Free Corsair by Chris Bunch

Cosyra said. “There was worse said when the watch was chasing us. What should have changed now that you see my proper circumstances, which you must know I had nothing in arranging. I am still Cosyra, gods damn it!”
    Gareth looked about the huge dining hall once again, at the portraits of stern men in armor holding swords, of women, some young and pretty, some older and imperious, the paintings of land and sea between them, swords, spears, daggers here and there. On the far wall was a great, constantly turning Wheel of Life. Those who could afford it, and the incantations that made it spin, swore it brought the best of luck.
    They were the only two in the room. A servant had listened to Cosyra’s commands, nodded without speaking, and, in a few minutes, returned with a goblet of wine and Gareth’s tea.
    “Five years ago,” Gareth said, still recovering from the surprise of Cosyra’s station, “I would have never thought I’d ever see a manse such as this, although I’d dreamed of it.”
    Cosyra sipped her wine without lifting her gaze.
    “It must be nice to have dreams,” she said softly. “Instead of knowing your life is quite planned.”
    Gareth waited.
    “That was why I went out on the streets,” she said. “It was — is — very clear to me that my fate is graven in stone. I’m to be a perfect maiden, stay a virgin, and one of the noble bees that swarm about me — or rather, swarm about what my dowry is expected to be — will take me to wife.
    “I’ll then have how ever many children he wants, stay close at home, save when we go out for important occasions, while he’s allowed to do as he pleases, with mistresses, battles, travel to strange lands … whatever.
    “Marriage … marriage …
phaf
!”
    Gareth decided to change the subject.
    “You said you and your mother live here.”
    “Lived. My mother passed on three years ago.”
    “So there’s just you in this monstrous heap of stones?”
    “Except for eighty-seven servants of various callings. I have an executor of the estate, a certain elderly lord, who keeps me from harm, especially self-intended. Some of the servants are, of course, his agents, so I can get away with little mischief.
    “But friends of mine call, and we go out. They all, of course, are noble, but some have a bit of spirit, and we’re able to get into trouble.
    “Not any as exciting as you led me into,” she added.
    “You’ve made no mention of your father.”
    Cosyra reddened a little, and her lips tightened.
    “I’m sorry,” Gareth said hastily.
    “No, no,” Cosyra said. “You had no way of knowing. My mother was even more a free spirit than I am. She chose not to marry.”
    “Oh.”
    “She had lovers. Ten, maybe twenty. She kept no diary that I’ve been able to find. One of those lovers, I know not whether he was noble like she was, was my father. I know nothing of him, and my lord the estate manager swears he knows nothing either.
    “All of these noble beards and growing ladies,” she said, motioning to the pictures, “are of her relatives. Her line went far back in the history of Saros, supposedly to the first man with a piece of jagged flint who held it at his fellow’s throat and announced he was better, and the other had best acknowledge it if he didn’t want two smiles.
    “The story has it we built on this hill even before the king of Saros did. So of course it’s expected of me to marry and carry on the tradition. Perhaps one day I’ll get my portrait hung on one of these walls, looking properly pissed.”
    “Well … do you
have
to do just what’s expected?” Gareth asked. “I mean, you slipped out with us. Couldn’t you, if you wanted, go out of Ticao, into the country?”
    “And not have anyone follow me? Not have anyone name me as Lady Cosyra of the Mount, whereupon I’d have to deal with all the tintibullations as my executor huffed and puffed and dragged me back to my proper station?”
    “You could try.”
    Cosyra looked at