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northern barons. As you know, they are not native Tanarese but rather are descended from the men of Kibil who were given safe haven here when they fled from their Chiran
conquerors some two hundred and fifty years ago. The northern territories are quite poor; the coast is rugged and rocky with many small islands, each of them a baronial holding in their own right.
Recent harvests haven’t been good up there and local discontent has been fuelled by many of the more outspoken barons. It is an odd situation. They would never openly declare against the
Grand Duke – they are nowhere near powerful enough – but they may rebel in some other form, demanding more autonomy or more control over their taxes. We know that a heavy-handed
response to any rebellion with ringleaders executed and troops sent in would only make the matter worse; force is at best an ultimate sanction only to be used when other methods have failed, and
with the war in the east already draining resources a protracted struggle on two fronts is not what the nation needs.’
    Ceriana could see what he was driving at. ‘I am to marry one of them?’
    The Duke of Hartfield nodded.
    ‘But, Father, the north is ... is the middle of nowhere. The people are poor and backward; some even say that brothers marry sisters there and all their children have six fingers and
toes!’
    He managed a weak laugh. ‘Not all rumours are true. They are grim and stoic folk, yes, but they are not without honour. Indeed, they have so much of it they can be difficult to deal with
at times.’
    ‘So the Grand Duke wants to use me to ... to bribe these blackguards into behaving themselves. Am I not more important than to be traded off to a fisherman who has never seen the inside of
a bath?’
    ‘Alas, Ceriana, you are my fourth child and outside my castle and lands you are seen as nowhere near as important as my son, or even my other daughters. You are, however, important enough
to be used to assuage the northerners.’
    She raised her voice in frustration. ‘But I will never see you again, Father; the north is an age of travel away – you never visit there!’
    ‘On the contrary, Leontius is hoping I will visit regularly, backed up with a large quantity of knights and men at arms, just to show the locals the strength of his supporters.’
    Her shoulders sagged; there was no point in fighting. ‘Well, who is this husband to be then?’ she asked tremulously.
    ‘He commands the island of Osperitsan, the largest and most powerful of their baronetcies. His name is Wulfthram and he is seen as the voice of the north. His previous wife died three
years ago – disease claimed her.’
    ‘Does he have children? How old is he?’
    ‘No children, no legitimate ones anyway. As to his age I am unsure, but the general reckoning at court is that he is about twice as old as you.’
    ‘Twice as old,’ she said, half to herself. ‘Any more bad news? Have all his teeth fallen out? Does his breath smell like a village latrine in summer? Please do not say that he
has six fingers.’
    ‘I have met him barely and have no clear recollection, but Leontius speaks quite well of him, apart from his tendency to rebellion of course. Not your typical northerner were his words; he
even shaves his beard apparently.’
    ‘Sounds like you are trying to soften the blow,’ she said. ‘How is Mother taking it?’
    ‘How do you imagine?’ he sighed. ‘He is not the husband she envisaged for you. I have spent the last hour feeding her wildthorn berries and trying to calm her down.’
    ‘If you have any left,’ she said with a shrug, ‘bring them over to me! ... I have six weeks then.’
    ‘Yes, you will marry at Erskon. The Grand Duke will use the occasion to size up the northern barons, then you will travel to Osperitsan the following morning. My first official visit will
be some time after.’
    ‘I imagine this Wulfthram is as unhappy about this match as we are.’
    ‘Yes and no. On the