The King's Deryni (36 page)

“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.

“If they obey and serve him, they shall spend their days in prosperity . . .”

—JOB 36:11

T
HEY
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.)

The ladies of the household also gave him gifts. Little Bronwyn, with guidance and a little assistance from Vera, had hemmed him a handkerchief of fine linen. Vera and the ladies of the ducal household had been industrious during the long winter nights and were able to present him with a new linen shirt and several wool under-tunics to see him through the winter at court.

“But don't grow too much until the spring,” Vera warned him, as she made him try on each garment. “We've made them a little large, but you'll be glad of the extra layers, when it's really cold.”

And, indeed, frigid temperatures soon became a serious concern. The weather turned filthy two days later, casting serious doubts as to whether the roads would be passable in time for the journey to Rhemuth. Vera had to bow out of the trip owing to a heavy chest cold.

But Jared duly organized the expedition despite snow and ice, and led his modest contingent into Rhemuth two days before the planned spectacle of Twelfth Night, with banners flying. He took both Alaric and Duncan with him as pages, and Kevin as his squire, for a duke was expected to travel with a suitable retinue. Tesselin rode as his personal aide, as well as half a dozen Cassani bordermen. Llion accompanied them, of course, for he would be entering the king's service along with his young master.

It seemed strange to be back at court without his father, but to Alaric's surprise and delight, the apartment formerly assigned to his father was now become his and Llion's. It was more than Llion would have merited on his own, but Alaric was, after all, a future duke and earl.

“I'll keep my old bed, of course,” Alaric said, as the two of them stashed their saddlebags in the apartment. “I suppose you ought to take my father's bed, rather than your old trundle.”

“I couldn't,” Llion said. “It wouldn't seem right.”

“Nonsense,” Alaric replied, quite reasonably. “Your job is still to help protect me, as my father did. Plus, you'll be on Duke Richard's staff. That's something of a promotion. And I believe you said something about marrying my sister?”

At Llion's sudden look of owl-eyed dismay, Alaric grinned. “Good. I didn't think you'd make her sleep on the trundle bed with you. Don't worry. I think we'll be fine here.”

Llion could not argue that point, and dutifully moved his things into the small sleeping chamber previously occupied by Kenneth. Later, when he and Alaric joined Jared in the great hall for the evening meal, the duke drew them to places near his own chair, close to the king's.

Alaric wore his Cassani page's tabard, expecting to serve Jared one last time, but instead Jared seated him at his right hand, to underline his future rank, and bade him wear the Lendour signet outside his clothes, as further reminder to the court of who he was and would be. Kevin and Duncan served them, as squire and page. The experience was bittersweet for Alaric, because he knew how much was about to change. Further, it was appearing less and less likely that Alazais would be attending Twelfth Night court, much to the disappointment of both Alaric and Llion.

The day of Twelfth Night dawned even colder and more blustery than any the previous week, with portents of a new blizzard to come. The sky was a dull, sullen white, pregnant with snow, and it suited Alaric's mood as he washed and dressed for court, again donning his Cassani tabard and the McLain sash, though he layered them over several of the new wool under-tunics for warmth, and slung a fur-lined cape over that.

This time, the Lendour signet remained under his clothing. His new dirk rode at his right hip on the belt Duncan had made for his last birthday; he knew it would be allowed, at least for court. Llion put on a long grey court robe with his Lendour badge bright on the sleeve, though the latter was covered by his own thick cloak. They were nearly ready to head down to the hall when a knock sounded at the door, which immediately opened to admit Jared.

“Good, you're about ready,” the duke said, casting a critical eye over both of them. “Beastly day out, which should cut down on attendance, but I've managed to arrange for some major concessions. I hadn't realized how much influence dukes have. The king wishes to see both of you in his withdrawing room at once.”

The king was not the only one waiting when Alaric and Llion entered the room behind the dais. Brion was standing before the fireplace amid a sea of Haldane crimson worn by himself, Duke Richard, Queen Richeldis, and Prince Nigel. Duke Richard's deputy, Sir Ninian de Piran, was also present, but stayed near the door, wrapped up in a tawny cloak lined with fur.

