In the King's Service (5 page)

It could be done—and had been done. Donal told himself that it had been no true betrayal of Sief, for he had not taken Sief’s wife out of lust or even covetous desire; it had been an affair of state, in the truest sense of the word.

But not in Sief’s eyes. Whatever his original intentions in marrying Jessamy, Sief would have regarded royal poaching on his marital prerogatives as, at very least, a breach of the feudal oaths that he and the king had exchanged. Donal regretted that.

Jessamy, too, had betrayed Sief, though undoubtedly for very different reasons than Donal’s. At least on some level, Donal sensed that she had seen this service to the king as one that she herself could render to the Crown of Gwynedd, beyond the reach of whatever arrangement had bound her to Sief other than her marriage vows. One day, when the shock of what he had just done was behind them, he would ask her what hold Sief had had over her. He suspected that it had something to do with both of them being Deryni, though he wasn’t sure.

But from childhood, he had surmised what Sief was—though he couldn’t explain just how he had known—and he had sensed Jessamy’s true nature soon after she arrived at court. In neither case did he feel either frightened or apprehensive, though he also took particular care not to let anyone else know, especially not any of the priests who frequented the court. Donal’s father had never been particularly forthcoming about what it was that made the Haldanes so special, that they could wield some of the powers usually only accessible to Deryni. But he
had
made it clear that this was part of the Divine Right that made the Haldanes kings of Gwynedd, and
that
justified extraordinary measures to protect said kingship. So far, Donal Haldane had committed both adultery and murder to keep it.

“Is he—dead?” came Jessamy’s whispered question, putting an end to the tumble of speculation that momentarily had held the king apart from his act.

Donal let his eyes refocus and glanced quickly around him. He had sunk to one knee beside the big bed, at the foot of which Sief sprawled motionless, apparently not breathing. Jessamy was lifting her head from over the infant clutched tight to her breast, her face white and bloodless as she craned forward to see. Krispin had stopped crying.

“Donal? Is he . . . ?”

“I think so,” the king said, a little sharply. He crawled on hands and knees to press his fingertips to the side of Sief’s neck, just beneath the ear, but he could feel no pulse. The eyes were closed, and when Donal peeled back one eyelid, the pupil was fixed and dilated. But he had already known, in a way that had something to do with his Haldane kingship, that Sief’s essence was fled beyond retrieving, the quick mind stilled forever.

“
Jesu,
I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Donal whispered, sinking back onto his heels. “But he’d guessed the truth. He turned on me. He was beyond reasoning.”

“I know,” Jessamy said softly, burying her face against the blanket wrapped around her child—
their
child.

“We shall say that it was his heart,” Donal said dully, dragging himself upright against the side of the bed. “No one else need know otherwise. His heart stopped. That
is
the ultimate cause of all death, after all.”

Jessamy slowly raised her head to look at him.

“You must not allow any of your nobles to inspect the body,” she said.

At his questioning look, she went on.

“There are Deryni in your household whom you do not know. What you have just done—leaves certain signs that can be read by those who know how.”

“There are other Deryni in my household!” Donal repeated, incredulous. “Besides yourselves. And you did not tell me?”

“I was not permitted to tell you,” she replied. “I was physically incapable of telling you. I still cannot tell you certain things.”

The king’s face went even more ashen, if that were possible, but indignant question was already stirring in his eyes.

“They mean you no harm, Sire,” she whispered, still clutching the child to her breast. “There are . . . those who have long been charged to watch over the House of Haldane, and to report back to . . . superiors. I am bound not to reveal their identities. They—have other obligations as well, an agenda of their own, which Sief served. It was they who required my marriage with him, after my father passed away.”

Donal simply stared at her for a long moment, finally bestirring himself to draw a deep breath.

“Other Deryni,” he murmured. “Why did it not occur to me before?”

When she said nothing, he slowly got to his feet, his gaze drifting back to Sief’s body.

“Is your brother one of them?” he said quietly, after a pause.

