Nothing Was As It Should Be 5 (AU) - Sister of Shadows

[drakensis]

Rhemuth Castle was quiet that night. Murmurs among the servants claimed that the young king had done battle with the royal council before sundown, and emerged triumphant. Other voices spoke warily of the sinister Duke of Corwyn and his influence over the old king and now the new. For the most part though, they were hard at work and short of hands - many engaged in preparations for the following day when Kelson Haldane would receive his crown in the great cathedral and return here to feast with his great lords.

Even the greatest of households would be strained by such work and thus few were found in the vicinity of the library. Clarissa Jonelle Festiliana Furstana-Festila MacTadhg had little fear of being stopped and questioned - it was unlikely that anyone would think to try, less that it would be one of the rare folk of Gwynedd who could confront her, unsuspecting, and not be at her mercy.

The finding that she had cast earlier told her that one of the few exceptions was within the room and while she could have foregone alerting him to her presence, she had been reared to believe courtesies existed for good reasons. Perhaps he would expect her, although Clarissa was not sure that Morgan's understanding of the arts led to recognising a finding.

The well-oiled door swung open silently and she saw her purpose this night sat facing a reading desk, bent over and reading a tome that lay open before him. Engaged fully in his study, the man seemed not to have noted her and thus she was granted time to take his measure as best she could from this angle.

The duke of Corwyn wore black and she saw from its lines that he wore light mail beneath it - a wise precaution. His gilt hair had no threading of silver yet and there was a broadness to Morgan's shoulders that Clarissa found pleasing. The years since they last met had (save of late) been good to him, she thought and the lady was surprised to find that this did not displease her.

When they last met, she had been burdened with grief and the young Morgan had not been unkind. She owed him no cruelty now that it was he who must bear the weight of losing a loved one.

"Saint Camber of Culdi," Morgan said to himself, presumably reading from the book. "Patron of Deryni magic." Then he looked nervously behind him and could not help but see Clarissa standing in the doorway, startled slightly at his words. That was not a name to use lightly, after all.

The quiet was broken as the duke snapped upright, chair almost falling over in his energy. "You," he hissed, and there was steel in his hand and in his voice.

From many, Clarissa would scorn the threat of the narrow blade that had slipped out of Morgan's sleeve with practiced confidence. Not from this man and she almost considered withdrawing before he could reach the door. "Me," she said instead, letting the door fall closed behind her.

"You promised me," he hissed, voice broken for a moment in pain not only of grief but also of betrayal.

The words sent a shock through the Deryni Lady, for the raw sincerity made it clear in this moment that the half-breed had drastically mis-read the situation. He believed she was...

Stung to anger, she drew herself up. She was certain that the fool man was able to truth-read and Clarissa had not ridden the turmoil of court politics for more than half her lifetime without knowing when to speak with care, and when direct honesty might serve best. "And I have kept that oath fully, your grace of Corwyn," she snapped, eyes flinty at the insult.

Gray eyes flickered in shock as he took in that her words were without artifice. Then in calculation... and the stiletto vanished from sight once more.

Alaric Morgan bowed to her, the practiced and yet graceful bow of a courtier to their equal. "My sincerest apologies for suspecting you, milady... I did not think to see you here."

"And yet you thought something of me." She glided closer, the hem of her gown grazing the kheldish carpet of the library chamber. A breath and she was centered again. "I make an excuse of your grief, this once."

"I shall not refuse that grace," he answered sardonically, back on balance.

"Well." Clarissa let one finger graze a shelf of tomes. "You were kind to me once."

~/~

The young duke looked at the woven ribbon mats and polished tiles on the table and gave Clarissa a curious look. "Is this a working?" he asked, voice kept low so as not to carry to the innkeeper or the staff. Much less to the armsmen of Arban Howell, who had their own table between that of the Tolans and the door. The new Earl of Eastmarch had no cause for friendship with Clarissa, and his men were eager to prove themselves.

Clarissa's own guards glared up at him but she flicked two fingers for their restraint before looking up. "A game," she explained, barely looking up. "Familiar and therefore..."

"Settling," Morgan said in understanding.

"Some nights, yes." Then she shook her head and pushed the tiles back into the bag that stored them. "But tonight I find no peace in it." Clarissa looked around at the men at the table. "My apologies for the distraction."

