The marriage to Lievelyn was all but sealed. Combe was satisfied. If no cutthroats returned, then her instinct was right, and Sabran was safe until the next time she vexed Combe. Then the Night Hawk would take flight again, dark wings spread over the throne.
Ead meant to clip them. All she needed was the evidence—and the opportunity.
Guests continued to pour in. The families of the Dukes Spiritual. Knights-errant, who handled petty crimes and sought out sleeping wyrms to slay. Sanctarians in long-sleeved herigauts. Barons and baronets. Mayors and magistrates.
Soon the long-awaited visitors from the Kingdom of Hróth began to arrive. King Raunus of the House of Hraustr had sent a host of high-born representatives to witness the union. Sabran welcomed them with genuine affection, and the palace was soon ringing with Northern songs and laughter.
Not long ago, there would have been Yscals here. Ead remembered well the last visit by representatives of the House of Vetalda, when the Donmata Marosa had come for the celebration of a thousand years of Berethnet rule. Now their absence was another reminder of the uncertain future.
On the morning Aubrecht Lievelyn was due to reach Ascalon Palace, the most important courtiers and guests crowded into the Presence Chamber. Most of the Virtues Council were here. Arbella Glenn had recovered from her illness, much to the regret of certain ambitious Ladies of the Privy Chamber, and now stood to the right of the throne.
Arbella looked frail at the best of times, with her rheumy eyes and fingers bent from needlework, but Ead was sure she ought not to have risen from bed today. Though she smiled like a proud mother at her queen, there was a quiet sadness about her.
The rest of the room was thrumming like a skep. Sabran waited for her betrothed in front of her throne, flanked by the six Dukes Spiritual, who were resplendent in their cloaks and livery collars. She wore a simple gown of crimson velvet and satin, a rich contrast to the nightfall of her hair. No ruff or jewels. Ead studied her from her position with the other Ladies of the Privy Chamber.
She was most beautiful like this. The Inysh seemed to think her trappings were her beauty, but in truth, they concealed it.
Sabran caught her gaze. Ead looked away.
“Where are your parents?” she said to Margret, who was standing on her right.
“They are pleading Papa’s indisposition, but I think it is because Mama has no wish to see Combe.” Margret spoke behind her peacock-feather fan. “He told her in a letter that Loth went to Cárscaro of his own free will. She will suspect otherwise.”
Lady Annes Beck had been a Lady of the Bedchamber to Queen Rosarian. “She must know well the machinations of this court.”
“Better than most. I see Lady Honeybrook has not come, either.” Margret shook her head. “Poor Kit.”
The Earl of Honeybrook stood with the other members of the Virtues Council. He did not look troubled by the absence of his son, who he resembled in every way but the mouth, which never smiled.
Trumpets proclaimed the coming of the High Prince. Even the fine tapestries that draped the Presence Chamber seemed to quiver with anticipation. Ead glanced toward Combe, who was smiling like a cat with a mouse pinned beneath its paw.
Her ribs clenched in revulsion at the sight of him. Even if he was not the architect behind the cutthroats, he had sent Loth into life-threatening peril to clear the way for this marriage to take place, based on rumors with not a whit of substance. He could rot.
Standard-bearers and trumpeters paraded into the Presence Chamber. Necks craned for a glimpse of the man who was to be prince consort of Inys. Linora Payling stood on her tiptoes, fanning herself as if she would swoon on the spot. Even Ead allowed herself a flutter of curiosity.
Sabran drew back her shoulders. The fanfare swelled, and the High Prince of the Free State of Mentendon appeared.
Aubrecht Lievelyn had the strong arms and broad shoulders Ead would have expected of a seasoned knight. Clean-shaven and even taller than Sabran, he had nothing of the dormouse about him. His waving hair gleamed like copper as he walked into a beam of sunlight. A cloak was slung over his shoulder, and he wore a black jerkin over a full-sleeved ivory doublet.
“Oh, he issohandsome,” Linora breathed.
When he reached his betrothed, Lievelyn knelt before her and lowered his head.
“Your Majesty.”
Her face was a mask. “Your Royal Highness,” she said, and presented her hand. “Welcome to the Queendom of Inys.”
Lievelyn kissed her coronation ring.
“Majesty,” he said, “I am already enamored with your city, and humbled by your acceptance of my suit. It is the greatest honor to be in your presence.”
His voice was quiet. Ead was surprised by his reserve. Usually a suitor would be piling unctuous praise on to the royal person the moment he opened his mouth, but Lievelyn just looked with dark eyes at the Queen of Inys, the figurehead of his religion.
Sabran, whose eyebrows were raised, took back her hand.
“The Dukes Spiritual, scions of the Holy Retinue,” she said. They bowed to Lievelyn, and he dipped his head lower in return.
“You are most welcome here, Your Royal Highness,” Combe said warmly. “We have long anticipated this meeting.”