Chapter Seven

 

Servants edged around the carpet and rushed to assemble in the courtyard. Telyn caught a glimpse of Diarmid as he turned the landing on the second story. He climbed the narrow staircase leading to Gwidion’s library. Two other men followed discreetly. Mithrais noted them too, and exchanged a clandestine glance of triumph with Telyn after they passed through the doorway into open air.

The visitors made their way up the lane, Emrys at the front on his black gelding. A mounted figure flanked by guards in royal livery rode behind him, and an open carriage followed after with another horseman beside it. Beyond that, a short train of attendants and wagons brought up the rear. A stream of curious citizens milled about in the lane behind the party.

Mithrais conducted Marithiel to her place at the front of the assembled group. “Where is Gilmarion?” Marithiel’s voice cracked. “And Diarmid is not here either!”

“They will be here in a moment, I’m certain.” Mithrais gave her a courteous bow and joined Telyn. They settled a step behind to the princess’ left. Telyn had to bite her lip, the anticipation almost too much to bear. Marithiel’s already strained nerves were about to receive yet another pluck. Tension mounted as the delegation moved toward the manor.

Gilmarion appeared in the doorway and strolled toward them.

“Where have you been?” Marithiel snapped, color heightening in her cheeks.

“I retired late last night, and have attended to many things this morning,” he answered. He looked quite at ease compared to the Lady of Cerisild, and flashed a smile at Telyn and his brother. “I apologize for falling behind schedule.”

The golden-haired heir to Cerisild wore sky-blue trimmed in gold and silver. A beaten circlet similar to the one Mithrais wore crossed his brow and gave his pale eyes a strange, glittering light.

Marithiel looked as if she would like nothing better than to berate her eldest son. In the presence of the household, the princess’ jaw tightened in visible effort to control her tongue. “I would have preferred to have a chance to go over your defenses before this afternoon.”

“Unless there have been new developments, I have already been over them to the point of boredom,” Gilmarion replied. His voice dropped to a more private level. “We cannot discuss the ill deeds of which the King suspects me until the charges are confirmed, but we could discuss yours, if you wish.”

Marithiel stared at him, her eyes narrowed. “Do you really want to challenge me now?” Her voice shook with anger or fear.

“I would not presume,” Gilmarion demurred. His eyes never left Marithiel’s.

Outside this venomous exchange, Telyn could only trade a glance of shock with Mithrais. He appeared as stunned as she. More confrontation became impossible as a gasp rose from the assembled household. Diarmid’s voice ordered silence, and Marithiel’s already pale countenance became whiter. Gilmarion turned, and a sound Telyn could not interpret escaped his lips.

Two burly servitors transported Gwidion in a litter-like chair to the front of the group. They lowered it to the ground beside his wife. Like Telyn and Mithrais, he wore the colors of Cerisild, and a magnificent crested silver circlet sat upon his greying head. Gwidion’s mouth set in an expression of satisfaction as he greeted the household.

“Well met, all of you,” he said in a clear voice. “You have made a fine showing. My house is honored by such loyal service.”

“What are you doing here?” Marithiel said.

Gwidion looked at her blandly. “What else should I be doing?” he responded with a trace of bitterness. “I am greeting our royal guests. It is only fitting I take personal responsibility for their comfort. I am, after all, the Lord of Cerisild.”

“You...you have had nothing to do with the preparations,” Marithiel stammered.

“I was not asked. I am certain Diarmid has been able to provide for them.”

Marithiel went livid as her plans disintegrated around her. “You cannot expect to simply resume your place!”

“I cannot?” Gwidion’s eyes blazed. “Madam, it is I who gave you leave to act in my name, and it is my place to take back that authority. If I had done so before now, perhaps we would not be receiving such esteemed guests.” His eyes flickered to Gilmarion, who flushed in shame.

Gwidion pitched his voice not to carry far, but the entire household seemed to hold their breath and watched this exchange with fearful interest. Marithiel’s eyes shifted from her husband to Gilmarion, and then to Mithrais. Her expression grew tight with malice as the delegation clattered into the courtyard.

