The King's Deryni

by Katherine Kurtz

  “So, what do you propose I do about the situation?” the king asked, when Alaric had wound down.

  “Well, if he forced her, whether by physical strength or by controlling her mind, it’s still force—and that is rape.”

  “I agree,” Brion said. “And how would you propose I prove that?”

  “Well, maybe I could try to Truth-Read him while you’re questioning him about it.”

  “No,” the king said flatly.

  “But—”

  “I said no!” Brion drew a deep breath and let it out audibly. “Alaric, I don’t know whether he forced her mind or just her body—giving her the benefit of the doubt, we’ll simply say that she was coerced—but the end result is the same. He has had her virtue. Of equal concern to me is that he tried to force your mind. Neither is acceptable, and there isn’t a blasted thing I can do about either one.”

  “I don’t think his attempt to control me was serious, Sire,” Alaric whispered, wide-eyed. “There wasn’t time, and he can’t have caught more than a glimpse of me before I bolted. I don’t think he knew who I was.”

  “Well, he certainly knew what you are,” the king retorted. “Otherwise, you probably wouldn’t have been able to escape. And if he’s asked around at all, he probably also knows who you are, by now. It isn’t exactly a secret that the future Duke of Corwyn, a Deryni, is training for knighthood at my court.” Brion drew a deep breath and let it out, briefly closing his eyes.

  “What they don’t know is how much you can do,” he went on. “We don’t know how much you can do. But I daren’t risk that they’ll test that question before you’re grown. I can’t risk losing you.”

  “But I did escape,” Alaric said stubbornly. “And I’m convinced that Xenia was forced against her will.”

  The king looked away uncomfortably, and Duke Richard cleared his throat. “We don’t know that, son.”

  “But—”

  “We can’t prove that she didn’t give herself to him willingly,” Richard went on. “And willing or not, Xenia is a princess of the House of Haldane. That means that she must either marry him or take the veil; the queen has declared that there can be no other resolution. Xenia has chosen to marry. For royal women, there are rarely other choices.”

  “But—”

  Brion gave a snort, almost amused. “Think about what you’re suggesting. Can you truly imagine my sister in a convent? Xenia?”

  Somewhat cowed, Alaric shook his head.

  “In any case, it’s settled now,” Brion said gruffly, getting to his feet. “If I tried to convince my mother that a Deryni seducer had used his powers to have his way with my sister, she would be unable to deal with that. And we don’t need a flagrant misuse of Deryni powers fanning the hostility that already exists against your kind.”

  “But—”

  “Drop it, Alaric!” the king ordered. “I’ve already agreed that the marriage may go forward. And once that is accomplished, I shall expel all Torenthi from my kingdom. Henceforth, they will not be allowed to enter Gwynedd save by royal license. If this Sigismund did use his powers to take advantage of my sister, it won’t be allowed to happen to anyone else. Meanwhile, they are all under house arrest.”

  Alaric could only stare in disbelief as the king stormed from the room.

  “Let it go, son,” Richard said gently, not meeting Alaric’s gaze as he, too, rose. “There is nothing any of us can do. Xenia will be a countess. Honor will have been satisfied. And not to put too fine a point on it, but she did make her own bed.”

  It seemed a cold resolution to Alaric, who rather liked both Haldane princesses, but he knew there would be no appeal from the king’s decision—and the queen’s. When he returned to his apartment, he shared a little of what had happened with Duncan, in strictest confidence. All aside from the matter of Xenia’s fate, and whether or not Count Sigismund had used his powers to seduce her, the expulsion of the Torenthi diplomats had troubling implications for all Deryni in the kingdom.

  “I do understand why the king has taken such measures,” Alaric concluded. “Not only did a Torenthi Deryni use his powers on the king’s sister, but he tried to control me. If he’d gotten the chance, he might even have mind-ripped me—or at least tried. But I do feel sorry for Xenia.”

  Duncan nodded slowly. “Bad business all around. But it surely can’t have been her choice, to marry Sigismund. I mean, if he forced her . . .”

