The king's relief that Krispin had survived was tempered by regret at the names of the dead — the sad waste of it. And but for the grace of God, any of his true-born sons might have perished as well.
Very sadly, it now fell to him to inform young Ahern de Corwyn of the death of his twin sister. Donal could not, for the life of him, remember what the Lady Brigetta Delacorte looked like, or even the jealous and spiteful Muriella, but Marie de Corwyn, besides being a valuable heiress, had been a delight to eye and ear, a notable adornment to the court of Gwynedd. Furthermore, the loss of her marriage as coinage of political expediency was greatly to be regretted. Sadly, no one would ever know what might have become of young Isan — an engaging and promising boy, now gone as if he had never lived.
«Ill news, Sire?» Sir Kenneth asked quietly.
Slowly Donal nodded, not speaking as he opened the second folded piece of parchment, addressed on the outside to the Lady Marie de Corwyn. He recognized the handwriting, for Sir Sé Trelawney had been serving as secretary for much of the recent correspondence with the court of Torenth. The content of the letter had largely to do with the minutiae of life at the Corwyn court — nothing at all improper or intimate — but he could guess how it would have thrilled the fair Marie to receive it.
«Sir Se», he called, lifting his gaze and the hand with the letter toward that young man, tending the hawks a little ways away.
Sé gave the hawks into the care of a nearby squire and came at once, curiosity in his eyes.
«Sire?»
«Yours, I think», the king replied, handing him the letter. «May I take it that you know nothing about a parcel of marchpane sent to the Lady Marie in the last diplomatic pouch to Rhemuth, ostensibly from her brother?»
Sé shook his head distractedly, his face blanching as he glanced at the letter and recognized his own handwriting.
«Sire, on my honor — nothing untoward…»
«I do not question your honor», the king said quietly, briefly lowering his eyes. «And I know you are innocent of anything besides the letter you wrote». Reluctantly he then handed Sé the letter from Seisyll Arilan. «I'm very sorry, son».
Only a faint breeze stirred, there on the moorland — that and the soft whuffing of the horses nearby, and the screech of a hawk — as Sé read what Arilan had written, his embarrassment turning abruptly to stunned disbelief.
«No!» The word escaped his lips before he could stop it, his breath catching in his throat as he raced through a second reading of the letter in hope of finding some reprieve that he had missed. Tears were welling in the blue eyes as he then looked up at the king, every line of his body begging for it not to be true.
«It can't be. It isn't possible».
Sadly Donal shook his head. «I cannot think Lord Seisyll would make up such a thing, lad. I was aware of your affection for Marie — though obviously, neither of us was aware that the Lady Muriella had fixed her heart on you». He sadly shook his head. «And how badly wrong it went. Not only did she eliminate her rival, but two more innocents as well — and then took her own life».
Sé screwed his eyes tightly closed, battling for control. «Had I been there», he whispered, «and known her to do this deed, I would have taken her life. Dear God, I was mustering my courage to ask you for Marie's hand — little though I am worthy of her. We had hoped we might be married!»
«Se, Se — dear boy», Donal murmured. Having lost his first wife and many a friend, over the years — and nearly having lost Krispin — he had an inkling what Sé must be feeling.
«We'd best go back to Castle Coroth», he said aside to Sir Kenneth. «Young Ahern must be told, and I've no stomach for any more hunting today».
* * *
With almost military precision, Sir Kenneth called in the others of their party and organized the return to Coroth. They found Ahern de Corwyn up on the castle's highest parapet, leaning on his stick and gazing out to sea toward the west, where any approaching ship from Rhemuth would first appear. Gaining this vantage point could not have been easy, for stairs were still a major challenge for Ahern's stiff knee. But when the king saw Ahern's face, he knew that the messenger must have given him at least the gist of the message he carried, before heading out to the moors to find the king.
«Ahern?» the king said quietly.
The young man turned his face toward the voice, his profile still and drawn against the lowering twilight.
