A Candle to Light Your Honour

Kitty Ryan, 2003

Author's Note: The Question of Aymery's Age

Maths is not my thing. It never will be. But the timeline for this fic, and how it fits canonically, is something I've lost sleep over in the past. Here is how I've calculated the Chandler cousins' age difference.

Tris is eleven (she's said to be a year older than the ten-year-old Sandry) in Power in the Storm. (For American readers: Tris' Book). The year is 1036, making her birth-date some time in 1025. Aymery, in the same book, is cited as eleven years her senior, placing him at around the age of twenty-two/twenty-three. So, his birth would be in 1014. Well. That's how it worked out on my calculator.

Chapter Four: And with Heat, Comes Fluidity (subtitled: Gossip)
1016, Ninvesdor Heights, Ninver, Capchen
Two years after a wedding
Storm Moon, a month obviously named by someone with a love of concise accuracy and no imagination, was not a good time to be out in the open.

The wind was up, ripping at leafless branches, and making firs groan. The rain was down. Sheets of it. Heavy, hard and blinding. Cold was simply everywhere, while light came and went in jagged bursts from the sky--flickering fingers of it that came and went before thunder, silent as it threw the uneven, rocky landscape into sharp relief before slipping away and leaving the world in its windy, ink-black darkness.

"Master Rightwork..."

A soft, forlorn voice, belonging to a very wet Lise Cartwell, currently standing hunched up under a large fir, blinking the rain off her eyelashes, floated out into the night. "Master Rightwork, please...I want to go home."

"Don't stand under that tree, Lise!" The other voice was a much stronger one, though tinged with rather tired worry, now. Fedwren walked over to the girl, and firmly took her hand. "Do you want to get hit by lightening?"

"I don't want to be here at all!" Lise glared half-heartedly at the man, but she was too wet, and too confused, to put much energy into her protests. Shivering, she reluctantly let herself be led out into the open.

"I didn't know it was going to rain, my dear," murmured Fedwren, motioning for her to sit on a rock.

Lise sniffed. "Have you looked at your calender recently? It's a month where it does nothing but rain. If you take me back home I'll give you a discount on a new one, four copper creses'."

"I am sorry, Lise. Here, take my coat."

The girl took it gratefully, wrapping it around herself until only her head was exposed. "Won't you need it, Master Rightwork?" she asked, in a nervous-apologetic afterthought.

"Lise, you've known me properly for over a year now. Call me Fedwren."

Thunder boomed overhead, and Lise started, squeaking in fright. "Well, please, Fedwren, take me home. Why are we here, anyway?"

"It's private, and usually very beautiful."

The young merchant laughed, rather hysterically. Fedwren carefully eased an arm around her.

"Wh-what are you doing, Mas...Fedwren?" Lise shuddered again, a sudden flash of lightening illuminating her pale, worried face and wide eyes.

"Aren't you cold?" Fedwren's face, when shown by that same light, was warm and intense, and very close to her own.

"Y-y-yes."

"Well, I'm being a good friend, and keeping you warm." Something in the tone of his voice changed, about then. It became deeper, and softer, with a breathless quality. "There is nothing I cherish so much," he said, "as the thought of being your friend."

Lise was fast becoming overwhelmed. "We are friends, aren't we? You've been terribly good to me. Though," she managed a timid smile, "I don't think I'll be friendly any more, if you take me out in horrible weather like this."

Fedwren said nothing. He just looked at the forks of lighting that were so dangerously close to him, and held her closer.

Lise felt the tightening grip, and stiffened, trying to keep her cheek as far away from his shoulder as possible, despite how her body wanted to curve. "Are you all right?" she whispered. Then, when he couldn't, or wouldn't, hear her over the rain, she repeated the question, loudly. "Fedwren! Are you all right?"

Fedwren smiled, half looking at her. "I have a bargain to make with you, Lise Cartwell."

The girl blinked. "You do?"

"I do. I will take you home, and then you can go to sleep knowing that you have a friend who will always help you, no questions asked, and no matter the problem. I will care for you and defend you and make sure you are never--"

"--What is my part in this?" Lise managed to force herself out of the circle of his arm, and she stood. "And who says I need protection?"

