Blanching even whiter, Sidana eased herself onto a cushion, back ramrod straight, hands balled into fists at her sides, though she tried to hide them under the folds of her skirt. Llewell, sinking down beyond her, looked just as scared, but he did a fair job of hiding it behind a façade of bravado. Suddenly Kelson was aware how he must look to them, crowned and wearing his state robes of crimson and ermine, with a Deryni bishop at his side. He tried to soften his expression a little as he glanced from one to the other of them, but knew he must be firm. He was glad of Duncan’s tempering presence.
“I’ve had word from your mother,” he said to both of them, resting his hands awkwardly on his thighs. “Her emissary arrived this morning.”
Sidana gave a little gasp, closing her eyes for just an instant. Her brother flushed scarlet.
“She still defies you, doesn’t she?” Llewell crowed. “She’s going to stand against you!”
“She executed my bishop, who was her hostage,” Kelson said evenly, refusing to be baited. “Do you know what that means?”
As Sidana glanced fearfully at her brother, Llewell drew himself up even more haughtily.
“Do you intend to execute us as well, then? We are not afraid to die!”
“No one has accused you of being afraid,” Kelson said sharply. “And I am trying to insure that no one else need die—though I think even you will agree that I would be within my rights to kill you.”
“Deryni bastard!” Llewell muttered.
“I will admit to being Deryni,” Kelson replied softly. “And I shall attribute your use of the other term to your anger and the brashness of youth. But do not interrupt me again, or I shall ask Bishop McLain to deal with you.”
He sensed they knew the threat was not an empty one. As Sidana stifled another little gasp and both of them glanced automatically at Duncan, Llewell closed his mouth and sat back sullenly in his place. Duncan wore no weapons and presented no particular physical threat in size or even expression, but they must suspect he was also a “Deryni bastard.” Neither had had a taste of his particular talents, but they had both felt Morgan’s magic. The threat was sufficient for the moment.
“Very well, then. I trust we understand each other on that point,” Kelson breathed. “Please believe that it is not my wish to execute anyone, especially my own kinsmen and women, but I would be less than true to my coronation vows if I allowed treachery to go unpunished. I am Meara’s lawful, anointed king, as well as Gwynedd’s. Your mother has risen in rebellion against me and taken an innocent life.”
Sidana continued to stare at him numbly, and Llewell appeared to be on the verge of another outburst; but, at least for the moment, the threat of Duncan sitting across from him kept him silent as Kelson went on.
“But I wish to spend no further lives in this matter,” Kelson said in a more conciliatory tone. “It is my earnest desire that Meara and Gwynedd may be one, as our great-grandfathers intended. And if that can be accomplished peaceably, then that is what I choose. You can help me do that.”
“Us? Help a Haldane?” Llewell sneered.
Even as Llewell said it, Kelson was glaring at him angrily and signing to Duncan.
“One more word out of him …” he said with deliberate menace.
Casually but purposefully, Duncan moved closer to the end of the embrasure, within easy reach of Llewell. The boy subsided immediately, and Kelson turned his full attention on Sidana. He almost hoped Llewell did say something else; his constant interference was not making this any easier.
“What I say next must be directed to you, my lady,” he said patiently. “I do not expect you to do anything for me, but I do hope you will do what you must for the sake of Meara. I offer you a way to resolve the conflict between our two lands without further shedding of blood. I ask that you join your royal line with mine—that our children may reign as undisputable rulers of a united Gwynedd and Meara.”
He hardly flickered an eyelid at Llewell’s strangled cry, only shooting out a hand to seize Sidana’s right wrist when she would have tried to stop Duncan. The bishop was across the intervening space before Llewell could even leave his seat, imposing control so swiftly that Llewell had time for only a futile gesture in Kelson’s direction. The prince’s eyelids fluttered once and then closed as he crumpled into Duncan’s arms, his head lolling against the episcopal purple without resistance. In repose, with the defiant lines erased from his face, he looked even younger than his fifteen years.
