Hearts in Cups

by Candace Gylgayton

  "The ring brought you here, where you could never have made your way alone. However, the ring cannot lead you back to the Pentarchy by itself. In many ways the decision has not been wholly mine, but," and here his voice became firm and assertive, "the final acceptance or rejection is made by me alone. I will come with you, Hollin of Langstraad, and I will do what I must. The call shall be answered, and I will not stint myself in the performance of what is required of me. However, I require something of you as well." The intensity of his gaze and his unspoken question bore down upon her.

  Lifting her chin to return his stare unflinchingly, she replied proudly, "You are my liege-lord and I will do as you command."

  "I am not commanding; I am asking." The voice was smooth, the eyes unrelenting. "If I return, I will need someone at my side, someone who knows the personalities and the motivations of the principle players in the current situation, to advise me. I would ask that you play this role for me."

  In truth, she had planned that when she returned to the Pentarchy she would go immediately to Langstraad. Feelings of homesickness had been overtaking her the last few days and she wanted to return to the place that she knew and loved, to feel again the familiarity and the security of Castle Lir's walls around her. But if the prince, whose reasons for staying here she now began to understand, was willing to accept the yoke of duty she had presented to him, she knew that she could not reject his request. "If you wish it, then I will do my best to be a such a counselor to you." Hollin took a deep breath. "And the betrothal?"

  "Do you not recall? You have unbound me from that pledge. I have lived celibate for many years, but should I desire a wife, I shall do the courting myself!" There was a lightness to his tone of voice that did not diminish the conviction in his face as he slid the great ruby ring onto his own hand.

  Hollin simply nodded and asked him, in an unruffled voice, when they should prepare to depart.

  "Since I have vowed to leave this place, I wish for no delay. Will tomorrow morning suit you?"

  With one agile movement, the prince uncoiled himself and stood offering his hand to help Hollin rise. With her hand still in his possession, he bent his head over it in an unexpectedly courtly manner and straightened to look down into her face. The lightness had left his voice and his face had taken on that harsh aspect he normally wore, but she thought she saw a contraindicating friendliness in his eyes. No more was said as he led her to the gate, and she returned to her anxious paxman.

  Relieved by her news, and eager to begin packing and planning, Daffyd talked for both of them, ignoring, or pretending to ignore, Hollin's distant and not always relevant comments. After Daffyd retired to his own room for the evening, a pensive Hollin sat in the embrasure of her window looking sightlessly into the depths of the night, deeply immersed in her own thoughts. The prince had sent word after she returned to her rooms that provisions would be supplied to them for the journey and that he would meet them at the gate through which they had entered the city the next morning at dawn. In her few remaining solitary hours, Hollin found herself dwelling on her interview with the prince, trying to assess and understand all of the nuances of what had been said, as well as those that had remained unspoken. His ambiguous attitude towards her and her own estimation of him preoccupied her for a long time, until at last she sought the solace of her bed. Even there, sleep came very late.

  In the cool, pale light of early morning, Hollin and Daffyd made their way through the still shadowed streets of the city towards their rendezvous point. Hollin had discarded her skirts and was again in the comfort and practicality of her male garb. For an instant that morning she had considered wearing her skirts but overcame modesty by reflecting that tripping and stumbling through the rugged country that they must travel was the more foolish affectation.

  Both she and Daffyd had refilled their packs with food and looked much as they had when passing into the city, save that they were cleaner and walked with a livelier step. The few people out this early greeted them with the same silent courtesy with which they had been treated throughout their stay. Already they were like ghosts to these people who lived in the Citadel of Dreams, neither having any lasting impact on the other.

  They came within sight of the gate, but no one stood waiting for them. As they drew closer and could look through the archway, they espied the prince, already outside the city. He was dressed in surcoat, shirt, breeches and boots with a long cloak, fastened at his shoulder by a brooch, that swept down to brush the tops of his boots: the clothes of a nobleman from the Pentarchy. Revealed in them, Hollin saw the powerful, well-knit body that to this point had been hidden by his acolyte's robes. Catching sight of them, he moved in their direction with an easy, loose-limbed grace.

