The Vampire & Her Witch

”Isn’t the daughter of a baron, and one of our own vassals at that, fishing in our own pond at a time when we should be looking for external allies?” Loman said, offering up something he hoped his father would find to be an acceptable excuse to move on from considering Lady Adala as a marriage partner.

”Sometimes, a loyal vassal should be rewarded with the chance to rise,” Bors said, reaching into a cabinet nearby for a bottle of his favorite strong wine and a pair of small cups. ”But perhaps you already have your eye on someone?” Bors asked after pouring a cup for himself and a shallower one for Loman.

As a father, there were times he felt like he’d failed to school his younger son in the ways of men and lords. He’d left too much to Isla, and when she passed, he’d left nearly everything to the Church as Loman transitioned from adolescence to manhood.

While he would never suggest that Loman should learn to drink and carouse the way his brother Owain did, a man should be able to enjoy a stiff drink with his father from time to time. So, even though Loman had made a habit of refusing strong wine, Bors poured a cup for him anyway, even as he directed a silent apology to Ilsa for ’corrupting’ the gentle young man she’d been so proud of.

”No one in particular,” Loman said more quickly than he meant to. Immediately, his face flushed with warmth that had nothing to do with the sip of strong wine he’d taken. ”I thought, perhaps it would be a good time to draw closer to Keating Duchy,” the young lord said, hoping his father wouldn’t misinterpret his moment of awkwardness for a hidden interest in one lady or another.

”We’ll be moving a considerable number of soldiers and supplies through their territory in the years to come,” the young lord pointed out. ”Wouldn’t a marriage between one of their families and ours help to send a message that we didn’t intend to use those forces against them when the war ends?”

”It’s been years since anyone raised an army to attack their neighbors instead of the demons,” Bors scoffed. ”The Keatings know that we wouldn’t waste our fighting men on them so long as there are demons at our border and wherever we finally draw the lines, we’ll still have demons on the border,” he reminded his son.

”You’ve been reading too many of the history books and the old laws if you’re thinking that way,” Bors chided his son lightly. ”Besides, there aren’t that many eligible young women among the noble houses of Keating Duchy.”

”I thought Duke Keating had two unmarried daughters,” Loman said as he tried to remember the conversations he’d heard among young ladies gathered at the wedding between Ashlynn and his brother. At the time, his priestly robes allowed him to remain aloof from any conversations about matchmaking, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t heard plenty of gossip about people that the young ladies attending thought would have the next significant wedding.

”Or Count DuValles?” Loman offered thoughtfully. ”He and Count DuCoumont are both said to be looking for matches for their younger daughters, aren’t they?”

”Forget about Duke Keating’s daughters,” Bors said instantly and fiercely enough that it provoked a fit of coughing. ”I’m fine,” he insisted as soon as the coughing fit passed and he saw Loman’s concerned look. Swallowing heavily, Bors gulped back the phlegm that tasted sharp enough that it almost certainly contained a trace of blood, refusing to stain another handkerchief and provoke even more worry from his son.

”It’s just a cough,” Bors repeated after taking a deep swallow of wine to wash the taste of blood and phlegm from his mouth. ”But I mean what I say about Duke Keating’s daughters. For one, they’re twelve and fourteen years old. Your betrothal to either of them would last for years, and if you intend to claim the throne, you need to do your part to produce an heir sooner rather than later.”

”Besides,” Bors said with a snort. ”Keating intends to present his daughters as candidates for the crown prince’s hand at His Highness’s coming of age ball in three years time. Those waters are too deep and too dangerous for us to fish in until we’ve been a duchy ourselves for a generation or two. It will be different once His Majesty selects a bride for his heir, but until then, forget about the families of the dukes.”

Most of the time, Loman’s suggestion would have had considerable merit. In fact, a marriage between the next Lothian Marquis and the daughter, even a younger daughter, from one of the five ducal houses would have done a great deal to pave the way to the Lothian family’s ascension.

But at the moment, the king had not just one, but three male children, and the ruling council would do everything they could to ensure that they maintained as much influence as they could over the men who might become the next king. If Bors approached one of the dukes about a marriage with their eligible daughter, it was as good as making a declaration that the royal family wouldn’t be interested in that daughter, and Bors had learned long ago that he couldn’t afford to deliver such a stinging insult.

”As to the counts and their families,” Bors said, leaning back in his overstuffed chair and shifting until he found a position that didn’t put pressure on the old wound his son had poked. ”Why don’t you tell me about the advantages you hope to secure from each of them?” Bors asked in a challenging tone. ”Tell me how you’ll use this opportunity to strengthen the march.”

”Well, to begin with,” Loman said, rising to his father’s challenge in the same way that he’d responded when his mother of his tutors gave him complex problems to reason his way through. ”The DuValles have mining traditions of their own, though they mine for salt more than anything. But once we seize control of Airgead Mountain...”

Once Loman got started, Bors sat back and listened to his son’s reasoning, nodding in agreement when he thought that Loman’s points were reasonable and interjecting only when he felt like his son had made unfounded assumptions or lacked important pieces of information.

In the end, Bors was less concerned at the moment with which of the possible candidates his son might choose to court and more concerned with the thinking that was guiding his decisions.

There was still time, after all. He could spend the entire winter writing letters of introduction if he needed to, and send Loman on a tour of the neighboring territories for the whole of next spring if that was what it took to secure the right match. So long as there was a wedding by next summer, when they would begin to launch their Holy War against the demons, it would all work out in the end.

Speed was important, especially after the chain of disasters that flowed from Owain’s marriage to Ashlynn Blackwell, but there was still enough time to make the right move. And if push came to shove, there was always the younger Blackwell girl. Jocelynn might not be ideal, but once she realized that Loman was not only just as charming as Owain was, but several years closer to her in age as well, he was certain that he could help her see the sense of transferring her devotion from the elder brother to the younger.

Besides, by the time spring came, the Church would have sent one of their High Inquisitors or even an Exemplar to oversee the Holy War. Once that happened, Bors intended to offer up Owain as a Templar, allowing his eldest son to do what he did best... and if he died gloriously on the battlefield, then it would put an end to any delusions that Jocelynn might harbor about a future with Bors’ eldest son.

In the end, there was still plenty of time, and there were plenty of options as well, Bors thought as he listened to Loman’s assessment of other potential marriage partners. He didn’t need to let the failures of the past year become the foundation of more failures to come. When the time was right, he would make his intentions known more broadly.

Until then, he was content to allow Owain to strut about before the public, gathering support for the Holy War and building himself into the sort of hero that could inspire generations after his death. By the time the Church arrived to take his eldest son into their ranks, it would be too late for Owain to escape his fate.