Read Online Daggerspell by Katharine Kerr - Free Book Online

feet. Gerraent rose to greet Galrion, but Dwen stayed seated, sodden in his chair, a florid-faced man whose rheumy eyes glanced up through folds of skin. It was hard to believe that in his youth he must have looked much like his son, this tall blond warrior, square-shouldered, with an arrogant toss to his head.
    “Good morrow, my liege,” Gerraent said. “My sister’s in her chamber. I’ll send a page for her.”
    “My thanks.” Galrion bowed to Dwen. “My lord.”
    “Sit down, lad, and have some ale.” Dwen wheezed as he spoke, then coughed and nearly choked.
    Galrion felt a cold shudder, a bristling of hairs along the back of his neck as if a draft had touched him. Although Dwen had been ill for years and never seemed to sicken further, Galrion knew with a sharp stab of dweomer that soon he would die. A page brought Galrion ale, a welcome distraction from Dwen’s illness. When Galrion raised the tankard to Gerraent in friendly salute, Gerraent forced out a smile that was the barest twitch of his mouth. It didn’t take dweomer to know that Gerraent hated him. Galrion merely wondered why.
    The door across the great hall opened, and Brangwen came in with her maidservant in attendance. A tall lass, willow slender in a dark green dress, she wore her long blond hair caught back in a simple clasp, as befitted an unmarried woman. Her eyes were as deep and blue as a winter river. The most beautiful lass in all Deverry, men called her, with a face that was dowry enough for any man in his right mind. Drawn by the love he’d thought he’d cast out, Galrion rose to greet her. He took both her hands in his.
    “I didn’t think to see you soon, my prince,” Brangwen said. “This gladdens my heart.”
    “And it gladdens mine, my lady.”
    Galrion seated her in his chair, then took a footstool from the maidservant and put it down to keep Brangwen’s feet off the damp, straw-strewn floor. He perched on the edge of the stool and smiled up at her while she laughed, as merry as sunlight in the dark room.
    “Will his highness honor me by riding with me to the hunt tomorrow?” Gerraent said.
    “I won’t, by your leave,” Galrion said. “I have things to discuss with my lady.”
    “She’s not your lady yet.” Gerraent turned on his heel and stalked out of the hall.
    When he slammed the door shut behind him, Dwen roused from his doze, glanced round, then fell back asleep.
    “Oh, here, Gwennie,” Galrion whispered. “I hope Ihaven’t offended your brother by not riding with him on the morrow.”
    “Oh, Gerro’s in such a mood these days. I can’t talk a word of sense into him about anything. Here, my love, don’t you think it’s time he married? He’s put it off awfully late. He’ll be twenty at the turning of the summer.”
    “True enough.” Galrion was remembering his dweomer-warning of Dwen’s coming death. “He’ll be the Falcon someday, after all. Is there any woman he favors?”
    “Not truly. You men can be such beasts.” Brangwen giggled, hiding her mouth behind her hand. “But, well, Gerro rides to hunt with Lord Blaen of the Boar, and his sister’s just absolutely mad for Gerro. I’ve been trying to speak well of her to him, but he doesn’t much listen.”
    “I’ve seen the Lady Ysolla at court. She’s a lovely lass, but naught compared to you, of course.”
    The compliment brought another giggle and a blush. At times Brangwen was a helpless little thing, unlike the women at the court, who were trained as partners in rulership. Once Galrion had looked forward to the chance to prune and form his wife’s character; now, he found himself thinking that she was going to absorb much of his time.
    “Do you know what Ysolla told me?” Brangwen said. “She said that Blaen’s jealous of you.”
    “Indeed? That would be a serious matter if it’s true.”
    “Why?”
    “Ye gods, think! The Boar Rampant was involved in many a plot against the last dynasty. A lover’s rivalry is a political