I suddenly felt angry with her for diminishing Conal's death like this. He had died laughing and, as he had said himself, in no unworthy cause.
Veniva leaned over. She had a tear on her cheek, I don't think there was a dry eye in the room by then. Emer was still playing the tune on the harp, and weeping. I thought Veniva was going to say something about
Morien, or even Darien, but what she whispered was, "Who does Emer ap Allel have to mourn like that? Her daughter is eleven years old and safe in Dun Morr with Lew."
I was jerked out of my mood by the question. "Her mother, Maga—" I began feebly.
"That is not a song you sing for your mother dead more than ten years ago," Veniva hissed in my ear. "That is a song you sing for a child or a lover lost—" She paused. "Surely not Conal? He killed her mother!"
I moved a little away and looked straight at her. "It would be a great impiety," I said, gravely and very low.
"It would indeed." Veniva's look spoke volumes. "Well, if anyone remarks on it to me I shall tell them about the war the poor woman lived through in Connat before she was sixteen years old, and how personally she takes these things."
When Emer came back we congratulated her on her singing, and then I took a good lamp and went off to search Daldaf's possessions.
I had never had cause to go into his room before and I looked around curiously. It was just off the hall, as any steward's room would be. The walls were limewashed white, like everywhere else. There was one small window with tendrils of ivy poking in, a bed, and a chest at the foot, much like my room or anyone's room. I
found it hard to picture him plotting treachery in this pleasant place. I set the lamp on the win-dowsill to add to the late light coming through. There was a soot mark there to show that it was where Daldaf usually put a lamp or a candle. I sat down on the bed and opened the chest.
The packet of letters was right at the bottom, under his clothes and jewelry. It was a thick pouch and I drew it out reluctantly. There were copies of my last three letters to Urdo and his to me on the top. This made me immediately furious. If Daldaf had been in front of me at that moment I Page 26
would have been hard put to it not to run him through. How dared he read my private letters! I put them aside. The next letter was addressed to me but I had never seen it.
"From Ayl the son of Trumwin, king of Aylsfa, at Fenshal, by the hand of his clerk, Arcan of Thansethan, to
Sulien the daughter of Gwien, Lord of Derwen, at Derwen, Blessings!"
So Ayl had a Jarnish clerk at last, though a monk. He had never been able to learn his letters, from starting too late and not applying himself enough. The few letters I had had from him before had been written by
Penarwen. I opened the letter and read it through. Then I read it again, puzzled. I could not see why Daldaf had kept this from me. It was rambling and full of pieties I could not believe Ayl had uttered, but there was nothing in it but vague expressions of friendship and loyalty. On the second read I caught the tone, and put it down, shocked. This letter was like the ones I had spent the afternoon writing, but further clouded by Ayl's need to use a clerk he did not entirely trust. He was trying to feel me out about rebellion without openly saying anything of the kind. I was shocked. I had not thought Ayl could be drawn into this quarrel. I could not see what would make him line up beside Flavien and Cinvar. He seemed to want me to reassure him about something. Whatever it was, I had not; the letter had sat for half a month unanswered.
I took up the next letter and blinked at the salutation.
"From Rigga of Rigatona at Caer Custenn to her cousin Sulien ap Gwien at Derwen, upon the island of Tir
Tanagiri, Greetings! " I had not heard from Rigg since she had left with ap Theophilus for Caer Custenn four years before. She was not the sort of person to write letters, even had sending letters across that
Veniva leaned over. She had a tear on her cheek, I don't think there was a dry eye in the room by then. Emer was still playing the tune on the harp, and weeping. I thought Veniva was going to say something about
Morien, or even Darien, but what she whispered was, "Who does Emer ap Allel have to mourn like that? Her daughter is eleven years old and safe in Dun Morr with Lew."
I was jerked out of my mood by the question. "Her mother, Maga—" I began feebly.
"That is not a song you sing for your mother dead more than ten years ago," Veniva hissed in my ear. "That is a song you sing for a child or a lover lost—" She paused. "Surely not Conal? He killed her mother!"
I moved a little away and looked straight at her. "It would be a great impiety," I said, gravely and very low.
"It would indeed." Veniva's look spoke volumes. "Well, if anyone remarks on it to me I shall tell them about the war the poor woman lived through in Connat before she was sixteen years old, and how personally she takes these things."
When Emer came back we congratulated her on her singing, and then I took a good lamp and went off to search Daldaf's possessions.
I had never had cause to go into his room before and I looked around curiously. It was just off the hall, as any steward's room would be. The walls were limewashed white, like everywhere else. There was one small window with tendrils of ivy poking in, a bed, and a chest at the foot, much like my room or anyone's room. I
found it hard to picture him plotting treachery in this pleasant place. I set the lamp on the win-dowsill to add to the late light coming through. There was a soot mark there to show that it was where Daldaf usually put a lamp or a candle. I sat down on the bed and opened the chest.
The packet of letters was right at the bottom, under his clothes and jewelry. It was a thick pouch and I drew it out reluctantly. There were copies of my last three letters to Urdo and his to me on the top. This made me immediately furious. If Daldaf had been in front of me at that moment I Page 26
would have been hard put to it not to run him through. How dared he read my private letters! I put them aside. The next letter was addressed to me but I had never seen it.
"From Ayl the son of Trumwin, king of Aylsfa, at Fenshal, by the hand of his clerk, Arcan of Thansethan, to
Sulien the daughter of Gwien, Lord of Derwen, at Derwen, Blessings!"
So Ayl had a Jarnish clerk at last, though a monk. He had never been able to learn his letters, from starting too late and not applying himself enough. The few letters I had had from him before had been written by
Penarwen. I opened the letter and read it through. Then I read it again, puzzled. I could not see why Daldaf had kept this from me. It was rambling and full of pieties I could not believe Ayl had uttered, but there was nothing in it but vague expressions of friendship and loyalty. On the second read I caught the tone, and put it down, shocked. This letter was like the ones I had spent the afternoon writing, but further clouded by Ayl's need to use a clerk he did not entirely trust. He was trying to feel me out about rebellion without openly saying anything of the kind. I was shocked. I had not thought Ayl could be drawn into this quarrel. I could not see what would make him line up beside Flavien and Cinvar. He seemed to want me to reassure him about something. Whatever it was, I had not; the letter had sat for half a month unanswered.
I took up the next letter and blinked at the salutation.
"From Rigga of Rigatona at Caer Custenn to her cousin Sulien ap Gwien at Derwen, upon the island of Tir
Tanagiri, Greetings! " I had not heard from Rigg since she had left with ap Theophilus for Caer Custenn four years before. She was not the sort of person to write letters, even had sending letters across that
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