  Hollin suffered a momentary twinge of uncertainty as she took in the grim countenance, secretly marveling at the transformation a smile could make in that harsh face. But when she met his eyes directly, she saw that they gleamed with something akin to welcome. At close range, she noticed that the brooch fastening his cloak was a great silver boss inscribed with a pentangle in gold with a silver griffon in its center: the royal seal of the Kings of the Pentarchy. He wore no sword nor weapon of any kind, but a pack, similar to the ones they wore, was slung over his shoulders. Without once turning his head for a farewell look at the city where he had exiled himself for so many years, he led them down the road towards the entrance to the ice caves and into the sun of a new day. Beside him, Hollin lengthened her stride to match his, and behind them stalked Daffyd, now with two charges to protect and defend.

  Part Two

  Chapter 14

  Lying on a couch with the full strength of the afternoon sun burnishing his corn-gold hair, Colin de Chantalcalm, Viscount of Treves, closed his eyes and basked contentedly. The trip back from the Inner Ward had been uncomfortable to a body bearing a broken arm and a mind feeling the sting of failure. That such a minor accident should have such major consequences galled him. Fretting to himself about sending the Duchess of Langstraad off on her errand, and worried about young Daffyd as well, he had returned in an ill-humour.

  Dinea had been waiting for him when he arrived back in Pentarin. Although messengers had brought word of the accident and assurances that Lord Colin was in no danger, she refused to fully believe them until she had him under her wing and had seen for herself the full extent of his injuries. Under her solicitous care he was healing, recovering his wits and strength. She had informed him that all of the Great Houses had left Pentarin within days of the departure of the royal embassy, and were soon followed by the remaining Minor Houses. Percamber had been spending his time closeted with the seneschal of House Sandovar, going over the records of the duchy's holdings as well as the Pentarchy's day-to-day problems, getting everything in order for the return of his grandson. Grateful to leave everything in Dinea's capable hands for a few days, Colin allowed himself the catlike pleasure of complete relaxation.

  As he lay in his semi-somnambulant state upon the couch, he heard the door opening and the swish of Dinea's skirts over the floor as she crossed the room to where he reposed. Not opening his eyes, he was nonetheless aware of her sitting down beside him and her cool hand being rested on his cheek. At her touch his eyes flew open and he reached, in some alarm, to take her hand in his. The eyes that met his were filled with sorrow, her entire face stricken with a dreadful emotion.

  "Dinea! My dear heart, what is it?" He struggled to sit up, wincing as he bumped his arm in the process. Dinea reached out to lend him support, easing him up against the cushions. "Tell me, what has happened!"

  "The search for Prince Brian has failed," she told him flatly. Squeezing his good hand tenderly between her own, she continued. "Messengers have just arrived from Lord Brescom. He reports that the embassy was destroyed by a landslide just after leaving the borders of the Inner Ward. There were few survivors," she added.

  "Lady Hollin?" The question was asked in a tight, hoarse voice.

  Dinea bit her lip be
fore answering softly, "She is reported to have been buried with her horse under a mountain of rock." He gripped her hand convulsively and she grew alarmed at the ashen quality of his face. "It was an accident, my love! There was nothing you or anyone else could have done! If you had been there, you would now be buried with her!"

  "There can be no mistake? No, I am but grasping at straws." His face was filled with distress, pain and despondency. In one awful twist of fate they had lost all hope of finding the prince as well as the one person who might have contrived to appease and unite the Houses of the Pentarchy. He felt grief at the loss of so many lives to no avail and a personal sorrow at the death of Hollin of Langstraad. In the time they had spent together, preparing for the expedition and their brief journey, he had developed a special regard for the woman. Many things had impressed him favourably about her, and his admiration had grown into a genuine liking. That she should be cut down in such an unexpected and terrible fashion was a cruelty both to her and to the Pentarchy.

