In the King's Service (7 page)

“That isn’t possible,” he whispered, lifting shaking hands to look at them distractedly—and shifting back to mindspeech.
Donal did it? He has the ability to mind-rip one of our own number? A member of the Council?

Apparently he does,
Michon returned.
Setting aside the question of How, the further question is, Why? The presence of Jessamy, and the fact that she apparently made no effort to interfere, suggests that she condoned the attack—or at least had cause to allow it.

Shaking his head, he drew the cerecloth back over Sief’s face and began pulling the coffin lid back into place, Seisyll belatedly assisting him. The nails he drove back into place with his mind, silently, letting his anger and horror defuse with each one.

 
“YOU’RE certain of what you saw?” Dominy asked, stunned, when Michon had reported back to the Camberian Council later that night.

“I am certain of what I saw,” Michon replied. “I am not necessarily certain of what it means.”

Oisín Adair, their previously absent member, drummed calloused fingers on the ivory-inlaid table, blue eyes animated in the darkly handsome face. His eyes were a startling sapphire hue above a neatly trimmed beard and somewhat bushy moustache, the night-black hair drawn back neatly in the braided clout favored by Gwynedd’s mountain folk. By his attire, clad in oxblood riding leathers and with a whiff of the stable about him, he had come but lately from the back of a horse.

“It would appear that the canny Donal Haldane has gained access to the powers anciently attributed to his Haldane forefathers,” he said quietly, the soft burr of the north softening his words. “Can none of you venture a reasonable surmise as to who might have helped him?”

“The daughter of Lewys ap Norfal,” Vivienne said, venom in her tone.

“We don’t know that,” Barrett reminded her. “There is always the possibility that it was someone else entirely, in which case, we have a far greater problem on our hands than we could have imagined—though the thought of Jessamy following in her father’s footsteps is sobering enough.”

“Which ‘someone else’ did you have in mind, dear brother?” Dominy asked. “Given that it’s unlikely to have been Sief, that leaves only four other Deryni with regular access to the court of Gwynedd—and I believe we can eliminate the two sitting at this table.”

“And I point out, in turn, that both of those remaining are the children of Lewys ap Norfal,” Barrett said.

“Yes, and we began grooming Morian ap Lewys well before his father’s death,” Seisyll said sharply. “That was before some of you were out of leading strings, but I assure you that our predecessors did not take this responsibility lightly.”

The grudging silence that met this declaration was broken by Michon clearing his throat.

“It appears I should remind everyone that Morian was squired to the court of Gwynedd at the age of ten, even before the death of his father. Never has he put a foot wrong, in all the years since then. I can, of course, bring him in for examination, if that is your wish, but I assure you that his loyalty has never been in question, to the crown or to his blood.”

“I think that none of us question either loyalty,” Oisín said. “Where is he now?”

“In Meara, on the king’s business, as he has been for most of the past year,” Seisyll supplied. “In truth, he has never spent much time at court—or in his sister’s company. I think it highly unlikely that Morian was involved, or even knew.”

“Which brings us back to his sister, who perhaps has had more access to the king than the rest of us combined,” Vivienne said coldly.

“That does appear to be the case,” Oisín said. “I find it disturbing that she was present when Donal killed her husband. There can be no doubt that she is of a powerful bloodline, whether or not she shares her father’s aberrations. That should have given her the ability to protect Sief, even from a Haldane. Unless, of course,” he added thoughtfully, “unless there was some other bond between Jessamy and the king that was stronger than her duty to her husband, the father of her . . . children. . . .”

These last words fell into a sudden, deathly silence. After a moment, it was Barrett who dared to voice the suspicion that had begun to take shape in all their minds.

“It would not be the first time that a king has sired a child on a woman not his queen,” he said. “His father did it. More than once.”

“So has Donal,” Seisyll whispered, chilled. “I know of several others.”

“You’re suggesting that Krispin MacAthan is actually the king’s bastard,” Dominy said flatly, not wanting to believe it.

“I believe we are suggesting,” said Oisín, “that the prospect certainly bears further investigation. If the child is, indeed, Donal Haldane’s by-blow, and Sief found out, I think we need look no further for a motive for his killing.”