“You know what he is, Sire,” she replied. “And you know that he has always served you faithfully. More than that I may not tell you.”

“How dare—” He had started to answer her sharply, but broke off and took a deep breath, glancing again at Sief.

“Jessamy,” he whispered very softly, “you must help me in this. What we have done, we have done for the guarding of Gwynedd. But my guarding is incomplete, if I do not know as many of the dangers as possible. I must ask you again: What other Deryni are here at court?”

“I cannot tell you,” she said, very softly. “I wish that I could—but I cannot.”

She was silently weeping by the time Donal summoned help and men came running from outside Sief MacAthan’s suite of rooms, in the part of the castle where the king’s most trusted advisors were privileged to lodge. At that time, only the king himself was to know that the widow’s tears were tears of relief, to be free at last of Sief’s long tyranny.

 
 
THE Camberian Council learned of Sief’s death the following day, shortly after the news began to disseminate within the court at Rhemuth, for Seisyll Arilan attended on the court nearly every morning. Seisyll had been surprised to hear it, since Sief had seemed in good health the previous evening, but he dutifully set in motion the usual mechanism by which the Council was summoned outside their normal schedule of meetings, and continued to gather what further information he could, until time came for them to meet.

“It seems to have taken everyone by surprise,” Seisyll told his fellow Council members early that evening—now only five of them, for their missing member had yet to regain Portal access. “I’m informed that the king’s own physician was summoned immediately, but there was nothing to be done.”

“You weren’t able to see the body?” Barrett asked.

Seisyll shook his head. “Not yet. There was no way I could manage it without calling attention to myself. Besides, they’re saying it was his heart. He was about sixty, after all—the oldest among us.”

“But not
that
old, for one of us,” Michon said quietly. “You and I are hardly a decade younger, Seisyll.”

Seissyl merely shrugged as Dominy de Laney cocked her head in Michon’s direction.

“Surely you don’t suspect foul play,” she said.

“No. It’s curious, though, that the king was with him. It would have been late. Did anyone hear him mention that he planned to see the king after he left us?”

The others at the table shook their heads.

“That wouldn’t signify, if the king came to
him
,” Barrett pointed out. “He wouldn’t necessarily have known that the king would seek him out.”

“Are we reaching for some connection between the king’s presence and Sief’s death?” Dominy asked. “Because I don’t see any. What motive could there be, if there were? From all accounts, Sief had an excellent relationship with the king.”

Seisyll nodded. “They had been friends for years. So had . . .”

Speculation kindled in the blue-violet eyes as his voice trailed off, echoed in the expressions that began to animate the faces of the others with him.

“I see,” said Vivienne, “that I am not the only one to wonder whether we must worry again about Lewys ap Norfal’s daughter.”

Dominy shook her head, though the vehemence of her denial was at odds with her troubled expression. “What possible worry could there be? Surely you aren’t suggesting that she had a hand in her husband’s death?”

“Such things have been known to happen,” Vivienne said dryly.

“Then, it appears that further investigations should be made,” Seisyll replied. “And since I’m the one most regularly at court, the task obviously falls to me.”

“What will you do?” Dominy asked.

“Try again, to have a closer look at the body,” Seisyll replied. “The funeral will be from the cathedral tomorrow morning, so he lies tonight in a side chapel there. It is known we were friends. It would be remiss of me not to pay my respects.”

“The funeral is tomorrow?” Vivienne said. “Does that seem over-hasty to anyone besides me?”

Seisyll shrugged. “All the more reason to satisfy our curiosity tonight.”

“And if others interrupt your visit?” Vivienne asked. “Even if others of his friends do not come, the brothers of the cathedral chapter will keep watch through the night.”

“The brothers can be induced to doze at their devotions,” Seisyll said lightly. “If Michon will accompany me, we can certainly accomplish what is needful.”

Michon inclined his head in agreement, his gray eyes glinting with faint amusement. “Audacious, as always; but I shall rise to the challenge.”

Dominy de Laney gave a genteel snort, and Barrett raised one scant eyebrow.