Fedwren looked up at her, smiling. "I know you're wonderfully capable, my dear. But everyone needs someone to turn to. You can count on me for that."

"W-w-well, Fedwren, that's very generous. But...this is a bargain. What do I have to give?"

The old man stood, then, and stepped closer to her. "Let me court you."

"What?"

The two of them stood in the rain, and both were shaking for reasons that were entirely different while being almost the same. They both closed their eyes against another flash in the sky, and both couldn't suppress a jerky, in-drawn breath and a start at the thunder that followed it, frighteningly loud. Then, the girl backed away, shaking her head so that water-droplets flew about her in all directions.

"Oh, Lise..." Fedwren shadowed her, three steps behind. "Don't be afraid."

"I'm too young to be married!"

"You're fifteen. You'll be old enough soon. And I'm not proposing."

"I...I don't know what to say," Lise wailed, still backing away from him.

"Say yes."

"No! Well, that's not what I mean, but...oh, Asaia help me, if Papa were alive, you'd have to ask--"

"--But he's not, Lise. You're free to choose."

They were shouting over the storm, Lise's voice high and tremulous, Fedwren's earnest and cracking over the words. Lise felt like Fedwren wasn't just in front of her, but behind and on either side as well, and in her ears, the words echoing, over and over, in a relentless, bewildering downpour, more numbing then the rain.

Free to choose...to choose...choose...

"But...what will everyone think?" Lise felt exhausted. Shivering, she looked pleadingly at Fedwren, willing him to at least try and understand her. "My reputation! I'll be seen as a gold-digger, when I'm not. And if you want anything...anything private from me, Master Rightwork, then you'd have to marry me, and I'm...I don't need a husband. I want to make-do on my own, and I don't want to be seen as any cheap...as a fast girl."

Fedwren groaned, looked at her flushed face, and how her soaking woollen dress clung to her. He'd sold her that fabric. "You're a woman. No girl."

Lise didn't see the rock behind her, as she flinched away. With a shriek, she fell to the ground, into mud and twigs and dead pine needles. On her back, she sobbed. "A-all the re-respectable families. The Chandlers...the Bidewells and Resiners...I would be...they'd--"

"--Hang them," said Fedwren, kneeling beside her with more than a little difficulty. He sounded like he meant it. Gently, he eased Lise into a sitting position, and kissed her forehead.

Lise let herself go limp in his arms. "I want to go home. Fedwren, I beg you, just take me home."

The merchant slipped two fingers under Lise's chin, and tilted her head to face him. "We have an agreement, Daughter Cartwell."

As lightening flashed one last time overhead, Lise looked dully back at him. "Agreement accepted, Master Rightwork."

The Diamond District, Ninver, Capchen
Gretchen bounced her baby in her arms, as she walked across the cobbled District, and he laughed at her.

"You're your Ma's darling, aren't you just, Aymery?"

Gretchen Chandler had discovered early on that she loved motherhood very much indeed. Aymery was such a lucky child, healthy and handsome, she was sure that her boy would break hearts one day, and the woman was exceptionally proud of herself for having him young enough so she'd be still alive to watch him while it happened. He even had her eyes.

"You're the best little boy in the whole-wide-world, and you know it," she whispered, bouncing him again.

Aymery giggled, then stared intently at his hand as he waved it in front of his face, looking as if he'd only just realised it belonged to him.

"Oh yes you are. You're going to grow up and make Daddy proud of you, and you'll do all sorts of great things that your poor old Ma can't even imagine. Aren't you proud? What did that nice mage-y man say last week, Aymery?"

"Ma!" said Aymery.

"No, he didn't say anything about your Ma, lovie." Gretchen held the boy up in the air for a moment, glowing with pride. "He said all sorts of things about you. He said," Gretchen paused dramatically then, face deadly serious. "He said that you 'showed a great potential for excelling in the magical craft'! Don't you remember, beautiful? He said they'd have to test you properly when you were a great big four-year-old, but he thought you'd have a very good chance of getting into Lightsbridge. Lightsbridge! That's all the way away in Karang! You'll be the first Chandler in existence who will be able say that he's a mage trained in Karang, and we'll all be terribly proud of you. Even your auntie Darra, who isn't proud of anything much except herself, but," here Gretchen lowered her voice until it was barely audible," never tell her I said that. Do you promise?"