  Reading her husband's heart increased Dinea's own distress. She felt no guilt in the relief that she harboured at his respite from the calamity, but she mourned for all who had died. Sitting thus in commiseration with Colin, her own practical nature began to assert itself as she strove to look ahead to the future. Percamber was yet to be told, that would be the next step. The old man would take this very hard, she feared. He had begun to anticipate the return of his grandson and the end of the duties that were growing ever more fatiguing to him.

  Abruptly, Colin swung his feet to the floor and stood up. There was a resigned set to his shoulders as he gazed back down at her. "Well my dearest, the worst has now arrived on our doorstep and we must work quickly to salvage what we can." Impulsively, Dinea rose and placed her arms around him, a comfort to them both.

  "Percamber must be told, and I think that it would be best to do it now. We must begin devising whatever plans we may to forestall Mirvanovir, for Niall will be quick to use this tragedy to his advantage. Hopefully he will not move with arms but will try his devious brand of diplomacy first."

  "You think he would send an army against Pentarin?" Dinea was aghast at this suggestion.

  "While I don't know precisely what deeds Niall is capable of, I do think that his ambitions will drive him to a great many disreputable actions before this matter is settled." Kissing the top of her head, he loosened her arms and went to find Percamber.

  Telling Percamber of the loss of all of their hopes was painful. The old man listened to what Colin had to say with a composed face; only his eyes expressed his anguish and the beginnings of fear. He knew all too well that they had lost the only two people capable of thwarting the Duke of Mirvanovir's desire for the throne. Percamber had known Niall for a great many years and had no doubts as to the extremes he would go to obtain what he wanted. Time was needed to consolidate and marshal the other Houses, both Great and Minor, in opposition to Mirvanovir, yet time was the one thing that Niall would see that they did not have.

  Putting aside his own feelings, Percamber strove to deal with the situation presented to him. Dinea was summoned to join her husband and Percamber as they talked late into the night. From their own knowledge and observation they guessed that the Houses of Creon and Tuenth would resist Mirvanovir's claim to the throne. Both Branwilde and Gunnar distrusted Niall and neither would be amenable to having Niall set himself in a superior position to themselves. The Minor Lords were harder to read. With Colin as viscount, House Treves would stand firmly against any attempt to take the throne by force or coercion. Lady Laurin of House Pentarell detested Rashara of Mirvanovir and was not likely to support Niall. Also, Laurin's grandson, Roraic, was married to Lady Genvra Iscoed, a possible claimant to the Pentarchy's throne. Lady Caitlan ap Derwan, Lord Aidan of House Thurin's wife, was sister to the Duchess of Creon, and might therefore be counted to stand with Branwilde, although Aidan himself had an uncle who was married to one of Niall's sisters. The lords of the Inner Ward and Gresha were in positions where they might well be swayed. House Gresha shared a common border with Mirvanovir and Lord Lewys Glendark, new to his title, might feel compelled to offer fealty to Mirvanovir to avert the razing of his earldom. Lord Brescom's earldom was far removed from a physical proximity to Mirvanovir, but the earl had been seen coming and going from Mirvanovir's wing in the palace during the recent council session.

  "It looks to me that there will be more who will be likely to oppose Niall than will support him; that should give him pause, I think." Colin's words were a good deal more positive than he felt.

  "I will send formal word of this tragic event to all of the Great and Minor Houses and call for an assembly of the Pentacle Council in six weeks. At that time we shall address the problem of succession. I had so hoped that it would not come to this." Percamber ended with a quaver of worry in his voice.

  "Could we not try to resonate another crystal and seek the prince a second time?" Dinea asked the question already knowing the response.

