The Bristling Wood - Katharine Kerr [145]
“I see. And what is this grave matter?”
“Rhys of Aberwyn had a bad fall in a hunting accident today, my liege. They doubt if he’ll live long—an eightnight, perhaps; at the most, a month.”
The king stared at him for a moment, then swore in a way more fitting for a common-born rider than royalty.
“I agree, my liege. You can see why I thought it best that my liege heard this news straightaway.”
“Just so.” The king gingerly settled a slipping towel while he thought things over. “And I’m most grateful to you for it. Eldidd politics are always dangerous.”
“So they are. No doubt my liege needs no reminding that the line of succession in Aberwyn will break as soon as Rhys dies.”
“No doubt. I’m also quite aware how much your exiled cousin means to you, Your Grace. Rest assured that the matter is under my consideration.”
Blaen felt the formal tone of voice like a slap across the face. He was being reminded that no matter how often they hunted or drank together, no matter how easily Lallyn would jest with him when the mood took him, the king was as far above him as he was above the common folk.
“My humble thanks, my liege. Your consideration is all that I’d ever ask for in this matter.”
The king nodded with a glance away.
“Tell the barber that he can come back, will you? I want these towels off and now. I have some serious thinking to do.”
In spite of the king’s return to a more familiar tone, Blaen knew that he’d been dismissed. As he rose and bowed, he was wondering just what Talidd of Belglaedd and his allies had been telling their liege.
“I know Blaen will take good care of him, but I hate to leave Sunrise behind,” Jill said.
“Oh, come now, my turtledove.” Salamander was busy tying shut his saddlebags. “Every lad in the royal stables will be fussing over him, and with luck, we won’t be gone long.”
“I doubt me if we’re going to have that kind of luck.”
He paused, turning to look at her. They were in the inn chamber with their packed gear strewn around them.
“Well? Do you think—”
“I don’t.” He sighed elaborately. “I was merely trying to console.”
There was a brief knocking at the door, and Blaen strode in without waiting for an invitation. With him were two serving lads, who immediately began gathering up the gear.
“The galley’s ready,” Blaen announced. “I’ll accompany you down to the docks.”
“His Grace is most kind.” Salamander made him a bow. “And our liege the king as well.”
“Indeed? I’ve found out—or, I should say, my lady found out—exactly why Savyl of Camynwaen is taking a hand in this affair. His younger brother has a slight claim to Aberwyn.”
“Truly?” Jill said. “I never heard Lady Lovyan mention him.”
“Well, it’s not truly the sort of thing my aunt would dwell upon. You see, Rhodry’s father had two bastard daughters with a mistress of his. Savyl’s brother married one of them.”
“Two daughters?” Salamander broke in. “Well, fancy that! Or … here, of course. You mean Gwerbret Tingyr.”
“And who else would I be meaning?”
Jill gave Salamander a subtle sidewise kick.
“No one, Your Grace.” Salamander covered smoothly. “I’d merely forgotten the gwerbret’s name.”
“Ah. Well, it’s hard to keep all the noble bloodlines up in mind, truly. Here.” Blaen tossed Salamander an embroidered cloth pouch. “Use this wisely.”
Whistling under his breath, Salamander hefted the pouch and made it jingle.
“From the weight and the sound, Your Grace, there must be a cursed lot of gold in here.”
“As much as I could raise. I intend to get it back from my scapegrace cousin once he’s Aberwyn, mind.”
Although he spoke casually, Jill could hear the tension in his voice, a wondering,