Earl Eduart stood up and began to blubber his indignation. "How—how dare you, a mere girl, come in here, and demand of me, the Earl, and your father, that I—"

"How dare I?" said Tamsin. "How dare I?"

Tamsin approached her father, bringing her face close to his. "I know what you're planning, old man. Do you want me to tell everyone what you're planning to do? I'm not going to let you send me to my death again."

"Again?" said Eduart. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Just show me the damned contract!" shouted Tamsin.

Even an elephant will spook at an unexpectedly brave dormouse, and Tamsin's father was no elephant. He picked up a small folder of papers from his desk and held it out to Tamsin, who snatched it from her hands.

Tamsin immediately began scanning it as quickly as she could.

"Wystan, you're dismissed for the night," the Earl said to his valet. "I need to speak to my daughter in private for a time."

Wystan nodded and gave a small bow before leaving the room.

"Surely there must be some way out of this, now that Roger's dead," said Tamsin, waving the contract back and forth.

The Earl looked at his frantic daughter and his expression was almost apologetic. "No, I'm afraid there isn't. It's ironclad."

"But certainly when you signed this you must have had some idea that one or the other of them might die before the wedding," insisted Tamsin.

"Well, yes," said the Earl. "There's a standard clause included in all aristocratic engagement contracts in case of just this sort of eventuality. The problem is..."

"What?" asked Tamsin. "What's the problem?"

The Earl sighed and sat back down in his seat. "The contract allows for a substitute in cases of untimely death. A close relative can stand in for the dead fiance, but... the replacement must be a second cousin or closer."

Now Tamsin understood what had happened.

The Gwedric family tree had been dying out for several generations now. Eduart had been an only child, and his father had been an only child, and his father's father had been an only child. Roger and Tamsin were the only people left in the current generation who carried the blood of the Gwedric house.

"So this is why your plan was to leave me to die," said Tamsin.

"I didn't..." said Eduart. "I didn't want things to turn out this way, but what am I supposed to do? There's no way our army can stand up to the blood-soaked Duchess, Alesia the Deserter."

Tamsin closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Did you even try to find another solution, one that didn't involve any more deaths?"

"Well, of course I'll try," said Eduart. "But... but, you must see that—"

Now that the anger had died down a little, Tamsin looked at her father with pity. He was just the weak Earl of a weak nation in a warlike Empire where weak nations rarely lasted this long.

But that was no excuse to abandon your only daughter to die. Tamsin still remembered the pain of the sword as it ripped through her, tearing her life away. She still remembered the despair and betrayal she had felt at that moment.

The Gwedric family had never been all that close to each other. The Earl and the Countess had gotten married as part of a political marriage, and they'd seen having children as part of their job as aristocrats. There had been no friendship and no particular love between them, not really. There was duty and responsibility. But nothing more. And in the end, the Earl had chosen to abandon even that.

Still, maybe they weren't really bad people. Maybe they just never should have gotten married. Maybe they just never should have had kids. But they did. And now here they all were.

"Don't worry, father," said Tamsin, clutching the contract to her chest. "I'll figure something out."

When Tamsin stepped out of her father's office she leaned against a wall and took a deep breath again. She was shaking.

In times past she never would have stood up to her father like that. She never would have stood up to anyone like that.

But she'd already stood up to a Goddess, hadn't she? And what was one back-country Earl to a Goddess of War.

Still, thought Tamsin. It's amazing what someone is capable of when they have nothing left to lose.

Tamsin spent the next several days poring over the contract.

She'd had a basic education, but nothing more, and the contract used a lot of complex legal jargon. Luckily she'd been able to find a dictionary in the library that contained most of the words, so with careful study she was able to piece together the meaning of the full document.

Eventually she had the whole thing practically memorized.

Once she'd understood and memorized it, she began trying to find ways to tear it apart.

The manor's library was small and not well-stocked. Most of the books were outdated tomes on gardening or forestry with fancy covers and no particularly useful information, even to gardeners or foresters. Still, she'd been able to track down a few dusty volumes on imperial law and history.

The law books weren't much help, even the parts of them she could understand.

The contract really appeared to be airtight. It wasn't that surprising, given that the standard aristocratic engagement contract had been perfected over the course of hundreds of years. The basic contract was essentially the same every time, except for the names of the involved parties and nations.

One day, when Tamsin had passed Captain Frieg in the hallway, she'd called out to him.

"What can I help you with, my lady?" asked Captain Frieg.

"I realized you're the only person I know who's done much traveling," she said. "Can you tell me, how long does it take to get to the Jordaine Duchy from here?"

"Hmm, well," Captain Frieg scratched his chin while he thought, making a loud noise across his stubble. "About four days, if you're traveling light and have a good horse," said Frieg. "It's not that long a distance, but you have to take things slow through the mountain passes. Why, the last time I passed through there, I—"

"Thank you so much!" said Tamsin, hurting off back to the library.

Tamsin only had a few weeks before the Duchess would arrive with her armies, and now she knew she would need at least four days of travel to even talk to the Duchess. She had no time to waste.

