“I understand that,” she replied. “And the two of us are the reason I spoke up.” She studied him unabashedly in the dimness of the distant firelight. “I want to be a good queen to you, Kelson.”
“I should have asked you more directly, before I told Mátyás and Liam about that,” Kelson said hastily. “I—wasn’t sure you would hear me.”
“I was a little surprised myself,” she admitted, “but certainly, no harm was done. I’m well aware that what happened at Liam’s enthronement changed a lot of expectations on everyone’s part—and I take it as a mark of your trust in our new allies, that you chose to tell them about us now.”
He nodded. “It really is essential that I sort out the Mearan situation as quickly as possible. Now that you and Richelle will be safe in Rhemuth, I have no worries on that account—I can protect you there—but if Teymuraz were to try to get at me by sabotaging the Mearan alliance, it could set us back enormously.”
Araxie gave him a tentative smile. “Would it help to know that I think you’ll have an unexpected ally in the Mearan camp?” she asked.
“Oh?”
“Well, perhaps not totally unexpected—but unexpectedly useful. Richelle got to be rather good friends with Noelie Ramsay, while her own marriage negotiations were being worked out, and she thinks Noelie will be able to persuade her parents about Rory, once she knows you’ve given your blessing to the match. As you might expect, we talked about that development a lot while you were away. According to Brecon, Noelie is quite strong-willed, and generally gets what she wants.”
Kelson nodded thoughtfully. “A good trait, so long as she’s strong-willed on our side—and it’s very useful to know.” He smiled tentatively. “You do know, of course, that you’re taking on royal consort functions already.”
She shrugged and smiled wistfully. “I am a Haldane. And I confess to being relieved that I won’t long have to maintain the charade that nothing has changed between us. Remember that when I agreed to marry you, I took on Gwynedd as well as Kelson Haldane; and I’m prepared to do whatever I can to help both of you, beginning right now, regardless of how many people do or do not know that we’re planning to wed.”
“I do appreciate that,” Kelson said. He sighed. “I’ve put you in an awkward position. I’m sorry.”
She pleated at a fold of her night shift, not looking directly at him. “The most awkward part, right now, is having only a very general notion of what went on today—but I will abide by your wishes, of course. Forgive me, I’m very new at this. But I hope you will remember that whatever talents and potentials I do have, I lay them at your feet—as my king, as my kinsman, and as my future husband.”
Suddenly he sensed the direction of her halting declaration, again inviting him to share whatever limited rapport her present training might permit. And to his surprise, unlike the first time she had offered, he found that the notion no longer carried such a strong sense of betraying Rothana. Though he had sought to delay such intimacy, once he reluctantly accepted that he must marry Araxie, there had never been any question that it must come eventually. And perhaps now was, indeed, the time to begin building the more practical aspects of their future partnership, before the relationship became complicated by the emotional entanglements that would come with being husband and wife, both of them wed for reasons that had to do with duty rather than the heart.
And yet, as he turned to look at her—at the firelight gilding her cheek and the play of shadow on her lowered lashes—he found himself wondering at the grace of spirit that already had led her to commit her life to him, prompted not by love but by duty and familial affection—which, perhaps, was but another expression of love. She was very different from Rothana, but the two of them had held one another in affection since childhood. Love could grow from far less. And who, besides another Haldane, could truly come to love Gwynedd as he did?
“Araxie?” he said softly, reaching across to lightly brush the back of one of her hands.
She started at his touch, her fingers stopping their nervous pleating of her gown as her grey Haldane gaze lifted to his.
“Yes?”
Very gently he laid his hand next to hers, touching it but not clasping it, his fingertips barely brushing her little finger.
“I wonder that you’re prepared to put up with me,” he said, not looking at her directly.
She smiled tremulously. “I did agree to become your wife. Putting up with you comes with the arrangement.”
