiled, giving her hand a squeeze. ‘‘Betrothed,’’ he said.

He’s charmed Trini.
Ren nearly cheered. She put a hand over her mouth to cover the huge grin on her face. Her mothers had noticed the exchange; Mother Elder waited to walk with her down to dinner.

‘‘What do you say now?’’ Ren struggled not to be smug.
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Mother Elder tilted her head, considering. ‘‘He’ll be good for this family, Eldest.’’

Eldest. The title sobered Ren. There seemed to be something implied in the straightforward comment.

‘‘But?’’

‘‘The common people barely grasp how this family suffered since your father died; Keifer wreaked such damage, alive and dead. With Jerin’s background, perhaps it will be wise to educate them.’’

Let the tarnished truth be known.
Ren nodded, feeling guilty for agreeing. It seemed a betrayal to let the world know how badly Eldest had chosen their first husband. Surely she had chosen more wisely than her older sister, or was she just as blinded by love? No, Mother Elder agreed that Jerin was a better man. But if Ren questioned her own judgment, then there could be no doubt that others would question it too.

It would be a delicate path to walk.

Later that night, Ren realized that she had forgotten about the bolt-hole. She was so used to Raven handling security issues that the secret hiding space and passage out of the palace had slipped her mind. The husbands’

quarters, however, were off-limits to the entire palace staff, Raven included. It was up to Ren, as Eldest wife, to make sure the passage was clear, the doors worked, and that Jerin and her adult sisters knew all its finer points.

If by showing Jerin his secret escape route, she also received some late-night cuddling, then all the better. She stripped off her shirt, did a sketchy sponge bath, changed into a clean shirt, and tried for a casual stroll down the hall to the husbands’ quarters. The door guard came to attention as she walked up, but kept their faces carefully emotionless as she nodded to them and rapped on the door.

The second rap got a ‘‘Who is it?’’ muffled by the iron-reinforced door.

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‘‘It’s Rennsellaer, Jerin. Let me in.’’

With various clicks and clangs, the door was unlocked and Jerin cracked it open to peer at her, his eyes stunningly blue.

‘‘Should you be here?’’ he asked.

‘‘Yes.’’ She slipped into the room and locked the door behind her.

‘‘I need to show you the bolt-hole. I didn’t show you while the little ones were here this afternoon; they don’t know not to talk about such things. When they’re older, we’ll tell them.’’

He smiled shyly. ‘‘I like the sound of ‘we.’ ’’

So did she. He wore a sheer nightshirt, a deep blue that caught the color of his eyes, the silky fabric warm with his heat. After several minutes of bliss she managed to restrain herself and lead him to the dressing room.

‘‘It’s in here so that both bedrooms have access to it,’’

she explained.

‘‘I didn’t notice the smaller bedroom this afternoon. It surprised me when I found it tonight. Was it Keifer’s room?’’

‘‘While Papa was alive. Keifer moved into the larger bedroom after Papa was killed.’’

She saw his curiosity and his reluctance to ask. Because it seemed unfair to keep him ignorant of what even the baby sisters knew, because his reluctance reflected his hesitancy to hurt her, because she loved him, she opened herself to the pain that talking about her father’s death always brought. ‘‘Papa was poisoned about six months before the explosion. It was a beautiful summer day, and we decided to take carriages out into the country for a picnic.’’ Keifer decided, and they were already learning it was easier to give in than to fight with him. Easier. Deadlier. ‘‘Papa was barely thirty-five at the time. The five youngest were learning to walk, and he was so happy. Later than night, when Mother Elder came to him for services, he was vomiting, dizzy, and weak. Within minutes, he collapsed into a coma and
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