Mátyás looked faintly embarrassed. “Let us simply say that the name of your eldest daughter has been mentioned more than once by both my brothers as an object of . . . carnal interest. I won’t repeat exactly what was said. In addition, I believe the fair Elisabet has from time to time been discussed among Gwynedd’s ministers of state as a possible royal bride—has she not, Sire?” He briefly turned his glance on Kelson, who nodded. “One among many, to be sure, but perhaps it would be as well if she were not at home if Teymuraz comes calling for a Haldane princess and is thwarted in his intentions.”
Létald’s face had gone hard as Mátyás spoke, the last of his genial veneer melting away. After sweeping the others with his gaze, he returned his focus to Kelson, then to Liam.
“It seems we all must trust one another far more than we had planned or dreamed,” he said quietly. “In granting access to my private Portal at Horthánthy, I shall require reciprocal access here and in Gwynedd. Dhassa will be acceptable for the latter, Bishop Arilan. Count Mátyás, what Portal will you offer here in Beldour?”
Mátyás looked immediately at Liam, but the boy merely inclined his head.
“You must choose, Uncle,” he said. “You know more of this than I.”
And in the quarters of the Princess Morag, mother of the new king, a handsome, dark-haired young man in the braids and leather tunic of a sirdukar of royal horse waited for a servant to close the door behind him and withdraw. Morag was standing before the fireplace, one hand resting on the chimneypiece, and gestured with a be-ringed hand for him to approach. The events of earlier in the day had not at all altered the long-nurtured plan she now prepared to set in motion.
“I have a task for you, of a somewhat delicate nature,” she said to the man, as he came and knelt to kiss the hem of her gown. “Stay, and I shall give you the whole of it,” she added, setting a hand on his shoulder when he would have risen.
He bowed his head at the gesture, closing his eyes as her hand slipped round to cup the back of his neck. He remained thus for a handful of heartbeats, after which he raised his head, then got to his feet at her nod.
“It will not be easy, to draw Lord Derry aside without arousing his suspicions,” he murmured.
“That is why I entrust this task to you,” she replied. “I can trust no one else. He is very wary of us, but he is not Deryni—and he will not question a summons to attend Morgan and the other Deryni of King Kelson’s party, whom he knows to be presently occupied in a closed meeting with my son. I need but a short time with him.”
“You shall have it, my lady,” the man said, inclining his head.
She watched him go, absently fondling an iron finger-ring found on the body of her brother, Wencit, following his death at the hands of Kelson of Gwynedd—who had also slain her husband. Not until many months later, while going through her brother’s papers and magical diaries, had she discovered the significance and purpose of the ring—and learned that Sean Lord Derry, trusted aide of the detestable Morgan, once had worn its mate.
After that, it had taken nearly three years to find a mage capable of crafting a new match-mate. Meanwhile, she refined the functioning of the spell that once had made it such a powerful tool. The ritual for attuning the new ring to the old—and for augmenting the original spell—had required three days and three nights, during which she neither ate nor slept. But now the new ring lay in a pocket of her gown, encased in purest gold to disguise its true nature. . . .
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Therefore I purposed to take her to me to live with me, knowing that she would be a counseller of good things, and a comfort in cares and grief.
Wisdom of Solomon 8:9
Within the hour, Kelson and his immediate party were gathered around the Portal in the staff room Mátyás had been using to direct the search for Teymuraz. It was also the Portal whence Arilan and Azim had made their visit to the Camberian Council with Sofiana the night before, though this was unknown to the rest of them. Létald and Azim had just disappeared from the Portal square; and as Mátyás invited inspection by the rest of them, Kelson noticed that Liam, too, was taking the opportunity to make the Portal’s coordinates his own. Arilan looked uneasy about the entire operation.
“It isn’t only Létald who will want the Dhassa coordinates,” Kelson murmured aside to Arilan, as they stood back to watch Dhugal ease in to crouch beside Liam.
“I’m aware of that,” Arilan muttered.
“I’m referring to Liam and Mátyás,” Kelson said.
