• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 757 0

a luxurious suite high up in one of the outer towers, so that he had a good view of the gardens that lay between the pair of walls. In his reception chamber were four chairs with cushions of purple Bardek velvet as well as a table and a hearth of its own. Although Blaen cared little for such luxuries as things in themselves, he appreciated them as marks of the king’s favor. Besides, his wife, Canyffa, was accompanying him on this trip, and he liked to see her surrounded by comfort. A tall woman with dark hair and doelike brown eyes, Canyffa was as calm as he was excitable. Although their marriage had been of the usual arranged sort, Blaen privately considered that he’d been exceptionally lucky in his wife. At moments, he could even admit to her that he loved her.

This particular morning Canyffa had been called to wait upon the queen in Her Majesty’s private chamber—a signal honor, but one that had come her way before. Blaen perched on the windowsill in their bedchamber and watched as she dressed with special care. After one of her serving women laid out several dresses on the bed, she sent the lass away and studied the choices, finally picking a modest one of dove-gray Bardek silk, a color that showed off the reds and whites of her husband’s clan’s plaid to advantage.

“I think Gwerbret Savyl’s wife is going to be attending the queen this morning as well,” she remarked. “I assume that my lord would like me to keep my ears open.”

“Your lord would like naught better, truly. What’s the wife like, anyway?”

Canyffa considered before answering.

“A weasel, but a lovely one. I gather that they’re well suited.”

“In weaselhood, perhaps. No one would call Savyl lovely. Cursed if I know why he’s sticking his oar in this particular stream! Camynwaen’s a long way from Belglaedd. What use can Talidd possibly be to him?”

“I believe they’ve got blood kin in common, but still, the point’s well taken, my lord. I shall see if I can cultivate the lovely Lady Braeffa.” She paused for a quick smile. “But if I’m going to sacrifice myself this way, I shall expect a handsome present from our Rhodry when he’s recalled.”

“Some of the finest Bardek silver, no doubt. I’ll make sure he honors you properly. Well—if we can get him recalled, anyway.”

While Canyffa was off with the queen, Blaen had a guest of his own, a powerful man who was worth another sort of cultivation. He had his page fetch a silver flagon of mead and two glass goblets, then sent the lad away. The gwerbret filled the glasses with his own hands and gave one to his guest, who took an appreciative sip. The recently ennobled Lord Madoc, third equerry to the king, was a slender man of about forty, with neatly trimmed blond hair barely touched with gray, and humorous blue eyes. He was also, or so it was said, Nevyn’s nephew. Indeed? Blaen thought to himself. But I’ll wager he’s another sorcerer, nephew or not. Since he’d been a successful horse breeder in Cantrae province before his recent court appointment, Madoc certainly did his job well, and he had a plain yet decent sort of manners that allowed him to fit into the court as smoothly as any minor lord—if not more so. Yet, every now and then, there was something about the way he looked or smiled that implied that the power and pomp of the court failed to impress him.

“My thanks for the invitation to visit you, Your Grace,” Madoc said. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“Simple hospitality, in a way. I know your uncle well.”

“Of course. I had a letter from him recently. He’s quite well.”

“Splendid. Is he still in Eldidd?”

“He is, Your Grace. Lovyan, Tieryn Dun Gwerbyn, has taken him into her service.”

I’ll just wager, Blaen thought to himself. More like he’s taken her into his, whether she knows it or not.

“That’s good news,” he said aloud. “Our Nevyn’s getting a bit old to travel the roads with a mule.”

“His health’s a marvel, isn’t it, Your Grace? But then my mother is still alive and sharp as a sword, and her past seventy.”

“Let’s hope the gods grant that you inherit their stamina, then.” Blaen gave him a friendly grin. “Lovyan