  Alaric shrugged. “At this point, it hardly matters, does it? She’s a king’s sister, and her honor must be upheld. And the king can’t very well have foreign Deryni operating openly at his court, now, can he? Other than me, of course, once I’m grown—and I’m not foreign. But for now, de Nore and some of the other bishops are already trying to crack down on Deryni in the kingdom. We’ll just have to keep our heads down.”

  On the following Sunday, in the chapel royal of Rhemuth Castle, marriage banns were read for the coming union of Her Royal Highness the Princess Xenia Nuala Jaroni Swynbeth Haldane of Gwynedd with Sigismund Borislav Graf von Golzców, late of the court of the Torenthi Duke of Arkadia. Only Count Constantin and a pair of bodyguards were present to stand by the prospective groom, for the remainder of the Torenthi party had been ordered to depart earlier in the week, escorted to their ship at Desse by a company of Haldane lancers. The Torenthis were less than happy with the arrangement, but were obliged to accept the measure with reasonable grace. Alaric, for his part, was ordered to maintain a low profile until after the royal wedding—and to stay well away from the remaining Torenthi lords.

  On the second day of February, the Feast of Candlemas, the Archbishop of Rhemuth presided over the marriage of Princess Xenia with Count Sigismund: a quiet affair celebrated at the chapel royal, in the presence of her Haldane kin and Count Constantin, who stood as witness for the groom. The king gave his sister in marriage, expressionless as he set her hand into that of Count Sigismund. The queen wept throughout. Afterward, following a modest wedding supper, the couple took up temporary residence in an apartment adjacent to the king’s, until arrangements could be made for their departure for the groom’s homeland. In the meantime, keeping Count Constantin amused became the responsibility of Duke Richard.

  It was hardly an ideal situation. Under the circumstances, nothing could be deemed ideal, but honor had been satisfied. Few options seemed available for the immediate future, as winter deepened and the court turned to mostly sedentary activities. The pages and squires resumed their training, now geared to academic instruction or drill in the great hall. The king’s thoughts, when they were not brooding on his sister’s fate, turned to more serious contemplation of his own marital future, and more thoughtful scrutiny of the portraits given him by the Crown Prince of Bremagne and Prince Joscerand. He had known from the outset that the two younger girls were entirely too young, and he was not inclined to wait while they grew to appropriate young womanhood, but the eldest . . .

  He decided that he should meet the young lady in question: Jehane Julienne Adélaïde de Besançon, Princesse de Bremagne. He and his crown council had only begun logistical planning for the journey, which would also call at several other foreign courts, when an unexpected visitor made an appearance at Rhemuth just at dusk, demanding audience with the king.

  “He—ah—says that he is Count Constantin’s elder brother, Sire,” Jiri Redfearn reported. The king was at table in the great hall with his uncle and Constantin himself, who immediately broke into a wide grin and glanced at Brion.

  “And about time, too,” he muttered. “May he be admitted to the hall, my lord?”

  Brion looked momentarily bewildered. “But, there hasn’t been time to—”

  Constantin only raised an eyebrow. “My lord, we are Deryni. Did you not think I would notify my family of my whereabouts?”

  “Yes, of course,” Brion murmured, signing for Jiri to see to it as he and Richard and, then,
Constantin all rose. Alaric had been serving at table at the far end of the hall, away from Constantin, and watched as Jiri quickly passed between the two long tables of gawking men set along the sides of the hall. As the great doors parted, Jiri greeted the men waiting outside, then led them back up the hall: perhaps half a dozen, wearing fur hats and fur-lined coats of bright brocades, led by a retainer holding aloft a sheathed sword with a white kerchief tied to the hilt. The man beside him, obviously the senior among them, was more richly dressed than the others, and Constantin immediately descended the stairs to embrace him.

  “Brother, you come at last!”

  “I should have preferred to wait until the spring, but I do appreciate the urgency. Pray, present me to your host.”

