Ahern bore up manfully throughout, allowing himself to be carried to the church in a litter; but from there, for the interment, he hobbled the distance between church and chapel on his crutches, though the effort exhausted him. Keryell's widow made much of her rights and prerogatives, so his daughters were mostly ignored.
That night, when the castle at last settled into sleep, the two sisters retired wearily to the chamber that been Alyce's in childhood, bundling up in fur-lined cloaks as they huddled on a pile of sheepskins spread before the fire. Picking up a stick of kindling, Marie began poking among the embers.
«So», she said. «Our father is dead and buried. And what shall become of us now?»
Alyce slowly shook her head. «Who can know? In the short term, I suppose we go back to Rhemuth after Christmas and Twelfth Night».
«I wish we could stay with Ahern», Marie muttered mutinously.
«You know we can't». After a moment, Alyce gave a heavy sigh, clasping her arms around her knees to rest her chin on one forearm.
«This doesn't much change our situation, you know», she said. «Until and unless Ahern has children, preferably sons, we're still only heartbeats away from the succession of a dukedom and an earldom».
«You're only heartbeats away», Marie replied. «You're the oldest».
«Yes, but if I die without heirs, you're the heir».
Her sister did not look up from her prodding of the fire.
«What if I don't want to be the heir? she muttered.
Alyce smiled bleakly and reached across to clasp her sister's hand.
«Then, pray for our brother's health — and mine», she said.
Ahern mostly slept for the first few days after his father's burial, leaving Duke Richard to begin shaping the council that would assist the new earl as he began taking up the reins of his new rank. Virtually everyone interesting was involved in the process, even Father Paschal, so Alyce and Marie spent the first few days re-exploring their favorite childhood haunts — and avoiding Lady Rosmerta. Which was not difficult, because the widow mainly kept to her own rooms.
But each evening, as the newcomers relaxed into the resuming pace of life at Castle Cynfyn, the sad castle hall slowly began to regain a softer air, as the gentle sounds of lyre and harp and occasional sweet voices were heard increasingly during supper, slowly lifting spirits into the hopefulness of the Advent season. Most of Ahern's council were older, and preferred Duke Richard's company to that of mere adolescents, but Se and Jovett made certain that the new earl's sisters did not lack for company.
Sometimes, on bright, clear mornings when the sun set the snow all aglitter, the four of them would venture out on brief, brisk rides through the surrounding hills, though always attended by at least half a dozen other knights. As Christmas approached, Alyce began to notice that her sister was often in Se's company, and almost always managed to ride beside him when they went on their outings.
But the two young knights were not often available in the daytime, and the weather was gradually worsening as Christmas approached. It was on a cold, blustery day that kept everyone inside, a few days before the Christmas Vigil, that Alyce found herself recruited with her sister to decorate the castle chapel for the solemnities of Christmas Eve, for the coming of the Holy Child was still an occasion for rejoicing, even if hearts still were heavy with Keryell's passing.
«I think this needs more holly», Marie said, though with little enthusiasm. «What do you think?»
They were huddled on a bench at the rear of the chapel with a firepot at their feet, surrounded by evergreen boughs and runners of bright ivy and sprigs of red-berried holly. They had already plaited the first half of a garland intended to adorn the altar rail, and Alyce was laying out the framework for the other half.
She glanced at her sister's work and reached for another trailer of ivy.
«It looks all right to me».
Marie gave a sigh and tucked in another sprig of holly anyway.
«I still wish we could stay here with Ahern».
«Don't you mean with Se?» Alyce replied, arching a delicate eyebrow at her sister.
Marie blushed furiously and ducked her head closer to her work.
«Don't try to deny it», Alyce said. «I've seen the two of you, making eyes at one another».
Marie glanced sidelong at her sister, trying unsuccessfully to control a grin. «Are you going to tease me forever, now that you've guessed?»
«Well, maybe not forever». Alyce smiled. «But don't get your hopes up, Mares. I suspect that the king has someone more lofty in mind for you than a simple knight».
«He is hardly simple!» Marie said indignantly.
«Not in the sense I know you mean», Alyce agreed. «But marriage with him would not advance any of the king's concerns. Unfortunately, that's what our marriages are for».
«What if we ran away?» Marie said.
«And do what? Get married anyway? They'd catch you, Mares. And then they'd annul you, and probably lock you up in a convent somewhere until they married you by force to someone else. And Se would be disgraced — maybe even found out».
«You're so mean! It isn't fair!»
«Fair has nothing to do with it. I'm reminding you of realities».
«Fah! for realities», Marie muttered. «I want him, Alyce».
«And I want lots of things, dear sister, but merely wanting is not necessarily enough».
The sound of approaching footsteps stayed her from saying more, and she fell silent, glancing up distractedly as someone in a flash of saffron-colored skirts and a cloak of forest green came in and deposited an armload of scarlet ribbons and pine cones at their feet.
«I'm so glad you've used mostly pine and ivy instead of holly», said a low, musical voice. «The pine has a much nicer smell. But I thought you might like to work some color in with it. Besides, I'm avoiding Lady Rosmerta».
Both sisters broke into appreciative grins. In the months following Keryell’s remarriage, Vera Howard had been one of several well-born girls fostered to the household of his new countess — much to the indignation, at first, of Marie, who had tearfully suggested that perhaps their father's motives had been more self-serving than altruistic, by installing half a dozen nubile young women in the very accessible context of his new wife's boudoir…
«That sounds like jealousy to me, Mares», Alyce had declared, trying to cajole her sister out of her mood. «I know you're angry with Father, for sending us away; and I know you don't much like the Lady Rosmerta — I don't, either. But by that reasoning, we were living in the queen's household for the convenience of the king — and you know that isn't true!»
Marie had humphed at that, and flounced around the room for several minutes, but finally had agreed, albeit grudgingly, that Alyce was probably right. When, a few months later, the two of them had actually met some of their stepmother's fosterlings, in conjunction with a brief visit by their father and stepmother en route to Twelfth Night court in Rhemuth, even Marie had actually liked the other girls.
They especially had liked Vera Howard, the one who had just joined them: a lively, well-spoken lass with honey-brown hair falling straight to her hips and gray-green eyes that recalled the luminance of sunlight on a tranquil sea. Vera's father was Sir Orban Howard, a knight with lands not far from Castle Cynfyn, and her mother and theirs had been close friends.
«I've given up working with holly», Alyce informed the newcomer. «It prickles your fingers to death — though it does have nice color. But the ribbons will be just what's needed. I don't suppose you'd like to give us a hand?»
«Actually, I did come to offer a bit of help», Vera replied, «though not with pine boughs». She quirked them a guileless smile and turned briefly to pull the chapel door closed, then sank down beside Alyce on the bench. As she stretched one hand before them and opened it, a spark of greenish light flared in her palm and quickly took on the shape of a winged gryphon less than a hand-span high.
The apparition turned its head as if to look at both of them; then, as it spread its wings, seemed to fold in on itself before disappearing with a faint pop that was more felt than heard.
«Who are you?» Alyce demanded, though instinctively she kept her query to a whisper, for it was clear that Vera was Deryni like herself. Marie merely stared at the other girl in wonder.
Vera ventured another tentative smile. «Your father told me that I am your sister».
«What?» Marie blurted.
Shaking her head, Vera laid one finger across her lips in an urgent sign for silence, cutting her off in mid-word.