A Time of Omens - Katharine Kerr [48]
He wondered, too, if he should tell Maryn that the curse existed, but in the end he decided against it. For the rest of that summer, at least, Maryn absolutely had to project a supernatural air of confidence and calm if he were going to repair the shattered morale of his new kingdom. The slightest worry that might have tarnished his golden presence could well mean disaster later. Round and round Nevyn went on the problem until it occurred to him that there was indeed one person in the kingdom who could guarantee its safety, at least for as long as it mattered: the queen. She would never leave Dun Cerrmor until the war was over and Maryn crowned High King in Dun Deverry; if Cerrmor fell and she was captured, that disaster would mean Maryn was dead, all their hopes irrevocably crushed, and the lead tablet quite simply irrelevant.
That very morning he went to Otho the dwarf, the silver daggers’ blacksmith, who had been given a big hut of his own for a forge and living quarters both. Even though he could trust one of the Mountain Folk to keep an oath of silence more than he could ever trust any human being, he told Otho only that he needed a strong casket of dwarven silver to contain something evil without ever mentioning what the vile thing might be. Otho worked night and day for the better part of a week and finally produced, on the evening before king and councillor were to ride out, an amazingly strong and heavy yet stunningly beautiful casket, with double walls, two locking lids, and a secret compartment in the bottom to hide the actual tablet.
“I’ll solder up the compartment, and you put a few spells on it, my lord,” Otho said cheerfully, “and the Lord of Hell himself couldn’t get in or out of it.”
“I believe you. Why, it must weigh close to two stones.”
“Blasted near, blasted near. And I put all that fancy work round the top, just like you asked, so no one will wonder why it’s in a lady’s chamber. I rather fancy the way the roses came out, myself. The ladies do like a nice floral design.”
“I like it myself, actually. Name your price, and I’ll get it for you.”
For a long moment Otho hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and back again, and from the agonized look on his face he was a man sorely torn and troubled. Finally he sighed as if his heart would break.
“Naught, my lord. Take it as a gift for the one true king and his grand little queen.”
“Otho! My humble, humble thanks.”
“Hah! I know what you’re thinking. Never thought you’d see the day when I’d do a bit of work for free, did you?” All at once he grinned. “And no more did I.”
That evening Maryn had one last council to hold with his warlords, and Nevyn took that opportunity to visit Bellyra up in the women’s hall, which his great age would allow him to enter. He found her sitting in a high-backed carved chair, with her newly chosen serving women sitting round her and a ginger cat and four kits lying on a green silk cushion nearby, but even in her red silk dress with a queenly brooch pinned to her shoulder, she looked so young and lost that he had grave doubts about his plan. Yet he had no other choice, and when she greeted him, warmly and yet with the right degree of distance between their stations, he could see in her eyes the strong woman she would become.
“Your Highness, I beg a boon—a word alone with you.”
“Of course.” She turned to