«I heard», he replied. «My sister Marie is dead».
The starkness of his tone had a finality about it that sent a chill up Donal's spine.
«It's because she was Deryni», Ahern went on, in an even softer voice. «Oh, I know Muriella was jealous. Both Marie and Alyce had mentioned her in letters, over the past year or so. She fancied Sé, I gather. But I can't imagine that she would have acted, if she'd thought she was only competing with another ordinary woman. And Marie was not ordinary».
«No, she wasn't», the king replied.
Ahern heaved a heavy sigh and turned his face back to the sea. «I'd like to be alone now, if you don't mind. I expect it will be a few days before the ship arrives with her body».
«Ahern, I…»
«You needn't worry that I'll do myself harm», the young man said firmly. «Please, Sire. Go».
* * *
Two days later, just at dusk, a royal galley under bellied sable sails glided into Coroth Harbor between the twin lighthouses known as Gog and Magog, each with a signal beacon already lit for the night. Amidships, beneath a striped canopy of gold and Haldane scarlet, Alyce de Corwyn stood with a protective hand atop her sister's white-draped coffin, gowned in unrelieved black and with a black veil wrapped closely about her head, covering her bright hair. Zoë Morgan and Sir Jovett Chandos flanked her, and the ship's crew stood to attention along the rails to either side, interspersed with the men of the royal honor guard sent along from Rhemuth at the command of the queen, black crepe tied to each man's sword-arm, bared heads bowed in respect.
The long-drawn question of a lookout's horn floated across the light chop with the clang of the harbor-buoys as the galley skirted between the two sea jetties of tumbled granite locks, answered by a deeper horn-blast from the shore. The sounds had always welcomed Alyce home in the past; now they cried out the sadness that accompanied the ship like a cloak.
Her brother and the king were waiting on the quay with Sé Trelawney and a contingent of Corwyn archers drawn up as an honor escort, each holding a torch aloft. Ahern's council and all the knights who had come with the king's party stood among them, solemn and silent, as were the townspeople gathered behind them, for Corwyn's people had come to admire and respect their future duke and his sisters.
Deftly the steersman brought the galley close to the quay, where he turned the craft into the wind and the crew scrambled aloft to furl the sable sail. At the same time, men waiting ashore threw lines across to those on deck, so that the vessel could be warped alongside the quay.
The king came aboard at once, not waiting for a gangplank to be set in place, leaving young Ahern to stand with Sé and the other royal officers. Alyce accepted the king's condolences in silence, then moved to the rail and, as soon as the ship was made secure, went ashore and into the arms of her brother.
«I am so glad to see you!» Ahern whispered, as they clung to one another. «I think I sensed that she was gone. The night it must have happened, she was in my dream. Actually, I dreamed about both of you. But when the messenger arrived, a few days later, I know what the news was that he brought».
She drew back a little and sadly shook her head — but without tears, for she had spent herself of tears days before.
«You cannot imagine how awful it was», she said quietly. «And it might have been far worse. As it was, two more died with our sister — three, if you count Muriella. Poor, stupid cow!» She drew a breath. «How is Sé bearing up?»
Ahern shook his head. «Not well. He was in love with her. They hoped to be married, if the king agreed
. And I think it might have been allowed, if…»
He broke off, biting at his lip, and Alyce hugged him closer. After a few minutes, Sé and four of the archers from his honor guard came aboard to bring the coffin off the ship, Jovett joining them, bearing it on their shoulders as they fell into place in the funeral cortege that would take Marie to Coroth Cathedral. There she would lie in state through the following day, so that Coroth's citizens might pay their respects.
Though the ship's escort joined that of the king, marching solemnly in the foot procession that now started toward the cathedral to a muffled drumbeat, Alyce accompanied the king and her brother in the vast, boxy carriage that had brought them down from the castle. Alyce sat next to Ahern, hand clasped tightly to his; Donal was seated opposite. The leather side-curtains were rolled up and secured, so that the occupants could be seen, but the crowd gathered along the Via Maris was there for the coffin, not the carriage that followed it, quiet and respectful, men doffing their caps and women dropping little curtsies as the cortege passed, a few crossing themselves. Zoë rode behind with the maid who had accompanied them, in a pony cart led by her father.
