Yet now Iome realized she would not concede to common sense, for her argument was just. Her vassals valued their lives as much as she valued her own. She might be able to save one of them, or two or three. She would help defend the castle walls. Just as her father would.

Yet Gaborn’s answer surprised her: “I don’t want you to fight, because it would be a shame to mar such beauty.”

Iome laughed, clear and sweet, like the call of a whippoorwill in a glade. “I have refused to look at you,” she said, “for fear my heart would overwhelm my common sense. Perhaps you should have done the same.”

“Truly, you are beautiful,” Gaborn said, “but I’m no boy to be made dizzy by a pretty face.” That use of Voice again, so sensible. “No, it is your decency that I find beautiful.”

Then, perhaps sensing the darkness about to descend, Gaborn said, “I must be honest, Princess Sylvarresta. There are other princesses I could ally with, in other kingdoms. Haversind-by-the-Sea, or Internook.” He gave her a moment to think. Both kingdoms were as large as Heredon, as wealthy, and perhaps even more defensible—unless, of course, you feared invasion from the sea. And the beauty of Princess Arrooley of Internook was legendary, even here, twelve hundred miles away. “But you intrigued me.”

“I? How so?”

Gaborn said honestly, “A few years ago, I had an argument with my father. He’d arranged to purchase grace for me from a young fisherman. I objected. You’ve seen how those who give up grace often cling to life tenuously. The muscles of their guts cannot stretch, and so they cannot digest food. They can seldom walk. Even to attempt speech or to close their eyes can cause pain. I’ve seen how they waste away, until they die after a year or so. To me it seems that of all the traits one might endow to another, grace would be hardest to lose.

“So I refused the endowment, and my father grew angry. I said it was wrong to persist in this ‘shameful economy,’ accepting endowments from those vassals poor enough in intellect and worldly goods to count themselves fortunate to give up the best parts of themselves for our benefit.

“My father laughed and said, ‘You sound like Iome Sylvarresta. She called me a glutton when last I ate at her table—not a glutton for food, but a glutton who fed on the misery of others! Hah! Imagine!’ ” When Gaborn quoted his father, he sounded exactly like the King. He was using his Voice again.

Iome remembered that comment well. For her impertinence, her father had administered a firm spanking in the presence of King Orden, then locked her in her room for a day without food or water. Iome had never regretted the remark.