“I, Llion Farquahar, do become your liege man of life and limb and earthly worship,” Llion said steadily, his eyes never leaving Alaric’s. “Faith and truth will I bear unto you, to live and to die, so help me God.”
“And I, Alaric Anthony Morgan, pledge to be unto you a true and faithful lord,” Alaric replied. “So help me God.”
Before Llion could rise, Jovett also knelt and offered up his joined hands.
“Alaric, I, too, am your man, as I was your father’s man,” Jovett said, nodding as the boy shifted to enclose his joined hands. “And I vow to serve and protect your interests in Lendour, for so long as you shall need me. So help me God.”
“Thank you, Jovett,” Alaric whispered. “With an elder brother guarding Lendour for me, I could not be better served.” He glanced aside in surprise, for Sé had also knelt, but not to offer his hands. Instead, he slipped his sword from its hangers, and now offered the hilt to him.
“My fealty is already given to a higher Lord,” Sé said softly, “but I promise you my service in time of need, as I promised your mother and your father before you. Will you accept what I may give?”
Nodding, Alaric laid a hand on the cross-hilt of Sé’s sword. “I shall always treasure whatever service you may give,” he said. “And thank you, all of you.”
“Right, then,” Jovett said, standing. “I know that Kenneth would approve what has just been done. Now we should pay our respects, as is fitting and proper.”
“Amen to that,” Sé replied, as he and Llion also rose.
So saying, he moved into position at the foot of the coffin, touching a reverent hand to the Lendour banner before clasping his hands at his waist and bowing his head. The others followed suit, Jovett opposite Sé, and Llion and Alaric taking places left and right. Thus they stood for the next hour, each meditating on the life of the man they had come to honor.
• • •
SIR Kenneth Kai Morgan Earl of Lendour would be buried at noon the next day, in the selfsame crypt where his beloved second wife had lain while her tomb was being prepared at Culdi. It also was not far from the grave of his celebrated kinsman, the loyal Sir Charlan Morgan, who had died at the side of King Javan Haldane, so many years before.
Sir Sé Trelawney was among the eight knights who bore the coffin from the chapel at Morganhall to the nearby church. Aside from Alaric, Llion, and Jovett, no one marked his particular presence, in part because he did not wish them to, but in part because, in his stark black robes, he looked much like any of the other knights who performed this final service for their liege lord.
Alaric walked behind the coffin with his Aunt Delphine, the king, Duke Jared, and the delegation of sisters from Arc-en-Ciel, along with two of his half-sisters: one who had studied at the convent and with Alaric’s mother, the other now resident at the convent, though she had not taken vows. His Aunt Claara, still confined to her bed, was carried down to the church on a litter, to weep beside the coffin as Father Swithun celebrated the Requiem Mass to send Kenneth on his final journey. As a special tribute of their own, the sisters of Arc-en-Ciel sang the Mass responses, Alazais and Zoë joining their number, and at the end offered the hauntingly beautiful funeral antiphons that had been sung at the funeral of Marie de Corwyn, so many years before:
“Alleluia. . . . Chori angelorum te suscipiat. . . . In paradisum deducant te angeli. . . .”
Alleluia. May choirs of angels receive thee. May the angels accompany thee to paradise. Give rest, O Lord, to Your servant, who has fallen asleep. Remember me, O Lord, when You come into Your kingdom. . . .
When the Mass was ended, the king, a duke, and four more knights who had been close friends of the dead man carried his coffin down into the crypt of the church. Sé held back from this last service, lest his anonymity be compromised by such confined proximity to those who might know him, for space was tight down in the crypt; but he had already paid his respects the night before, and had disappeared by the time the immediate family emerged from the little church.
• • •
LATER that evening, in the aftermath of a long and emotional day, the king summoned the members of Alaric’s extended family for a private meeting in the castle’s great hall. While the arrangement for the boy’s future had been quite clear between the king and Kenneth, the rest of the family—and Alaric himself—needed to be informed of the king’s plans.
