The Black Raven - Katharine Kerr [34]
“The daughters have got sons, right? What about them?”
“Cadmar can designate a grandson as heir, yes,” Rhodry said. “But the high king will have to approve it.”
“Huh.” Mel paused, thinking. “It’s a strange place, Deverry. I don’t like it. I feel like riding out right now, snow or no snow.”
“We’ll all be leaving in the spring,” Rhodry said. “What’s so wrong?”
Melimaladar exchanged a look with Vantalaber. All the archers at the table had fallen silent, Rhodry realized, to listen.
“Well, look,” Van said. “Here’s our Prince Dar, and he is a prince; none of us would deny it. But he’s a prince of the People, not one of your lords, and before this he’s always known what that means and how he should take it. Now look at him! He’s learning to give himself airs, isn’t he? With all the Round Ears bowing and scraping every time he walks into a room!”
Rhodry twisted round on the bench to look across the great hall. Near the honor hearth Cadmar was sitting in his carved chair with Prince Dar at his right hand and his favorite hounds lying at his feet. Once Cadmar had been a powerful man, but now his hair was white and his face somehow shrunken. Every now and then he would rub his twisted leg and its old injury, as if it pained him despite the warmth of the nearby fire.
By contrast Daralanteriel seemed all youth and strength, even though he sat still, contemplating the enormous sculpture of a dragon that curled around the hearth with its stone back for a mantel. He was an exceptionally handsome man even for one of the Westfolk, and Rhodry could see how a young girl like Carra would have followed him anywhere once he’d been kind to her. Over the winter his pale skin had turned even whiter, setting off his dark hair and violet eyes.
As they watched, Cadmar leaned forward to bark an order at the boys playing by the hearth. Two of them jumped up and ran off to do their lord’s bidding, but not before they’d bowed to prince and gwerbret both.
“That kind of grovelling around,” Vantalaber said. “I don’t like it. None of us do.”
“Notice how the boys made their bow to Dar first?” Melimaladar put in. “And how he smiled?”
“And look at what he’s wearing,” Vantalaber went on. “All the time now.”
Rhodry obligingly looked, though it took him a moment to see what Van meant. Around his neck on a golden chain the prince wore a gold pendant. In the firelight a jewel winked and gleamed.
“By the Dark Sun herself!” Rhodry whispered. “It’s Ranadar’s Eye.”
“We all know he’s royal,” Vantalaber said. “He doesn’t need to flaunt it.”
“Just so,” Rhodry said. “Huh. I’ll try to have a word with him. You’re right. The People will never stand for this, not out on the grass.”
Despite the cold in the tower room, Dallandra often stayed up late, reading one or another of Jill’s books by the silver light of the Wildfolk of Aethyr. Usually her studies led straight to her sleep work, when she went to the Gatelands to renew the magical wards that kept Rhodry’s dreams safe from Raena. That particular evening she had just finished restoring the flaming stars when Niffa joined her there. For some while they merely considered each other in the red-and-gold glow from the wards. She was a little thing, to Dalla’s elven way of thinking, not much more than five feet tall and slender, with long dark hair that she wore loose over her shoulders.
“There be a need on me to thank you,” Niffa said finally. “Your news about our Jahdo did do my mam’s heart much good.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Dallandra said. “He worries about her and the rest of you as well.”
“Well, if you’d be so good, do tell him that mam fares well, though in truth, she be sick again. There be naught he can do, so far away, and I’d not have him fret.”
“I’ll do that, then. Is there a good herbwoman in your town?”
“One of the best, or else I’d be sore troubled about my mam. Otherwise, there be much trouble upon us and our town. Tell me if you would—Raena, is it that she does cause grief to you and