He bowed his head, wondering how much he must have hurt her already. “I do want our marriage to be more than an arrangement,” he said. “And more than just a dynastic coupling to beget the heirs I need. I hope you understand that it may take a little while to build such a relationship.”
“Of course I understand.”
“Yes. Well, I started things out rather badly when I was here before, by declining your very generous offer to attempt rapport. I want you to know that I’m not insensible to the courage it must have taken, to make me such an offer. At the time, it—seemed the best decision for both of us.”
“And now?” she asked.
“That depends on whether you’re still feeling brave,” he replied, looking up at her. “God knows the circumstances have changed. And as my future queen, you certainly have the right to know about things that will affect how the two of us interact in the service of Gwynedd. Whatever else may or may not grow between us, I hope and pray that we may always rely upon one another as friends and helpmates.”
“Well, of course,” she retorted. “Duty be damned, if I didn’t think we could manage at least that! Give it time, Kelson. We have time.” She turned her hand to lightly clasp his. “As for me, you should understand that, as a Haldane, I have been brought up in the knowledge that, one day, I might have to marry solely for political reasons—maybe even with someone old enough to be my grandfather. To marry someone I’ve always liked and admired is a great blessing—even with the challenges that come with being your queen!”
He gazed at her in astonishment, only now beginning to appreciate the trust she was bringing to their commitment to marry.
“You really do mean that, don’t you?” he said, though his powers left no doubt of her sincerity.
“Of course I do.”
He felt a smile beginning to tug at the corners of his mouth, and he turned his hand in hers to lightly clasp it as well.
“Then, maybe we’d better make that attempt at rapport. I could tell you what happened today in Torenthály, but you’ll grasp it far better if I show you. I’ll go slowly. You needn’t be afraid.”
She turned her face full toward him, her fingers curling more boldly around his as she whispered, “I could never be afraid of you.”
Back in Beldour, Sean Lord Derry had time to be only briefly afraid. The message brought to him by the handsome young sirdukar in royal livery had mentioned only that his presence was requested by the new padishah. In fact, it was the new padishah’s mother who was waiting in the small audience chamber near the formal gardens—Morag of Torenth, whose brother’s powerful magic once had forced Derry to obscene betrayals. By the time he saw her, she was too close to avoid, stepping from behind the door his escort was closing, her hand already lifting toward his forehead.
Nonetheless, instinct made him recoil—right into the sirdukar’s arms, one of which clasped him tight against his captor’s chest while a gloved hand smothered any hope of a cry for help. Her touch drained away any inclination to resist, stirring chilling and long-buried memories of an iron ring once placed on his finger by the detested Wencit, whose most profound compulsions yet slumbered in his mind, undisturbed or detected despite the deep probes and healings that Morgan had performed after Wencit’s death.
Reawakened, those compulsions now drew him into docile oblivion, unable to fight them, his mind spread ready to receive and accept whatever instruction she cared to impose. . . .
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Exalt her, and she shall pr
omote thee: she shall bring thee to honour, when thou dost embrace her.
Proverbs 4:8
No inkling of Derry’s plight was even suspected by any of his would-be protectors, either in Beldour or back on the Ile d’Orsal. Even Derry’s existence was far from Kelson’s thoughts as he made his way back to Létald’s conference chamber, having finally left Araxie to pack a few necessaries for her journey.
The king found himself surprisingly moved after their exchange. Though he had confined their rapport to a sharing of what had occurred earlier in the day, and his assessment thus far, of its aftermath, he had been astonished to discover how well both Azim and Rothana herself had prepared his bride-to-be—and he found that this, too, was less daunting a thought than it had been.
Given that Araxie herself had first broached the subject of psychic rapport, he supposed he should not have been surprised at her having achieved some level of competence in very basic skills usually associated with Deryni—or with Haldanes, which he was increasingly convinced were much the same. Augmenting these rudimentary skills, however, was a Haldane’s keen appreciation for the political nuances with which he was wrestling, forged over a period of several centuries of Haldane history.