Aymery blinked at her, smiling.

"I'll take that as a yes," said his mother, laughing self-consciously. "I love you to bits Aymer--oh! Lise dear, you look terrible."

Gretchen had just been passing the Bidewell Apothecary when she noticed Lise hovering near its doors, nose red, eyes redder, and breathing in a most unpleasant way.

"Do I?" the girl asked, smiling ruefully. Gretchen winced at the nasal twang in what was usually a clear voice.

"I'm sorry, child, but you do. What on earth happened?"

Lise blushed. "Got caught in the rain."

Gretchen smiled indulgently at the younger girl. "Silly thing. You go in and see if you can find something to help you from Ana Bidewell's."

Lise nodded, glumly.

"Who's looking after the shop, if you're ill?" Gretchen was curious, in-spite of herself.

"I've closed it for the morning," muttered Lise, looking at the ground. "Though Fedwren...I mean, Master Rightwork, he told me he'd look after it for the afternoon--"

"--Fedwren?"

"Yes, Gretchen. I'm very much obliged to him," Lise said quickly, looking uncomfortable. "Is this your son?" she asked, with a quick smile.

The young mother drew herself up about half an inch. "Yes, this is Aymery," she trilled. "Would you like to hold him? Oh...well maybe not hold him, you being sick as you are, if you know what I mean, but...yes. This is Aymery."

"He's a very handsome boy."

"He is."

The two of them stood around for a while, silent, save Gretchen's whispered babbling to her son.

"Umm...Gretchen?"

"...Yes, you're a big boy now, yes you are--oh! Yes, dear?"

"Do you know if Master Rightwork's ever been married before?"

Gretchen blinked, surprised. "Married? That old man? No. Come to think of it, I don't think he has. Why on earth do you ask?"

"We-ell..."

"You look awfully pale, Lise, as well as sick." Gretchen put her hand of Lise's shoulder in a motherly fashion. "Is there something you want to tell me?"

'The Chandlry', Diamond District, Ninver, Capchen
"Oh, Darra! You'll never guess."

Darra looked up from her shop-front table, quill in one hand, and a soon-to-be-priced beeswax and lanolin taper in the other. She didn't blink at the sight of her sister-in-law's enthused expression, though she felt mildly sorry for baby Aymery, as he was being held in what looked like a grip of iron. With a tired smile, the woman adjusted her spectacles.

"Never guess what, Gretchen?"

"I saw little Lise Cartwell outside your mother's today, and she looked absolutely wretched--"

"--What of it?" Darra's smile became a quietly satisfied one.

"Well, she told me that she'd been caught out in the rain last night, the silly chit, and then you see, she said something else which I find absolutely impossible to believe, let me tell you."

Darra grimaced, putting her quill down and holding up her, now free, hand. "Gretchen," she said, too sweet. "Tell me."

"In a moment, in a moment." Gretchen smiled mischievously at her friend, glad to have the upper hand for once. "Aymery and I also passed Mistress Posy Arcunam--you know, Lise's landlady? The one with the limp and the moustache? Well, we passed her, and I just happened to mention that Lise must have got home very late last night, and she told me that Daughter Cartwell didn't get to the house until one in the morning."

Darra, listening intently, willed Gretchen to get to the point. "Disgraceful," she said. "And?"

"And," the happy orator continued, "Mistress Arcunam also said, in that gossipy way of hers, that Lise had been in an absolutely revolting state, dress all torn, sticks in her hair, and all shivery. Scandalously flushed, too, Mistress Arcunam said. But," said Gretchen, all breathlessness, "that's not the worst of it. Fedwren Rightwork had 'escorted' Lise home, she told me, and--Posy saw this because she was still awake before they got in and had been looking out her window--Fedwren had had his arm about Lise's waist until they got to the gate!"

Darra smirked. "The little tart."

