«Of course», she replied. «Don't you use them regularly, in our sessions?»

«I do». He paused, again considering. «Lady Jessamy was given access to those triggers as well», he said then. «Has she used them much?»

She shook her head. «Very rarely. I suppose Father's original intention was that she might be able to augment our training. That would have been before he decided to have you come to us regularly».

«That's very interesting», he murmured. «When would you say was the last time she used the triggers?»

«Oh, ages ago. Probably after Father was killed — or it might have been when I brought Ahern's body back through Rhemuth, on my way to take him home to Cynfyn. I was exhausted, and she made me sleep».

«Nothing more recently?»

«No. Why are you asking?»

«Because she appears to have been poking around in the last week or so before you came here», Paschal said baldly. «Have you any idea why she might have done that?»

«None at all… no».

«I did not think you did», Paschal replied. «And that is very curious — and disturbing».

«But — why would she do such a thing?»

«I don't know. And it is possible there may be some benign explanation — though, by rights, she should have released the triggers years ago, when I resumed responsibility for your training. Were it not for the hidden trace of her most recent contact, I would have attributed the omission to oversight…».

«Paschal, you're frightening me… «, she began, eyes wide.

«No need, child», he assured her, patting her hand. «I've taken care of it. I've left the triggers partially engaged, so that you'll give the external responses she expects, if she should try this again; but I've also given you discretion, to override any commands she might try to set. Unless you choose to let her know, she shouldn't realize that anything has changed. I don't know what game she may be playing — but I do know that I want you to be the winner, if she insists upon including you in that game, without your knowledge and very possibly against your will».

Alyce gave a shiver, shaking her head.

«It makes no sense. What possible motive could she have?»

«I wish I knew», Paschal replied. «But, put it from your mind for now. You will soon be a bride, and much in your life will change. For one thing, you shall be in your husband's keeping — not Jessamy's, not mine, or even the king's or queen's. You are coming well into your inheritance, dear Alyce, and I am very proud of you».

She came back to his embrace again, basking in the warmth of his affection and praise, and did resolve to put it from her mind.

The wedding day of Alyce de Corwyn and Sir Kenneth Morgan dawned clear and sunny. Alyce stirred and stretched in the bed she had shared so long with Zoë, opening her eyes to see Zoë gazing at her from the other pillow and smiling.

«What?» Alyce murmured.

Zoë giggled and also stretched. «Just think. In a few hours, you're going to be my mother».

Alyce shook her head, also giggling. «Mother to your sisters, maybe — in time. To me, you shall always be my sister».

«Oh, Alyce, you are like a sister to me — far more than my sisters of blood. Promise that you won't forget me, when you're a proper married lady».

«Did you forget me, when you became a proper married lady?» Alyce said lightly.

«Well, I never was really a proper married lady», Zoë said with a touch of wistfulness. «Sometimes I dream about Ahern, and what it might have been like — you know».

«No, I don't know!» Alyce replied. «At least not yet». She sat up in bed to take Zoë's hand. «Oh, Zoë, just think. A day from now, I shall no longer be a maid — and I shan't even be able to tell you what it was like, because he's your father, for goodness' sake!»

«Well, it wouldn't be right, would it?» Zoë said matter-of-factly. «On the other hand…» She looked at Alyce slyly. «I’ll bet he's a very good lover. He's ever so kind and gentle. Though not so gentle, I'm sure, that he will not give you pleasure! I mean — oh, dear. This is going to be complicated, isn't it?»

Alyce laughed aloud at that and tumbled out of bed, rummaging for a robe.

«Get up, you! You must help me make myself beautiful for your father. This is my wedding day!»

The nuptial Mass was to begin at noon, following on the last stroke of the Angelus. By eleven, the convent chapel was prepared, bedecked with flowers and flooded with summer sunlight. The few invited guests had begun to arrive.

The king and queen had come the night before, taking over part of the guest quarters with the three young princes and Princess Xenia, who was bouncing with the excitement of being allowed to serve as Alyce's flower girl. Also in the royal party were Lady Jessamy and her two daughters still at home, Jesiana and Seffira, along with the king's two principal aides besides Kenneth: Sir Tiarnán MacRae and Sir Jiri Redfearn. Duke Richard was on assignment in the field, and sent his regrets, but Sir Seisyll Arilan had deputed in his place.

From farther afield came the seneschals of both Corwyn and Lendour, along with several knights each, come to witness the nuptials of this daughter of both houses and to express their glad support for the man who now would become a principal regent for both honors. They had met him often in the past, and knew that Ahern had liked and respected him. Sir Jovett Chandos was among them — and Sir Sé Trelawney, once again come from wherever his personal quest now had taken him. The newly wed Earl of Kierney and his bride arrived, and Vera left his side for a time to spend a few moments with her secret sister.

The sisters and students of Arc-en-Ciel had all lent their efforts to the creation of the gown Alyce donned that morning: a sweep of nubby green silk embroidered with golden gryphons the size of a man's hand, with Kenneth Morgan's gold double-tressure bordure set along the hem. She wore the Furstána emeralds at her throat — and on one wrist, the gold bangle of opals and sapphires that had been her mother's. A bridal wreath of roses in a myriad of hues adorned the tumble of golden hair cascading to her waist, like the one that Cerys Devane had worn to her novice profession; and the now fully professed Sister Iris Cerys was one of the those who held the poles of the rainbow canopy under which the bride would walk down the aisle; Iris Jessilde was the other.

The chapel and players were prepared. The guests, such as there were, had been seated at the westerly ends of the choir stalls, the royal party on the Gospel side — king and queen and royal children, along with members of the king's staff — and Kenneth's sisters and younger daughters with the Corwyn and Lendour men on the Epistle side. The scent of summer flowers floated on the still air, dust motes sparkling in the sunlight that streamed through the great rose windows, east and west.

As the last stroke of the Angelus faded, Father Paschal led Sir Kenneth and Sir Jiri Redfearn from the sacristy to the front of the chapel. The convent's three chaplains were also vested and ready, ranged behind them. When all were in place, Mother Iris Judiana bowed to the four priests, then made her way down the aisle to greet the bride, who was waiting under the rainbow canopy.

At Judiana's approach, Alyce sank to her knees to receive a blessing. Then, as the king helped her to her feet, coming beneath the canopy with her, the sisters and students of the convent choir began the Ave Vierge Dorée — and truly, as the pair of them began their walk down the aisle to where Sir Kenneth Morgan waited, she was the «golden virgin» of the anthem.

Later, the details of that next hour blurred together in a series of somewhat disjointed images of ceremony. Preceded by the Princess Xenia, who paused every three steps to gravely fling a handful of rose petals into the air, and by Prince Brion in his pages' livery, bearing a cushion on which lay the coronets both of Corwyn and Lendour, Alyce made her way down the aisle on the king's arm, the canopy accompanying them, pausing at the steps into the choir to reverence the altar. Zoë followed behind, as witness and attendant.