Darkspell - Katharine Kerr [69]
When they went up to the dun, servants came running and clustered round him as if he were indeed a prince. Orivaen insisted on giving him an elegant chamber in the main broch and personally accompanied him up. While Nevyn unpacked, the chamberlain gave him various bits of gossip. Lord Gwetmar and Lady Macla had two sons; Prince Mael was still in the tower; Gavra, his old apprentice, was now an herbwoman in the city.
“And what of our liege?” Nevyn said.
Orivaen’s eyes darkened.
“I’ll arrange a private audience this evening. Once you’ve seen him, we can speak further.”
“I see. And what about Saddar? Is he still at court, or did he finally take his humbling to heart and leave?”
“He’s dead. Strange, in a way. It happened directly after you left us that summer. He developed a peculiar congestion of the stomach.”
When Nevyn swore under his breath, Orivaen’s expression turned completely bland. Nevyn wondered if the king himself had ordered the old man poisoned, or if some loyal courtier had taken the little task on himself, once the only herbman who could have saved Saddar had gone away.
In the afternoon Nevyn went down into Cerrmor and found Gavra, who was living with her brother’s family over his inn. She fell laughing into his arms, dipped him up some ale, and took him up to her chamber for a chat. She’d grown into an imposing young woman, still pretty and sleek, but with a depth of feeling and shrewdness in her dark eyes. Her chamber was stacked with herbs, jars of salve, and the other tools of her trade, neatly arranged around the furniture, a single bed, a wooden chest, and by the hearth, a cradle. Asleep inside was a pretty little lass about ten months old.
“Your brother’s youngest child?” Nevyn said.
“She’s not, but mine. Do you despise me for it?”
“What? Whatever made you think I would?”
“Well, my brother was none too pleased at having a bastard in the family. I’m just lucky I can bring in coin to feed us.”
As if she knew she was being discussed, the baby yawned, opened cornflower-blue eyes, and fell back asleep.
“Why hasn’t the father married you?”
“He’s married to someone else. I know I’m but a fool, but I love him all the same.”
Nevyn sat down on the wooden chest. He’d never expected that his clever Gavra would have gotten herself into this sort of mess. She leaned on the windowsill and looked out at her narrow view, the side of another house, a small dusty yard with a chicken coop.
“Prince Mael,” she said abruptly. “My poor captive love.”
“Ye gods!”
“I beg you, don’t tell a soul. They might kill my babe if they knew that Eldidd had a royal bastard here in town. I’ve told everyone that her father was one of the king’s riders, Dagwyn his name was, who was killed in last year’s fighting. Lady Gweniver’s been helping me, you see. I guess Dagwyn was quite a lad with the lasses, and everyone believed it of him without thinking twice.”
“Is Gweniver the only one who knows?”
“Just that, not even Ricyn.” She paused to look into the cradle with a wry smile. “I had to tell someone, and Gweniver is a priestess, no matter what else she may be. It’s sad, though. Ricyn comes here sometimes and gives me coin for his friend’s daughter. Little Ebrua seems to mean much to him.”
“Then it’s best that he never learn the truth. But, here, how did this happen? Can you fly through the air like a bird?”
“Oh, I climbed the stairs to the tower, sure enough,” she said, half laughing. “But not long after you left, the prince got a fever, and all the chirurgeons were gone with the army. So Orivaen sent for me to keep their bit of booty alive. Ye gods, I felt so sorry for Mael, and Orivaen allowed me to visit him like you used to. Mael offered to teach me to read and write, you see, just to have somewhat to pass his time. So I had my lessons, and we grew to be friends, and well—” She gave an eloquent shrug of one shoulder.
“I see. Does he know