She sat up straight. ‘I will look and not swoon. I promise.’
‘The sight is not so terrible, for the injury is entirely healed through magic, even though it happened less than a week ago.’ He showed her the stump of the arm with its clean pad of skin and flesh showing only faint reddish lines of scarring.
‘But how can this be?’ she gasped. ‘And you say it doesn’t hurt?’
‘Not at all. Listen: what I tell you now you must reveal to no one, not even your parents. I climbed a high mountain with my two brothers, intending to petition…certain supernatural beings for a miracle. I asked them to let it be possible for the two of us to marry, thinking that if they answered my prayer, my hardhearted father would relent from tearing us apart and cancel my betrothal to Princess Hyndry. The uncanny creatures at the mountaintop warned me that my miracle would require a heavy price. I told them I’d pay anything for you. I admit I did not expect to lose my lower right arm! But I renounce it gladly if – if you can find it in your heart to accept a mutilated man for your husband. A man who can never be king.’
Tenderly, she enclosed the stump in both of her small hands. ‘I love you and want you, Orrion. It matters not a whit to me that you have no sword arm.’
‘The Sovereign may condemn me to death,’ Orrion said, ‘or cast me into prison or banish me to some distant place. Even if he spares my life, he might forbid our union.’
‘But if he does not?’
‘This is why I asked you to travel here with your parents. If they will agree to it, I intend to wed you. But my honor demands that I first present myself to my father at Boarsden. There I must relinquish the title of Prince Heritor to my brother Corodon, while submitting myself to the king’s mercy. You and your parents can wait here for Father’s decision. ’
‘Surely you don’t plan to tell the High King that your wound was caused by sorcery?’ She was calmer now, contemplating their future.
‘My brother Vra-Bramlow has thought of a plan. If it succeeds, the king and everyone else save you and my brothers and possibly Lord Stergos, the Royal Alchymist, will believe the loss of my arm was an accident, caused by my own rash misadventure, rather than the result of a magical bargain. Thus far, I’ve managed to conceal the severity of the injury from my own Heart Companions and from Coro’s. I intend to continue the subterfuge until we reach Boarsden, so that no advance news of it will be transmitted on the wind. I’ll seek the help of Lord Stergos, who has always been a kind friend to me, to hide the true nature of my wound and to plead mercy for you and me before the High King.’
Confusion clouded her features. ‘And what if he forbids us to wed?’
‘I don’t think Father will be so cruel – or so wasteful.’ Orrion’s smile was mordant. ‘I can still serve the Sovereignty well as a court official, even one-handed, and give you children of royal blood. As for Princess Hyndry, my twin brother Coro will happily wed her. And even more happily take up my role as Prince Heritor.’
‘I – I’ll pray for such a fortunate outcome.’
‘Now we must go to your parents.’
They kissed, then left the walled garden. Vra-Bramlow joined them in the courtyard and all three went to dine with Count and Countess Brackenfield in their private rooms.
Beynor of Moss, whose peerless scrying ability had easily penetrated Bramlow’s inexpert spell of couverture, had read the lips of the lovers and learned one of the Prince Heritor’s secrets. Now, loitering unobtrusively near the staircase leading into the keep amongst a few other guests, he discovered a second, even greater secret – one that Orrion himself was unaware of.
As the prince’s gaze momentarily met that of the gaunt stranger, he gave a pleasant nod of greeting and passed by –
Leaving Beynor stunned. For the sorcerer recognized what Cathra’s Brothers of Zeth had evidently been unable to discern: like his father Conrig, Orrion Wincantor possessed a minute portion of uncanny talent. Its spark was unmistakable within the prince’s eyes. It was evident that the young man knew nothing of his magical ability, nor did anyone else. He was doubly ineligible to inherit the throne of Cathra!
But what of his twin?
Prince Corodon would now inherit the throne. Suppose that he, too, unwittingly carried the taint? It would be easy enough for Beynor to learn the truth. All he need do was look the prince in the eye. And if both father and son were magically talented –
Beynor’s plan to influence Conrig had been constrained by the king’s intractable personality. He would be hellishly difficult to control, since Beynor could think of no coercive advantage to use against him. But Corodon, that shallow-minded fool, could well provide the much-needed leverage – one way or another.
If only the prince had talent…
‘Messire?’
Beynor’s stream of thought was broken by a polite voice. A castle footman had approached him. ‘If you please, a fine dinner is about to be served to the guests in the great hall. Would you care to partake?’
‘I would indeed,’ Beynor exclaimed, clapping the fellow on the shoulder. ‘Lead me to a good place at table, and I’ll give you a generous token of my appreciation.’
‘With pleasure, messire.’
The two of them ascended the stairs together, chatting pleasantly of inconsequential matters. Beynor showed disappointment when he was told that all three Cathran princes would dine privately, rather than with him and the other privileged guests. But there would be plenty of time tomorrow to make their acquaintance.
On a secluded hummock of dry land near Castle Morass stood a village inhabited by the uncanny small folk called the Green Men. On that night their meeting hall was brightly lit and adorned about the eaves and doorway with green boughs and late-summer flowers. Inside, a band of musicians played flute and syrinx, dulcimer and lute, hand-drum and wood-block, accompanying a chorus of high voices singing a nuptial anthem.
Crowned with purple and white asters, Induna and Deveron danced together, surrounded by a circle of well-wishers witnessing and celebrating their union. The wedding rings on their fingers were made of a shining transparent material resembling topaz. The village headman Cargalooy Tidzall, who pronounced the humans man and wife, told them that the rings were carved from the discarded teeth of Morass Worms, following an ancient Green tradition.
The suite in Boarsden Castle assigned to Somarus Mallburn, Didion’s king, was situated in the huge North Tower at some distance from the rooms set aside for the other dignitaries, so that when His Majesty suffered one of his all-too-frequent drunken tantrums, the rest of the ranking guests attending the ongoing Council of War would not be disturbed.
After prudent questioning of the royal attendants, Kilian Blackhorse, Lord Chancellor of Didion, learned to his relief that tonight for a change Somarus was tranquil as well as wide awake. At the eleventh hour after noontide, when most of the castle had already retired, Kilian was admitted to the royal apartment by Kaligaskus, the Chief Lord of Chamber. Prudently, he waited near the door while being announced, in case he was refused an audience.
The monarch sat at a small table in his bedroom, clad in a nightshirt of white lawn and a shabby old sable-trimmed robe. Rain now hissed drearily on the tower’s leaded windows and the air was rather chilly, but Somarus seemed not to notice, so engrossed was he in the task he’d assigned himself. Candlesticks backed by mirrors gave him bright light in a room otherwise dim. Spread out on the worktable was a collection of small boxes, tools, and other objects, along with a flagon of plum brandy and a golden goblet.
Using tweezers, Somarus lifted a dripping dead insect from a clay dish holding water. After scrutinizing this repugnant thing closely, he set it aside and began to fiddle with a small vice clamped to the