“I know that it was your father’s wish that you serve for at least a few years in Duke Jared’s household,” he told the boy and said duke, as they gathered before the fireplace. The evening had grown cool, and the season definitely was turning. Zoë and Jovett, Alazais, and Delphine Morgan were also present, along with Llion. Claara had made her apologies and retired to her room, for the day had taken much out of her.
“Sire,” said Jared, “you’re aware of the reasons he wished this to happen. The court at Rhemuth is not without its dangers for a boy of Alaric’s lineage.”
“I am well aware of the increased dangers at court,” the king replied, “but with his father gone, I believe that his training for the future would be best served if he were at my side.”
“But you cannot guarantee his safety,” Zoë said baldly. “Remember what happened to Krispin MacAthan. I was there. And it was not widely known that he was Deryni.”
“With all respect, my lady, none of us can guarantee his safety,” the king replied. “But because of that, and because I greatly value your goodwill, and that of your family, I am willing to offer something of a compromise. I am willing that Alaric should remain in Duke Jared’s household until the new year. He could join the royal household at Twelfth Night court. That will give all of you time to get used to the idea and make the necessary adjustments, and for me to confer with my uncle and the rest of my household officers about the best way to go about integrating a new page into my court. Granted, there will be resentment, but there is precedent for a king attaching particular pages and squires to his personal retinue.”
“Until Twelfth Night, you say?” Jared said quietly.
“Aye, and he will be well into his tenth year by then,” the king replied. “If he continues to grow as he has over this past summer, he should be able to hold his own with any bullies he encounters.”
“Bullies near his own age, perhaps,” Jared said sourly. “But what of the sort who killed Krispin MacAthan?”
The king’s jaw tightened. “That is why I shall place him under my personal protection. And he will become older and more capable with each passing day. He has a powerful destiny to fulfill, Jared, and many obstacles to overcome. We must not cripple him by protecting him overmuch.”
“I am willing to go at Twelfth Night,” Alaric said quietly, speaking for the first time.
All eyes turned toward the nine-year-old.
“I have always known that it would be a challenge to get me safely grown. May I ask one favor?”
Brion inclined his head. “Of course.”
“I should like to retain Sir Llion as my knight—not to serve me as he has, as governor, but to be present and accessible to me at court, so that I have at least one person besides yourself, in whom I can trust utterly.”
“That is entirely reasonable,” the king agreed. “I assume that, with your knight resident at court, I may also utilize his services from time to time?”
His wink, directed at both the boy and Llion, defused any hint of affront on his part, but Delphine still drew back in an expression of indignation.
“Alaric! You are speaking to your king!”
“Let be, my lady,” Brion immediately replied, smiling as he reached across to pat her hand in reassurance. “He is my future duke, and I shall always expect him to speak his mind. He did so courteously, and he is entirely right in his concern. I am well aware of the pressures he will face at court, far beyond those of any other page or squire in my service. Llion, have you an
y particular concerns that you would care to offer?”
“I do, Sire,” Llion replied, with an inclination of his head. “Both Alaric and I are grateful for your understanding, but if I may, I should like to offer a practical arrangement that would benefit all three of us.” At the king’s nod, he continued. “Sir Ninian de Piran offered me a position on Duke Richard’s training staff, if I should ever leave Earl Kenneth’s service. My service is now to his son, but circumstances still would allow such a position, if Duke Richard agrees. He gave me to understand that His Highness would also support such an appointment. If you agree, of course.”
The king glanced in question at Jared, who nodded.
“I should prefer that he stay with me for another few years, but this is acceptable.”
“And apparently Alaric is in agreement.” The king gave a curt nod. “Very well, then, I shall expect the three of you at Twelfth Night.”
