Fire Song by Roberta Gellis

him.
    Fenice laid a hand on her father’s arm, and he turned to look at her, whereupon she smiled. “Let us return good for evil. I will send Lady Emilie to take my place with the sisters at the convent where she sent me, but of course, not with Fuveau and Trets as dower.”
    Raymond stared for a moment and then laughed. To come without dower to a convent usually meant acceptance only as a lay sister, to do the hard, heavy work of a servant. It was possible that the sisters would be merciful, considering Lady Emilie’s rank, but they would never let her forget that she had brought disgrace to their house and was a charge on them. The penances would be long and hard, and there would be no escape for Lady Emilie, as there had been for Fenice.
    “And as for Sir Jean-Paul… I will leave a man’s punishment to a man, to you, Father.”
    “And I will temper my justice, I promise, with your mercy,” Raymond replied, his good humor restored by his perception of Fenice’s cleverness. “Arnald,” he called, “get Jean-Paul back on that ass.” Then he turned back to Fenice. “If there is nothing more I can do for you, my love, I will get back to Tour Dur.”
    “Nothing more, Father,” Fenice said, launching into another prepared speech. “I am well able now to bring my servants to proper obedience. I thank you for your support of my right.”
    “You should rather have blamed me for not measuring the treachery of those to whose care I entrusted you,” Raymond said regretfully, which made Fenice forget all about the dignity she had assumed. She leaned perilously from her horse to throw her arms around her father’s neck and kiss him.
    “You are always too kind to me, Papa,” she cried.
    Raymond gave her a brief but enthusiastic hug, which sadly disarranged her headdress, and shoved her back to safety in her saddle. “Not too kind, Fenice,” he said fondly, “for I am proud of you, and you deserve whatever kindness I am able to bestow.”
    There was real warmth behind the words, and for once Fenice was certain that her father saw her as a person rather than another female dependent to whom he owed care. His approval made her glow with happiness, despite what she knew she must do next. Arnald had returned from the gate where he had set Sir Jean-Paul back on the ass, and Fenice asked him to lift her down from her palfrey. He set her on her feet, and the horse began to move. She snapped an order to a groom, the same groom who had once told her she must get Lady Emilie’s permission to ride out, and he ran forward, but his eyes were on Arnald, not on her. Fenice closed her eyes briefly but opened them again.
    “Amald, have your men find every servant in the keep—every one. You have my permission, this once, to go into the women’s quarters to bring down the maids. Assemble everyone in the hall, before the chair of state.”
    When they had been gathered and stood ringed by the men-at-arms, Fenice had Lady Emilie brought before her. The woman sagged between the men who held her, utterly defeated. Fenice’s soft heart was touched. Lady Emilie had lost everything, her son, her place, everything that gave meaning to her life. Had Fenice not made a commitment to her father, she would have forgotten justice to be merciful but she could not. She gave the order to begin the journey to the convent where she herself had been taken. Still, she was kinder to her mother-by-marriage than Lady Emilie had been to her. She also ordered that all Lady Emilie’s clothing, even those garments embroidered with gold and set with small gems, be sent with her. Perhaps, Fenice thought, enough could be made out of those items to assuage somewhat the ire of the sisters.
    Seeing their erstwhile mistress hustled away at Fenice’s command brought home to the servants their perilous state. Many, particularly those who held the more important positions, fell to their knees and began to weep and plead for pardon. Again Fenice had to steel herself