Gretchen covered Aymery's small ears. "That might be a little strong, Darra," she said, thoughtfully. "But one just has to think along those lines, given the circumstances. Especially since Lise told me that Fedwren's asked to court her--"

"--I doubt that very much," said Darra, acidly. "Fedwren's fifty years old. Married life would probably kill him. Lise is just trying to salvage some of her reputation."

"Do you really think so?"

"Would I say anything that I didn't think?"

"No, Darra. But...Lise is only a little girl, really. Surely she couldn't--"

"--Too young for courting, old enough for bedding."

"Ugh! You're bordering on vulgar, now."

"At least I haven't crossed the border!"

A loud sneeze could be heard, and Lise walked into the shop. All was silent.

Lise felt two sets of eyes, one dismayed and curious, the other cold and chokingly disapproving, on her while she perused the shelves. The silence, with those gazes, was stifling, and Lise felt that, every time she sneezed, she'd committed some terrible offence. When she finally turned to the two women, holding a small poppy-spiked aromatic, she flinched.

"Mistress Darra, how much for this, if you please?"

"Two silver astrels." Darra looked down her nose at the girl, spectacle-frames catching the watery light from outside.

Lise stared at her, disbelieving. "T-t-that's absurd!"

Smiling thinly, Darra shrugged. "Take it or leave it, Daughter Cartwell. I don't barter with sluts."

Residence of Fedwren Rightwork, Highback Street, Ninver, Capchen
Fedwren had given himself a holiday. The soaking of the night before was starting off a cold, he was sure of it, and he just couldn't deal with the thought of a full-blown one just now. Besides, his profits were always up this time of year. He could afford a rest.

So, the merchant had ensconced himself in a chair in his study, patchwork blanket around his knees and glass of spiced wine from Hatar in his hands. It was a time for warmth and reflection, Fedwren having a need to reflect on rather a lot of things.

"Daughter Lise Cartwell to see you, sir."

Fedwren's manservant, Rickson, materialised in the doorway.

"Really?" The man was surprised. He'd never expected Lise to visit him here, though he'd quietly fantasised over the idea once or twice.

"Yes, sir. She seems very...urgent, sir."

"Fedwren Rightwork, I need to talk to you now."

Lise's voice carried all the way up the stairs, which was no mean feat. Fedwren jumped at the sound of it. "You're right," he said. "She does, rather. Send her up."

"As you wish, sir."

Fedwren was just practical enough to know that late-night Hearth Moon dreams did not unfold themselves before his eyes in reality, so he was worried. For Lise to be here, something dreadful must have happened. She'd been burgled, or bankrupted, or--Fedwren looked at the figure now standing in the doorway--become very, very ill.

Eyes and nose streaming, swaying on her feet, Lise glared at him with over-bright eyes.

"Oh, my dear," Fedwren breathed, "you look--"

"--I look like death, you bastard. You took me to the Heights in the rain and I'm completely ruined."

Seeing Lise angry was something like being in the path of a rabid, slightly disoriented sparrow, but Fedwren was still shocked. "Because I took you out in the rain?"

Lise crumpled, with no warning and a long, drawn out wail. The carpet she landed on was a luxurious, beautifully woven creation from Kugisko, Narmorn--all beautiful violet and burnt-orange colourings and geometric designs. Lise sobbed into it, hair in a wild mess all around her, fists clenched.

Fedwren, full of a terrified sort of awe, let her cry it all out, not moving from his chair. It took her a very long time to calm down. "What happened to you today, my love?"

Lise shuddered. "Don't call me that!" she snapped, voice gone almost to nothing. "Darra Chandler found out about you and me, and...last night. By now it'll be all around the town that I'm your cheap whore." Lise sobbed again--a sob that cut as it came, without the relief of tears. "No one will do business with me soon, and everything I've done, it'll all go to waste. Just because you were trying to be romantic." Stiff-backed, the girl stood up, and weakly tried to tidy her hair. Lise's eyes were despairing. "I nearly had the Yanjing trade deal sealed, Fedwren. But it'll probably fall through now, you know." She laughed softly, turning away from him. "The people there are like Darra," she said. "They don't deal with sluts."

Fedwren got out of his chair, and walked out into the middle of the room, facing Lise. His lips were pinched tight. "I'll deal with Darra," he said.