  “Of course.” Constantin gave a little bow and turned to face the king. “My lord, permit me to present my eldest brother, Count Sergei Furstán-Arkadia, Regent of Arkadia, who has come to escort us home.”

  “My lord,” Count Sergei said with a stiff nod.

  “Count,” Brion replied coolly, returning the nod. “Have you supped?”

  “We have not, my lord.”

  “Then, perhaps you would care to join us.” Brion gestured toward the other side of the table where, at his nod, squires hastily began moving benches into place. “You must be cold and weary from your journey, from . . . ?”

  “From Desse, my lord,” Sergei replied, removing his fur hat and shaking snowmelt from his side-braids as he mounted the steps and took a seat opposite the king. “At this time of year, it was not precisely a pleasant voyage along the coast, but my brother indicated that the newlyweds are eager to return to Arkadia. May I ask where they are?”

  “Count Sigismund and my niece prefer to take most of their meals in their apartments,” Duke Richard said evenly, before Brion could answer. “I am Richard Haldane Duke of Carthmoor, the king’s uncle,” he added, by way of introduction. “I trust you will agree that the situation is . . . somewhat irregular.”

  Count Sergei inclined his head and smiled faintly. “So I am led to believe.” He picked up a cup that Paget had hastily filled. “But I drink to all your health, gentlemen,” he went on. “And we shall endeavor to depart soon after first light, lest we strain your hospitality unduly.” He lifted his cup. “To a peaceful night!”

  It was a sentiment to which no one could take exception.

  • • •

  RATHER than dawn, it would be nearly noon before the Torenthi party actually rode out of the castle yard. The count’s announcement threw the queen’s household into turmoil, given the short notice, but Alazais and the other ladies-in-waiting helped organize Xenia’s belongings for transport. No one slept that night. The queen was near hysterical, faced not only with packing a trousseau that was not yet complete—though the remainder would be sent on, later in the summer—but also the imminent loss of her elder daughter. Silke, soon to be bereft of her only sister, quite possibly forever, wept inconsolably through most of the night. Xenia alone, of the royal ladies, remained exhilarated and focused, finally about to embark upon her new life.

  All the court assembled the next morning to see off the bride and her Torenthi groom, lining up on the great hall steps. A troop of Haldane lancers waited in the grey March sunshine to escort the bridal party to Desse, crimson pennons bright against the snow. Trumpeters sounded a final fanfare for their Haldane princess as Xenia emerged with her husband at the top of the steps, muffled against the cold in a magnificent fur hat and fur-lined robe in the Torenthi fashion, brought as a wedding gift by Count Sergei. The king, his mother, his brother and remaining sister, and his uncle followed, and Brion himself handed the princess onto her favorite grey palfrey, stretching upward to bestow a final kiss on his sister’s cheek before giving Count Sigismund a curt nod and stepping back with the rest of his family.

  Alaric watched with Llion from one of the gatehouse walks as the bridal party rode out, careful to do nothing that might draw Torenthi attention to him. As Xenia passed under the gatehouse arch, she glanced back at her mother, her brother and sister, and lifted a hand in farewell, but Alaric did not think she looked quite as happy as she had when she emerged from the great hall.

  “Do you think she is regretting that she married him?” Alaric asked Llion in a low voice.

  “I think that, already, things may not be turning out quite as she had imagined,” Llion replied softly. “Or she could be breeding already,” he added with a shrug.

  Alaric looked at him in alarm. Only recently had he begun to be aware of what a marriage actually entailed.

  “She might be pregnant?” he said, half in disbelief.

  “If I were a Torenthi count being pressured to protect the virtue of a sister of the King of Gwynedd by marrying her,” Llion said dryly, “I would make it my highest priority to put a Torenthi son in her belly as quickly as possible. Or perhaps that was his plan from the beginning.”

  Alaric shivered, trying not to imagine what it must be like for Xenia, who surely had been an innocent, despite her protestations of worldly sophistication. Count Sigismund, for his part, had struck Alaric as a cad from the beginning, arrogant and self-centered.