Tamsin was searching through the shelves again, hoping there was some useful book she might have missed. She couldn't quite read something on one of the upper shelves, so stood on a chair and reached up and up, trying to grab the spine, when she slipped.

She heard a gasp and the shattering of china behind her as she tipped over backwards and suddenly she was caught.

It was Primrose the maid, who was just barely succeeding in holding both of them up. Then her arms gave out and they both fell to the ground.

"My lady, my lady, are you okay?" asked Primrose from underneath Tamsin.

Tamsin scrambled up, trying to get off the poor maid. "Yes, I'm fine, thanks to you," she said.

"I'm so sorry I broke the china," said Primrose, getting to her knees. "I was just bringing you some tea and then I saw you slip and... and I thought it would just be awful to lose both the young master and young mistress to unfortunate falls in the same week and I just... I just rushed over as fast as I could, and you still fell, and the china, I just..."

Primrose had tears in the corners of her eyes.

"It's okay, it's okay!" said Tamsin. "I'm sorry that I gave you such a fright. The china doesn't matter."

"But Mrs. Ashworthe is going to be so angry!" said Primrose. "And not to mention the Countess... Oh, Gods, what am I going to do?"

"Tell you what," said Tamsin, holding a hand out to Primrose. "How about you clean up the spill and just dump the broken pieces out of one of the windows? Mrs. Ashworthe and my mother don't need to know anything."

"Oh, you're so kind Lady Tamsin!" said Primrose.

Truthfully, Tamsin mostly just wanted to avoid causing more of a scene. She didn't have time to deal with that right now. And who cared about the china when this whole house was going to be overrun with soldiers in a few weeks anyway?

But also, Primrose really didn't deserve to be yelled at after all this.

When Tamsin fell she had managed to dislodge the book she was reaching for. She picked it up now and checked the title.

It read Bird Husbandry: From Roosters to Peacocks.

"Shit," said Tamsin under her breath.

"Can I ask what book you were looking for, my lady?" asked Primrose.

Tamsin sighed and put the book down on the table, rubbing her temples. "Anything on the law or history of aristocratic marriages in the Empire," she said. "I've found some generic law and history books but they don't contain much about marriages, specifically, so they haven't been that helpful."

"I see," said Primrose. Suddenly she gasped and put a hand over her mouth.

"What is it?" asked Tamsin.

"I think I might have something that would help!" said Primrose. "Just a moment, I'll be quick."

Primrose quickly ran out the room. Soon, she came back in with a rag and cleaned up the spilled tea. Then she took the broken pieces of crockery and opened one of the library windows and tossed them out into the garden. Then she ran back out of the room.

When she came back the second time she was carrying a small volume with a red leather cover.

"Here, my lady," said Primrose. "Please have it."

Tamsin took the book and looked at the title. "Until Death Do Us Part: True stories of love and marriage in the Viland Empire?"

"I bought it at a festival last year, for the love stories," said Primrose. "Some of them are really sweet."

Glancing through the forward, Tamsin could tell it wasn't a serious volume of history. It was intended to be read by sentimental young women like Primrose. But it wasn't made up stories. It did seem to be at least based in historical truth.

"Thank you," said Tamsin. "This is very helpful."

Primrose's face lit up. "I'm so glad I could be of help, my lady! Please let me know if I can help you with anything else!"

After Primrose left, Tamsin set the new book down and returned to what she was doing before.

Later that night, as she was getting into bed, she suddenly remembered the book. She pulled it out to read until her candle burned out. She figured it couldn't hurt.

Her candle was almost down to a stub by the time she found it.

This was it.

This was the alternative solution.

Oh, gods, she thought. This is not going to be easy.

She had to remind herself it was a better option than dying.

Tamsin pulled on the rope that would, elsewhere in the manor, operate a bell in the maid's bedroom.

A few moments later there was a knock on the door. Primrose, yawning hugely, asked "Is there something you need, my lady?"

"Yes," said Tamsin. "Do you know where I can find the keys to Roger's room? And do you know how to cut hair?"

A few hours later there was a pounding on the door of Frieg's room.

He hadn't been sleeping well since the young master's death. He'd been having dreams again. Dreams of war and death. He was dreading what he knew must soon be coming.

So the knocking easily woke him up. He answered the door, expecting it to be one of the night guards with something more or less meaningless to report.

He was surprised to find an unfamiliar young nobleman standing outside with Primrose, the maid.

"Excuse me, young man," said Frieg. "Were you properly invited into the manor house? Primrose, if you're trying to sneak a boyfriend in, you know I can't support you with that."

"No, Frieg, it's me," said the young man.

Frieg wiped more of the sleep out of his eyes and looked again. His eyes widened in shock.

It was Lady Tamsin. Her hair had been cut short and she was wearing one of Lord Roger's suits. It was too big on her, so she'd had to roll up the sleeves.

"My lady, what are you—"

"I'm going to Jordaine. Right now," said Tamsin. "And I'm going to marry the Duchess. Will you come with me?"