«He was a Furstán, Sire», Ahern said confidently. «Believe me, I know this». The look he gave the king as Donal glanced up at this very positive declaration made it quite clear that the boy had confirmed the information by Deryni means.
«Indeed», the king said softly.
Ahern merely inclined his head slightly, his eyes never leaving Donal's.
«Well, then», Donal said. «We shall have to ensure that King Nimur is not allowed to argue this point. Reparations are required». He pushed back from the table and rose, and the others likewise came to their feet. «Perhaps Lord Hambert would be so good as to assemble a suitable foray party, to ride with my own troops. I am minded to make an incursion of my own into Torenth — to discover more facts, of course. And if my men should find opportunity to seize goods in recompense for what happened at Kiltuin — so much the better. I will, however, require that they conduct themselves in a more seemly fashion than our Torenthi raiders. Is that clear?»
As Lord Hambert made a bow, Ahern merely smiled and said, «Abundantly, Sire. And might I request that I may be permitted to ride at your side?» He tapped his stiff leg with his stick and cocked his head at the king. «I think you will discover that this has not slowed me down».
«That has already been my observation», the king replied. «And I am proud to have you in my service».
Ahern's service proved itself more than once in the days that followed. His daring strategies, worked out with the king, enabled Gwyneddan raiding parties to harry Torenthi border towns with sufficient regularity that, by early September, King Nimur's ministers were seriously discussing the payment of reparations. Donal had hoped to call Nimur's sons to account, at least tendering an acknowledgement of their offenses and an offer of official apology, but it gradually became clear that, on this point, Nimur remained unbending.
But in all, the course of this late campaign — far different from any prospect in Meara — was going satisfactorily. Periodically Donal sent progress reports back to Rhemuth, both to his queen and council and to Ahern's sisters. Whenever these official missives were dispatched, additional letters went along under Ahern's seal. Though, officially, these came from Ahern, Donal was well aware that the courier's pouch always included at least one letter from Sir Sé Trelawney to Marie de Corwyn. In the course of the sea voyage to Coroth, Donal had become well aware of Sé's affection, from childhood, for the Corwyn sisters, and for Marie in particular, and wondered how long it would take Sé to approach him about asking for her hand.
Which permission he was inclined to grant, since he liked young Sé Trelawney, and suspected that the young man might even be Deryni — though he had never been able to confirm this, for Sé religiously avoided any circumstance in which it might be possible for the king to determine this by casual means.
Donal knew of Sé's longstanding friendship with Ahern, and trusted Sé's loyalty because he trusted Ahern's; but actually calling the question might put Sé into danger that was not necessary. Donal, unlike his bishops and clergy, was disinclined to enforce the rigorous exclusion of Deryni that had been the official policy of Gwyneddan law for more than a century — perhaps because he suspected that his own odd powers might be somehow related to those wielded by the Deryni. He had once asked Jessamy about it, but she did not know. She did know of his suspicions about Sé, and saw no harm if it were true.
But the letters themselves were gradually building on a resentment that very much generated harm, though none could have predicted it save for one affronted damsel of the royal court, increasingly bitter as the summer waned and letters continued to arrive for the Corwyn sisters. The Lady Muriella saw how the face of Marie de Corwyn lit with excitement whenever letters arrived from Corwyn, and how she always drew aside for a private moment in the garden to read the ones addressed to her, and how she then added each new missive to the growing stack secreted under her pillow, tied with a grass-green ribbon.
One day, when the sisters were safely away for the afternoon, riding with the young princes in the castle's lower ward, Muriella even dared to slip into the pair's room and lift the pillow, carefully sliding out the most recent of the letters to quickly scan its content. To her surprise, there was nothing overt, but that did not lessen her resentment of the attention Sé was lavishing on the pair, and on Marie in particular.
Her resentment grew and festered as the summer wore on, only intensified by her awareness that her rivals were Deryni. And in the daydreams of many a long, sultry summer afternoon, she found herself idly envisioning all manner of dire fates for the pair.
In truth, she could scarcely imagine that the dashing Sir Sé would truly prefer the pallid good looks of the sisters de Corwyn over her own, more voluptuous dark-haired beauty. She wondered whether they might be using their accursed Deryni magic to ensnare his affection — a scandalous offense, since the church held all use of the dread powers of the Deryni to be anathema.
She didn't know whether a Deryni could be burned for using his or her powers to secure another's affections, but it was immensely satisfying to imagine the pair dragged to stakes in the city square below, shorn of their bright locks and trembling with terror as the executioners bound them with chains amid the piles of faggots stacked high, and brought the fiery brands, thrusting the fire deep into the kindling so that the hungry flames soon rose to devour them.
She had laughed aloud at that very satisfying image, though she had soon dismissed it as highly unlikely to happen, given the queen's affection for the pair. Besides that, it would be most difficult to prove any misconduct on their part without Muriella herself becoming involved — and that might well put Sé off her for good, thereby totally defeating the purpose of the exercise. No, getting rid of the sisters was definitely desirable, but there must be some more subtle way to do it.
It was on a showery afternoon early in September that the idea came to her, as she puttered in the stillroom with a decoction of fragrances derived from roses, lavender, and honeysuckle. Muriella had amassed considerable knowledge of herb lore during her several years at court, not only aromatic and culinary herbs but medicinal ones. Sometimes she assisted Father Denit, the queen's chaplain, in the preparation of simples for use by the royal physician; and on that day, as she and the priest checked the stocks of medicinal herbs, she found her fingers lingering over those substances whose use required extreme caution: substances that could kill.
Shocked at her own audacity, she tried to put such thoughts from her mind, forcing herself not to react, but the notion would not leave her. The next day found her in the royal library, poring over a particular herbal. And gradually, a plan began to take shape, involving a confection of ground almonds, honey, and certain other substances that might be added to the almond paste.
It could be done, she decided. It would be dangerous, if she were found out, but was Sir Sé not worth a little risk? Her disdain for her rivals was well known, so she would need to recruit an unwitting accomplice to her plan, but that, too, could be done. The more she considered, the more possible the prospect seemed. For with Marie out of the way, and perhaps Alyce as well, Muriella was certain that she could win the affection of the dashing Sé Trelawney…
Muriella seized her opportunity on a sultry day late in September, when a series of seemingly unrelated events chanced to spiral into disaster. It began as Lord Seisyll Arilan strolled into the castle gardens, having spent the morning in council with the queen and the Archbishop of Rhemuth — always a less than pleasant prospect, because Archbishop William made no secret of his dislike of Deryni.