Prince Keir, a lithe middle-aged man whose hair had prematurely silvered, dismounted his stallion. The sun glittered off his simple coronet, and he wore around his neck the royal seal. According to ages-old tradition, Keir’s words and actions toward individuals would not be his own while he wore the seal. He would reflect the King’s attitudes and wishes. Telyn’s lessons in diplomacy had been greatly enhanced by watching the Prince, master of all situations.

The third rider proved to be Searlas, secretary to the Lord of the East, who dismounted and scurried to the carriage behind. A small, wiry man, he'd always reminded Telyn of a weasel. Despite his low rank, Searlas managed to receive enough appointments to ensure his success at court—although perhaps his relationship with the man in the carriage held all the influence he needed. Searlas was Vuldur’s nephew.

Despite the warning she received from Emrys regarding his state of health, Telyn stared when she caught sight of Vuldur. Once a handsome and robust man, the Lord of the East now looked a gaunt and grey shadow of his former self. He moved stiffly and supported himself on a walking stick, gleaming with precious metals and gems. He waved Searlas away with an impatient hand when the secretary would have taken his arm. His eyes scanned the crowd in a disinterested fashion. As his gaze passed over her, Telyn shrank back, held in place by Mithrais. He smiled down at her with encouragement.

The Lord of the East did not seem to notice her. His eyes stopped at Marithiel. The naked emotion upon his face was clear for all to see. Still rigid with anger in the aftermath of Gwidion’s unexpected arrival, Marithiel underwent a marked change when she met his gaze. Her expression flowed from shock to dismay, and Telyn thought she saw the gleam of tears in the princess’ eyes. Then her lips curved in a gentle smile of welcome and affection, transforming her features into a tender mien.

The simple exchange of glances revealed so much over a matter of seconds. With everyone else distracted by the approach of Prince Keir, Telyn was the sole witness to this silent welcome, and it saddened her. But pity did not diminish the cold dread in the pit of her stomach.

Emrys came to stand at the rear of the delegation. He met Telyn’s eyes and winked as Prince Keir stepped forward.

“Lord Gwidion.” Keir acknowledged him first, and pointedly. “It is my great honor to be the first to visit Cerisild on behalf of King Amorion, who sends his fondest greetings to you. He regrets he cannot be here to tender his regards himself.”

“Prince Keir.” Gwidion offered his outstretched palm to the Prince, who met it in the fingertip-touch the royal family favored. “Cerisild welcomes you. My home is yours, and all within it are at your service.”

He inclined his head to the Prince. At this cue, the entire staff dropped into low bows and curtsies. Out of habit, Telyn would have followed suit. Mithrais’ gentle pressure on her arm reminded her their respects would be paid individually.

“It is good to see you again after five long years,” Gwidion continued.

“And you, my friend.” Prince Keir shifted his grip to a more personal, affectionate clasp of wrists.

Telyn’s suspicions the greeting would have been much different had Gwidion not been at the head of the household were soon confirmed. Keir turned to Marithiel. She offered her hand coolly, and the Prince met it with equal indifference.

“Princess Marithiel. Your sister, my wife, sends her greetings to you and hopes you are well.”

Conspicuously absent in the statement were greetings from the King himself to Marithiel. That Keir omitted them provided blunt confirmation of the King’s displeasure with the princess. Telyn almost wished she could attend the hearing to discover what lay beneath the surface of this unprecedented visit.

“I am well enough, thank you.” The ice in the princess’s voice, overlaid with careful courtesy, confirmed the slight had been registered. Her expression faltered in its cool facade when Keir turned away from her with an air of dismissal. Telyn wondered what kind of greeting Gilmarion would receive, and she did not have long to wait.

“You have not met my sons, Prince Keir.” Gwidion beckoned Gilmarion and Mithrais to step forward on either side of his chair. “May I present my eldest: Gilmarion, heir to Cerisild.”

