The Black Raven - Katharine Kerr [106]
“It’s not cursed anymore,” she said. “Truly, Otho, I don’t think you have to worry.”
“You’d better be right,” Otho growled. “Very well, lass, come along. We’ll leave your master to his spells, and let’s all hope they work.”
As they walked across the ward, Lilli saw Prince Maryn again, but he was discussing something with the captain of his guard while Oggyn and a pair of pages waited nearby. She gained the safety of the great hall without his seeing her.
For several days Nevyn considered what he might do about Princess Bellyra. On the one hand, Maryn was right enough that Dun Deverry offered plenty of discomforts and dangers. On the other, a private danger threatened her in Dun Cerrmor. The memory of her grief haunted him until at length he made his decision.
Just that morning he’d received letters from High Priest Retyc of Lughcarn, and he used those as an excuse for a confidential audience with the prince. Since last he’d been in Maryn’s chambers, servants had made some effort to give Maryn’s reception room a royal air. They’d found Bardek carpets for the floor and laid them over each other in such a way as to hide the threadbare portions. The tapestries on the walls had been washed and mended as well, with patches of new yarn embroidered over torn weaving. All the furniture had cushions, now, and the brasswork at the hearth and the silver sconces on the walls glittered in the morning sun. On the mantel sat the silver wyvern that Nevyn had seen previously in Oggyn’s quarters.
“This all looks most impressive, my liege,” Nevyn said.
“Oggyn set some of the dun’s women to work,” Maryn said, glancing around. “I suppose it’s necessary. I needed somewhere to receive my vassals and such.”
“You did, truly.”
Maryn sat down on the wide sill of one of the windows and gestured to a nearby chair. Nevyn sat, then reached into his shirt and took out the letters. The prince waved them away.
“Just tell me what they say.”
“As His Highness wishes.”
Nevyn felt suddenly troubled. Never before had he seen Maryn so careless about affairs of state. Even while Nevyn summarized the letters, Maryn seemed as much interested in the view from his window as he did in the news from the secondmost powerful priest in Deverry. At length Nevyn stopped talking and waited to see if the prince would notice. After some moments, he did.
“My apologies,” Maryn said. “Did they say they’d found the white mare?”
“Only that they’d sent to your father in Pyrdon for one. My liege seems much distracted today.”
“Your liege hasn’t slept well in too long.”
“As your physician, my liege, as well as your councillor, may I make a recommendation?”
“Of course.”
“Bring your wife here.”
Maryn looked away again, his jaw set so tightly that Nevyn could see a vein throbbing on his forehead.
“A good thought,” Maryn said at last. “But who will be my regent in Cerrmor?”
“Your Highness has a seneschal and a chamberlain who are both fine men and quite capable of keeping the dun from sliding into the sea. The only thing they cannot do is hold malover, and neither can the princess.”
“True spoken. Very well. Send me a scribe, and I’ll get the messengers on the way.”
When Nevyn rose to leave, the prince walked with him to the door.
“Oh, by the way,” Maryn said with a studied casual-ness, “how does your apprentice fare these days?”
“She has a gift for dweomer, Your Highness,” Nevyn said, “and she works very hard at her studies. I’m quite pleased with her progress.”
“Good, good, it gladdens my heart to hear that.”
“Not everyone with a gift can use it well, of course. The dweomer makes enormous demands on a person. Concentration, the power of the will, and above all, time—developing the gift the gods gave her require all of those.”
“No doubt. She’s lucky she’s found such a good teacher.”
“My thanks, my liege. She truly is my apprentice, you know, as much as she might be apprenticed to weaving or some other craft. Her well-being is my responsibility now, and it’s one I take quite seriously.”
Maryn tossed up his head like a startled horse. The