Sitting up straighter, Kenneth held out his arms to his son, who ran to embrace him like a limpet, burying his face in his sire’s shoulder. The boy was shaking as Kenneth held him tight and stroked the white-gold hair, and the face the boy finally lifted to his father was tear-stained, the lower lip aquiver.
«Here, now, what’s this?» Kenneth whispered, wiping away some of the tears with his thumb and gazing into the boy’s eyes. «Where is my brave knight?»
For answer, Alaric took a quick glance over his shoulder at his mother in her coffin, then hid his face against the stuffed toy in his arms, smothering a sniffle. With curious detachment, Kenneth thought the animal might be a cat. It had droopy lengths of black wool trailing from the end opposite the tail, where whiskers might be.
For a long moment he merely continued to caress the boy, holding him close for comfort, until finally he glanced back to where Llion waited anxiously, and nodded dismissal. After a few more minutes, he gently kissed his son’s cheek and again drew back far enough to look him in the eyes.
«You must be very, very sad», he said quietly. «I know I’m sad».
Alaric sniffled, scrubbing at his eyes with one balled fist, then sniffled again and gathered his toy animal to his chest, not looking up.
«Papa», he said tremulously, after a moment, «why did Mama have to go away?»
«I don’t know, son. She got very sick — too sick for anyone to help her. But she didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to leave us. She loved us very, very much».
The boy turned to look over his shoulder at his mother again, then squirmed to be put down on the floor beside the coffin, resting one hand tentatively on the green silk spilling from inside. After a few seconds, Kenneth slipped to one knee beside him, embracing him in the circle of one arm.
«I loved her so much», the boy said tremulously, gazing at the still form. «Can I kiss her good-bye?»
«You already did that, son», Kenneth said gently. «Maybe you don’t need to do it again».
«But I want to!» the boy replied, lifting his chin defiantly.
«All right, then», Kenneth agreed. «We’ll both kiss her good-bye. All right?»
Nodding, Alaric said, «You first».
«Very well».
Shifting closer toward the head of the coffin, Kenneth half-rose to lean over it and press a kiss to her forehead, then crouched back down and glanced down at his son. Alaric had edged closer, but then he thrust his stuffed toy into his father’s hands with a whispered, «Hold this», and began digging in the little pouch at his waist.
Wisely saying nothing, Kenneth watched as the boy produced what appeared to be two pigeon feathers from the depths of the pouch, each about as long as one of Kenneth’s fingers. Inspecting them gravely, Alaric smoothed one where it had gotten rumpled in the pouch, glanced at the coffin, then tipped his face up toward his father.
«Can you lift me up, Papa?» he said.
«Better yet, suppose I make a step for you?» Kenneth replied, setting aside the toy and shifting onto one knee, so that the other made a step on which the boy could climb up.
Looking intent, Alaric clambered up the step thus offered, braced by his father’s arm around his waist, and set both hands on the sides of the coffin, a feather in each hand, gazing at the occupant for a long moment.
Then he leaned down carefully to kiss the cold forehead, wrinkling his nose at the faint odor of death. But before straightening, he reached into the coffin to slip a feather behind each of his mother’s shoulders. He was nodding slightly as he leaned back into his father’s embrace, obviously satisfied with what he had done, though Kenneth had no idea why he had done it.
«Alaric», he said softly, after a few heartbeats, «why did you do that?»
Calmly, the boy stuck out his arm to retrieve his stuffed toy from his father, and hugged it to his chest.
«Father Swithun said she’s with the angels now, Papa», he said with utter conviction. «So she’ll need wings».
«Oh», Kenneth breathed. «Yes, she will».
«And I think I’ll give her Lady Whiskers to keep her company», the boy added, leaning forward to tuck his toy beside her. «That way, she’ll remember me».
«That’s…a very good thing to do», Kenneth agreed, choking back fresh tears. «But I’m sure she will always remember you. And we shall remember her».
He settled back onto his chair at that, gathering his son into his arms to cradle him against his heart. Soon both of them drifted into sleep for what remained of the night, until two carpenters from the stable yard came to close the coffin.
It began to snow later that morning, the last of 1095: a hushed and pristine backdrop for the modest funeral procession that began to form up in the yard at Morganhall, just as a solitary bell began to toll in the church without the manor walls. They were family, mostly, who gathered to walk behind the coffin of the fair Alyce de Corwyn Morgan, for in the dead of winter, and with the new king’s coronation only days away, it was impossible to gather any others who might have wished to be there, had the times been otherwise, or to delay the burial until they could attend.
Kenneth had asked six of his household knights to bear his wife’s coffin, Llion and Xander among them; but as they hoisted it onto their shoulders and began their slow march down to the church, following the processional cross and the priest with his two acolytes and the banners of Corwyn and Lendour, it struck him that one of the black-cloaked knights looked very like Sir Sé Trelawney.
All the way to the church, Kenneth tried to get a better look at the man without being obvious, Alaric’s hand in his — for the boy had insisted on attending. Vera and her Kevin followed directly behind, along with Delphine, Claara, Melissa, and several other members of the immediate Morganhall household; Duncan had been left with the kitchen servants while they did the day’s baking, being deemed too young to attend. Under the circumstances, Kenneth was well content to keep it very much a family affair.
And an affair for family it surely was, he realized, as he watched the knights carefully deposit his wife’s coffin on the black-draped catafalque before the altar, for one of the black-clad men was Sé, who very much had been a part of Alyce’s family, friend of her childhood — though God alone knew how he had learned of Alyce’s passing, or had managed to get there in time for the funeral.
But when the six men bowed to the altar and then began melting back to take places in the congregation, the man Kenneth had been watching turned and looked him directly in the eyes, setting right hand to breast and inclining his head in graceful acknowledgment before easing back with the others to disappear in the sea of black-clad mourners.