Which was not to say that he could wholly discount the profound differences between Araxie and Rothana. But he was discovering that Araxie compared more favorably than he had realized, and some areas of personality actually seemed far more complementary to his own—common points of family and heritage and expectation that would certainly help to make a partnership work, not only in their official duties and responsibilities but in their domestic interactions. It was not that Araxie’s potentials were greater than Rothana’s; they were simply different, and perhaps even better suited to the unique position in which Gwynedd’s queen would need to function.
He could not yet bring himself to address the question of physical passion—bright-flaring kindling, where Rothana was concerned, in contrast to Araxie’s clear, steady flame—so he had kept any hint of that aspect of his wants and needs carefully shuttered off during the interaction. But he could not deny that their shared rapport had moved him profoundly, or that some part of him had started to respond to her nearness. Most certainly, she would grace the consort’s crown with intelligence as well as beauty, with gentleness and courtesy and even wit. Were it not for memories of Rothana. . . .
“Arilan has returned to Beldour with Liam,” Morgan murmured, standing as Kelson joined him back in Létald’s conference room. He had a map of the surrounding waters spread on the table before him, and laid aside a pair of callipers. “We thought it advisable that Torenth’s new king not be too long absent from his capital, so soon after his enthronement, and that he ought to have a trustworthy advisor with him until the ripples settle from this afternoon.”
“Did Mátyás go with him?” Kelson asked.
“No, he’s with Létald, advising him on the defense of the island. Better him than me, since he knows what his brother might try. Dhugal is with them, standing in for you. Meanwhile, I’ve asked Arilan to assist Derry and Saer in organizing the departure arrangements at Beldour, first thing in the morning. How did it go with Araxie?”
Kelson nodded, more content than he had expected, as he sank into a chair across from Morgan. “Surprisingly well,” he said. “Azim must be quite a teacher. Either that, or Haldane blood really does count for a good deal more than anyone ever dreamed.”
“Probably a little of both,” Morgan replied, “though that should hardly surprise you, knowing your own level of ability. May I take it, then, that you achieved a good level of rapport?”
“We did,” Kelson said hesitantly. “She’s far more accomplished than Rothana or even Azim had led me to believe. Part of that can probably be explained by the Deryni blood from her mother’s side, but—she’s a Haldane, too, Alaric. You don’t suppose she might have the capacity to assume Haldane powers, do you?”
Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Now, that’s an interesting thought. There’s never been a Haldane queen regnant, so it’s never occurred to me to wonder if the power could be assumed by a woman. Nor am I aware of a Haldane ever marrying another Haldane, for that matter. But your grandfather and Araxie’s father were both sons of Malcolm Haldane—and where blood is concerned, nature doesn’t care which is the senior line. We already know that it isn’t true that only one Haldane can hold the power at a time.
“That means that, in theory, Duke Richard should have carried the same Haldane potential as his elder half-brother—your grandfather,” Morgan went on, warming to this new speculation. “And that should have passed to Araxie—and to Richelle, for that matter. Of course, we don’t know how the blood gets diluted, down the generations. But if you’re any example, it certainly hasn’t lost its potency in the senior line—and the trait seems to have bred true in Nigel’s line.”
Kelson had gone very still, his mind whirling with the diverse possibilities suggested by the notion, not even recoiling as he usually did, at the oblique reminder of betrayal by Nigel’s eldest son. He had mentioned Araxie’s possible potential half-wistfully, still charmed by the rapport begun out of duty and then embraced by unexpected stirrings of far greater compatibility than he dared to hope for—and quite unprepared for the direction Morgan’s speculations had taken, once the question was raised.
“Then, you’re saying that it might, indeed, be possible to awaken Haldane potential in Araxie,” he said slowly. “Good God, why did that never occur to me before?—or to Rothana or Azim. If it had, they surely would have pointed it out.”