They rattled along in taut silence for several minutes, the thud of the drums somewhat blurred by the clangor of iron-bound carriage wheels on cobbles, until the king finally said, «I would have given your sister to Sir Se, you know». He gave an apologetic shrug at their looks of surprise. «Yes, he'd made it clear that they were fond of one another. And after word came of her death, he came to me and confessed everything. And yes, I know what he is», he added, as both of them became suddenly guarded. «I'd guessed, before, but he confirmed it».
He glanced out the window briefly, then returned his attention to the two of them.
«If I'd been what the bishops would have me be, as a king, that could have been an end to him, of course — but I'm not. Some would even condemn the fact that the three of us are sitting here, having this conversation. Some would say that I or my ancestors should have routed out the seed of Corwyn years ago, root and stock, that I should have given the duchy to a human line.
«But we Haldanes have always sensed the usefulness of having a Deryni House in Corwyn, as a buffer with Torenth. It isn't something I'd expect the bishops to understand — they certainly don't approve — but they don't rule Gwynedd; I do. And it's been my choice, and that of my predecessors, to keep a Deryni line on the ducal throne in Corwyn — and to shelter certain other Deryni at my court. I very much regret that my sheltering of your sister was not sufficient to keep her safe. But human jealousy is something that can't easily be predicted».
«What — will happen to Sé, Sire?» Alyce asked pleating together folds of her skirt.
Donal cocked his head at her. «Do you fancy him?»
She looked up sharply. «You mean — to marry him?» she asked in a small voice.
«I told you I would have given him your sister. I shall do the same for you, if you wish it».
She swallowed with difficulty, then gave a small shake of her head.
«Then, is there someone else you fancy?»
«No, Sire. But Sé is like another brother to me. I could not marry him — unless, of course, you desired it».
«Dear Alyce». The king glanced at her brother. «Your sister knows her duty, Ahern. But this is not, perhaps, the time to speak of marriages. One day soon, I shall ask both of you to marry as I direct. But I think we first must bury your dear sister».
Very shortly, the carriage rattled to a halt before the cathedral's great west portal. When a footman had opened the carriage door and set steps in place before it, the occupants alighted, the king holding back briefly to admire the six black horses hitched to the carriage, while brother and sister followed their sister's coffin up the cathedral steps.
It was Father Paschal who met them just inside, Coroth's bishop having found excuse to be away from the capital for the week, rather than preside at the funeral obsequies of a Deryni. But the cathedral chapter had not scrupled to receive the body of this latest daughter of Corwyn. They waited now, lined up across the top step, before the great doors, each bearing a thick funeral taper of fine beeswax in his two hands. When Paschal had censed and aspersed the coffin at the great west door, the monks led it inside, softly chanting an introit borrowed from the priest's Eastern heritage, intoned over a continuous «ison» or drone:
«Chori angelorum te suscipiat… In paradisum deducant te angeli… Memento mei, Domini, cum veneris in regnum tuum…»
«May choirs of angels receive thee… May the angels accompany thee to paradise… Remember me, O Lord, when You come into Your kingdom…»
The haunting orison drifted on the stillness as Marie de Corwyn was borne down a center aisle strewn with the flower petals that should have led her to her marriage bed. Young girls crowned with flowers accompanied the white-draped coffin to its resting place before the altar, each carrying a single red rose.
The catafalque waiting to receive her was likewise strewn with flower petals, and the girls sweetly laid their flowers atop the coffin when it had been set in place. After that, all those in the funeral party knelt for prayers led by Father Paschal.
* * *
They laid Marie de Corwyn to rest two days later, in the crypt of the cathedral where her ancestors had worshipped and married and where many of them had been buried. Her tomb would lie between those of two other Corwyn women who had predeceased her: their mother, Stevana de Corwyn, and her mother, the incomparable Grania.