“Ah, there they are,” the king said, raising an arm in summons as Jared ushered the pair into the room. “Come here, lad. We have business to transact before court.”

Mystified, Alaric allowed Jared to escort him before the king, glad of the warmth from the fireplace. Brion was already dressed in his full court attire, including the state crown of leaves and crosses intertwined, and Richard and Richeldis likewise wore the coronets of their rank. Nigel wore his crimson squire's doublet.

“Excellent,” the king said, as Richard eased closer and the queen sank onto a stool. “Llion, stand there beside Jared. Some of what I'm about to do concerns you.”

Alaric glanced back over his shoulder as Llion moved closer, though the young knight looked just as bewildered as Alaric felt. Jared's hand was heavy on his shoulder, and he wondered whether he had done something wrong.

“Duke Jared informs me that you are somewhat apprehensive about court this morning,” the king said, bracing his thumbs in the front of his bejeweled white belt. “I am told that it might have something to do with the likely presence of a certain bishop of your unhappy acquaintance.

“Yes, I am well aware of the incident with my lord of Nyford last year,” the king added, at the flicker of concern that sparked briefly in the boy's grey eyes. “I am also aware that his nephew has been an ongoing source of aggravation for you. Be assured that young Cornelius is being watched very closely. And I am happy to report that the weather appears to have prevented His Grace of Nyford from attending court this year.”

Alaric mostly managed to contain a sigh of relief. De Nore and Cornelius had, indeed, been on his mind increasingly, as the time drew nearer to leave Duke Jared's protection and join the king's household. But though he knew that dealing with them and others of their ilk would become an increasing necessity of his life, the older he got, he had thought himself mostly resigned to it.

“I'm guessing that you are relieved to hear that,” Brion went on, rightly gauging the boy's reaction. “Duke Richard and I have made a further decision that should ease any lingering concerns. You will not be participating in the public ceremony of reception as a Haldane page.” At Alaric's expression of surprise, he went on. “We have conferred with Duke Jared, and we have agreed that, since you have already gone through a semi-public ceremony when you became Duke Jared's page, it would be appropriate simply to receive you now, privately, in order to avoid drawing particular attention to your change of status when we go into court. That will become apparent as soon as you appear in Haldane livery, of course, but at least it avoids putting you into the center of attention right away. May I assume that this meets with your approval?”

Alaric shot an inquiring look at Jared, who nodded, then gave a quick nod of assent.

“Yes, Sire.”

“Very well, then. Jared Duke of Cassan, do you relieve this page of his duties to your house?”

“I do, Sire, though I am sorry to lose his service,” Jared said, removing his hand from Alaric's shoulder.

At the king's nod, Llion reached around Alaric's neck to unfasten and remove the cloak covering his Cassani surcoat, which Jared then pulled off over the boy's head and handed to Llion. When he would have removed the McLain sash as well, Alaric's hands darted to it protectively, and he glanced quickly at the king.

“Sire, is it permitted to keep the sash, if Duke Jared agrees? Not to wear it; just to have it. I would take it as a sign that I remain under the protection of the Chief of Clan McLain—as well as yourself, of course.”

The king exchanged a quick glance with Jared, then nodded slightly.

“If Duke Jared has no objection, then I have none,” he agreed. “But you do understand that I cannot allow you to wear it with your Haldane livery.”

“Yes, Sire.”

The king nodded to Jared again, tight-lipped, and Jared ducked his head as he bent to untie the sash and remove it, folding it in two before passing it to Llion. The young knight gently clasped Alaric's shoulder before backing off a pace with the cloak and sash.

“Very well,” the king said, briskly lifting the Haldane sword from its scabbard and resting its tip on the floor between them, both hands overlapped on the pommel. “Alaric Anthony Morgan of Corwyn, is it your desire to become a page of my house, to serve me above all others?”