• • •
THE king departed for Rhemuth the next morning with his two guards. Jared remained at Morganhall with Alaric and Llion for several more days, confirming the present arrangements for Lendour, at least until the king should decide otherwise, and installing Xander at Morganhall to oversee that holding—again, until the king might determine otherwise, though Morganhall was Alaric’s now, and must be held in trust for him until he came of age. When Jared and his party finally rode out of Morganhall, Jovett and Zoë headed east toward Lendour. The holy sisters and Alazais rode a little way with the ducal party before turning off toward Arc-en-Ciel. Shortly after they had disappeared from sight, Llion glanced sidelong at Alaric and eased his horse a little closer, keeping his voice down. They were riding at the tail end of the ducal procession.
“It was good to see the holy sisters again, even if in such sober circumstances,” he remarked.
Alaric absently agreed that it was.
“I loved their singing at the funeral. They sounded like angels.”
Alaric made a vague sound of agreement, though his mind was elsewhere.
“I was a little surprised that your sister Alazais was not wearing the habit of the order,” Llion went on. “When I asked Zoë about it, she laughed and told me that Alazais has never taken vows.”
“No, of course not,” Alaric replied, only now beginning to pay casual attention. “She’s been studying manuscript illumination, you know, as Zoë and my mother did.”
“Has she?” Llion said thoughtfully.
“Aye, and Father Swithun says that she’s gotten very good—perhaps as good as Zoë or my mother. She’s even begun taking commissions.”
“Indeed.”
“I gave her a commission,” Alaric said after a beat, glancing down at his reins. “I was going to ask Aunt Delphine to do it, but I’d forgotten how good Alazais is. In fact, I left Father’s locket with her, and asked her to make me a portrait of him to go inside.” He cast a sidelong glance at Llion. “There’s room now. I put the ones that Aunt Delphine did of me and Bronwyn in Father’s coffin, next to his heart.” He paused a beat. “Was it wrong to do that?”
“Not at all,” Llion replied, with a faint smile. “And Alazais is going to paint a new miniature of your father?”
Alaric nodded happily. “She said she’d try to have it done by Twelfth Night. And if she does, she’ll bring it to Rhemuth for me. She promised to come and see me received as the king’s page.”
“Did she, now?”
Something in his wistful tone made Alaric look up sharply, suddenly aware that Llion’s seemingly idle questioning seemed to be focused rather precisely on his youngest half-sister.
“Why do you ask about Alazais?” he said, after glancing at the riders ahead of them, to be sure they could not be overheard. “Do you fancy her?”
“No, I—” Llion looked suddenly flustered, a faint blush staining his cheeks as he feigned intense interest in his horse’s mane.
“Llion, tell me!” Alaric said quietly, but quite emphatically. “And don’t lie to me, because I’ll know. If you do fancy her, I think it’s wonderful. And if you marry her, we’d be brothers.”
Llion’s face went from rosy to sheet-white. “My lord, I would never presume. . . .”
Alaric abruptly reined in his horse, reaching across to snag Llion’s reins as well. Ahead, the rest of the ducal party were continuing on. It was a straight, open part of the road, so he thought it unlikely that anyone would turn back immediately to check on them.
“Llion, it is not presumptuous to take a fancy to my sister. You have a right to a normal life. You’re a knight, and a very well-regarded one. You’ll be on Duke Richard’s staff, and provisions will be made for you. I’ll make provisions for you. The pair of you could live at court, and she could continue to paint, and serve the queen—and a new, younger queen, once the king marries. Now, answer me truly. Do you fancy her?”
Llion managed an awkward swallow and nodded. “I do, my lord.”
“And does she fancy you?”
“I—I think so, my lord. It was only in the last few days that we actually talked much, but we’ve known one another for several years.”
“Yes?”
“We first met at Zoë and Jovett’s wedding celebration. I doubt you remember that. But we both were young then, and I was only recently entered into your father’s service, and I never would have presumed—”
“Well, you aren’t presuming now,” Alaric retorted, “and I think my father would have approved.” He glanced ahead, where Father Nevan had noticed them lagging behind and was turning his horse back in their direction.
