They rattled along in taut silence for several minutes, the thud of the drums somewhat blurred by the clangor of iron-bound carriage wheels on cobbles, until the king finally said, «I would have given your sister to Sir Se, you know». He gave an apologetic shrug at their looks of surprise. «Yes, he'd made it clear that they were fond of one another. And after word came of her death, he came to me and confessed everything. And yes, I know what he is», he added, as both of them became suddenly guarded. «I'd guessed, before, but he confirmed it».
He glanced out the window briefly, then returned his attention to the two of them.
«If I'd been what the bishops would have me be, as a king, that could have been an end to him, of course — but I'm not. Some would even condemn the fact that the three of us are sitting here, having this conversation. Some would say that I or my ancestors should have routed out the seed of Corwyn years ago, root and stock, that I should have given the duchy to a human line.
«But we Haldanes have always sensed the usefulness of having a Deryni House in Corwyn, as a buffer with Torenth. It isn't something I'd expect the bishops to understand — they certainly don't approve — but they don't rule Gwynedd; I do. And it's been my choice, and that of my predecessors, to keep a Deryni line on the ducal throne in Corwyn — and to shelter certain other Deryni at my court. I very much regret that my sheltering of your sister was not sufficient to keep her safe. But human jealousy is something that can't easily be predicted».
«What — will happen to Sé, Sire?» Alyce asked pleating together folds of her skirt.
Donal cocked his head at her. «Do you fancy him?»
She looked up sharply. «You mean — to marry him?» she asked in a small voice.
«I told you I would have given him your sister. I shall do the same for you, if you wish it».
She swallowed with difficulty, then gave a small shake of her head.
«Then, is there someone else you fancy?»
«No, Sire. But Sé is like another brother to me. I could not marry him — unless, of course, you desired it».
«Dear Alyce». The king glanced at her brother. «Your sister knows her duty, Ahern. But this is not, perhaps, the time to speak of marriages. One day soon, I shall ask both of you to marry as I direct. But I think we first must bury your dear sister».
Very shortly, the carriage rattled to a halt before the cathedral's great west portal. When a footman had opened the carriage door and set steps in place before it, the occupants alighted, the king holding back briefly to admire the six black horses hitched to the carriage, while brother and sister followed their sister's coffin up the cathedral steps.
It was Father Paschal who met them just inside, Coroth's bishop having found excuse to be away from the capital for the week, rather than preside at the funeral obsequies of a Deryni. But the cathedral chapter had not scrupled to receive the body of this latest daughter of Corwyn. They waited now, lined up across the top step, before the great doors, each bearing a thick funeral taper of fine beeswax in his two hands. When Paschal had censed and aspersed the coffin at the great west door, the monks led it inside, softly chanting an introit borrowed from the priest's Eastern heritage, intoned over a continuous «ison» or drone:
«Chori angelorum te suscipiat… In paradisum deducant te angeli… Memento mei, Domini, cum veneris in regnum tuum…»
«May choirs of angels receive thee… May the angels accompany thee to paradise… Remember me, O Lord, when You come into Your kingdom…»
The haunting orison drifted on the stillness as Marie de Corwyn was borne down a center aisle strewn with the flower petals that should have led her to her marriage bed. Young girls crowned with flowers accompanied the white-draped coffin to its resting place before the altar, each carrying a single red rose.
The catafalque waiting to receive her was likewise strewn with flower petals, and the girls sweetly laid their flowers atop the coffin when it had been set in place. After that, all those in the funeral party knelt for prayers led by Father Paschal.
They laid Marie de Corwyn to rest two days later, in the crypt of the cathedral where her ancestors had worshipped and married and where many of them had been buried. Her tomb would lie between those of two other Corwyn women who had predeceased her: their mother, Stevana de Corwyn, and her mother, the incomparable Grania.
Afterward, as mourners filed back up the steps to the nave, preparing to disperse, Alyce saw Sé hanging back from the others, and felt the brush of his mind as he gazed at her, willing her to look in his direction.
Disengaging from the company of her brother and the king, she went back to her sister's sarcophagus and knelt beside it, ostensibly to pray. Sé lingered until all the others had gone, then came to kneel beside her, laying one hand on the alabaster lid of the sarcophagus. There had been little opportunity for private conversation until now.
«I wish I had known that the king looked kindly on the prospect of our marriage…», he said softly.
Alyce gently shook her head. «That would not have saved her», she whispered.
«Probably not». Sliding his forearm onto the lid, Sé bent to touch his lips to the cool stone, then straightened again, not looking at her.
«Did she suffer?» he asked.
Alyce started to shake her head in automatic denial, then drew a resolute breath. Lying to another Deryni was fruitless, even if intended to give comfort.
«The poison… would have affected her breathing», she murmured truthfully. «Little Isan and Brigetta as well. I — don't know what they might have suffered».
«Dear God…», he whispered, his eyes bright with tears as he lowered his forehead onto his arm.
«Sé, what will you do?» she asked, after a few seconds.
He raised his head, wiping across his eyes with the back of his hand, not really seeing her.
«I'm not yet certain», he said dully. «I had begun to plan for a future that no longer exists. Now that she is gone…»
He shook his head, swallowing hard.
«Alyce, I may leave Gwynedd», he went on. «I don't know that I care to live anymore where our people are so despised».
«But — it was jealousy that killed her, not our blood, Alyce protested.
«Is that really true?» he asked. «I'm not certain. If Marie hadn't been Deryni, do you think Muriella would have dared to do what she did? Hatred was certainly a factor».
«Perhaps. She certainly wasn't fond of me or Marie». After a short pause, she said, «Are you aware that the king offered to give you my hand, in place of Marie's?»
He nodded bleakly. «I sensed that he might. But I don't think that's what either of us wants, is it, dearest sister?»
As he slid his hand over hers, she shrugged and smiled faintly. «Probably not — though he's said that he intends both me and Ahern to marry soon. Nor can I quarrel with his reasoning. Ahern must marry and produce an heir, and I…» She shook her head in resignation.
«Until the future Duke of Corwyn has produced his heir, I am a valuable inducement for the loyalty of some ambitious courtier. I wonder that he even offered me the choice to marry you. But if I cannot marry for love — and I wish there were someone I pined for — at least let my marriage serve the interests of the King».
Sé smiled bitterly. «You have been bred too well to your duty, Alyce. Fortunate the man who wins your hand».
She gave him a wan reflection of his own smile, then looked away again.
«Sé, what will you do?»
«Well, I do intend to go away for a while». He turned his gaze back to Marie's sarcophagus. «I thought to seek counsel of my father, back at Jenadur».