  Both men shook their heads dispiritedly. "In the first place, it was the combination of Lady Hollin's ring and our crystal that really gave us a viable chance of tracing him. More importantly though, Niall will never allow us the time, and I do not think the other nobles will support a second try," Colin replied. He looked glumly about him, then continued: "We must also send word to young Ian de Medicat that his cousin is dead and, according to her stated will, he is now the Duke Regent of Langstraad."

  "Lady Genvra in Pentarell will also need to be appraised of the fact that one of her children will have to be sent to Lir to be fostered by Lord Ian until the child is of age," added Percamber.

  "What is Lord Ian like? Have either of you met him?" Dinea interjected. "Will he support us?"

  Colin shook his head and shrugged. "I've never met him."

  "Neither have I," said Percamber. "He's the grandson and heir to Baron Alister de Medicat. His father was not of the nobility but a common artisan with whom the baron's daughter ran away many years ago. It caused a great scandal at the time, for her brother, Courant, had only recently been wed to the late Duchess of Langstraad, Lady Morwen. Reports of the boy say that he is, or was, quite intractable and that he and Sir Alister do not get along well."

  "That doesn't sound hopeful," Dinea remarked.

  "No, but he is the choice of Lady Hollin," was Colin's response. "If her grace thought him a worthwhile trustee for her duchy, I shall trust in her judgment."

  "Is he married?"

  Colin grinned at the obvious hint in his wife's question; she had many nieces on her side of the family. It was Percamber who answered. "Apparently his grandfather put up quite a campaign earlier this year to marry him off, and he made a tour of all of the nobles with eligible daughters that Sir Alister knew, but no contracts were made, as far as I know. However, that is none of our concern.

  "Meet me tomorrow, Colin, and we can go over the border information that you requested. Until then, a good night to you both. I need time to be alone." Respectfully they withdrew, leaving the grandfather to grieve by himself for the grandson he would now never see.

  With an almost vicious thrust, the hawk was launched into the air in quest of its prey. Beating powerful wings, it spiraled up into the grey of the sky. A summer storm was threatening and the air currents were unstable, forcing the bird to use his own strength to combat and climb them. Below him, on the ground, the man who had sent him aloft sat on his fretting bay horse. Higher and higher the hawk flew until it was a dark speck in a dark sky. The man's hands tightened on the reins and he urged his horse into a choppy canter as they crossed the field. Several more men on horses waited respectfully at the edge of meadow as their master pursued his game alone.

  The hawk had begun his descent in a leisurely way, looking for the bird he had been loosed to find. In a blur of wings the intended victim fled from the tree where it had perched towards a new sanctuary. Like a rock, the hawk dropped out of the sky, unerringly taking aim on the frantic activity of i
ts target. The hawk struck with precision and force, and an explosion of feathers marked the demise of the gamebird.

  The bay mare was pulled up so short that she had to lower her haunches and slide with her rear legs in order to maintain her balance. An arm, protected by a thick, leather gauntlet, was imperiously raised and the hawk was called to his master. Bracing himself as the weight of the hawk settled onto his arm, the young man sighed in frustration. He had hoped that the violent actions of his hawk might act as a release for the tension that seethed within him. His companions approached him courteously as he strove to conceal his emotions.

  He had only been apprised of his new title and status one week ago, and was still in a state of shock and grief. The Duchess of Langstraad was dead and he, Ian de Medicat, was now the Duke Regent of Langstraad. It was an office he had never wanted and one that he had never imagined having bestowed on him. In the first few hours after he had received the dreadful news about Holly, he had almost refused, as sacrilege, to take that which had been hers. Only after meditating and grieving in solitude did he begin to accept the responsibility that she had bequeathed him. He had promised when he thought that he would never be called upon to fulfill that vow, but now her admonition to care for and protect her people and her lands was ringing in his ears.

  Tying the hawk's jesses securely, Ian indicated that he wished to return to the castle. Respectfully, his attendants wheeled their horses about to follow him. Riding along in the somber afternoon light, Ian's brow creased into a frown as he recalled that his grandfather was due to arrive at Castle Lir that evening.