Chapter Fourteen

 

A violent storm rolled in from the northwest overnight, bearing in its wake an unseasonable chill. Heavy rain still fell the next morning. A damp gloom pervaded the solar with the shutters closed tight against the tall, arched windows. A fireplace crackled merrily against the far wall and lent a warm orange light to the grey shadows in the room but did little to disperse the damp. Gwidion and his sons eschewed formal clothing for this second day of the hearing and favored woolen tunics against the cold, wet air. Telyn donned fingerless gloves to keep her hands warm and supple so they could dance upon the strings of the harp.

The grey morning did nothing to enhance anyone’s spirits. No attempt at casual conversation took hold. Gilmarion cast anxious glances at the doorway as they waited for the delegation to arrive. Wrapped in a thick shawl, Marithiel’s eyes had circles beneath them. The princess said nothing this morning, an extreme departure from character.

Telyn found she pitied her, for the Lady of Cerisild was truly alone, sons and husband alienated long ago by her own actions. She saw the princess shiver despite her heavy wrap, her drawn face resigned and apprehensive.

To fortify them against the damp chill, Diarmid had provided an ample supply of mulled wine that warmed on the hearth in a steaming cauldron. An aroma of cinnamon wafted through the chamber on fitful breezes, whistling their way around the shutters. Telyn rose from her stool in the murky corner she’d chosen near Prince Keir’s seat to claim a heavy pewter mug. She filled it with the spiced wine and carried it to the princess.

“Your Highness? This might help keep the cold at bay,” she said.

Marithiel looked up at her with startled eyes. She smiled in encouragement and held out the steaming drink. The princess accepted the mug and offered a small smile in return.

“Thank you, Telyn,” she said, using her name for the first time.

“You’re welcome.” Telyn inclined her head. She returned to her place. Mithrais reached out for her hand when she passed and kissed her bare fingers. Gwidion favored her with a wistful smile.

The enormous door of the solar swung upon noiseless hinges, and the delegation entered the chamber with Prince Keir at the fore.

Vuldur, even more haggard this morning, leaned upon Searlas’ arm and hobbled to his chair. Telyn watched him and knew with dreadful certainty he had made his last journey in coming to Cerisild. His lips tinged with purple and his eyes glassy, he had the look of death about him even now. But as the three men took their seats, Vuldur gave his disconcerting, gentle smile to Marithiel, and she returned it.

Prince Keir appeared to be in no hurry. He greeted Gwidion and peered through the slats in the shutters at the pouring rain. In preparation to record the proceedings, Searlas honed his quill with a small knife. Brazenly enough, the same blade Diarmid had returned to him. Despite her effort not to draw attention, he caught sight of Telyn in the corner nearest the delegation. His eyes narrowed with suspicion and a little fear. “What is she doing here?”

“I asked her to attend us,” Prince Keir answered with a hint of reproach. “Emrys Harpmaster was taken ill yesterday. Rather than spread the sickness to the rest of us, he is in seclusion. I asked Lady Telyn to take his place.”

Vuldur lurched to his feet, his features twisted in bilious hatred. “I demand she be removed.” He turned his feverish glare on Telyn, and she willed herself to show no fear as she stared back.

“On what grounds?” Keir drew himself up.

“Damn you! You know what grounds!” Vuldur pounded on the table. Marithiel and Gilmarion stared at him, aghast and bewildered. “I have agreed not to speak of what the girl has done, but you cannot force me to bear her presence!”

Telyn was acutely aware of Marithiel’s sudden shift in attention toward her. She remained silent. Keir reprimanded the Lord of the East. “I remind you again, we are here on the King’s business, Lord Vuldur. I command you to put your personal prejudices aside for the duration of this hearing, or you will remove yourself from this chamber. Is that clear?”

Vuldur panted with exertion and anger. He continued to stare at Telyn but said nothing. Searlas plucked at his lord’s sleeve, whispered in his ear, and cast a sidelong glance at Telyn. The Lord of the East finally nodded in assent and collapsed into his chair.

Once Keir sat down, he donned again the seal of the King. “The hearing is reconvened in the name of Amorion, King of the Silde.”

He met Telyn’s eyes briefly, and she lifted the harp into her lap. The hostility in the room was still thick enough to cut. She played a simple, almost inaudible melody, which allowed her song magic to insinuate itself, in an effort to bring down the level of tension. It would be necessary to prepare the listeners for the more serious arts Prince Keir requested.

“Gilmarion of Cerisild, do you wish to speak in your defense?”

Gilmarion rose from his chair. “My lord Prince, I have no new evidence to present. I can only repeat my denial of any involvement in the overtures made to the South Kingdom. Someone used my name and seal without consent for reasons unknown to me. I assure you, my loyalty to the King is unwavering.” He turned his eyes to Gwidion, cleared his throat, and looked down. “I admit I have ill served my father in my regency, but I would not tarnish the alliance between the Wood and the Crown.”

Prince Keir tapped his lips with one long finger. His eyes flickered to Telyn’s, and she acknowledged him with a barely perceptible nod. The melody remained background noise heard at the edge of awareness. Her magic sang with influences that built trust among those gathered in the room and relaxed their guard. She added a counterpoint to foster an atmosphere of honesty. It was not yet Truthsong, but a precursor to Keir’s questioning.

“Before we pass judgment in this tribunal, I want to revisit the charges and your answers. It may seem redundant, but I feel it is necessary.”

She began to build the spell. As her magic grew, Telyn’s new mastery of her gift afforded her the unsettling knowledge she held everyone in the room under the sway of Truthsong. Even Mithrais, who could shield himself against her magic, chose not to do so.

“Gilmarion of Cerisild,” Prince Keir began. Telyn turned her focus upon the golden-haired man who still stood before the members of the delegation. “Did you have any knowledge, prior to this hearing, of the letters sent to the Southern Realm?”

The question burned in her influence. She let it echo over and over. Song magic swirled about the heir to Cerisild with the notes from her harp and brought the answer to the surface.

“No,” Gilmarion answered. His expression vague and bemused as if his attention were distracted, it gave Telyn a clear sign he was held in the grip of her spell.

“Marithiel, Princess of the Royal House.” Keir paused and gave Telyn time to redirect her focus. “Did you have any knowledge prior to this hearing of the letters sent to the Southern Realm?”

“No,” Marithiel answered dreamily.

“Gilmarion, have you sought to forge an alliance with the Southern Realm through marriage?”

“No, I haven’t.” Gilmarion’s breathing quickened, aware the answers were beyond his control even as the words left his lips.

“Marithiel, did you seek to forge an alliance with the Southern Realm through marriage in Gilmarion’s name?”

“No,” she whispered.

Keir asked one forceful, undirected question to the room at large. “Who is responsible for the fabrication of these letters and why?”

“I am.”