“He was warned,” Duncan murmured, shifting Llewell’s head and shoulders to a more comfortable position across his lap and glancing up a Sidana. “I haven’t harmed him. He can hear what’s going on around him; he simply can’t react. I promise you, he felt no pain. Nor is he feeling any now. His Majesty has asked a question of you, my lady. I suggest you answer him.”
With a startled gasp, Sidana jerked her wrist away from Kelson and stood, apparently only then remembering that he still had held it. She was too proud to cry, but Kelson could sense the effort it took her to bite back her tears as she retreated to the left-hand corner of the embrasure, as far from all of them as she could get. Hugging her arms across her breast, she stared blindly out the window for several seconds, her long hair cloaking her to her knees. When first she tried to speak, her voice broke. Embarrassed, she turned the strangled sound into a nervous cough.
“Do I—correctly discern a proposal of marriage?” she managed to ask at last.
“You do,” Kelson replied.
“And does the king truly ask, or does he command?” she whispered bitterly. “If I refuse, will he take me by force?”
Kelson managed a mirthless smile, choosing to ignore the jibe.
“Here, in front of witnesses, my lady?” he said lightly. “And a bishop, at that?”
“A Deryni bishop,” she countered, lifting her chin defiantly, “who has already bent my brother to your will. Why should he not do the same to me, if you desire it? Or you could do it if you wished. We have heard how you won your crown with black magic.”
Duncan glanced at the king indignantly, but Kelson shook his head, his own denial already forming on his lips.
“Do you truly believe I would force you into marriage?” he asked softly. “Or that a bishop would countenance it, much less be part of such coercion?”
“You are Deryni—both of you. I do not know what you might do.”
“I would not use any power at my command, whether physical or Deryni, to force you to an act against your conscience, Sidana. Marriage is a sacrament. That means something to me—something very important. But also important is what our marriage might mean to our two lands: an end to the bloodshed over disputes of succession; peace in our time. Is the thought of being a queen so abhorrent to you?”
She bowed her head, her shoulders shaking silently for just a moment.
“What of my parents?” she asked at last. “And my brothers?”
Kelson glanced at the motionless Llewell and sighed. “I would offer Llewell the opportunity to renounce his rights to the Mearan titles your family claims. Once I had his parole, I would honor him with all the estate appropriate to the brother of my queen.”
“And Ithel? My mother and father?”
“I know what you desire to hear,” he replied, “but I cannot offer you any false hopes. One way or another, if there is to be a lasting peace, I must break the succession ahead of you so that there will be no question of the right of our heirs to rule both Gwynedd and Meara. The fate of your parents and your brothers is dependent upon their further actions. I do not seek their lives, but I shall not hesitate to take them if it will save hundreds, perhaps thousands of others.”
“I see.”
Slowly she glanced at her brother and moved listlessly to the window itself, laying both hands flat against the glass as she gazed out at the freedom of the hills beyond Rhemuth, white-bronze in the dying sun.
“I have no true options, then,” she said after a few seconds. “Whether or not I refuse
you, my family is doomed, as is my country. We posture grandly, but we are a small land compared to Gwynedd—and human. We cannot stand against the might of a Deryni overlord. I have known that all along, I suppose. Our cause was lost before it began, even if my mother would not recognize it. And regardless of what I do, I know the rest of my family will die. They will not surrender.”
“Then, think of your people,” Kelson murmured, standing slowly to gaze at her and wishing he could offer further comfort. “Is it so terrible to be the instrument of peace? Could you not find some contentment in being queen?”
“Queen of a land besides my own—”
“Queen of a land which encompasses your own,” Kelson amended. “And wife to a man who would do his utmost to make you happy.”
“In a marriage of state and convenience, wed to the enemy of my people,” she replied, lowering her eyes. “A pawn in the game of dynasties and kings, as has ever been the fate of women.”
“As has ever been the fate of kings as well, my lady.”