“That’s what I’m aware of,” Arilan replied, a little testily, but still very softly. “But the Portal is Trapped, if I set it that way—as is Létald’s, I suspect. Or it will be, by the time all of this is finished.”
Azim suddenly appeared again on the Portal square, causing Dhugal to rear back on his heels—though he had already finished what was necessary. As Azim’s gaze flicked around the room, Kelson stepped forward where he could be seen easily.
“All’s well at the Ile, I hope?” he said.
“For now. Come. Létald has started preparations there. I can take through two at a time.”
Kelson found Mátyás at his elbow as he started forward. Smiling faintly, the Furstáni prince checked and gestured for Kelson to precede him. Kelson obliged, falling in at Azim’s right and turning to face in the same direction, as Mátyás did the same on Azim’s left.
“Play nicely, now, children,” Azim said softly so that only they could hear, as he set a hand on the back of each man’s neck. “Prepare yourselves.”
Mildly bristling at Azim’s indulgent tone, Kelson closed his eyes and drew a long breath to center, totally confident in the hands of the Deryni master—and confident in tandem with Mátyás, he realized as he settled into focus, though old suspicions died hard. As he let down his shields, he felt the firm and powerful embrace of Azim’s mind enfolding his, carrying him deeper toward stillness. He yielded to it, vaguely aware of a surge of power—and caught his balance just slightly as the floor shifted beneath his feet.
He opened his eyes to a small, musty-smelling room lit by a standing rack of candles beside an open door. Beyond was a room paneled in light oak, with Létald standing behind a long council table, issuing orders to a handful of liveried servants. Kelson knew the room instantly, for he had often met there with Létald for discussions of business common to both of them; but he had never suspected the presence of a Portal this near.
“Wait with Létald,” Azim murmured, propelling the pair of them off the Portal. He was gone again almost instantly, the feat betokening fine control. Still faintly disconnected from the jump, Kelson sank to a crouch to set his hands on the Portal square and imprint its location in his mind, faintly reassured to see Mátyás calmly doing the same. When they had finished, they rose together and went into the room beyond.
“I know the hour, and I know she detests having her sleep disturbed,” Létald was saying to Vasilly Dimitriades. The lanky chamberlain was wrapped in a robe of sea-green silk, shoeless, his wide eyes and dishevelled hair making him look like a startled egret. “Ask her to summon my nieces as well. Say that I shall be there momentarily, with King Kelson.”
Half an hour later, Kelson was standing uneasily in the solar chamber where he had come to speak to Araxie before, listening as Azim explained to Sivorn and her husband and daughters what had transpired at Beldour, and why the escape of Teymuraz might pose a threat to the two Haldane princesses. Morgan and Dhugal were with him, and Arilan, along with Liam and Mátyás.
“Accordingly, I would strongly recommend that you allow us to take you and the princesses to safety,” Azim concluded. “Your brother concurs in this proposal.”
Sivorn cast a sour glance at Létald and made a moue. With her bright hair tumbled about her shoulders, she looked hardly older than her daughters, both of whom were sheltering somewhat bewilderedly in the embrace of their stepfather. Savile had dressed, but looked underslept; the women had merely thrown cloaks over their sleepi
ng shifts. While Richelle’s expression had been growing ever more indignant and even petulant, Araxie’s suggested that she was already grasping the possible greater ramifications. It was unlikely that Teymuraz could have learned of her betrothal to Kelson, but he might well attempt to disrupt the marriage planned between Richelle and Brecon of Meara.
“It’s out of the question,” Sivorn said quite emphatically, a mutinous note in her voice. “Létald, please explain to Azim why we cannot possibly leave so soon. My seamstresses were counting on another full week before we left—and will probably still be stitching on the voyage. One simply cannot conjure royal weddings out of thin air!”
“The finery can be sent after,” Létald replied. “The risk is very real. I won’t have you endangering my nieces for the sake of fripperies.”