“I suppose it’s pointless to tell you to be careful,” Vivienne said sourly.

Even Seisyll chuckled at that, for though Sief’s death left him and Michon as the Council’s senior members, both now past the half-century mark, the pair owned a long history of daring exploits on behalf of their race; Vivienne alone would reckon them reckless.

“Darling Vivienne,” Michon said with a tiny, droll smile, “we are
always
careful.”

 
 
LATER that night, as the city watch cried the midnight hour and most of Rhemuth slept, Sir Seisyll Arilan summoned a servant with a torch and made his way quietly down the winding street that led from the castle toward the cathedral. As a trusted royal courtier, he was often abroad at odd hours on the king’s business, so the occasional guard he passed gave little response save to salute his rank and ensure that his passage was uneventful.

As expected, the cathedral was deserted save for a pair of monks keeping watch beside Sief’s open coffin, there where it rested on its catafalque before the altar of a side chapel. Tall candles flanked the coffin, set three to either side, and the prayers of the kneeling monks whispered in the stillness, offered up in antiphon. After a glance to assess the situation, Seisyll drew his servant back into the nave and bade him kneel in the shadow of a pillar not far from the chapel entrance.

“Keep watch here, and pray for the soul of Sir Sief MacAthan,” he whispered, also laying a hand on the man’s wrist and applying a compulsion to do just that.

Satisfied that the man would not interfere, Seisyll made his way silently toward the door to the cathedral sacristy, which lay in the angle of the nave with the south transept. The door was locked, but it yielded quickly to his Deryni touch.

Inside, he closed the door behind him and summoned handfire to augment the light of the Presence lamp burning above the tabernacle behind the sacristy’s vesting altar. By their combined light, he could easily make out the design set into the tessellated pavement covering the center of the floor. Stepping onto it, he composed his thoughts and focused his intent, visualizing his destination.

In an eye-blink, he was standing in the Portal outside the chamber where the Camberian Council met. Michon was waiting just outside, dressed all in black and looking uncharacteristically sinister.

“All’s well, I take it?” Michon murmured.

Seisyll nodded, also inviting for Michon to step onto the Portal with him.

“Two monks praying in the chapel where they’ve put Sief’s coffin,” he replied. “I brought Benjamin to light the way. He’s settled to keep watch outside the chapel while we do what needs to be done.”

Merely grinning, Michon turned his back on Seisyll and allowed the other to set hands on his shoulders, eyes closing as he opened his mind to the other’s direction. A moment’s vague disorientation as the link was made—and then they were standing in the still-deserted sacristy at Rhemuth Cathedral. Quickly the pair glided to the door, scanned outside, then made their way back among the shadowed columns to where Seisyll’s servant kept watch outside the mortuary chapel.

Seisyll said nothing as he set a hand on the servant’s shoulder, probing briefly for an update. No one had come, and the monks had not ceased their chanting.

With a glance at Michon, Seisyll started into the chapel, making no attempt at stealth as he headed toward one of the monks, aware that Michon was advancing more silently on the other while attention was turned toward Seisyll. Within seconds, both monks nodded deeper in prayer, oblivious to their surroundings. With a glance back at Benjamin, who now would intercept anyone heading toward the chapel and give warning, the two Deryni turned their attention to the coffin where lay the mortal remains of Sief MacAthan.

He lay silent and pale in his funeral garb, a gauzy veil drawn across his face. As Michon ran the flat of one palm above the dead man’s chest, Seisyll started to lift the veil for a closer look. In that instant, a forlorn sob barked across the length of the chapel from where Benjamin knelt just outside: his signal that someone was coming.

Hastily Seisyll drew back his hand and crossed himself to cover the movement, keeping his head bowed, at the same time sending instructions to the entranced monks to resume their formal prayers. Michon likewise bowed his head, withdrawing his hand. Seconds later, several more monks came into the chapel: obviously the relief for the ones still kneeling to either side of the coffin, who were blinking in surprise and a trace of guilt at having dozed at their posts.