Trembling, Kelson removed his circlet and set it aside, sinking to one knee behind her. He longed to reach out to her, to touch even one strand of the shimmering hair, but he was too nervous, all too conscious of Duncan sitting silently to his right, with Llewell sprawled quiet but aware across his lap.
“I am—as much a pawn in this as you, Sidana,” he continued softly. “Father Duncan will tell you that I always hoped to marry for love, or at least affection, but I have also always known that dynastic considerations must come before personal desires, when eventually I took a wife.”
He cleared his throat nervously. “Still, even a marriage of state can be one of at least contentment. I cannot promise that you will be happy if you marry me. I do give you my word as a king and as a man that I will deal fairly with you, and try with all my might to be a kind and gentle husband—and pray that love might grow between us in time. Perhaps it is not all you would have wished for—it is not all I would have wished for—but it is all I have to offer. Will you at least consider my proposal?”
For a long moment she did not move, and he was sure she would refuse. Against all prudence, he reached out with his mind and read a little of her turmoil: helpless anger mixed with duty and honor and just a hint of compassion, which gave him cause to hope.
Withdrawing, for her emotions were too intense to bear for long, read unbidden and without her knowledge, he raised a hand to brush one errant chestnut lock caught in a fold of her gown, intending to beseech her further. Its touch was like captive lightning, jarring him so profoundly that he nearly gasped. As if stung, he jerked back his hand and stared up at her face set in profile against the darkening glass, swaying a little on his knees. He dared not allow the thoughts which went coursing through his mind, but he could not stop them. If she continued to refuse, he knew the possibility of force was not wholly ruled out, regardless of what he had said before.
He was saved from himself by Sidana’s own action, however. After a few more seconds, though she still did not look at him, her right hand dropped to her side and opened.
“I will marry you,” she whispered, a tear at last trickling down her cheek.
Reverently, not daring to speak for fear of changing her mind, Kelson took her hand and kissed it, damping the surge of relief and pleasure which coursed through him anew at her touch. Even so, she felt some of it. As he turned her hand to press his lips against her palm, he felt her shudder. He rose with new confidence, keeping her hand in his as he turned awkwardly toward Duncan.
“Will you witness the lady’s consent, Father?”
Nodding, Duncan shifted Llewell to a sitting position and stood, laying his priestly hands on their joined ones. Llewell stirred slightly and opened his eyes, but could not seem to summon sufficient will to do more.
“Have you a date in mind, Sire?”
“Twelve days hence, at Epiphany.”
“A fitting day to crown a queen,” Duncan said gently, with a compassionate smile for the trembling princess. “Sidana of Meara, do you promise and covenant, of your own free will and desire, to contract honorable marriage with Kelson of Gwynedd twelve days hence, according to the rites of our Holy Mother the Church?”
Her eyes brimmed with tears, but she swallowed and gave a quick dip with her chin.
“I do promise and covenant it, so help me God.”
“Kelson of Gwynedd, do you promise and covenant, of your own free will and desire, to contract honorable marriage with Sidana of Meara twelve days hence, according to the rites of our Holy Mother the Church?”
“I do promise and covenant it, so help me God,” Kelson said steadily.
“Then I do witness and affirm that a contract to marry has been solemnized between Sidana of Meara and Kelson of Gwynedd, to be joined in holy matrimony twelve days hence, according to the rites of our Holy Mother the Church. The banns shall be published on the morrow. And this covenant shall be as binding as the vows of matrimony, and shall not be put asunder.” He made the sign of the Cross over their joined hands. “In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.”
She drew her hand away at that, to turn and sink sobbing to the cushions by the window. Kelson would have tried to comfort her, but Duncan shook his head and summoned Meraude and Richenda instead, telling them briefly what had happened before leading Llewell and Kelson out of the room. The dazed Llewell he placed in the custody of a guard, to be returned to his own quarters.
Kelson he led back to the royal apartments, where Morgan, Dhugal, and Nigel waited. There he and Kelson told them what had been decided, and the king commanded preparations to go forward.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
A merry heart doeth good like a medicine: but a broken spirit drieth the bones.
