“Ah,” Cevulirn said when he looked toward a set and ready table, and his weathered face relaxed in pleasure as, his cloak scarcely bestowed on one servant’s arm, Tassand set a cup of wine in his hand.
“Please sit, sir,” Tristen said, with a gesture toward the table and its four places, one reserved for Uwen and one for Emuin. “I thought supper might come welcome.”
“Very welcome, after days of hard biscuit and bad ale. And this,” said Cevulirn, lifting his wine cup, “is notbad ale.”
“I’m pleased,” Tristen said, as they took their places. He relied on Tassand for such choices, limiting his own instructions to the request for something simple and hot, after the freezing ride. “We needn’t wait. Uwen and Emuin may come, but then, they may not.” He settled at table, let the servants serve the meal, and his guest have at least a taste of supper before he began with what his friends called his questions. “Did His Majesty send any message, sir?”
“I’ve heard nothing worse than the situation I left,” Cevulirn said, and this, in privacy, Tristen took for the whole, if not reassuring truth. “Say that His Majesty sent me home to Toj Embrel, and Ryssand mourns a son, hencemy wintering at home.”
“Brugan?”
“Fair fight. Ryssand, however, will not see it that way.” Cevulirn, a man of few words, found a few more of them. “Brugan and Lord Murandys came with a document for the king’s seal… Do you wish to hear this during supper, or after?”
“During, if you will. I shouldn’t enjoy a bite, wondering.”
“So, then,” Cevulirn said. “Brugan and the document. Brugan came into the Guelesfort with Murandys, bringing this document which would strip the monarchy of power.”
“Cefwyn wouldn’t sign such a thing.”
“Ah, but they had a charge to make, if he would refuse. This was before the wedding, and they said if he wouldn’t sign, they’d bring proof of Ninévrisë’s unfaithfulness.”
“Unfaithfulness? There’s no one more faithful to him.”
Cevulirn, soup spoon in hand, gave him a lengthy and sober look. “I think Your Grace means in the ordinary way of honorable behavior, in which the lady is unassailable. Their meaning was the traditional one, men with women, that manner of betrayal.”
“Ninévrisë?”
“Your Grace, neither you nor I would think so. But there are those ready to believe ill of her, as of you. It was never their intent to besmirch Her Grace’s reputation… no. It was the king’s signature they wanted, and he’d granted all else they came demanding. They were emboldened to have it written out, with all manner of seals, a guarantee of the Quinalt’s power… but instead of doing it himself, Ryssand, who has a wit, sent Murandys and his own son, Brugan, who, denied private audience with His Majesty, were fools enough to say it all before me, before Prince Efanor, and Idrys.”
Tristen was appalled, not least at the folly of it. But Murandys had surely counted on Cefwyn and Efanor restraining Idrys, who would assuredly do whatever served Cefwyn.
Cevulirn had not, evidently, been restrained.
“And Brugan is dead? Directly as a result?”
Cevulirn laid down the spoon and regarded him in great seriousness. “Let me spread it all out for you, Your Grace. The precise charge was that Ninévrisë had a lover. Brugan’s sister Artisane was ready to swear to it… that Her Grace had youfor a lover, plainly put.”
“Lover, sir?” The word fell at first confused on his hearing and then Unfolded in its carnal nature. He was disturbed enough by the word. Then he understood the rest of it, and his heart might have stopped. At very least it skipped a beat. “No, sir.”
“I said that it was false,” Cevulirn continued, “and Brugan having said it was true, he died. Hence His Majesty suggested I ride out of Guelemara that night. I would not have assented, but I feared if Ryssand had my presence to inflame him, he might press His Majesty with the same charges in public, and then the good gods know I would have had to remove the most pernicious influence in the court. To His Majesty’s detriment, he would insist, though I have a different opinion. So I honored my oath and left, against my will, and I have no knowledge how that fell out or whether the charge ever came public… but I know the wedding took place, which argues that it didn’t. And of you and Her Grace, I assure you, no one who knows either of you could credit such a thing. Unfortunately, many do not know you or Her Grace.”
“Ninévrisë is my friend,” he said lamely and at disadvantage, he, who had never had more than a fleeting glimpse of the flesh of women… and that, in Lady Orien Aswydd, whose allure was a dark and dangerous one. He failed entirely to compass the thought, he was so astonished and appalled. “How can they have said so?”
“Artisane lied,” Cevulirn said simply, “to please her father.” Cevulirn tore off a piece of bread. “Now are you sorry not to have had supper first?”
“I think I should be ill. I should go to Guelemara!”
“By no means! The lie, such as it is, is at least silent enough that I believe the wedding took place. No more can we do. Your presence there would break it all open again, to what result none of us can predict. And listen: you will be amazed. Efanorwas willing to draw, he was so outraged.”
Efanor. Prince Efanor, who had given him the little book of Quinalt devotions, which he had by his bed. Efanor the pious, who thought so much of the gods he would never act inconsiderately: Efanorwould draw his sword and fight for Her Grace’s innocence. To such desperate violence the court had come, and so far had Efanor gone to side with his brother against Ryssand’s lie.
“I am astonished,” he said, finding the presence of mind to pick up his spoon.
“So His Majesty has married the Lady Regent, and I delayed at Clusyn until I had firmly and clearly received that report.”
“Then you went home to Ivanor… and came here.”
“Here I wished to come. But I’d been long absent from my own hall, and things there wanted at least a glance and a question. In these times, to ride the true road, straight west to you, was to invite comment… and a certain hazard, for a man feuding with Ryssand. I regard my men too highly to do that. Yes, I went home, advised my folk to prepare even against a raid from the north, or assassins. Then came I here, with no delay, hearing rumors of unrest in Amefel. I’m glad to find it settled.”
Cevulirn’s spies were nothing less than skilled, and in every court in the land, Tristen suspected, for little as the man said on most occasions, he always was well informed.
“The rebellion was against Lord Parsynan’s vice regency,” Tristen said directly. “Earl Edwyll had a promise from Tasmôrden to bring Elwynim forces across the river to support a rebellion; but Tasmôrden is still besieging Ilefínian. He only looked for Edwyll to make war here and keep Cefwyn’s attention away from him.”
“I’m hardly surprised in Tasmôrden’s actions. Only in Edwyll’s simplicity. I had thought him wiser.”
“He was desperate.”
“He died.”
“Of accident. In this very apartment, while his men awaited an answer on their surrender. He’d drunk Lady Orien’s wine… have no fear,” he said, at Cevulirn’s lifted brow. “We’ve changed the cups and drink from no other vessel she ever used. You heard this evening how Edwyll’s son Crissand surrendered the citadel to me on a promise of safety. But the lord viceroy killed the men who surrendered; and almost Crissand himself. So I sent Parsynan out of Amefel, and retained the Guelen and the Dragon Guard until I can find Amefin enough to make a guard.”
“Prichwarrin counseled Cefwyn to put him in office. He’s of thatfaction; I would wager any sum you like that he’s Corswyndam’s man.”
“I have proof of it,” Tristen said. “Ryssand had sent Parsynan a message warning him I was to have Amefel, and the messenger rode to reach here and deliver it before the king’s herald. Uwen and Anwyll and Emuin all say it’s against the law to do that.”