The Red Wyvern - Katharine Kerr [130]
Back and forth across the innermost ward, servants hurried to follow the orders of the new masters of the dun. As Nevyn was crossing the ward, he asked each servant he met if they knew the whereabouts of Lady Merodda of the Boar. None did, or at the least, none admitted it. Nevyn was determined to find her, assuming she hadn’t fled the dun, of course. He was already planning out how to question her about the curse-tablet back in Cerrmor. Unfortunately, his place during the day’s events was at the prince’s side. Time to search would be hard to come by.
All that morning Maryn held an improvised malover. Although he refused to consider himself king until the priests performed the final ceremonies, no one was about to argue with his right of conquest. He was, after all, the Marked Prince of Pyrdon and Cerrmor as well as of Deverry now by default. A few at a time, stripped of all weapons and escorted by guards, the lords whom his victory had turned into rebels and traitors knelt before him to beg for his pardon and to swear fealty to him and his line forever. The lords whose lands lay to the south grovelled shamelessly; the northern lords were sullen, but they all knelt, every one of them.
The common-born in the dun and the women of all ranks were deemed beneath the king’s notice—except of course for the former queen of all Deverry. Late in the day Oggyn had her brought into the malover with a serving girl along as a protection of sorts for her honor. The queen wore a dark green dress, stiff with embroidery at hem and sleeve, and her flame-red hair spread uncombed over her shoulders like a shawl. Nevyn noticed the men in the hall turning to appraise her as the guards hurried her forward.
“Your Highness?” said a guard. “This is the would-be queen.”
Abrwnna knelt at the king’s feet. Strands of her hair stuck to her cheeks with tears; they looked like scratches, Nevyn found himself thinking, as if this were the Dawntime and she had raked her face bloody with her own nails.
“This is the wife of the false king?” Maryn said.
“She is, my liege,” Oggyn said, “and a pitiful sight, truly.”
“Just barely a woman, my liege,” Nevyn put in. “And married off to an outright child. I wouldn’t call her a threat to the kingdom.”
“I agree with my lord Nevyn,” Oggyn said. “No doubt we can find her shelter in some temple of the Goddess.”
“I’d rather die.” Abrwnna’s voice was a bare whisper. “Don’t lock me up. I’d rather die.”
“Now here, child!” Oggyn said. “You’ll feel differently once you’ve had a chance to think about things.”
Abrwnna raised her head and stared at the councillor until her rage made him turn away.
“Prince Maryn,” she said at last, “everyone tells me you’re merciful beyond belief. Then kill me and don’t shut me up somewhere to moulder. I’d rather die than go mad.”
Maryn sighed, just once but sharply.
“Well, can’t we make some other provision for her?” The king glanced Nevyn’s way. “She’s got no claim to the throne whatsoever.”
“Just so,” Nevyn said. “We could settle her upon one of your loyal lords. I’ve no doubt that she was married in name only.”
“That’s true.” Hope brought a flicker of life to Abrwnna’s eyes. “I’d swear any vow you wanted me to. I’d never do anything to harm you or yours, truly I wouldn’t.”
“She’s not in a position to do any harm,” Oggyn broke in. “I agree with Nevyn in this case.”
The stress was unmistakable. Maryn ignored it.
“Very well, then,” the king said. “Who handles things like this? The priests?”
“I’ll make the proper arrangements, Your Highness,” Nevyn said. “And perhaps one of your lords will speak and take her.”
“She’ll be a widow soon enough,” Oggyn muttered.
Out in the crowded hall Tieryn Anasyn leapt to his feet as fast as a grouse breaking cover, and swooped down on the king. He flung himself to a kneel beside Abrwnna.
“My liege,” Anasyn said. “I’d be honored