“That still doesn’t explain how Donal acquired the power to overcome a fully trained Deryni mage,” Vivienne said.

“I think that much is clear, if the rest is true,” Barrett replied. “Jessamy must have helped the king to enable his full Haldane powers—whether before or after the conception makes little difference.”

“It makes a difference if she did it in the hopes that he would kill her husband for her,” Vivienne pointed out. “She knew Sief’s temper. She must have guessed how he would react, if he found out her child was not his. I think we can all imagine his rage when he discovered that his long-awaited ‘son’ was not his son at all.”

“Poor Sief,” Dominy murmured after a moment. “And he would have had no inkling that the king had powers to match his own.”

“To
exceed
them, apparently,” Barrett retorted.

“He does seem to have been taken by surprise,” Michon said quietly. “And circumstances do suggest that the king was responsible—though I think it may have been a reaction of the moment, when Sief guessed the truth of his ‘son’s’ paternity. But I saw nothing to suggest that Jessamy had any direct part in her husband’s death.”

Seisyll slowly nodded. “I agree. And I very much doubt that there was premeditation on the king’s part. He can be a devious man—a king
must
be—but I have never known him to be a murderer.”

“A passion of the moment, then, on Sief’s part,” Barrett ventured, “a reflex reaction to the shocking truth of the child’s paternity, that escalated into a murderous attack—and self-defense to counter it.”

“That would be my guess,” Michon said with a nod.

“We cannot merely guess,” Oisín said. “We must know. And we must know the truth about the child.”

“Dear God,” Vivienne whispered, “not only a grandson of Lewys ap Norfal, but a Deryni-Haldane cross. The notion doesn’t bear thinking about!”

“Unfortunately, we
must
think about it,” Michon pointed out.

Seisyll gave a nod. “I shall endeavor to meet privately with Jessamy,” he said.

“An examination of the child might prove more useful, and more immediately possible,” Dominy replied.

“I shall keep both options open,” Seisyll agreed. “And I shall exercise extreme caution in the king’s presence. In the meantime,” he glanced around the table at all of them, “we must give immediate consideration to Sief’s replacement. If the king has sired a Haldane bastard on the daughter of Lewys ap Norfal, we must be certain that we are operating at full strength.”

Chapter 4

—ECCLESIASTICUS 22:9

 
 
 
 
 
 
DESPITE Seisyll Arilan’s intentions, he could find no immediate opportunity to speak privately with Sief MacAthan’s widow or to examine her son. Within days, a border incident near Droghera caused the king to send him on an embassy to Meara, to observe and report on negotiations going on between the royal governor and increasingly militant partisans of Mearan separatism. As he set out on the road to Ratharkin, the Mearan capital, it occurred to him to wonder whether the timing was coincidental—whether Donal was, in fact, sending him from court because he feared he was under scrutiny regarding Sief’s death.

Except that the Mearan situation was nothing new. Both Seisyll and Sief had been part of that last expedition into Meara with Donal’s father, which had claimed the lives of several of the old queen’s Mearan cousins. Perhaps Sief had even revealed or at least intimated to Donal that Seisyll was Deryni—or Jessamy had. But the balance in Meara had long been volatile; and Seisyll was one of the king’s most skilled negotiators.

Accordingly, it was Michon de Courcy who contrived to be present at the christening of the widow’s son, a week after Seisyll’s departure. Though Michon had not actually been in residence at court when Sief died, he had explained his presence at Sief’s funeral by a chance coincidence of business in the capital: a matter at law, concerning one of his properties in Ardevala. The pretext now served to justify remaining in Rhemuth while he carried out discreet investigations on behalf of the Council. Given that he was related to Jessamy by marriage, his attendance at the christening was not inappropriate. He knew, however, that it would put her on her guard.

And probably for good cause, Michon decided, when he learned that the ceremony would take place in the chapel royal of Rhemuth Castle, and that Queen Richeldis had agreed to be one of the child’s godparents. That, in itself, was not unusual—that a member of the royal family should stand as baptismal sponsor to a child of a favored lord. Indeed, the child’s mother was one of the queen’s closest friends; and Sief had faithfully served the royal house for many years. Under the circumstances, even the venue might be regarded as a fitting tribute.