  “I pray that we are wrong about him, Llion,” he said, watching as the last of the Haldane escort moved out of sight to pass through Rhemuth town. “And I pray that God and our Lady will protect Xenia. I wish I understood why the king insisted that they marry.”

  “To preserve the honor of Gwynedd,” Llion replied, looking away. “It is part of the price of a crown.”

  Chapter 36

  “But continue thou in the things which thou hast learned and hast been assured of, knowing of whom thou hast learned them.”

  —II TIMOTHY 3:14

  THE weather began to improve as March progressed. The winter had not been particularly hard. As the spring thaws began, indoor study and drill began to give way to more outdoor pursuits, though capricious spring rains could still wreak havoc with planned activities. Mud became the bane of stable grooms and castle laundresses.

  Alaric continued to apply himself, practicing hard during the lengthening days and spending many an evening immersed in games of cardounet with Paget and sometimes with Llion or Jiri, though Llion disappeared for a few weeks just before Easter to take Alazais to Morganhall, where she would remain until after the birth of their first child. Jamyl’s wife was also with child now, and suffering greatly from morning sickness.

  Meanwhile, with the last of the guests finally gone and two of his knights soon to become fathers, the king began to look more seriously to his own future, especially the choice of a royal bride. He had already been presented with portraits of the King of Bremagne’s three daughters, for his consideration. Alaric was not privy to what went on behind the closed doors of the council chamber, but he was one of the first ones chosen to accompany the king on his planned mission to Bremagne. Paget, now a senior squire of nearly seventeen, was also selected. The two were pleased and eager as the king called them into his withdrawing room, where Duke Richard was also waiting.

  “I know there has been a great deal of speculation about who might become my eventual queen,” he told the pair, “but if I’m to make an informed decision, I need to start making the acquaintance of prospective royal brides. I certainly wouldn’t agree to a marriage without meeting the woman in question.” He flashed them a nervous grin. “Besides, exposure to foreign courts is good experience for my future knights.”

  The king had determined to keep his party small on this venture, lest he frighten prospective brides, but he did take along some of his most trusted advisors: Jiri Redfearn, Tiarnán Macrae, Jamyl Arilan, and Llion. Jamyl would have been permitted to bow out, for his wife of less than a year was enduring a difficult pregnancy; but he had determined instead to send her to the family seat at Tre-Arilan for her lying-in.

  “Llion has the right idea,” he told the king, as they co
nsidered options over a pitcher of ale. “There’s nothing either of us could do if we stayed. On the other hand, there might be a great deal we could do, if you started to choose an unsuitable wife!”

  Chuckling, the king only shook his head. “Thank you, gentlemen.”

  They left Rhemuth early in May, riding down to Desse with a small escort to meet the king’s ship Caeriesse. By the end of May, with stops along the way at Concaradine and Nyford, they were sailing into Coroth’s harbor. There, to Alaric’s pleased surprise, the king had allowed for a two-week stay before continuing on their mission.

  The visit began like most previous visits, given his increasing age. Now in his twelfth year, his regents deferred to him increasingly, at least in lesser matters, and now regarded him as a young man, and their future duke in fact. There were times, to be sure, when the king met in private with Corwyn’s regents, to advise and be advised. But the regents were also careful to schedule assize courts and general audiences and even a few local progresses into the countryside, where Alaric himself had nominal command. Having watched and learned at his father’s knee and then at the king’s side, he had a grasp of protocol and legal precedent far beyond his years. And when Llion put him through his paces in training sessions with Corwyn’s older pages and some of the squires, the boy excelled far beyond what his future staff had dared to hope.

  “His trainers at Rhemuth have taught him well,” said Lord Hamilton, the seneschal, as he and Sir Crescence de Naverie, another regent, watched Alaric spar with a senior squire, using blunted steel and padded armor. “Given his rank, some of us feared he might be allowed to slack off from his training.”

  Llion snorted, for he himself had trained as a squire under Lord Hamilton before being knighted by Alaric’s father. “You think Duke Richard would allow any of us to slack off, my lord?”