“Lord Gilmarion.” Prince Keir approached and paused as if taking measure of him before their hands met. “I look forward to coming to know your true nature. There is little one can learn through the anonymity of written correspondence.”

“Prince Keir. It is good to meet you at last.” He bowed, his face flushed. Telyn watched Vuldur appraise Gilmarion with interest, but the latter would not meet his eyes.

Keir greeted Gilmarion with far more warmth than Marithiel, but the charges he faced could carry grave punishment. Oh, there was so much more happening than what Telyn was privileged to know.

“My son, Mithrais, is Westwarden of the Tauron Order,” Gwidion told the Prince.

Mithrais offered his hand. The Prince met it not in the fingertip-touch, but palm-to-palm in the Tauron manner. “Well met, Lord Mithrais. I hold the Tauron in high regard. Their reputation is formidable. If only the streets of Belthil and the Eastern Road through the plains could be as safe as the Wood roads!”

“Thank you, my lord Prince. It is an honor to serve in the Order.” Mithrais extended his hand, and Telyn steeled herself as he led her forward. 

“I believe you already know my lifemate, Telyn Songmaker.”

“I do indeed.” Prince Keir regarded her as Telyn sank into a deep curtsy. Her heart pounded but the Prince’s eyes were kind when he raised her. “It is an unexpected pleasure, Lady Bard, to find you here in the heart of the Wood.” His eyes flickered over the healing scar bared by the gown. “I should like the opportunity to speak with you about your...adventures, when circumstances permit.” The last was spoken in a private register that could not be overheard by Vuldur, whose attention still lay with Marithiel and Gilmarion.

Prince Keir chose to conclude the greetings quickly. “We are grateful to have reached this haven at the end of a long and tiring journey and thank you for the warm welcome.” The delegation and all their retainers bowed to Gwidion and Marithiel. Even Vuldur managed an unsteady obeisance, clearly ill and weak, despite his refusal to lean upon the arm his secretary offered.  

“My lady wife has gone to great lengths to prepare a feast in honor of your arrival. Will you not come into the great hall, my lords, and break bread with us as our esteemed guests?” Gwidion raised a hand in invitation.

Diarmid dismissed the household with a low command. Servants scurried through the doors to resume their duties. The retainers picked up Gwidion’s chair and turned it about in preparation to re-enter the manor. Prince Keir stood on his right hand in the place of honor and the rest of the new arrivals fell in behind them.

“Lord Gwidion,” Vuldur said unexpectedly, his voice rough.

“Yes?” Gwidion turned his head to regard the Lord of the East with cautious expectation. Telyn stiffened in dread.

But Vuldur only bowed with all the unsteady grace he could manage, and continued in a civil tone, “I beg the privilege of escorting your lady wife into the hall. As you know, we are old friends and I would welcome the chance to renew our acquaintance.”

Gwidion hesitated a moment, his eyes flicking to Marithiel. Something in his expression betrayed deep hurt. More uncertain than Telyn had ever seen her, the princess returned her husband’s gaze without discernible challenge.

“What think you, my lady?” he asked without inflection, and left it in her hands.

“I would also welcome the opportunity to speak with Lord Vuldur.” If she feared her husband would deny the request, she did not show it. But Gwidion gave wordless consent, and Marithiel moved to take Vuldur’s arm. The Lord of Cerisild raised one finger in discreet instruction to his retainers and they lifted his chair.

Marithiel and Vuldur passed within inches of Mithrais, who moved to place himself between the Lord of the East and Telyn. Vuldur paid no mind, his attention all for Marithiel, and she breathed a sigh of relief when they passed through the doorway.

Searlas walked with Gilmarion and followed his lord as closely as he dared without encroaching upon Vuldur’s privacy. The secretary cast a baleful look at Telyn and stalked past. The malice in his glance caught her by surprise. She shivered, and when Emrys joined them, Telyn was almost dizzy with the release of the tension that had built inside her.

“Vuldur didn’t even look at me,” she said.

Emrys confirmed, “He has been given strict instructions regarding his behavior. I would still avoid him whenever possible.”

“I intend to.”