"But something, perhaps, that she has brought upon herself," Je'howith reminded him.
Danube's stern expression showed that he wasn't ready to accept that notion, that he understood that whatever Constance's actions to prevent or allow conception had been, he, too, had played more than a minor role.
"There is also the matter of your brother," said Je'howith, quickly changing the subject.
"And if I do nothing? " Danube asked, for he recognized that Je'howith, as abbot of St. Honce, was among the most knowledgeable men in the kingdom of the affairs of court. " If I simply let events take their place-let the child be born and do not invoke the Refusal, nor openly claim the child-then will the boy become heir to the throne above Midalis? "
Je'howith hesitated a moment, then nodded. "If you die before Midalis and it is commonly accepted that this child is yours, and by a woman who remains at your side, then the child will indeed have some claim to the throne. It will be no easy ascent, I expect, but rather, one strongly contested by writ and, perhaps, by sword. Wars have begun for lesser reasons, my King."
"Then I need to choose, and soon," Danube replied. "Do I wound Constance or enrage Midalis? For either way, it seems as if I am about to bring pain to a friend." "There remains a third option," saidJe'howith.
"I would never ask her to be rid of the baby," Danube insisted.
"No, not that," saidJe'howith. "Never that!"
Danube tilted his head, studying the man, convinced that if, as the abbot had remarked, other women had been rid of their unwanted children, then hypocritical old Je'howith, or some other gemstone-wielding monk, had likely played a role in the process.
"You can use a delaying tactic," the abbot went on, "a way for you to let the situation go on and let the passage of time guide you to more decisive and definitive action. This is not without precedent-you can issue a decree of Denial of Privilege, a technical term and legal maneuver that will not deny the child's claim to the throne forever, as you have done with your other bastard heirs, but will, rather, maintain the present status, keeping Constance's child outside the line of succession and keeping your optionor that of Midalis should he succeed you and die childless-for recognizing the child as rightful heir at a future date."
"Denial of Privilege?" Danube echoed.
"A temporary measure that has been used in centuries past," Je'howith answered. "And it is possible for you to even include contingencies that will lift the injunction against the child's becoming king. Let us suppose that you outlive your brother, then die unexpectedly."
"A truly inspiring supposition," Danube said dryly.
"In that case, had you so specified, Constance's child would assume the throne," Je'howith explained.
"And if I decree a Denial of Privilege and Midalis outlives me? "
"Then the child will have no claim to the throne above your brother, and it would be up to him to either assign rights to the child in the event of his childless demise or deny them outright with a formal Refusal of Acceptance."
King Danube settled back again and put his hand to his chin, trying to digest all of these options.
"How much easier it all would be if you, and your brother, had both married and sired proper heirs," the abbot lamented.
Danube glanced up at him, eyes narrow, a poignant reminder to the old abbot that he had indeed been married to Queen Vivian, who had died despite Je'howith's efforts to save her. And those efforts-or at least, the lack of their effectiveness-had in effect split the court of Ursal for many years and were the source of the lingering hatred between Je'howith and Duke Kalas.
Je'howith prompdy bowed and turned to leave.
And King Danube Brock Ursal, who had been happily celebrating what he thought would be a return to normalcy, found himself full of questions and turmoil. The delaying tactic sounded most promising, both for sparing Constance the pain and for placating Midalis, who had never really been close to his brother, the King, but had never been his rival either.
Yes, the Denial of Privilege seemed a promising course; and, in truth, when he looked at things that way, this all didn't seem like such a momentous problem.
However, there was one other complicating factor, an image of another woman, a warrior, a gemstone witch. It was an image King Danube could not shake out of his head.
Chapter 11
He had a feeling, as he flitted from tree to tree, of true warmth and friendship, a feeling not unlike that he experienced whenever he returned home to Andur'Blough Inninness after one of his forays into the realm of the humans. For Juraviel, the Timberiands region around Dundalis, Weedy Meadow, and End-o'-the-World-the former haunt of Nightbird, the home of both the ranger and Jilseponie-had the same smell and feel as the elven valley. How curious that notion struck the elf now as he moved along the forested hills and valleys, how surprising. Juraviel was Touel'alfar, of the people. That fact was the primary truth in his long life, the binding code of responsibility and of a specific and shared understanding of all the world and its varied inhabitants. In Juraviel's thoughts, in the thoughts of every Touel'alfar, even the least of friends among his own people-the other elf with whom he could not agree on anything, the elf he found most unpleasant-ranked far above the best of friends he might make among n'Touel'alfar, the folk not of the people. Juraviel did not question that tenet of his existence-never before and not now-but his feeling warmth as he neared the small human settlement of Dundalis, his feeling almost as if he were going home surprised him.
Perhaps, had he looked more deeply into himself, Belli'mar Juraviel would have noted then that his lines of ingrained reasoning were not in accord with the feelings within his heart.
The elf paused in his travels late one afternoon, finding a high branch of a wide maple where he could settle for a short rest. Soon he was comfortably asleep.
And then, soon after, he awoke to a haunting melody drifting on the evening breeze, echoing through the forest as if every tree were taking it inside in a deep and lingering breath and then blowing it out again for the rest of the forest to share, but altered, only slightly, by the heart of its last host tree. "The Forest Ghost," Juraviel whispered, and he smiled as he heard the name aloud, the name the humans of Elbryan's first home had bestowed upon the centaur, Brad-warden, and his bagpipes. How many times had young Elbryan and Jilseponie heard that tune? Juraviel wondered. How many times had it been just below their level of consciousness as they drifted off to sleep in their little beds?
And though even Bradwarden was considered n'Touel'alfar by his somewhat xenophobic people, Juraviel could not deny the comfort he derived from hearing the centaur's song, akin to the comfort he felt from just being in this region once more.
He followed the song slowly and whimsically, pausing to listen or to dance, whenever he found a clearing in the forest canopy that afforded him a beautiful view of the starlit heavens. He knew that the night was young and that Bradwarden often played until very, very late, so he meandered and he wandered. And finally he saw them, the centaur standing atop a bare-topped hillock, his pipes under one arm. Bradwarden was not as wide as other horses Juraviel had seen-certainly not as massive as mighty Symphony-but it seemed to the elf as if his centaur friend were ten feet tall, a gigantic and powerful creature. That such an obvious warrior could play such beautiful melodies struck Juraviel profoundly, the light and dark of Bradwarden's soul, at once ferocious and tender.
Reclining on the grass beside the centaur lay Roger Lockless. It occurred to Juraviel then that the young man, with his slightly angular features and delicate size-the result of a disease that had taken both his parentsseemed as much akin to the elves as to the humans. Not in temperament, though, Juraviel reminded himself. Roger had learned much in the trials of the last couple of years, had grown tremendously from the self-centered boy Juraviel and Nightbird had helped escape from the clutches of a vicious powrie band that had been occupying Caer Tinella. But as far as Juraviel and all the elves were concerned, he still had far, far to go even to approach the level of understanding and reasoning of Jilseponie. And from there, Roger would have far to go to begin to see the truth of the world as Bradwarden or Nightbird could see it; and even those two, despite everything, could never climb beyond the limitations of their kind, could never be anything but n'Touel'alfar.