“We’ll speak more of this later,” he said. “We’ll see her at Twelfth Night, if all goes well, and I’ll talk with her then. If both of you want it, then we’ll make it happen.”
With that, he set heels to his horse and trotted on ahead to rejoin the others, Llion close beside him. He had not noticed any particular interaction between Llion and Alazais in the days surrounding his father’s funeral observances, but then, he had been a bit preoccupied. Still, the thought of having Llion as his brother made him very happy. And helping make it happen was something to look forward to, when he must move permanently to the court at Rhemuth, with all its challenges.
Chapter 29
“If they obey and serve him, they shall spend their days in prosperity . . .”
—JOB 36:11
THEY arrived back in Culdi late in October, with much to accomplish before Twelfth Night. Since Alaric’s arm now was mostly healed, Llion immediately eased him back into light training with Duncan and Kevin, to rebuild his strength. The familiar drills were more difficult than Alaric remembered, after several months of inactivity, but they gave him comfort, for he knew that his days in the ducal household were numbered.
Shortly after Martinmas, Llion had him begin sparring with Tesselin and Walter and other knights of Jared’s household, and occasionally with Jared himself. Alaric tried not to think too much about the changes looming ever nearer, once he moved to court, and pushed himself as hard as he was able. He knew he would have much to prove among the royal pages and squires at Rhemuth, especially as the king’s page.
Tutoring with Father Nevan also resumed, along with continuing lessons in history and languages. As for his Deryni training, Vera resumed cautious sharing of what she could, but her own training had been sketchier than she might have wished—and they were running out of time.
“I wish we could have worked more on Truth-Reading,” she told him one grey morning early in December, when Jared and Kevin and many of their retainers had gone hunting. She and Alaric were standing in the little mortuary chapel, close by his mother’s tomb, and Duncan was keeping casual watch outside, pretending to be absorbed in the patterns of icicles that festooned the edge of the roof. “That’s a particularly important skill for you to master, because the king knows it’s a Deryni talent that your mother had, and he’ll
expect you to have it as well.”
“Won’t that be dangerous?” Alaric asked.
“No more dangerous than simply existing, where everyone knows what you are,” she said with a shrug and a faint smile. “I hope I need not remind you to be extremely discreet—and it’s best if you remind the king to be discreet as well, not to draw attention to your powers. That’s what got your mother into so much trouble.”
Alaric laid a gloved hand gently over the still, cold hand of his mother’s effigy. “He wouldn’t put me into danger unless there were no other way,” he said softly.
“No, I would hope that he would not.” Vera gathered her cloak more closely against the cold and lifted her gaze to the stained glass above the effigy. “Fortunately, many will underestimate you while you are still young—and if, while Reading the truth, you can learn to keep your features neutral, no matter how outraged you may become, you will be that much more effective.
“It will not always be easy, I know,” she went on, noticing his grimace of distaste. “But that must be your goal: to Read the truth, without anyone being the wiser, and then report your findings to the king in private. It can be a very valuable asset: to know if a vassal is telling a lie—for a duke as well as a king,” she added, smiling faintly. “In the old times, it was quite common for the Haldane kings to have Truth Readers in their households. And even the Regents had captive Deryni to Truth-Read for them.”
“But, they made them do it,” Alaric said sullenly. “They made them betray others.”
“Yes, unfortunately, they also forced their captives to misuse their powers,” she went on, “which only reinforced the common belief that Deryni were too dangerous to be allowed to live openly. It’s a very dangerous tightrope you will have to walk, my love. But I know that you can do it.”
They kept Christmas at Culdi that year: the last that Alaric was likely to spend in the bosom of a family, for some time. He would remember it as a happy time, if tinged with apprehension. Jared gave him a new dirk with a tawny cairngorm set in the pommel; Kevin and Duncan had made the scabbard, embossing the black leather with a subtle interlace design. Alaric put it on the red belt Duncan had made him for his birthday. (The Corwyn dagger was too precious and conspicuous to wear every day, but he continued to wear the Lendour signet on its leather thong.)
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