Kenneth was never able to spot him again, though he watched for him all through the Requiem that followed; and it was another knight who took his place when it came time to carry Alyce’s coffin down into the crypt. But he found himself taking comfort in the belief that Sé Trelawney had, indeed, been there, as he had promised he would always be there for Alyce and for their son.
Later, after her coffin had been laid beside those of his Morgan kin, who were also kin to their son, all of the family mourners — though Sé was not among them — returned to Morganhall, where Kenneth made it known that he intended more formal memorial Masses to be celebrated in his wife’s memory in the spring or summer at Cynfyn and Coroth, be-fitting her status as Countess of Lendour and Lady of Corwyn. It was not the time to mention that her body would eventually find a different resting place, per her own wishes. For the nonce, at least, there was a new king to be crowned in less than a week: a task to which all the household’s energies now must turn, and as would have been her wish.
Given the stress of the previous several days, most of the family elected to retire early that night, though Kenneth spent an hour with Xander and Llion organizing what must be taken with them back to Rhemuth in the morning. Kenneth, especially, desperately needed sleep before heading back to Rhemuth the next day, as did Llion, each of whom had already completed a round trip to the capital in the past two days to fetch and return the king.
It was Xander who roused them the next morning at first light, which came late at midwinter. Alaric had slept in his father’s bed that night, and tumbled awake with energy abounding at the prospect of the journey back to Rhemuth with his father. Kenneth was not sure the boy understood about the importance of the coming coronation, but the trip itself held appeal for a four-year-old. Xander took over the responsibility of getting him fed and bathed, so that Kenneth and Llion could concentrate on finishing the packing of the few items they would need for the journey.
After washing and dressing in the plain black he had worn the day before, Kenneth stumbled into his son’s room, where both Xander and Llion now were attempting to finish dressing the boys.
«I’m wondering whether it’s necessary to put so young a child into mourning for the coronation», Kenneth said, as Xander tugged an over-tunic of heavy green wool over the boy’s usual winter garb of white shirt and black leggings. «I didn’t yesterday, because it’s hard enough for a lad to lose his mother at his age. On the other hand, I think it’s particularly important to have him at my side when I swear fealty. It will underline his status as the future Duke of Corwyn, despite his Deryni blood».
Llion glanced at the new heraldic over-tunic spread on the bed behind him, ready to pack; Alaric had outgrown the quartered tunic he’d only just worn in June for Prince Brion’s coming of age. Though Melissa had spent hours sewing a narrow border of Lendour red and white along the edges of the garment, the Corwyn device itself was almost sober enough to pass for mourning. The fine black wool of the field was relieved only by its heraldically improbable green Corwyn gryphon, picked out in gold, and the brighter relief of Kenneth’s gold double tressure fleury-counter-fleury now surrounding the beast, from his Morgan line.
«The new tunic is already mostly black, my lord», Llion pointed out, as he bent to do up the buckles of the boy’s boots. «I might suggest removing the Lendour border, except that it’s important to make that reminder as well, both that he is your son and that he is heir to both honors. A pity he’s outgrown the old quartered tunic, though the Lendour red and white would have been a bit garish for mourning».
Kenneth nodded soberly. «We’ll leave it as it is, then», he said. «Go ahead and pack it. My mourning will have to be sufficient for both of us».
They departed for Rhemuth a little later under clearing skies, though the cold was still bitter, chilling to the bone. Kenneth’s sisters and Vera had come to see them off, all three of the women teary-eyed, for it was unlikely that Kenneth would visit Morganhall again soon. Vera, however, was to leave for Rhemuth the following day with her own escort, for she and her sons were expected to rejoin Jared for the coronation.
Alaric rode with his father, surrounded by his strong arms and warm cloak, with Xander and Llion flanking them, ahead of a further escort of four liveried Lendouri lancers. A pair of squires followed with two pack animals on leads — modest enough train for an earl in mourning and an underage duke, but they turned heads as they passed lesser folk.
The two lead lancers carried the cased banners of Lendour and Corwyn, black crepe spilling from the heads of the staves. All of the escort party wore wide mourning sashes from right shoulder to left hip, slashing the bright red and white of Lendour with black. Kenneth himself rode all in black, with Alaric’s dark green all but invisible inside his father’s cloak.
They passed a night at Arc-en-Ciel, where his letter had arrived the day before and the sisters gave them refuge and serenity. Mother Judiana gave them her blessing after the sisters’ Requiem Mass for Alyce the next morning, before they continued on their way. The river road grew more crowded as they headed south, and by noon of the second day the bright sun had begun to turn the snow to muddy slush, further churned by the passage of many hooves and feet and wagons.
Lord Kenneth Morgan’s somber party came within sight of the city walls midway through the afternoon. They stopped at the barge station at King’s Landing to water the horses and uncase the banners. It was then, as they mounted up for the final stage of the journey into Rhemuth, that they caught the first faint sound of a great bell tolling in the city.
Kenneth exchanged glances with Llion and Xander, but neither ventured comment. Given the major deaths of the past two months, first Prince Jathan and Donal and then Alyce, no one was prepared for another — and the tolling bell might merely mark the passing of some prosperous citizen of Rhemuth being buried from the cathedral. But as they drew nearer the river gate, other bells joined in, all tolling the passing of a soul.
They gained no further clue as they rode through the gate and clip-clopped up the stone-lined thoroughfare toward the cathedral. But as they entered the cathedral square, Kenneth spied a flurry of activity before the cathedral steps, where several black-robed clerics were handing out dispatches to half a dozen mounted couriers in the archbishop’s livery, ready to depart.