The Red Wyvern - Katharine Kerr [28]
“Ah, there you are, good herald,” Merodda said. “My thanks for attending upon us.”
“It’s my honor, your ladyship. And what may I do for you?”
“I’ve a question,” Merodda said, pointing. “On this shield here, whose device is this? The red wyvern, I mean.”
“Sadly, the clan that bore it is long gone.” Dennyc ambled over to join her. “The last heir died before I was born, and so I know only what my predecessor told me. They held land off in the west and were related to the blood royal of both Deverry and Pyrdon. Just exactly how I don’t remember, though I could of course look it up for you.”
“Oh, do spare yourself the effort. It doesn’t matter.” Merodda suddenly laughed. “Since they’re gone and all.”
Bevyan could only wonder why, but there was no doubt that Merodda looked profoundly relieved. Dennyc bowed again.
“I’d been hoping for a word with your ladyship,” the herald said. “I understand that she’s betrothed her daughter to Braemys of the Boar.”
“I have, indeed.”
“Ah, I was thinking, you see, being as I do study such things, Your Ladyship, the best to serve my king and all who serve him, that perhaps the marriage is a bit too much of a close one.”
For the briefest of moments Merodda went as still as a rabbit in the bracken when it hears the hounds. Perhaps it was merely the bright light in the room, but she went a little pale around the mouth as well—again, for a brief moment. With what must have been an effort, she smiled.
“Cousin marriages are common in all the great clans,” Merodda said.
“Just so, my lady.” Dennyc bowed with the air of a man who wasn’t quite sure of what else to do. “But there have been so many first cousin marriages among the Boar that I thought perhaps it was my duty to warn her ladyship, merely warn her of course as the decision will always remain hers and her brother’s, but,” he paused for a brief breath, “perhaps if there were some other candidate who pleased her ladyship equally well—”
“There’s not.” Merodda spoke firmly but politely. “My thanks, good Dennyc. Lady Bevyan, shall we go?”
“As you wish, my lady.”
Bevyan and Merodda parted company at the door of the king’s broch, but all that morning, as she walked in the gardens as part of the queen’s retinue, Bevyan found her worry gnawing at her. Apparently the news of Lady Lillorigga’s marriage had reached royalty as well as the heralds. With a wave of one slender hand, Abrwnna motioned Bevyan up to walk beside her.
“I hear your foster daughter is to marry Lord Braemys,” the queen said.
“She is, Your Highness.”
“And here I was going to take him into my fellowship.” Abrwnna tossed her head with a ripple of red-gold hair in the sunlight. “I’m glad now I didn’t.”
“I see, Your Highness.”
They walked a bit farther down a gravelled path to a wall where climbing roses were just beginning to bud. The queen picked one and forced the tiny petals open with her thumb.
“I let your son know that he’d be welcome to join my fellowship. He declined. Did you know that?”
“I didn’t, Your Highness. I hope you weren’t offended.”
“Of course I was. But it’s not your fault.”
Before Bevyan could think of a tactful comment, the queen dismissed her again.
As Bevyan was entering the great hall for dinner with her women behind her, chance brought her face to face with Regent Burcan, followed by his own retinue. They smiled and exchanged pleasantries, but Bevyan found herself