Afterward, as mourners filed back up the steps to the nave, preparing to disperse, Alyce saw Sé hanging back from the others, and felt the brush of his mind as he gazed at her, willing her to look in his direction.
Disengaging from the company of her brother and the king, she went back to her sister's sarcophagus and knelt beside it, ostensibly to pray. Sé lingered until all the others had gone, then came to kneel beside her, laying one hand on the alabaster lid of the sarcophagus. There had been little opportunity for private conversation until now.
«I wish I had known that the king looked kindly on the prospect of our marriage…», he said softly.
Alyce gently shook her head. «That would not have saved her», she whispered.
«Probably not». Sliding his forearm onto the lid, Sé bent to touch his lips to the cool stone, then straightened again, not looking at her.
«Did she suffer?» he asked.
Alyce started to shake her head in automatic denial, then drew a resolute breath. Lying to another Deryni was fruitless, even if intended to give comfort.
«The poison… would have affected her breathing», she murmured truthfully. «Little Isan and Brigetta as well. I — don't know what they might have suffered».
«Dear God…», he whispered, his eyes bright with tears as he lowered his forehead onto his arm.
«Sé, what will you do?» she asked, after a few seconds.
He raised his head, wiping across his eyes with the back of his hand, not really seeing her.
«I'm not yet certain», he said dully. «I had begun to plan for a future that no longer exists. Now that she is gone…»
He shook his head, swallowing hard.
«Alyce, I may leave Gwynedd», he went on. «I don't know that I care to live anymore where our people are so despised».
«But — it was jealousy that killed her, not our blood, Alyce protested.
«Is that really true?» he asked. «I'm not certain. If Marie hadn't been Deryni, do you think Muriella would have dared to do what she did? Hatred was certainly a factor».
«Perhaps. She certainly wasn't fond of me or Marie». After a short pause, she said, «Are you aware that the king offered to give you my hand, in place of Marie's?»
He nodded bleakly. «I sensed that he might. But I don't think that's what either of us wants, is it, dearest sister?»
As he slid his hand over hers, she shrugged and smiled faintly. «Probably not — though he's said that he intends both me and Ahern to marry soon. Nor c
an I quarrel with his reasoning. Ahern must marry and produce an heir, and I…» She shook her head in resignation.
«Until the future Duke of Corwyn has produced his heir, I am a valuable inducement for the loyalty of some ambitious courtier. I wonder that he even offered me the choice to marry you. But if I cannot marry for love — and I wish there were someone I pined for — at least let my marriage serve the interests of the King».
Sé smiled bitterly. «You have been bred too well to your duty, Alyce. Fortunate the man who wins your hand».
She gave him a wan reflection of his own smile, then looked away again.
«Sé, what will you do?»
«Well, I do intend to go away for a while». He turned his gaze back to Marie's sarcophagus. «I thought to seek counsel of my father, back at Jenadur».
«But — what about Ahern? He needs you».
«Only in a general sense», Sé replied. «He'll have Jovett — and there are at least a dozen other good men, both here and in Lendour, who are eager to help him become the man he is meant to be. I think that his handling of this business up in Kiltuin may well have turned the tide in his favor, to win him his knighthood despite his knee.
«As for needs — I, too, have needs, Alyce». As does our race, he added, in a tight-focused burst of mindspeech.
Both intrigued and caught off balance by this abrupt change of direction, she laid her hand over his and invited a melding of their minds, but he shook his head.
«I mayn't speak of it yet», he murmured.
She nodded, then turned her gaze back to her sister's tomb.
«This touches on your threat to leave Gwynedd», she said quietly. «If you did leave, where would you go?»
«That has yet to be determined», he allowed. «I have taken counsel of Father Paschal, who suggests that a few years' training at Djellarda would be useful; there is an inner curriculum. I might even investigate the knights at Incus Domini».
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