“No. To the Isle of Sleep,” Prestimion replied. “My mother remains in residence there. For the second time she has lost a son. It’ll do her good to have a visit from me in such a dark hour.” Rising, he said, “We should rejoin the company above, I think. Send for your Dinitak, and let’s meet with him here somewhere in the next few days.”
“I will, Prestimion.”
As they ascended the stairs Prestimion said, “I note that you come here with the Lady Fulkari. I found that somewhat surprising, after the conversation that you and I had had about her.”
“We are betrothed,” said Dekkeret, with a tiny smile.
“Even more of a surprise. It was my impression that Fulkari had rejected the idea of becoming the consort of the Coronal, and you were searching for some way to break with her. Am I wrong about that?”
“Not at all. But we held further discussions. We explained ourselves more clearly to each other.—Of course, there’ll be no announcement of any plans for a royal marriage until the pain of this business with Teotas has had a chance to fade.”
“Naturally not. But I hope you’ll give me proper notice when the time comes. I would have liked Confalume to officiate at my wedding, if events had permitted.” Prestimion paused and caught Dekkeret for a moment by the hand. “It would give me great pleasure to officiate at yours.”
“Let it be the Divine’s will that you do,” said Dekkeret. “It would be a good thing, anyway, that the next time the Pontifex travels to Castle Mount from the Labyrinth it’s for a happier occasion than the present one.”
2
“My lord, may I come in?” Abrigant said to Dekkeret, who had gone to the door to answer his knock.
Teotas’s funeral was three days in the past, now. Dinitak had come down from the Castle at Prestimion’s request. He and Prestimion and Dekkeret had been meeting for more than an hour. Things had not gone entirely smoothly. Something was amiss, though Dekkeret had no idea what it was. Prestimion seemed to be in a dark, cold, brooding mood, saying little, sometimes putting a curious bit of overemphasis on some otherwise innocuous statement. It was as if some change had come over him the other day, once Dekkeret had raised the likelihood that it was the Barjazid helmet that was to blame for what had befallen Teotas.
Abrigant’s knock offered a welcome break in the tension. Dekkeret went quickly to the door of Prestimion’s suite to see who it was, leaving Prestimion and Dinitak huddled over the helmet that Dinitak had brought down to Muldemar House with him. Prestimion was examining the helmet closely, poking at it with a fingertip and muttering under his breath, staring at it with open hatred as though it were some malevolent living thing that gave off poisonous exhalations. The Pontifex was radiating such an intensity of feeling that Dekkeret was glad to have an excuse to get away from him for a moment.
“It’s your brother you’re looking for, I suppose,” said Dekkeret. He gestured rearward with his thumb. “Prestimion’s back there.”
Abrigant seemed surprised and perhaps dismayed to discover
Dekkeret answering at Prestimion’s door. “Am I interrupting official business, my lord?”
“There’s a fairly important meeting going on, yes. But I think we can take a break for a little while.” Dekkeret heard footsteps behind him. Prestimion, frowning, emerged from within. “The Pontifex evidently feels the same way.”
Abrigant looked toward his brother and said, with some chagrin, “I had no idea, Prestimion, that you and the Coronal were having a conference, or I certainly would never have presumed—”
“A little intermission in the proceedings was in order, anyway,” Prestimion said. His tone was affable enough. But the tight set of his mouth and jaws showed exactly how displeased he was by the interruption. “Is there some urgent news that I need to know about, Abrigant?”
“News? No news, no. Only a little bit of family business. A matter of a minute or two.” Abrigant seemed off-balance. He shot a swift glance at Dekkeret, and then one at Dinitak, who now had come out from within also. “This really can wait, you know. It was hardly my intention to—”
Prestimion cut him off. “No matter. If we can take care of it as quickly as you say—”
“Shall Dinitak and I go back inside, and leave this sitting-room to the two of you?” asked Dekkeret.
“No, stay,” said Abrigant. “This isn’t really anything that requires privacy, I suppose. With your permission, my lords: I will need only a moment.” To Prestimion he said, “Brother, I’ve just been speaking with Varaile. She tells me that you and she will be leaving here in a day or two: not for the Labyrinth, though, but for the Isle of Sleep. Is this so?”
“It is.”
“It was my thought to go to the Isle myself, actually, as soon as I’ve dealt with all current business here. Our mother should not be alone at a time like this.”
Prestimion appeared irritated and confused. “Are you saying that you’d like to accompany me there, Abrigant?”
Abrigant’s face now mirrored Prestimion’s puzzlement. “That isn’t exactly what I had in mind. One of us must surely go to her; and I simply assumed that the responsibility for undertaking the trip would fall to me. The Pontifex, I felt, is likely to have important official duties at the Labyrinth that would prevent him from making such a long journey.” And, with increasing discomfort: “It’s certainly not customary for Pontifexes to visit the Isle, as I understand it. Or Coronals either, for that matter.”
“A great many things that aren’t customary have been happening in recent years,” Prestimion returned smoothly. “And I can do my Pontifexing wherever I happen to be.” His face darkened. “I am the eldest of her sons, Abrigant. I think this task is one for me to handle.”
“On the contrary, Prestimion—”
Dekkeret was beginning to find it more than a little embarrassing to be listening to this conversation between the brothers. He had been an unwilling witness to it in the first place; but now that it had turned into a tense dispute, it was something that he very much did not want to be overhearing. Something was going on here that only a member of the family could fully understand, and that no outsider should see.
If Abrigant, who had relinquished all public duties upon Dekkeret’s ascent to the throne and had more leisure for family matters these days than his royal brother, believed that he should be the one to comfort their mother in this difficult hour—well, Dekkeret conceded, he did have good reason for thinking that. But Prestimion was the older brother. Should he not be the one who decided which one of them was to go to the Isle?
And Prestimion was Pontifex as well. No one, Dekkeret thought, not even the Pontifex’s brother, should say something like “On the contrary” to a Pontifex.
In the end that was the conclusive point. Prestimion listened for a few moments more, confronting Abrigant with folded arms and containing himself with an only too apparent show of elaborate patience as Abrigant argued his case; and then he said simply, “I understand your feelings, brother. But I have other reasons, reasons of state, for needing to be abroad at this present moment. The Isle will be merely the first stop on my journey.” He was staring unwaveringly at Abrigant now. “What I must deal with,” Prestimion said, “is the matter that was under discussion here when you knocked at the door just now. Since it would be convenient as well as desirable for me to go to the Isle, there’s no need for you to make the trip as well.”
Abrigant greeted that with an instant or two of silence and a baffled stare. It seemed to be gradually sinking in upon him that Prestimion’s words amounted to a command.