«Forgive me», he murmured after a moment, lifting his head and squaring his shoulders. «We must return to the castle. Brion may have returned by now». He shook his head. «He will be horrified to learn that his own pony was his brother’s death».
«He cannot be blamed for that, Sire», Kenneth replied. «Brion will know that».
«Aye, in his mind», Donal agreed. «But his heart will say otherwise. If I die untimely, Kenneth, you must be a true friend to my son. You must make certain that all my sacrifices have not been in vain».
«I shall do what I can to serve him, Sire, as shall my son. You have my word on it».
But Brion had not returned, nor had any of the king’s outriders been able to locate him precisely.
«We presume that he is still somewhere in Kheldour», Tiarnán MacRae told the king, reporting when Donal had summoned him to the withdrawing chamber at the head of the great hall. «He left the Duke of Claibourne a week ago. If he headed directly home, he may be in the Rhendall Mountains, caught by early storms».
Donal, huddled before the fire with blankets around his shoulders and hot bricks under his feet, shook his head and took another gulp of mulled wine, listening despondently while Tiarnán and Jiri organized additional parties to go in search of the missing royal heir. Upon his initial return from his clandestine visit to Morganhall with Kenneth, wet and cold from a night on the road, Richeldis had tried to persuade her husband to take a hot bath and retire to his bed, but the king had stubbornly refused, only conceding to change into dry clothes.
Prince Brion did return, the very next morning, though the king was dozing by the fire when the prince’s party rode into the castle yard in the middle of another snow shower. No one dared to tell Brion the terrible news as he and his uncle raced through the great hall and into the king’s withdrawing chamber, Kenneth and Tiarnán right behind them. Their brisk, breathless announcement concerning a skirmish in Eastmarch, delivered to a just-awakened king, caused Donal to order fresh horses saddled immediately, his harness brought, and a troop called out to accompany him.
«Donal, it isn’t necessary», Duke Richard assured him, countering the command with a gesture. He was nearly as excited as his nephew. «Brion handled the situation like a seasoned campaigner. Granted, he had some guidance from his old uncle, but he would have done just as well if I hadn’t been there».
«Is that true?» Donal asked his son, somewhat taken aback.
Prince Brion grinned, eyes briefly averting in honest modesty as he cast off his damp cloak and flounced onto a stool closer to the fire. Four months in the saddle with his uncle and sampling the fare at some of the finest tables in Gwynedd had sparked an adolescent growth spurt, putting muscle and inches on the gawky fourteen-year-old who had ridden out of Rhemuth in July. The jacket of the crimson riding leathers donned new at his coming of age a month before his departure now strained across the shoulders and fell open down the front, also gone short at the wrists; the leggings he wore were obviously borrowed, for they did not match. Even his face had lost much of its boyish contour, the refinement only enhanced by the fact that he had not cut his hair during his absence, and now wore it tied back at the nape.
«They were only some rabble, Sire: minor vassals of the Earl of Eastmarch». His voice had broken, too, and it was a young man who now spoke, no longer a boy. «But you’ll want to keep an eye on that area in the future. It appears that Rorik of Eastmarch may be getting ideas above his station».
«Some of his men were occupying lands in the Arranal valley that rightly belong to Marley», Richard explained, also sitting. «When we showed the royal colors, they pulled back quickly enough. After that, Brion decided that we ought to pay a quick call on Earl Rorik, so he could remind Rorik in person that aggression against his neighbors would not be tolerated. I do believe that Messire of Eastmarch got the message». He glanced sidelong at his royal nephew and smiled. «Your son and heir did well, Donal».
Donal had begun to smile as the story unfolded, and started to give Brion a pleased dunt on the bicep. But then he remembered the more terrible news weighing on his soul, only temporarily put aside in the relief that his eldest son was safely returned; for Brion clearly did not yet know of his younger brother’s tragic death. As the king looked briefly away, grief stilling his expression, Kenneth quietly sent Tiarnán on his way and closed the door, himself remaining just inside the door and doing his best to become invisible. Brion’s face fell.
«Sire, is it not what you would have wished?» the prince asked hesitantly.
Stifling a sob, Donal beckoned for his heir to come and sit beside him. Richard went very still.
«Donal, what’s wrong?» the royal duke said, for he had finally noticed that Donal, Kenneth, and all the court they had seen were in mourning.
«There was…an accident while you were away», Donal said haltingly. «Brion, your brother Jathan…»
«What’s happened?» Brion demanded, his face going ashen.
«He’s dead», the king said baldly, flinching as Brion recoiled at the news. «He…»
«What happened?» Brion repeated, steel in his voice. «Whoever did this, I’ll kill him!»
«Then kill your accursed pony!» Donal blurted. «For the wretched beast was your brother’s death!»
«Donal, no!» Richard breathed, horrified, as Brion simply stared at his father, aghast.
Trembling, Donal closed his eyes, not wanting to remember but haunted by the image of the bloodied Jathan, lying motionless in his mother’s arms…and slipping away. And there had been nothing anyone could do.
«You know how he loved that pony, how he coveted that pony», he whispered.
«I was going to give it to him at Twelfth Night», Brion managed to choke out, voice cracking, as tears runneled down his cheeks. «And I was going to teach him how to ride it. How did he —?»
Shaking his head, Donal reached to take his son’s hand and forced himself to recall the terrible details.
«He went out to the stables early, before the grooms were even up», he said woodenly. «Somehow he managed to saddle the pony, but he didn’t get the girth tight enough. He led it out to the paddock and got on…and somehow he ended up with his foot caught in the off stirrup, and the saddle under the pony’s belly, and… and…» He shook his head, tears streaming down his face. «He died in your mother’s arms».
Brion wept then, sliding to his knees at his father’s feet to lay his head in Donal’s lap and sob, no longer a confident prince flushed with the success of his first adult mission but a grieving boy who had lost a brother. Richard, too, was dashing at tears with the back of a hand, for Prince Jathan had been a beloved nephew. Kenneth, silent witness from his post against the closed door, could only pray that the three princes would soon find the strength and comfort to deal with their grief. It was several minutes before Brion regained enough composure to get shakily to his feet, sniffling and wiping at the tears on his cheeks with both hands as he drew himself erect.
«I–I should like to see my brother», he said to his father.
Donal shook his head numbly. «You cannot, son. We buried him six days ago».
«You buried him?» Brion repeated, blank incomprehension in his eyes.
Donal looked away. «I sent outriders to look for you as soon as it happened», he replied, his voice a little strangled, «but I could not ask your mother to delay overlong. As it was, we waited several days». He swallowed noisily. «He lies beside your brother Blaine».
Brion slowly nodded. «Then I shall go to him», he said quietly. «But first, I must go to my mother. Sir Kenneth, may I ask you to accompany me?»