“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.”

“But you were the best for the position and the king recognized that.” She squeezed his hand so hard it was almost uncomfortable. “Surely he will listen to you when you suggest something that will help Morgan be a better king someday.”

“I cannot promise that.” He did not want her to think she had hooked him too easily. “The king and queen are both rare in the stubbornness of their minds. I say that as a compliment! They see things their own way, not as others tell them things must be. But I will try my best.”

“Oh, may God bless you for your kindness!” Idela reached for the wine and, quite daringly, poured for both of them. “Say we are partners in this endeavor, and I will be the happiest woman in the Hayholt.”

“I was always your partner, my lady, even if I did not know your cause, because I want the same things you want. Security for the High Ward, and happiness and health for your son.”

“Pasevalles, you are the finest man I know.” She drained her goblet with the vigor of a soldier just escaped from a deadly and blisteringly hot battlefield. “Come, let us take the rest of this and go and look at my husband’s books.”

She had caught him off balance by returning to the books, but when she stood, he did too. She took him by the hand and led him away from the table. He hesitated a little as they passed Lady Wilona’s chair. The older woman was fast asleep, her plate set down carefully on the floor, her sewing muddled in her lap. “Will she not . . .?”

“Leave the poor dear be. What does she know about books that are even older than she is?” Idela giggled like a girl, then tugged at his hand. “Come away. We do not need her supervision this moment.”

He let himself be led toward what he expected would be her late husband’s library, or perhaps a storage room where the books were kept, but when she pulled him through the doorway, it was into a room completely without light.

“Oh, dear,” she said, sounding quite undisturbed. “I seem to have led you into the wrong room. I must have had too much of this lovely wine.”

“Should I go back for a candle?”

Even in the darkness, he was quite aware that she had turned to face him and was standing very close. She had let go of his hand, but now she reached up to touch his shoulder, then follow the line of his neck with her finger until her hand reached his face. “I think not,” she said softly. “We can do without light and company for a little while, can we not?” She moved closer, so that he could feel her slender form touch him in several places. He could smell the wine on her breath and the floral sweetness of her scent.

“Idela . . .”

Her finger touched his lips, silencing him. “You know, it is not only a man’s voice I have missed.”

He kissed the finger, then gently pulled it away from his mouth. “My lady, I am only—”

“Hush. You are a man, and that is something truly wonderful. No, you are the finest man I know. Oh, and I have admired you so long!”

“But the servants—”

“Know better than to come stumbling into my chamber. Yes, I told you a lie, I confess it, my lord. This is not where my husband’s books are, this is my own bedchamber. Do you hate me for my falsehood?”

“I could never hate you, dear lady. Sweet Idela.” He took her hand again and kissed her fingertips, each one. He heard her breath, deep and unsteady, so he leaned forward again and found her lips. Long moments passed before he spoke again. “I could never do anything to hurt you, in any way.”

“Oh, glory!” she said, and in that moment he could detect nothing false in her words. “I am all goosebumps—and my heart beats so! Here, can you feel it?” She took his hand and put it on her breast, naked now, her skin warm, the nipple nearly as hard as a cherry stone. In the darkness, she had quietly unlaced the top of her dress and pulled it down. “Can you love me, Pasevalles? Just a little?”

“Yes,” was what he said, then squeezed her flesh, gently, until she gasped. “Yes, my lady, I can.”

The first night they camped within sight of Aldheorte, as Binabik and the trolls were caring for the Sitha, Count Eolair waited until the knights and their squires began eating their suppers, then asked Morgan if he would like to accompany him into the forest.

“But why?” said Morgan, who had been about to go in search of Porto and the wineskin the old man generally had somewhere close by.

“To blow the horn, Highness,” said Eolair, patting the wooden box tied to his saddle. “There seemed no sense in doing it while we were still within the bounds of Erchestershire.”

Morgan could only say yes. He found his horse cropping contentedly in the thick, green grass, and climbed into the saddle. The mare gave him such a look that he almost felt he should apologize.