Given this schedule, they lingered hardly a week in Cynfyn, while Kenneth held the first of his manorial courts and general audiences, met with the regency council to agree upon general strategies for the coming months, and generally acquainted himself with the running of the county, Jovett and Trevor at his side. While they worked, Alyce and Zoë began planning a wedding.

«The castle chapel is the logical place to hold it», Alyce said as she closed the chapel door behind them and leaned against it. Beside her, Zoë was carrying a basket of flowers and sweet herbs for the two grave slabs before the altar steps. Alaric had already wandered ahead and was exploring the south wall, where a painted wooden statue of St. Michael gazed down serenely from a wall niche, wings furled around him like a mantle, gauntleted hands at rest on the hilt of a sword worked in gold and silver. The last time the two women had visited Cynfyn, it had been to bury Ahern, and Alaric had not yet been born.

«I had forgotten the stillness and the beauty of this place», Zoë murmured.

«Aye», Alyce replied, «but ’tis a terrible beauty, considering who lies buried here. I would certainly understand if you’d prefer a different venue. Perhaps it isn’t the best idea, to begin a new marriage while standing on the grave of one’s first husband».

Zoë glanced away briefly, looking wistful, then slipped an arm around Alyce’s waist.

«That’s long past now», she whispered. «I try not to think about it. I did love him, but he was never really my husband except in name. There wasn’t time for more». She brightened and lifted her chin bravely. «I do know that he would have wanted me to be happy».

She picked up a stem of lavender and breathed in its sweet perfume, then shifted her gaze to the grave slabs before the altar. «I try to put it from my mind that he lies in that grave yonder. For me, I shall always remember him as he was on that day he rode off to Meara, eager and excited to finally be doing what he was born to do, when life was simpler for all of us».

«Aye, it was», Alyce murmured. «And if Ahern had lived, he would now be Duke of Corwyn, with your son to succeed him rather than mine — which would be simpler for me, I’ll grant you — and for Alaric. But then your son would be facing what Alaric will face, in times to come».

Zoë glanced at Alaric, who had wandered closer to the end of the chapel, then back at Alyce, a sly smile curving her lips.

«Alyce, if I’m marrying Jovett, my children will all be facing what Alaric is facing, won’t they? After all, they’ll also be half-Deryni».

Chuckling, Alyce only shook her head.

«Be glad that very few people know about Jovett», she replied. «And we must do our utmost to ensure that no one finds out, mustn’t we?» She glanced at her son, who now was attempting to climb the altar rail next to the statue of St. Michael. «Alaric, darling, please don’t do that!» she called, as she and Zoë started in that direction. «Come and help me and Auntie Zoë with these flowers, would you?»

Stopping in midclimb, the boy obediently swung his leg back down and came to join his mother and sister.

«Mama, can I have a flower for Saint Michael?» he asked.

«Yes, of course you can», she replied, holding the basket down to his level. «What kind do you think he’d like?»

«Maybe a rose», he said, starting to finger through the blooms. «This big red one is — ow! It has big, sharp thorns!»

Zoë cocked her head at him and reached for his hand. «Gracious, did you stab yourself?»

Somewhat indignantly, the boy pulled back his hand and sucked briefly at a finger, then reached for the same flower again.

«Alaric, you just saw that that one has thorns», his mother said reasonably. «How about this peony? See what a fluffy head it has?»

«No, want the rose!» the boy said firmly, though his touch was more careful as he picked it up. «Saint Michael likes roses! The thorns are sharp like his sword!»

«I can’t argue that», Alyce murmured, as he took off at a run toward the statue of the saint. «Zoë, did we just hear what I think we heard?»

«That he made the connection between the sharpness of swords and of rose thorns?» Zoë answered. «I believe he did. And not yet three».

Alyce only rolled her eyes heavenward as she knelt down beside the graves of her father and brother, taking flowers from the basket. «Dear God, what we both have to look forward to», she murmured, and laid a handful of lavender and rosemary on the grave of Keryell of Lendour. «Here’s rosemary for remembrance, Papa», she said. «And roses from your grandson, who already knows about sharp thorns and sharp swords». She sighed as she laid three white roses amid the fragrant herbs. «I wish you could have known him».

As she bowed her head in a brief prayer, Zoë quietly took more flowers from the basket and laid them on Ahern’s grave.

«Dear Ahern», she whispered. «Wish me joy, dear heart».

Chapter 7

«Without counsel purposes are disappointed: but in the multitude of counsellors they are established».[8]

They left for Coroth two days later, arriving just before Midsummer. Jovett accompanied them, to continue learning his new duties as Kenneth’s official liaison.

A ducal honor guard met them in the long, slanting light of late afternoon as they wound their way down from the foothills above the city, and escorted them into the city through the St. Matthew Gate. From there, growing crowds watched them ride past the cathedral and on up to the castle itself, increasingly enthusiastic as the identity of the party became known.

It had been seven years since Alyce’s last visit to Coroth: a time remembered with wistful sadness, since it had been there that she bore her sister’s body for burial, laying her to rest among the remains of most of Corwyn’s past dukes and ducal wives. Zoë had accompanied her on that journey; Kenneth had been present in the king’s party, but with no inkling that he would one day be the father of Corwyn’s heir. Now Lendour’s banner rode beside that of Corwyn, announcing the arrival both of Lendour’s new lord, who was also one of Corwyn’s regents, and of Corwyn’s young heir. Alaric perched happily on the saddle in front of his father, smiling and waving in response to the crowd.

By the time they rode into the castle yard, most of the regents of Corwyn had gathered on the great hall steps to greet them. Sir James of Tendal, the hereditary chancellor, welcomed them on behalf of his fellow regents and made perfunctory introductions. All of the names were familiar, from years of correspondence with the regents; now faces could be attached to some of those names. The most memorable was Sir Laurenz Udaut, whose resemblance to his son Trevor was unmistakable. It was he who, with his son, conducted the guests to their apartments and offered them refreshment. Since no formal arrangements had been set for the evening of their arrival, the weary newcomers then retired early, to ready themselves for business in the morning.

The next morning was time for Kenneth to make the more formal acquaintance of the regents of Corwyn. A middle-aged courtier identifying himself as Sir Crescence de Naverie conducted Kenneth and his immediate family down to the great hall to break their fast, chatting of inconsequentials to the adults while they ate and watching young Alaric sidelong as the boy tucked into buttered bread smeared with honey, a cold leg of chicken, which he brandished like a club until curbed by a look from his mother, and a cup of small beer. After that, they repaired to the airy tower chamber where the dukes of Corwyn had long carried out the business of the duchy.

Alyce remembered the chamber only vaguely. She had visited Coroth perhaps half a dozen times as a child, and once to bring Marie’s body home. Though she had met the Corwyn regents on that occasion, she remembered little of it, for Ahern then had been the heir, and both of them besides had been mourning the death of their sister.