—Proverbs 17:22
During the week and a half that followed, Kelson avoided all further contact with his bride-to-be, hopeful that time for reflection would win her to less tearful acceptance of both their duties. Richenda’s continued presence proved a godsend, for Sidana soon preferred her company over that of any other lady at court, despite the undisguisable fact that Richenda was wife to a Deryni. Kelson did not ask whether Richenda had helped the relationship along in any extraordinary way; the knowledge that his own wooing had been accomplished without Deryni advantage was sufficient for his own conscience.
However Richenda managed it, though, Sidana’s fits of near-hysterical weeping gradually abated to stony endurance, resigned tolerance, and even occasional shy excitement as gowns were cut and fitted and Richenda began gently instructing her young charge in some of the privileges as well as the duties of her life to come. The only major setback occurred at midweek, after a private audience with her brother degenerated into a shouting and weeping bout. On hearing of it, Kelson forbade all further sibling contact until after the wedding day and asked that Richenda remain with the princess day and night for the interim. Morgan regretted his empty bed, but Sidana’s progress after that was so tangible that he counted the sacrifice well worth while. Once, passing near the queen’s solar, he even heard Sidana singing with Richenda. When told, Kelson beamed for the rest of the evening.
On the military and ecclesiastical front, preparations also went forward as Twelfth Night approached. The morning after Christmas, the archbishops loosed the next offensive in their attempt to bring Loris to his knees, extending their earlier excommunication of rebel bishops and Mearan royal family to a general interdict of all of Meara. Kelson doubted the long-range usefulness of the measure, for it was unlikely that Loris would observe it, but he allowed it to be sent along with his formal declaration of war in the spring. As was only honorable, he also sent notice of his intentions regarding Sidana: a stark, official copy of the banns of marriage published in Rhemuth that same morning, witnessed by nearly a dozen bishops and lords of state as well as by both principals. There was no chance of Mearan interference with the latter, for no messenger could reach Ratharkin and return before the weddin
g took place; and as for the rest, spring would decide the future from that point.
“Her parents would probably rather she were dead,” Kelson said gloomily, sipping rich Fianna wine with his closest friends the night before his wedding. “Maybe she would, too. I suspect Llewell would. I’m sure he wishes I were.”
Dhugal, showing the effects of the evening’s indulgence far more than the king, shook his head and chuckled, exchanging an exaggerated wink with Morgan and Duncan.
“Of course Llewell wishes you were dead, Sire,” he said lightly. “Llewell is her brother. What brother ever thinks any man is good enough for his sister?”
“There was once one good enough for my sister,” Morgan replied, glancing over his cup at Duncan with a sad, wistful smile.
The comment caught both younger men by surprise—Dhugal, who had no idea what Morgan was talking about, and Kelson, who understood the reference all too well. As Kelson lowered his eyes, obviously saddened by the memory, Dhugal turned puzzled gaze on Duncan, who sighed and raised his cup slightly in remembrance.
“To Kevin and Bronwyn: together for all eternity.”
He grimaced and drank the toast, not looking up as Morgan and Kelson silently followed suit. Dhugal, even more mystified, turned to Kelson in question.
“Did they die or something?” he whispered, much sobered.
Kelson leaned his head against the back of his chair and closed his eyes. “Or something.”
“What does that mean?” Dhugal persisted. “Weren’t they—Deryni?”
Sighing, Morgan picked up the wine pitcher and began carefully refilling his and Duncan’s cups, not meeting any of their eyes.
“Bronwyn was. She was my only sister. Kevin was Duncan’s half-brother, and human. There was also at Duke Jared’s court a young architect named Rimmell who’d taken a fancy to Bronwyn, though no one knew that at the time—least of all Bronwyn. In any event, Rimmell formed an insane jealousy of Kevin. Two days before Bronwyn and Kevin were to be married, Rimmell apparently decided he must eliminate his rival.”
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