The Dragon Revenant - Katharine Kerr [197]
“Know who I am?” Rhodry said. “My da.”
“That’s right.” Ye gods, he was thinking, what have I sired? She’s more an elf than I am! “Want to sit at the table of honor with me?”
“I do.”
When he held out his arms, she allowed herself to be picked up, and the gnomes danced round his feet as he carried her across the great hall.
Because of the pomp and ceremony, Lovyan had no chance at a private word with Rhodry that day. First all the noble-born servitors had to welcome the Maelwaedd home; then his vassals appeared to swear their oaths of loyalty; finally there was an enormous feast that lasted until well after midnight. Since she went to bed long before the revelers, when she came down the next morning, she was expecting to find the great hall empty, but Rhodry was sitting alone at the head of the honor table, drinking a tankard of ale and staring into the peat fire smoldering at the hearth.
“His Grace is up early,” Lovyan said.
“I never did need much sleep.” He rose, making her a half-bow. “Come sit down, Mother. I’ve much to thank you for.”
A servant appeared, bringing her usual morning bowl of warm milk and honey and a basket of fresh bread and butter. Rhodry took a chunk of the latter and nibbled it while they talked over the current business of the rhan, the spring taxes and the feuding lords who might or might not need his judgments on their affairs. She was surprised at how seriously he listened, asking her often to explain some detail or to recommend some servitor to tell him more. Finally he grinned at her.
“I can practically hear you thinking: ye gods, how much he’s changed!”
“Well, you have. I haven’t seen you for three years—or a bit more now, truly.”
“Do you remember, Mother, when you told me that I’d never been raised to rule? You were right enough, and now I know it, too. There’s much work ahead of me, but I promise you, I’ll tend to it.”
“I’m pleased to hear it, Your Grace. At least you can read and write. I insisted on that, you know, even though your father thought it a waste of time for a younger son.”
“No doubt he did.” For a moment Rhodry looked oddly distracted; then he smiled. “There’s one thing particularly pressing at the moment. I’ve got to marry, and soon.”
“Just so.” She hesitated for a long moment. “I don’t mean to cause you grief, but what’s happened to Jill?”
“She left me. That should be cursed obvious.”
“Very well. I don’t have to know why.”
“Oh, in a year or two I’ll tell you. Once the wound’s not running blood.”
When he stood up, pacing restlessly to the hearth, she followed, willing to let the subject drop for a while to spare him pain, but he continued it himself.
“I’m going to marry out of the rhan.”
“It would be best that way. When I heard you were safe, I started negodations with the tieryn of Elrydd. His elder daughter is lovely as well as shrewd.”
“Too bad, because you’ll have to break them off. I’ve sent Blaen off to be my second and ask for Ygwimyr of the Auddglyn’s sister. Aedda, I think her name is. I don’t give a pig’s fart what she looks like. I want that alliance.”
“What? Rhoddo, I’ve met that child at court, and she’s one of the worst choices you could make! She’s a pretty little thing, with lovely manners but no brains at all, and she’s as timid as a field mouse.”
“Too blasted bad.”
“Rhodry!”
By then the great hall was coming alive, with sleepy lords and riders alike stumbling in for their breakfasts. In a mutual silent agreement they went up to her reception chamber, a spacious room where the windows stood open to let in the soft spring sun. In a shaft of dust-flecked light they faced each other.
“If His Grace had only sent me a messenger, I’d have naught to say about it,” Lovyan said, picking each word carefully. “But as it is, things are most awkward …”
“If Her Grace had only waited to consult me, all the awkwardness would have never arisen. I’m sorry, Mother, but you’ll have to deal with Elrydd and put them off. Come now, you’re good at that sort of thing. You’ll doubtless enjoy all the politicking and wrangling.”
Lovyan