“And why shouldn’t they have fripperies?!” Sivorn retorted, with an emphatic stamp of her foot. “All brides are entitled to—to ‘fripperies,’ as you call them! Royal brides are particularly entitled to them. ’Tis little enough compensation for what they must often sacrifice, in the cause of duty!”
She was speaking of Araxie as well as Richelle, of course, though Mátyás and Liam were yet unaware of that. She let Savile draw her into the supporting circle of his arm with Richelle, but she looked on the stubborn edge of tears, head held high. As her husband and brother exchanged dismayed glances, it occurred to Kelson to wonder whether Sivorn realized that both her daughters were at risk, not just Richelle. But dared he raise the point in front of his new Torenthi allies, who were not yet aware of his secret betrothal? And ought he not ask Araxie herself before making such a revelation?
On impulse, uncertain whether she was capable of hearing him, he sent her the quick, tight-focused thought of his query. To his pleased surprise, Araxie’s grey eyes flicked to his immediately, a faint smile touching her lips as the eyes briefly lowered in agreement. Thus emboldened, he came close enough to set a hand gently on Sivorn’s shoulder.
“Aunt Sivorn,” he said quietly, “it is precisely because of the nature of such sacrifice that I must insist that at least the three of you come away with us immediately. If necessary, the ‘fripperies’ can follow later—or we’ll improvise. It’s the marriages that are important—not the weddings.”
He turned to take the hand Araxie offered, wearing the ring he had given her—sized to fit her in the days he had been away—and it occurred to him to wonder whether the potential relationship between the two of them also had become a better fit. Her hand felt reassuring in his, as if it belonged there.
“Gentlemen, I hope you will forgive my earlier evasions,” he went on, lifting his gaze to Mátyás and Liam, “but I truly had intended that my council should be informed first. Under the circumstances, however, you should be aware that we now are speaking not of one royal bride but of two; for the Princess Araxie has consented to become my wife and my queen.”
Liam’s mouth fell open as Kelson lifted Araxie’s hand to his lips, but Mátyás only nodded appraisingly.
“But—when did this happen?” Liam asked bewilderedly.
“When we stopped here before, en route to your enthronement,” Kelson replied. He drew Araxie’s hand into the crook of his arm and covered it with his.
“I have already indicated the importance of that second Mearan marriage, between my cousin Rory and Noelie Ramsay,” he went on. “Since there had been speculation that I might marry the Lady Noelie, you will appreciate that, in the normal course of events, both marriages would have taken place before I announced my own intentions. However, the changed circumstances have put a certain urgency on our need to resolve all three matches.”
Mátyás nodded sagely; Liam appeared a bit bemused. Sivorn was looking increasingly dismayed.
“Exactly how much urgency did you have in mind?” she asked a little peevishly. “I hope you don’t expect me to conjure a state wedding overnight.”
“No, not overnight,” Kelson said with a smile. “And remember that the Mearan marriages aren’t state occasions—just family celebrations, regardless of their diplomatic implications. I’m hopeful of arranging for both ceremonies on the same day, with a joint celebration to follow. After all, Noelie’s family will already be in Rhemuth to see her brother wed. The third wedding can take place shortly thereafter.”
“And just how shortly did you have in mind?” Sivorn heaved an exasperated sigh. “Kelson, it isn’t just a matter of getting the bride and the groom in the same place at the same time.”
“I know—‘fripperies,’ ” Kelson said with a grin. “If it’s any consolation, I’m certain Aunt Meraude and my mother will be prepared to lend a hand. Mother has been waiting a very long time for this.”
“Then she deserves to see it done properly,” Sivorn retorted. “Besides, it’s my daughter we’re talking about.”
“Maman, we shall manage,” Araxie said softly, with a pointed glance at Mátyás and Liam.
Sivorn glanced at them in turn, and reluctantly pulled herself back to the immediate situation. “I suppose we shall,” she conceded. “Must we really leave so quickly, though?”
“I’m afraid you must,” Kelson replied. “We simply don’t know what danger there may be from Teymuraz. It will ease my mind considerably, to know that you and your family are safe in Rhemuth, under my protection. And as Létald has said, the ‘fripperies’ can be sent later. For that matter, I expect we can produce fripperies enough in Rhemuth,” he added, with a cajoling wink. “My mother is a queen, you know.”
