In Which Ietrin Is Put on the Spot

March 3, 1172

As Florian had told him he would, Ietrin found his father-in-law in one of the small armories along the interior of the castle wall. He was dressed for a fight, chain mail beneath his tunic and a thick leather shirt beneath that; his sword was at his side and he seemed to be studying the shelf of axes before him, as if trying to guess which was the sharpest. Ietrin swallowed. "You summoned me, sir?"

"I did." The baron turned around and gestured for him to come closer; against his better judgment, perhaps, he obeyed. "Ietrin, did you know that I was once the finest swordsman in all of Dovia?" Recalling some mention along those lines, he nodded. The baron gave a smug smile, though his eyes remained club-blunt and dagger-sharp. "My father always told me not to bother with training; he wanted me to study instead. So I did study--but I also trained, and now I am inclined to believe that each discipline served to further the effects of the other." With a motion of unnerving slowness, the older man reached toward the shelf and wrapped his fingers around the shaft of the central axe; in Ietrin's mind, he could see the whole rack being lifted and swung about like a hammer, his innards staining the wall as his splattered mess of a corpse dripped to the floor. "Of course, I'm not the finest swordsman in all of Dovia any longer--care to guess why?"

He'd been put on the spot--what could he say? Age catching up with him? Lack of exercise? Attractive, well-endowed wife wearing him out? "Err... you're not in Dovia anymore?"

His father-in-law let go of the axe and nodded. "Precisely--I'm not in Dovia anymore. In that case, Ietrin, tell me... what would that make me now?"

Ietrin glanced toward his feet, sliding his wedding band back and forth between his knuckles. Perhaps being hammered to the wall might have been less painful than this; if nothing else, it would have been over quickly. "The finest swordsman in all of Naroni and Dovia?"

"Correct." His hand flew from his side the the hilt of his sword; startled, Ietrin flinched, realizing too late that it had been a bluff. The baron smirked. "Unless of course you care to challenge that statement?" Ietrin shook his head. He wasn't the worst of fighters, but he doubted he could have even held a sword properly right about now, much less used it. "I thought so. Now, seeing as we have established this, it would be wise of you to stay on my good side--would it not?"

Struggling against the urge to make a break for the door, Ietrin coaxed his head upwards and forced himself to meet the baron's marsh-fire eyes. He knew what this is about--he'd known since he'd received the summons, known since the day before, since the instant he and Ellona had been caught--and now it seemed that the stalling was over. "It would, my lord."

"Good--now that we've got that out of the way, I can get to the point." He stretched his arms out in front of him and cracked his knuckles. Ietrin cringed; he hated the sound of knuckles cracking, and he had a feeling that his father-in-law knew it. "I had a conversation with a friend of Sparron's yesterday afternoon that proved to be rather... interesting." If only to prevent an audible gulp, Ietrin bit his tongue and grimaced. His grin was not returned. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I would assume that since I last saw her, my daughter hasn't grown several inches taller and spilled ink all over her head?"

Ietrin sighed. "Sir--"

"You seem to have inherited your father's remarkable inability to keep quiet." Startled and somewhat insulted, Ietrin fell silent. The other man's fingers tensed into a fist. "Tell me this: is Jeda happy?"

What did he mean by that? She had food on the table and a roof over her head. She had many servants and all the dresses she wanted and a magnificent castle that would one day be her own. If nothing else, she couldn't complain--and she hadn't. "Uh, well... she isn't unhappy, if that's what you mean."

"It's not what I mean." Oh. Well... damn. "I'm curious; this girl of yours--what is she to you?"

"Honestly?" The baron nodded. Ietrin closed his eyes; this would be the first time he voiced the thought, and he couldn't think of a worse person to admit it to than his wife's father, but he was on the spot. "I think I might love her, sir."

He braced himself for a blow to the face--or worse--but it never came. His father-in-law only frowned. "And my daughter?"

"She's a nice girl."

The corner of the baron's mouth twitched, a dangerous flare sparking in his eye; he managed to hold himself still, but if the throbbing vein in his temple was any indication, it was a considerable effort. "I hope for both your sakes that isn't the finest compliment you've ever paid her. But if we're being frank here, Ietrin--I must say, I did doubt that you'd be faithful to her. Many men who do love their wives slip up on occasion, and of course those in arranged marriages such as your own might go to the alter with every intention of finding something deeper elsewhere."

The pieces of the puzzle locked into place in Ietrin's mind, the picture they formed coming as a surprise. "So... you're not angry?"

His brow twitching, his father-in-law began to laugh--a dark laugh, a cynical laugh, perhaps even an ironic laugh. "Not angry? Oh, I'm furious--fucking enraged, even! But if nothing else, I can understand--after all, I myself once spent several years loving one woman while being married to another--and therefore, I am willing to negotiate with you."

Ietrin bit his lip. He'd never expected to 'negotiate' his love life, but he supposed that the very least, he still had his head--not to mention, his balls. "Uh... all right?"

"First of all--" the baron crossed his arms and fixed his eyes squarely on Ietrin's-- "not a single copper coin is to go to any bastards you might sire. My grandchildren will be your heirs, and they will have their full inheritance. Also, you will not miss the milestones in their lives just so you can spend an extra ten minutes up to your wrist in some knight's daughter's cunt--are you with me so far?"

He nodded. His father-in-law's glared lingered as he continued. "And as for my daughter herself, it goes without saying that her needs come before any other woman's. If you give your mistress a new dress, then you give Jeda two. If she wants your time, you give it to her; if she wants you in her bed, then that is the bed you choose. Make sure she's comfortable, make sure she's well, and make sure she's happy--and not just 'not unhappy', as you put it."

He supposed he could do that; after all, there couldn't have been much of a difference anyway. "Fair enough."

"I wasn't finished." Ietrin's spine stiffened; the baron's eyes narrowed to dangerous, near-reptilian slits. "If Jeda finds out about your affairs, then she will be the one calling the shots. If she decides she doesn't mind, then you may continue--but if she does, then you will stop. Can you do that?"

His throat was dry and he suspected it might hurt to speak, so he answered with a bow of his head. Not quite satisfied, the baron placed his hand upon the hilt of his sword.

"I don't doubt that you will make a better king than your father--and a better king than either of your brothers, if only because of your mother. I for one would not want to live under the rule of a son of Laralita, but mark my words--" a glint of steel emerged from the scabbard-- "if you ever hurt my little girl, then I swear to God, I'll kill you and make it look like you fell on your own sword. Do I make myself clear?"

Hesitant, reluctant, out of options, Ietrin could only nod. "Very--my lord."

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