presence?
Gods, how had he lived his life this far without her?
They still walked through their dream of candlelight and flowers, at least in private. They still existed in the singing and the bells, and saw the garlands and the bright banners that were all he in good truth remembered of the wedding ⦠well, there had been the satisfying and uncommon sight of certain of his unhappy barons trying valiantly to smile through the ceremony, and the equally uncommon sight of the Quinalt Patriarchâs cousin Sulriggan, Duke of Llymaryn, positively aglow with happiness: Sulrigganâs return from near exile having been the coin for the Patriarchâs acceptance of Her Grace, the two were not unrelated circumstances.
That glow on Sulrigganâs countenance continued to this very hour.
Looking out over the barons who were in attendance this evening, he saw the same sources of discontent, and expressions of gloom on those he had destined for retribution when he found the means ⦠policy, not utter self-indulgence: the barons would learn him, or by the gods make way for those who would.
One of those acts of retribution, in fact, he would deal out this very evening, and contemplating that prospect, he could sit on the cursed stone and smile down on his court in honest contentment. Conspiracies to overthrow him would come to nothing, while he held a certain damning letter and while he had the loyalty of such as Tristen of Amefel and Cevulirn and the rest of the lords of the south. Even the middle lands had gained courage from the resolute muster of the south this summerâs end, and might see their own affairs as safer in the hands of a strong monarch than in the hands of the northern tier of self-serving barons.
Unlikeliest allies of all, he now had the Patriarch and Lord Sulriggan to draw upon ⦠securely bought, and safe so long as they stayed by the agreement: perhaps intruding just a little far upon his patience, but they were learning one anotherâs limits.
Sulriggan was clinging close to Efanor, whose friendship he again courted ⦠and would not win. Efanor was once betrayed, and would not listen. Dubious prize as Sulriggan was in most points of courage on a battlefield, however, in the conflicts within the court the man was as agile and as clever as one might ask. That generous nose of Sulrigganâs could gather impending shifts in the wind with great sensitivity, and his cowardice in the field manifested as a sensible discretion of utterance once he knew his own interests were at stake.
Most central to all considerations of behavior, the lord of Llymaryn had learned once and for all that his wastrel prince would not sit the throne as a lax and tolerant sovereign ⦠having not his fatherâs inclinas tion to agree to every document that reached his desk, some unread.
Nor, Sulriggan had discovered, did his prince, now king, like the sight of unwarranted expense, even extravagance of dress, when he had a war to fund and lords obliged to arm and equip their share of it.
Accordingly Sulriggan, the bane of his stay in Amefel, the lord who had mortally offended him, was modestly dressed tonight, a Quinalt sigil piously and ostentatiously displayed about his neck⦠clearly to remind everyone who his cousin was.
A marriage banquet was a time for forgiving and forgetting. And Sulriggan was not the only member of the court to return to grace. Tonight marked another act of royal clemency and courtly redemption.
Oh, indeed Prichwarrin, Lord Murandys, was here⦠Prichwarrin, whose niece, Luriel, was that second matter of royal compassion tonight. Luriel had indeed arrived in Guelemara, in court, and on this evening, all exactly as her sovereign had requested. Luriel would have walked here barefoot through snowdrifts at that invitation, Cefwyn was quite sure, quite as surely as Prichwarrin, Lord Murandys would have walked barefoot through hell to prevent it.
The pipers played a lively
Gods, how had he lived his life this far without her?
They still walked through their dream of candlelight and flowers, at least in private. They still existed in the singing and the bells, and saw the garlands and the bright banners that were all he in good truth remembered of the wedding ⦠well, there had been the satisfying and uncommon sight of certain of his unhappy barons trying valiantly to smile through the ceremony, and the equally uncommon sight of the Quinalt Patriarchâs cousin Sulriggan, Duke of Llymaryn, positively aglow with happiness: Sulrigganâs return from near exile having been the coin for the Patriarchâs acceptance of Her Grace, the two were not unrelated circumstances.
That glow on Sulrigganâs countenance continued to this very hour.
Looking out over the barons who were in attendance this evening, he saw the same sources of discontent, and expressions of gloom on those he had destined for retribution when he found the means ⦠policy, not utter self-indulgence: the barons would learn him, or by the gods make way for those who would.
One of those acts of retribution, in fact, he would deal out this very evening, and contemplating that prospect, he could sit on the cursed stone and smile down on his court in honest contentment. Conspiracies to overthrow him would come to nothing, while he held a certain damning letter and while he had the loyalty of such as Tristen of Amefel and Cevulirn and the rest of the lords of the south. Even the middle lands had gained courage from the resolute muster of the south this summerâs end, and might see their own affairs as safer in the hands of a strong monarch than in the hands of the northern tier of self-serving barons.
Unlikeliest allies of all, he now had the Patriarch and Lord Sulriggan to draw upon ⦠securely bought, and safe so long as they stayed by the agreement: perhaps intruding just a little far upon his patience, but they were learning one anotherâs limits.
Sulriggan was clinging close to Efanor, whose friendship he again courted ⦠and would not win. Efanor was once betrayed, and would not listen. Dubious prize as Sulriggan was in most points of courage on a battlefield, however, in the conflicts within the court the man was as agile and as clever as one might ask. That generous nose of Sulrigganâs could gather impending shifts in the wind with great sensitivity, and his cowardice in the field manifested as a sensible discretion of utterance once he knew his own interests were at stake.
Most central to all considerations of behavior, the lord of Llymaryn had learned once and for all that his wastrel prince would not sit the throne as a lax and tolerant sovereign ⦠having not his fatherâs inclinas tion to agree to every document that reached his desk, some unread.
Nor, Sulriggan had discovered, did his prince, now king, like the sight of unwarranted expense, even extravagance of dress, when he had a war to fund and lords obliged to arm and equip their share of it.
Accordingly Sulriggan, the bane of his stay in Amefel, the lord who had mortally offended him, was modestly dressed tonight, a Quinalt sigil piously and ostentatiously displayed about his neck⦠clearly to remind everyone who his cousin was.
A marriage banquet was a time for forgiving and forgetting. And Sulriggan was not the only member of the court to return to grace. Tonight marked another act of royal clemency and courtly redemption.
Oh, indeed Prichwarrin, Lord Murandys, was here⦠Prichwarrin, whose niece, Luriel, was that second matter of royal compassion tonight. Luriel had indeed arrived in Guelemara, in court, and on this evening, all exactly as her sovereign had requested. Luriel would have walked here barefoot through snowdrifts at that invitation, Cefwyn was quite sure, quite as surely as Prichwarrin, Lord Murandys would have walked barefoot through hell to prevent it.
The pipers played a lively
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