“So one would think,” Morgan agreed. “Unless, of course, some hidden purpose is at work.” He paused a beat. “Does it signify, I wonder, that Azim is part of the Camberian Council?”
A queasy knot stirred in Kelson’s stomach.
“Why would the Council wish to hide such a thing?”
“I don’t know. So far as I can tell, they have never been comfortable with the notion of Deryni who do not fall within their definitions of what is proper. And the fact is that there’s a great deal that isn’t known about Deryni or those who somewhat resemble Deryni—like Haldanes.
“On that level,” Morgan went on carefully, “it’s a very good thing that Rothana has set herself the task of bringing some of this into the open. Her vision of helping the Servants of Saint Camber establish a schola for Deryni is admirable, but the dream is much too small. Someone besides scattered individuals and self-appointed bodies operating in isolation must revive the ancient knowledge, and gather it centrally, and encourage it to flourish in the open—and maintain standards of behavior, and chastise those who step beyond proper boundaries.
“What’s more, it should be located in your capital,” he said emphatically, stabbing a finger at the table for emphasis, “so that you can be its protector. And that may also solve part of the Albin problem, because then he’d be there, and you and Nigel could ensure that he gets the kind of education and training that will make him an asset to your House. And who better to be the patrons of such an undertaking than a Haldane king and queen, who share the powers and the consequences of those powers.”
“You’re speaking of me and Araxie,” Kelson whispered, sensing where this was heading.
Morgan nodded. “Rothana got that part of the equation exactly right, when she chose Araxie for you—and I’ll grant you that, in part, you and Rothana could have carried out some of this work, if things had been different. But she mustn’t marry you, Kelson—and not alone because of Albin. She’s Deryni, and she will need all her focus to gather the best Deryni minds to provide the foundation for such an enterprise. And you, with a functioning Haldane queen at your side, must provide the atmosphere in which such an enterprise may flourish—and Haldane heirs, properly educated in their heritage, to carry on your work.”
Kelson slowly breathed out in a long, slow sigh, reluctantly accepting all that Morgan had said, already considering ways to implement this greater vision—and realiz
ing, as he did so, that in letting go of part of his dream, by stepping back from marriage with Rothana, he was taking up an even greater dream, of which Araxie Haldane was an increasingly intriguing part.
“You’ve offered me a great deal to think about,” he said slowly, glancing toward the door as footsteps approached in the corridor outside. “I’ll want to explore this further, once we’ve returned to Rhemuth. Meanwhile, it’s enough, for now, that I’ll need to explain myself when we show up unexpectedly.” He rose as Azim came into the room, another sheaf of maps tucked under one arm. “Is all well?” he asked.
Azim smiled faintly. “I was about to ask the same of you, but yes, all is well. Have you yet been to Rhemuth?”
Kelson shook his head. “I’ve only just returned from Araxie. We’ll go now.” He motioned Morgan toward the adjacent room. “Will you tell Létald where I’ve gone? It is his Portal, after all.”
“True enough,” Azim agreed. “Courtesy is prudent among magicians.” He cocked his head. “You have not said whether I should be concerned for my most promising pupil.”
“Araxie?” Kelson smiled sheepishly as Morgan slipped ahead of him into the Portal chamber. “I think that Haldane blood, coupled with your training, has yielded me a formidable consort—and I thank you. I don’t think any of us have cause for worry on that count.”
So saying, and before Azim could pursue the point, he went on into the room where the Portal lay. Morgan was already waiting on the Portal square, and set his hand on Kelson’s shoulder as the king moved in to stand beside him.
“Which Portal?” he asked. “The library, I presume?”
Kelson nodded. “You take us through.”
He closed his eyes and let his shields fall before Morgan’s psychic embrace, surrendering control to the man who had become as much a father to him as his own had ever been. Thus enfolded, he was but faintly aware when Morgan reached out to bend the energies. The jump was smooth, but he was not expecting what awaited them at the other end.
King Kelson's Bride Page 35