The servant girl returned with a platter of sliced cold meat, some cheese, several small hand loaves, and a bowl of pickled ramps. Princess Idela scolded her gently for not having brought back a sweet as well, then dismissed her. The girl disappeared into one of the other rooms of the princess’s chambers.
Lady Wilona took a plate for herself and ate in her chair while the princess and the lord chancellor sat across from each other at the small table. As they ate, Idela talked animatedly of small things, events of such little matter that Pasevalles knew she was working her way toward something of greater import. At last, as he poured a second goblet of the sweet, amber Sandarian for both of them, she rounded to her point.
“I cannot tell you how much I enjoy having your company this evening, Lord Chancellor.”
“Please, Princess. You must call me Pasevalles. I cannot stand on my title here, of all places.”
“Very well, then, I shall do my best to call you by your Aedonite name. But you must not be naughty yourself and put me at a disadvantage. For tonight, we shall both shed our titles. I will be ‘Idela.’”
“As you wish . . . Idela.”
She clapped her hands. “Ah, just your man’s voice is a pleasure to my ears.” She leaned forward as though imparting a great secret of state, coincidentally showing him a great deal of her pale, smooth bosom. “I confess that I tire sometimes of the shrill sound of women’s voices. That is all I hear! Is it any wonder I miss my son so much?”
Considering that Prince Morgan had been gone less than a sennight, and that the princess had never been known as a doting mother to either of her children, Pasevalles recognized the opening of a new gambit and generously played along. “It must have been very difficult for you, seeing him off.”
“Terribly. Shatteringly.” She shook her head. “I cried myself to sleep the first night.”
“I am sorry for your pain, my dear lady.”
She darted a glance toward Lady Wilona, who was chewing determinedly on a slice of bread and seemed to be paying them no attention at all. Idela lowered her voice again. “It is not only the fright of seeing him go off into the wild world and wondering whether he will come back—”
“He will, Idela. Count Eolair and the others will make sure of that. Eolair is as good a man as the High Ward has to show.”
She made a little impatient mouth—the lord steward was not what she wanted to talk about. “It is not only the fright of seeing him ride off. I know I am a mother and will always feel my son’s absence as a terrible loss. It is that I fear that growing up without a father will . . . will hinder him on that day when he must take the crown.” She made the sign of the Tree. “Which we hope will be many, many years from now, of course.”
“Of course,” said Pasevalles, and traced the holy Tree on his own breast as well. “God protect our king and queen.”
“But surely you have noticed the trouble Morgan has been in of late, Pasevalles! Surely you have seen the bad company he keeps, the fecklessness of his habits!”
“Some of his company may be less harmful than you think, Prin . . . Idela. Fighting men cannot teach smooth speech, and there is no doubt he and his companions spend too much time drinking in low establishments, but there are lessons that soldiers can teach him. Useful lessons. A king must not only rule his kingdom from the court, but sometimes must defend it in the field as well.”
“I know! Merciful Elysia, how I know! I have horrid dreams about it. And there is not only the battlefield to worry about, but all the rest—assassins, madmen like the one who struck at Count Eolair!”
“You must know how beloved your son is by all of Erkynland, my lady. But for any man, from the least to the greatest, there is no defense against madmen but a loving God. Soothe yourself with this. There is no man in all the world who will be better guarded against ill chance than your son.”
For a moment it seemed she would speak again, but instead the princess suddenly turned away from him. Her shoulders trembled a little.
“Idela? My lady? Have I said aught to offend you?”
When she turned back he thought he saw a tear in her eye, but she quickly wiped it away. “Oh, Pasevalles, no, no. You could never offend me. But that is exactly what I was told about my husband, Prince John Josua—that no man in all of Osten Ard was safer, better guarded, more protected. But all of that was worth nothing when Death reached out for him.”
Pasevalles was wondering whether his words had truly made her weep, or whether the shininess on her fingertip was a bit of the acrid juice from one of the ramps that she had rubbed in her eyes to bring tears. It was hard to tell with as skilled a campaigner as the princess, but it did not matter: simple courtesy required him to reply. “I am so sorry, Idela. The pleasure and informality of our evening have made me clumsy. Of course you have more reason to worry than most mothers.”
Her smile was brave. “I am greedy. I did not have him long, my kind, handsome husband, but at least it was long enough for me to give him two beautiful children.” She looked down at her own hands as she wrung them together, then looked up again, eyes wide and, Pasevalles thought, quite impressively beseeching. There was no getting around it: Idela was a very, very handsome woman. “But that is why I fear for our son. He has had no father for most of his life. His schooling has been of the roughest sort. What will become of him when he must take on the responsibilities of his blood?”
Pasevalles could finally see the line of her attack, but he was still not quite sure he had perceived the object. “I will do anything I can to help, my lady. Like everyone else in this court, my concern and love for Prince Morgan is complete.”
She wiped her eyes again. “You think me a fool.”
“On the contrary, I think you a good, caring woman.”
“Then may I confess something to you? Something unworthy, but that preys upon me nevertheless?”
“Of course.”
“I fear that the king and the queen keep my son too far away from responsibility, and from those things he most needs to learn.”
This was slightly astonishing—the idea that anyone was keeping responsibility from Morgan was a bit like claiming that a groom chasing a runaway horse was keeping it from its bridle—but Pasevalles only nodded. “I understand your concern.”
“I did not want him sent off on this strange mission—I do not even understand all this talk of fairies and magical horns and whatnot—but it was not my place to object. Still, when he comes back”—here she allowed a tremor back into her voice—“if, God willing, he comes back safely . . . I would hope that they make better use of him, not just for his own sake, but for the sake of the kingdom itself.”
Pasevalles nodded. “I think I follow you, but if you could explain for me just a bit—”
“Could he not be given something more to do?” The weight she gave the word told him that she had finally reached her objective. “Morgan will rule the land one day. He will be king of the entire High Ward. Nabban, Hernystir, Perdruin, all of them will bow to him. And yet he knows nothing of how to be a king.”
In truth, Pasevalles thought, there is some sense in what she says. He doubted, though, that her reasons matched his own. “I heartily agree, my lady. He could and should be given more responsibility.”
She spoke eagerly now. “His grandparents—well, there is no getting around it, Pasevalles. They are wonderful rulers, we are all grateful to them for what they have done, but they are old now—fifty years and more! Morgan could be such a help to them, if he . . . if he had a position in which he could do so.”
Pasevalles nodded as if it was all just sinking in. “Ah. Do you mean if they made him . . . What would it be called? A sort of co-ruler?”
“Exactly.” She reached out and clutched his hand, which caught him by surprise. Her grip was cool and dry, not in the least unpleasant. “You go beyond what I thought, but you are much wiser about these things than I am. A co-ruler—exactly! He would learn by doing, and the king and queen could teach him all he needed to know. Will you help convince them, dear Pasevalles?”
“But, Idela, are you not in a better position to do that than I am?”
“Oh, they would never understand if it came from me.” She shook her head forcefully. “They would think I was meddling, that I was trying to improve my own place in things somehow.”
It was hard for him not to smile. “Perhaps you’re right.”
“I know I am, sadly. But if it came from you, they would listen. King Simon thinks the world of you. He raised you above all those other . . . those other . . .” She faltered.
“Those other more suitable candidates? You need not fear that you will hurt my feelings, Idela. I know there are many nobles with grander names than mine, and many with larger fortunes. It is well known that my family, while never the richest to begin with, fell on hard times after the Storm King’s War.”