"Perhaps once he is King," Anselm allowed, brooding, "but that could be twenty years or more. Who shall temper the Queen's judgement until then? Surely she will not listen to her own son!"
Rod could have pointed out that Tuan had always been the voice of moderation that had kept Catharine from turning into a tyrant, but he knew Anselm's resentment of his brother's mercy and position were so intense as to only make him erupt in anger—so he said instead, "She may not listen to her own son, Sir Anselm, but she will listen to mine. It's time for us to start trusting the children we've worked so hard to raise wisely and well. Don't you trust your own boy?"
"Aye!" Anselm said fiercely. "There's none better in all the land!"
"But quite a few just as good," Rod countered. 'Trust your own boy, Sir Anselm—but trust mine as well. After all, Geordie will."
"HE DIDN'T LOOK convinced," Rod told Diarmid as they watched Anselm ride away beside his son and daughter-in-law. The grandfather-to-be was leading a riderless palfrey, because Geordie and Rowena, for some strange reason, had decided to share one horse.
"Perhaps, but he did not strike out," Diarmid said, and shuddered. "Till you mounted those stairs, I thought a rebellion would begin here and now!"
"One of the nastier little problems with being a duke," Rod commiserated. "In fact, Your Highness, I've always had the impression that you hated administration."
Diarmid laughed. "You know I would far rather spend the time with my books, Lord Warlock!"
"Yes, I do." Rod nodded. "Just like Gregory. But Geordie would rather be out and about the estates, checking to make sure his peasants are doing well and that everything is running smoothly."
"I wish I had some small share of that gift!" Diarmid sighed.
"Comes from his mother, probably. Just think, if Anselm hadn't rebelled, Geordie would be saddled with running the duchy of Loguire now, instead of you."
"More's the pity he is not!"
"Yes, but the law is a funny thing," Rod said, musing. "I know attainder is usually not only for the traitor, but for all his descendants as well—but an exception might be made, if there were cause to believe the son might be as loyal as the father was treasonous."
He waited.
After a few seconds, Diarmid nodded. "There is merit in what you say, Lord Warlock. I shall have to discuss it with my father."
He'd let Tuan discuss it with Catharine, though—after thirty years of moderating her harshness, Tuan had become a past master. Rod smiled. It might not be strictly according to the law for Geordie to become duke of Loguire, but it would surely be in the best interests of the people.
Including Diarmid.
"HOW COULD YOU!" Durer raged, pacing back and forth. "How could you let him stop it! We were on the verge of civil war, you could have seen it start right there, but no! You had to let that smooth-tongued villain talk you out of it!"
"I was doing all I could to goad Anselm Loguire to draw his sword," the agent protested, "but that blasted Gallowglass managed to pull the fuse on the bomb I had so carefully primed!"
"Blast Gallowglass! Blast him to bits! Draw and quarter him! Roast him over a slow fire!" Durer raged, then stopped dead, leaning on his desk, gasping for breath. Then, slowly, he raised his head. "We have to kill him. That's all. We have to—and be ready to rise the second he's dead!"
"We've been trying to kill him for thirty years," the agent protested.
"Yes, but now he's off on his own with none of his brats to protect him! Get a Home Agent, one of those Gramarye-born telepaths we've managed to raise and recruit! Surely one of them must be able to lay an illusion that will snare him! Get a telepath! Lay a trap! And when it closes, kill him where he stands!"
ROD SAT ON a fallen log by his campfire, plucking minor chords from his lap-harp and chanting (because he knew he couldn't stay on key) of a wanderer grown old searching for the woman he had seen once, then lost—but as he sang, he saw a low branch sway at the side of the clearing where there was no breeze and heard an owl call a challenge. Wondering why the elves hadn't warned him, he laid aside the harp and came to his feet, hand dropping to his dagger-hilt, and called, "Who lives?"
"A friend." The branch swung aside, and a tall young woman stepped into the firelight—very tall, more than six feet, with a staff even taller. "A friend seeking counsel."
Rod breathed a sigh of relief, then frowned. "The forest is scarcely safe for an attractive young woman. What in the name of heaven did you think you were doing, out alone in the woods at night?"
Alea's eyes flashed at the word "attractive," but softened amazingly as she smiled, seeming oddly pleased. "You need not worry for me, Lord Warlock. Your son has taught me well how to take care of myself."
"Has he really!" Rod smiled, proud all over again. Then he nodded at the staff. "I suppose you do at that. A healthy young woman doesn't really need an oaken pole to lean on."
"Not when I have Gar—I mean Magnus."
Rod laughed softly, then gazed up at her a moment in wonder. How had Magnus ever found a woman so right for him?
The same way Rod had, of course—by searching half the galaxy.
"I really am a friend," she said, "or would like to be."
Rod smiled and held out a hand. "Come sit beside me, friend, and share my fire." Then as an afterthought, "There's still tea in the kettle."
'Tea would be welcome." Alea came to sit by him. "The evening is brisk."
Rod took the second mug from his pack, filled it from the camp kettle, and set it in her hands. As he sat, he said, "You choose a strange place to look for advice—or have you lost your way?"
Alea was slow in answering, staring at the fire. "I thought I had, for several years—but it was really scarcely two months."
"Something horrible happened," Rod said with concern.
"What could make a young woman lose her sense of direction so?"
Alea was silent, clearly torn.
"You don't have to answer," Rod said gently, "and don't worry, I won't read your mind. It doesn't come as naturally to me as it does to some others."
"Magnus doesn't either," she said quickly, "no matter how badly he wants to. He has never betrayed me for an instant, not in the slightest way."
She was silent, staring at the fire again. Rod decided she needed prompting. "You had expected him to betray you?"
"Everyone else had," she snapped. "There was …" Her words dried up.
"A seducer?" Rod said gently. "A young man who said he loved you but left you?"
She turned to him, glaring. "How did you know!"
"It's too common a story for young women," Rod said with a sigh. He turned away, admitting, "I tried it myself, once."
"Tried?" Alea was intent again. "It didn't work?"
"No," Rod said, "because I really had fallen in love with her. Took me a while to realize it, though."
"I can't understand anyone not realizing they were in love right away," Alea said.
"Can't you?" Rod looked directly into her eyes until she caught his meaning, then blushed and turned away.
"Not first love, though," Rod said softly. "You can ask yourself day and night, 'Is this love?' but it isn't. When it is, you know it—you find yourself saying, 'So this is love!' But if that love ends badly and hurts you terribly, something within you will equate love with hurt and deny romance forever after."
"Not 'forever,'" Alea said slowly. "For a long time, yes, but not forever."
"If you meet a man who's worthy of your love?" Rod smiled. 'Tell me, lady—how did he prove his worth?"