Michon did find it disturbing that the king allowed the priest, Queen Richeldis’s own chaplain, to use the silver christening basin customarily brought out only for the baptism of royal princes, as the boy was christened Krispin Lewys Sief MacAthan. And afterward, the king let it be known that the widow, her younger daughters, and her infant son should have a home at court for as long as they chose.

“I shall miss both the counsel and the companionship of Sir Sief MacAthan,” the king declared, when Father Angelus had finished welcoming young Krispin into the family of God. “This is the least I can do, as a mark of my continued appreciation for a family that has served me so loyally and for so long. Young Master Krispin shall be educated alongside Prince Brion and the child my lady wife now carries beneath her heart, and the Lady Jessamy shall continue in her service of the queen.

“As for these two demoiselles,” he added, indicating the widow’s young daughters, “you both shall have proper dowries when you are ready to wed—which will also give you the choosing of just about any of the young squires at my court, I think. Does that please you?”

To the good-natured amusement of the court around them, Jesiana gave the king a shy smile and dropped him a charming curtsy; the four-year-old Seffira merely hid her face in her mother’s skirts, too young to understand the significance of this sign of the king’s favor. The child’s innocence elicited a pleased chuckle on the part of the king and a smile of obvious approval on the face of the queen, as Jessamy graciously inclined her head and murmured words of gratitude. Nothing rang false on the part of anyone present, but Michon still found himself wondering whether all was as it appeared.

Instinctively, he avoided approaching the king or exchanging more than the most perfunctory of courtesies with him. Though he did not think Donal suspected he was Deryni, he was reluctant to test that belief until he had sounded out Jessamy—who, if she had been the one to empower the king, might well have discovered how to over-ride the prohibitions set in place by her father and her late husband regarding the identity of the Camberian Council—and might well have warned Donal that Michon was Deryni. He already found it worrisome to have learned that the king possessed hitherto unsuspected powers, and of a magnitude sufficient to have overcome Sief, whatever the provocation.

But he had resolved to speak with Jessamy, at least, and contrived to drift into the castle gardens with the others, after the ceremony. He had hoped for a closer scrutiny of the child in her arms; but as he approached her, standing with her daughters and the queen amid half a dozen of the queen’s other ladies, she handed the boy into the keeping of the queen herself, excused herself with a curtsy, and came to meet him before he could join them. Her expression was composed beneath the black wimple of recent widowhood that she wore, but he thought he detected wariness in the deep violet eyes. The marriage of her eldest daughter to his son, like her own marriage to Sief, had been arranged and required by the Camberian Council.

“My Lord Michon,” she said coolly, offering him her hand. “Your presence honors this gathering. I caught a glimpse of you at my husband’s funeral, but there was no opportunity to seek you out among the other mourners. How fortunate that you happened to be in Rhemuth when he passed away.”

He knew she would be aware that his presence had owed little to mere fortune, then or now, but he made a courtly bow over her hand, unsurprised to find his cautious probe casually deflected and even dissipated by the odd, fuzzy shields that characterized Lewys ap Norfal’s line. So far as he could tell, she did not seem to notice.

“Fortunate, indeed,” he murmured. “And you have borne up bravely, through all of this. What a cruel irony, that Sief’s heart should fail him when he finally had a son.”

She withdrew her hand and inclined her head, faint challenge in her eyes. “Fate often does deal in ironies, doesn’t it?” she replied. “Pray, what keeps you here in Rhemuth?”

“I have business interests here, as you know,” he said neutrally. “They are nearly finished now.” He glanced at the knot of women cooing over the infant Krispin, who had set up a wail. “Your son seems a lusty bairn. Does he resemble you, or his father?”

“I couldn’t possibly say. Both of us? Neither?” The answer was truthful but ambiguous, as Michon was certain had been her intention. “When they are this age, I have always observed that one baby looks remarkably like the next.”