The comment was enough to elicit a faint smile even from Sivorn, and her husband nodded his acceptance of the plan that was taking shape, finally speaking.
“How do you propose that we make this journey?” Savile said, as one hand stroked his wife’s hair in reassurance. “If Teymuraz took ship from Saint-Sasile, he could be in these waters as early as midday—possibly sooner, with a fair wind. And if he is as powerful and unpredictable as you say—”
“I have a Portal at Dhassa,” Arilan said quietly. “From there, it is only a few days’ ride overland to Rhemuth.”
“And there are several Portals at Rhemuth,” Kelson said, before Arilan could elaborate. For he had decided that it was time to stop crippling himself by declining to use the strengths he had been given—and pointless to subject the women to the discomfort and risk of a land journey from Dhassa to Rhemuth. “I shall go ahead with Morgan and Dhugal to make arrangements, so that the arrival of the rest of you will cause as little comment as possible. The common folk have little cause to take much note of the comings and goings of those who live in a castle, unless it’s a state occasion; and while my council may be unnerved initially, I have no doubt that any serious disgruntlement will be relieved quite quickly when I tell them I’ve finally chosen a queen.”
The observation drew smiles from all present, and as Kelson glanced down at Araxie and squeezed her hand, she returned his gaze with a faint smile of her own.
“I do not envy you your task, my lord,” she said. “I shall try not to disappoint them—or you.” She pressed his hand before releasing it to turn and lay arms around her mother and sister, the bright braid of her hair like quicksilver down her back.
“Uncle Létald, we shall abide by your wishes in this matter, for I know you care only for our safety. Maman, would you please go and help Richelle begin packing? The maids will be hopeless if they are given no clear instructions. I would speak privately with the king before I join you.”
Surprisingly, Araxie’s calm declaration succeeded in clearing the room almost immediately. She gave Kelson a tentative smile as the door closed behind the last of them, then led the way to seats in the window embrasure, drawing her cloak around her before settling on one of the cushioned benches.
“You have obviously come to trust Mátyás and Liam,” she said to him, as he sat down gingerly on the opposite seat. “I gather that the enthronement went well, other than for the betrayal by Mahael and Teymuraz.” She wrinkled her nose in dis
taste. “Frankly, I never did like either of them. Until they both got so wrapped up with regencies, they used to be occasional visitors to Uncle Létald’s court. I always thought Mahael was far too pompous for his own good, not to mention arrogant. And when Teymuraz wasn’t molesting the female servants, he always gave me the impression he was trying to undress me with his eyes.”
Kelson hastily lowered his own eyes, suddenly aware that his thoughts had been drifting in much the same direction, idly appreciative of the sweet line downward from her chin to neck to breasts, their curve just visible above the shadowed neckline of her long night shift—for the front edges of her cloak had parted as she tucked her feet up under her the way she had done when they were children.
Remembering those long ago summers of innocence, when both of them were very small, he reminded himself that he often must have seen, then, what now both stirred and unsettled him, for they would have splashed together in lake and stream and even bath with all the other young children of the royal household. But those children all were grown now, and some of them dead; and the comely young woman sitting across from him was no longer a childhood playmate but his future wife.
“Teymuraz—aye,” he said, a little uneasily. “Mátyás did give me the impression that he is something of a womanizer—and hinted that he had spoken of your cousin Elisabet in rather salacious terms—Teymuraz, that is. Which is why Létald is moving his family to his winter palace until we know his intentions.”
He drew breath and looked up at her again.
“Thank you for speaking up, by the way. I know it’s awkward, leaving here a week ahead of schedule—and from your mother’s perspective, I’m sure that the prospect of organizing not one but two weddings away from home is nothing short of daunting. But I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t think it was important for everyone’s safety. We really don’t know what Teymuraz might try, even without his knowing about the two of us.”
King Kelson's Bride Page 34
