Katharine Kerr - Darkspell

“My apologies,” Nevyn said. “I was just thinking about somewhat.”

Dannyn’s eyes widened in awe.

“Not mighty spells or suchlike, my lord,” Nevyn said.

“Well and good, then.” He forced out a smile meant to be pleasant; it made Nevyn think of a wolf begging for table scraps. “Do you know where Lady Gweniver is going?”

“I don’t. I assume that she and her men are just going to exercise their horses.”

“Most like, truly.”

By then the warband was clattering out of the gates. Dannyn watched Gweniver with such intensity that Nevyn was troubled.

“Now, listen, lad,” he said. “She’s forbidden to you and to any other man as well. You should have the sense to realize that.”

Dannyn turned toward him so sharply that Nevyn ducked back, summoning the Wildfolk in case the captain tried violence, but Dannyn, oddly enough, looked more hurt than enraged. For a moment he hesitated, as if there were something he wanted to ask, then turned on his heel and walked off fast. Dolt, Nevyn thought after him. Then he put the matter out of his mind and went up to visit Prince Mael.

Up in the tower room the lad leaned on the windowsill and looked down, watching the tiny figures of the Wolf warband filing down the hill into the town.

“When I was a lad,” Mael said, “I had some toys that came all the way from Bardek, little silver horses and warriors. That warband looks just the same size from here. I used to line them up and long for the day I’d lead men to battle. Ah, ye gods! That day came and went so fast.”

“Now here, Your Highness, you might be ransomed yet.”

Mael gave him a bitter smile and flung himself into a chair by the hearth, where a small fire crackled to take off the chill. Nevyn sat down opposite and held out his hands to the warmth.

“There won’t be any more heralds till spring,” the prince said with a sigh. “A whole winter here! You know, my wife wanted to come and share my imprisonment, but Father wouldn’t let her. He’s right, I suppose. It would only give Glyn somewhat to hold over her clan.”

“You seem fond of her.”

“I am. Father arranged our match when I was ten and she was eight, and she lived with us at court while we were betrothed. It was her training, you see, for being a prince’s wife. And then we married three years ago. You get used to someone, and then you miss them. Oh, here, good sir, my apologies. I’m babbling today.”

“No apologies needed, lad.”

For a long while the prince merely stared into the fire, but at last he roused himself.

“I’ve finished that book of chronicles,” he said. “It’s passing strange! I’m going to be the best-educated prince that Eldidd ever had, and it won’t do my kingdom the least bit of good.”

“Now, now, it’s much too soon to give up hope.”

Mael swung round to face him.

“Here, good Nevyn, all the guards swear that you’re dweomer. Answer me somewhat, honestly. Will I ever leave here for anything but my hanging?”

“That hasn’t been given me to know.”

Mael nodded, then went back to staring at the fire. Nevyn had to speak to him several times before he answered, and then it was only to discuss his reading.

A silver wall, the rain swept over Dun Cerrmor. The council chamber was damp with a fine exhalation of cold from stone walls. Gweniver wrapped her plaid tightly round her as the councillors droned on. Across the table Dannyn fiddled with his dagger. The king leaned forward in his chair with an expression of such serious attention that she wondered what he was really thinking about.

“Temperance and a slow pace are always best in all things, my liege,” Saddar was saying. “And even more so in this matter of the Prince of Aberwyn. We must keep Eldidd in constant wonderment for as long as possible.”

“Just so,” Glyn said. “And most well put.”

With a little smile Saddar sat down again.

“Now, honored sirs,” the king went on. “I plan to give Lord Gwetmar of the Wolf leave from the war next summer so that he may rebuild his dun and find farmers to tend his lands. Do you think this plan wise?”

Bowing, Yvyr rose to speak.

“Most wise, my liege. I doubt me if even a single one of your vassals will grumble. Everyone knows that the Wolf lands form an important salient.”

“Good.” Glyn turned to Gweniver. “Well, there you are, Your Holiness. The matter is settled as you wished it.”

“My most humble thanks. My liege is most generous, and his councillors most wise.”

With a nod all round Glyn rose and ended the council. As Gweniver left, she realized that Dannyn was following her, but from a distance. She hurried down the corridor and the staircase to the great hall, but he caught up with her before she could reach the dais. The barely suppressed rage in his eyes was terrifying.

“I want a word with you,” he said. “Outside.”

“There’s naught that you have to say to me that you can’t say here.”

“Indeed? I think otherwise, my lady.”

Suddenly she felt the cold warning, telling her that she’d best let him have his talk before he made some kind of scene right there in the hall. Reluctantly she followed him out to the imperfect shelter of the overhanging roof of a storage shed.

“I’ve been thinking of what to say for three days,” he snarled. “I can’t wait any longer. I hear you’ve sworn a blood oath with Ricyn.”

“I have, at that. What’s it to you? We’ve sworn to share a grave, not a bed.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You’d best, because it’s true.”

For a moment he hesitated on the edge of believing her; then he smiled in a twisted sort of way. For the first time she realized that in his own harsh way he honestly cared for her, not merely lusted after her.

“Danno, look,” she said, softening her voice. “If ever I broke any vow I swore to the Goddess, I’d die the day after. I’m sure of it. She’d find a way to strike me down.”

“Indeed? What are you, then, a ghost from the Otherlands?”

“I have not broken my vow. And if you’re so sure I have, why aren’t you publicly proclaiming my sacrilege?”

“That should be cursed obvious.”

The soft way he smiled made her step back, yet he made no move toward her.

“It gripes my very soul to say this,” he went on, “but I love you.”

“Then my heart aches for you, because that’s a burden you’ll have to bear alone.”

“Let me tell you somewhat. I’ve never turned down a challenge when one was thrown my way.”

“It’s not a challenge, but the simple truth.”

“Indeed? We’ll just see about that.”

Over the next few days Gweniver felt as if she were doing a deadly dance to stay away from Dannyn. Whenever she came into the great hall, he would come over and sit with her as if he had every right to be there. Whenever she went out to the stables, he followed. Whenever she was on her way to her chambers, she met him in the corridor. He was setting himself to be charming, and it was painful to watch such a proud man trying to be courtly and seductive. During the day Gweniver took to spending as much time as possible with Ricyn. At night she would visit Nevyn in his chamber or shut herself up in hers with her maidservant for company.

On an evening when the wind moaned in the stone corridors, Gweniver went to Nevyn’s chamber to find that he’d acquired a couple of chairs. On his table he’d spread a cloth and put out a flagon of mead and three goblets.

“Good eve, my lady,” he said. “I’d like to invite you to stay, but I’ve got a couple of guests coming. I’ve been minding my courtesies and making friends out of Saddar and Yvyr.”

“That’s doubtless wise. No doubt they’ll resent your influence with the king if you don’t.”