«I fear the bowel has ruptured», the surgeon told her, after she came out of his room. «We have tried to keep him quiet, and have given him nothing by mouth save a little water, but his agony has been intense. And his breath — the foetor oris». He shook his head. «It is only a matter of time».
She cried a little then, weeping wearily against Sir Kenneth's chest, then dried her tears and went back into her brother's room. After putting him to sleep — and breathing a silent prayer that a miracle might yet come to pass — she gave her grim report to the king, then fell gratefully into the bed the sisters provided and slept through the night, Zoë curled dismally beside her.
Ahern was no better the next morning, though at least his night had been peaceful. In truth, he was now slipping in and out of coma, and his features had begun to take on a waxen, transparent quality. A priest had been summoned to administer the last rites, and was waiting outside the room with the king and Duke Richard. Sir Jovett was changing a compress on his forehead, in an ongoing attempt to ease his fever.
«I don't want to die here, Alyce», he told her, rousing at about midday as she and Zoë held his hands and Kenneth tried to comfort both of them. «And I wanted to marry Zoë. I still do!» he declared, turning his burning gaze first on her and then on her father, then lifting her hand to his lips.
«Zoë Morgan, will you consent to do me the very great honor of giving me your hand in marriage?» he murmured.
«I will, she breathed, tears streaming down her cheeks. «I will!»
«Then, someone, fetch that priest», he rasped. «And there should be other witnesses. Is the king about? And Jovett — call Jovett, my faithful friend…»
Kenneth had already gone to fetch the priest, waiting outside with the king and Duke Richard, and returned immediately with all three of them, Jovett following behind.
«But, my lord», the priest was protesting, «he should receive Unction first. He may not have much time».
«Time enough to marry this fair lass», the king replied, grasping the priest's sleeve and propelling him to the bedside. «Do it, Father!»
Trembling, the priest put on his stole and joined their right hands, leading them through a much abbreviated form of the wedding vows.
«Ego conjugo vos in matrimonium: In Nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti, Amen», he concluded, when they had taken one another for better and for worse, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death did them part, and Ahern had given her his name and the gold ring engraved with the arms of Lendour — not yet impaled with the Corwyn arms, as had one day been his expectation, but token, nonetheless, of his intentions.
Only then did he allow the priest to anoint him for his final journey, and give him viaticum to speed him on his way. When he slipped again into coma a little while later, Alyce sealed him from pain and gently kissed his forehead in farewell, then left him in the care of his bride of but an hour, herding everyone else out of the room.
It was but another hour later when Zoë appeared at the door, eyes downcast, and stood aside to let them look beyond to where he now lay at peace.
Later that morning, after Ahern's friends had paid their respects, the priest who had married him, shriven him, and given him the Last Rites of his faith sang him a Requiem there in the abbey, his soul uplifted by the angel-voices of the sisters who had cared for him in his final days.
Few mourned more profoundly than his king, who knelt beside Ahern's grieving sister and his bride of only hours with his face buried in his hands, pondering what would become of the gaping hole left by the dead man's untimely passing. In his all too short life, Ahern de Corwyn had taken on the mantle of his noble inheritance with passion and courage, overcoming adversities that might have seduced a lesser man into accepting the life of a wealthy and privileged cripple.
Only recently had the first stirrings of a born military genius begun to blossom — along with a quiet self-confidence regarding his Deryni gifts. Both had been of inestimable value in the campaign just past — and both had been lost with his death. Ahern had been but eighteen.
In sum, had he lived, he would have become a formidable Duke of Corwyn, in time. Instead, the mantle of that noble heritage now fell upon his sister Alyce — or rather, her eventual son.
Ensuring that she took a suitable father for that son now became yet another burden that Donal Haldane must bear, for Alyce de Corwyn shared the same blood and heritage as the dead man, and likely with similar potential. Any son of Alyce must be mentored by a father of unimpeachable integrity, with the ability to guide up the boy in the way he should go — a pair of safe hands in which to entrust the power that came with eventually taking the reins of ducal authority in Corwyn.
No such considerations yet stirred the mind of the potential mother of such a duke. For Alyce, the losing of her beloved brother represented a shock not unlike what she had experienced after the death of their father, three years before, and the loss of their sister, not a year past.
Once again, Zoë Morgan knelt at her side, but this time not merely as bosom companion but as sister, briefly bound to Ahern in law and spirit, but fated never to consummate that union. If Alyce now wept, she wept for Zoë as much as for Ahern — and for herself. Her brother's death changed many things. Some things, however, remained sadly and always the same.
The cheerless journey back to Rhemuth with Ahern's body was eased somewhat by Zoë's presence, sharing her grief. Again, the robes of mourning must be pulled from coffers, and again a Requiem was sung for a departed earl of Lendour in the chapel royal, before sending his body home for burial. Though Duke of Corwyn by birth, Ahern de Corwyn had never ruled in his ducal lands, so the decision was taken to inter him at Cynfyn with his father and other scions of the Lendour line.
Much of the next few weeks seemed like a repeat of the obsequies for Keryell three years before, though with an even larger turn-out. Ahern had won the hearts of all his Lendouri subjects during the months of his convalescence and the mastery of his injury’s aftermath, and his people had been well proud when the king consented not only to knight him ahead of custom but to confirm him in his Lendour title, also departing from what the law ordinarily allowed.
Corwyn, too, paid him homage in death, in far greater numbers than they had for his father, for Ahern would have been their duke in fact, had he lived; Keryell had never been aught but caretaker, where Corwyn was concerned.
His young widow they took to their hearts as well, with wistful regret that she now would never carry on his line. The knights who would have been his support and mainstay as he took up his duties — Deinol Hartmann, Jovett Chandos, and even Sé Trelawney come from his unknown duties in far R'Kassi — rallied to the support of his sister, promising to keep safe in trust the lands that now would pass through her line instead of Ahern's.
Both Alyce and Zoë were exhausted by the time they arrived back in Rhemuth, though their return at least was marked by happier anticipation as the time approached for the queen's latest lying-in. In addition, the king had appointed a permanent governor for Ratharkin, a baron from the Purple March called Lucien Talbot, which had relieved Earl Jared to return to Rhemuth and make his formal declaration to Vera to become his wife. Very shortly after, Vera had journeyed to her family home near Cynfyn, there to make preparations for a wedding in Kierney the following spring. Letters were awaiting Alyce and Zoë, telling of the wedding plans and inviting their participation in the happy event.