Darkspell - Katharine Kerr [102]
“Did I tell you that I was kept in the top of a tower during my imprisonment?”
“Well, fancy that. So there you were, looking down, and here I was, doing the same.”
“Just that, but this view is a true sight wider than the one I had. I want to stay in Cannobaen for the rest of my life, but that depends on Prince Ogretoryc. The demesne is his to dispose of now, not mine.”
“If he’s got the gall to turn you out of it, then he’ll have to find himself another lighthouse keeper.” Avascaen considered the problem for a moment. “Now, here, my brother’s got more land than he can farm by himself. He’ll take us in if things come to that.”
“My thanks. I can earn a bit as a letter writer, too.”
For a few minutes they shared a companionable silence.
“By the way,” Mael said, “have there even been any ships out here?”
“Blasted few, but you never know when someone will need the light.”
Since Primilla’s strategy lay in portraying Mael as someone utterly unfit for courtly affairs, she urged him to make his letter to his son as blunt as possible, and she was pleased with the result.
“To Ogretoryc, prince of Aberwyn and Cannobaen and my son, Mael the philosopher sends greetings. Although we have never spoken two words together, Your Highness, it behooves a father to be blunt with his own flesh and blood. I know full well that you wish to keep your positions and your honors at the court of my brother the king. I have no desire for anything but to see you do so. I have become a humble scholar, unfit for the duties of war and rulership after my long imprisonment. All I want is to live out the remains of my life in my old country lodge of Cannobaen, or, if his highness prefers, as a common villager. You may send word to me through Primilla, head of the dyer’s guild. I fear for my life in court circles. I have no desire to taste freedom only to taste poison a few weeks later. Your father, Mael the philosopher.”
When she finished reading, Mael leaned back in his chair and gave her a quizzical smile.
“It should do splendidly,” she said.
“Good. You know, it’s a strange thing to be humble to your own son. If it’s not enough for them that I’ve been disclaimed, now I’ve abdicated. Should keep things all nice and tidy, as our Avascaen would say.”
When Primilla returned to Abernaudd, she waited a day before delivering the letter in order to hear the current gossip. The court—indeed, the entire city—was as full of rumors as a wasps’ nest is of stings. The King had indeed sent an honor guard to the border to receive Mael, but they’d found Nevyn the Cerrmor councillor and Prince Cobryn of Cerrmor there instead, telling them that Mael had decided to travel alone. Everyone suspected treachery, but on Ogretoryc’s part, not Cerrmor’s.
“Now, I say they’re wagering on the wrong horse in this race,” Cadlew said. “If there’s treachery, the princess is behind it, not the prince. Some of her loyal men might have taken a warband out after Mael.”
“Indeed? Now, suppose the philosopher isn’t dead. Does anyone have any idea of where he might be?”
“There’s plenty of guesses, but the tale making the rounds is that Mael’s gone over to the rebels in Pyrdon, who’ll shelter him for the chance to make trouble here in Eldidd. Fortunately, they’re too weak to back him in a drive for the throne—too weak as yet, anyway. After all, once a man’s been a prince, who’s to blame him if he wants it all back again?”
On the morrow Primilla made her visit to the prince and princess. Laligga’s face was so drawn that it seemed she hadn’t slept in nights; Ogretoryc merely looked baffled.
“Your Highness, I have a letter from your father to you.”
Ogretoryc was up like a bow shot. Laligga crouched in her chair and stared wide-eyed as Primilla handed over the message tube.
“And where have you seen my father?”
“On the roads. His highness knows that I often travel. He seemed much distressed and asked me to take the letter when he found out I was going to Abernaudd.”
“It’s the seal of Aberwyn, all right.” Ogretoryc was looking over the tube. “It must be