Each of them touched their breasts and dipped their heads respectfully, withdrawing to leave the youngest two to converse. The delicacy of their understanding brought a new pang to Clarissa's heart - it was her father who had forged that bond of loyalty, who was she to receive its fruits?

"We will reach Culliecairn tomorrow," the youth reminded her politely. "From there, you will be on your own lands."

"I am familiar with the fortresses that face Torenth," Clarissa assured him with a touch of asperity. "For reasons that you may guess."

The boy's smile was a touch crooked. "No doubt they were a topic of much conversation before your father's venture."

Something ugly simmered inside the young woman's heart at the half-breed's mention of her fallen father. "Family history," she said, rather than voice it. "King Marek faced Rhys Michael Haldane there in 928. That and other incidents have been recounted much at my father's court since mother died."

That got a tilt of the head from Morgan. "Your pardon, milady?" He looked puzzled. "I understood your lady mother to have passed away within days of your birth." A pained hesitation stole speech from him briefly. "As my own did after my sister's birth."

The admission stole any impulse to retort with fire and Clarissa took a moment to gather her dignity. "The lady Kethevan was wed to my father before King Nimur annulled the marriage for political reasons. She was the only mother I knew and I count myself blessed that she held my sister and I as dear as the daughters of her own body."

"Blessed indeed," Morgan whispered and lowered his head in prayer.

"You came here to ask me something," the young Festil observed, not wishing to sound accusatory. "I am of a mind to retire, so please speak directly."

Silver gray eyes met her own and then he nodded. "Do you intend to take up your father's cause? That of your forefathers back to Marek and his mother Ariella?"

Clarissa almost drew blood from her lip with her teeth, a bad habit she would have been chided for if her father... if he had seen it. "I... do not know," she confessed. "One day, I may strike down Brion Haldane as he cut down my father."

"Over my dead body," the boy informed her flatly.

A morbid giggle crept from her throat and Clarissa knew herself too tired, too tight wound for this. "That I can pledge you," she allowed. "If I do resolve to that purpose, I will remove you first. You will never have to see him fall by my hand."

"If that's the best I can get, I will take it," Morgan conceded.

She nodded. "Excuse me, your grace. The hour is late and we have a long ride tomorrow."

~\~

"You may have forgotten that I am not the only one who lost a father on that day at Llegoddin," Clarissa told him, the two still posed facing each other across the library floor.

Morgan's eyes narrowed. "More than a few fathers fell that day on both sides, Clarissa. But I take your meaning: it is your twin who is behind this."

"I believe so." The lady of Tolan thought wistfully back to the days before their father's death drove a divide between the two. "You know her husband's ambitions."

"Cardosa has changed hands more than once, and raiding across the border goes back further than I care to say." Morgan reached for his chair and then remembered his manners, ushering Clarissa to sit across from him in the window bay, the cloudy night sky meaning that they were lit only by the lantern on the desk. "Meanwhile, your own reputation is, I am sorry to say, no better than mine."

Clarissa's lips curled. "The Shadow Lady of Torenth," she declared dramatically and let her presence fade slightly, drawing a sharp look from Morgan before he pierced the minor glamor and she released it as pointless. "I know what people call me. And, of course, there are always those eager to name the sinister duke of Corwyn as at fault for any crime. Including the most implausible."

"It is unfortunately easy in Gwynedd to blame a Deryni," the duke in question allowed. He sighed. "But you think it may be more than that?"

"The Camberian Council are no fonder of I than they are of you." She pursed her lips. "I can certainly see some of their members holding your half-breed status against you, but they have held their noses in the air without it keeping them from supporting the Haldanes before. Unless, of course, someone is stirring rumors about you within the community that the Council claim to serve."

Morgan cupped his chin. "I know little of them," he admitted. "They are also not fond of you."

"Certainly there have been rumors that I am dangerous and unruly," Clarissa confirmed. "And while they would hardly support my beloved sister or her royal husband, I find it unfortunately likely that they wish to ensure that the Council are also distant from those across the playing field."

"This is no game."

"Of course it is. The deadliest of sports, and none of us has a choice of whether we play in it. Not you, not I and not your young king."

The Haldane's champion gave her a searching look. "I am surprised to find you showing sympathy for Kelson."

"He never killed my father," Clarissa replied evenly. "I can forgive Brion Haldane for my father's death - it was a fair duel - but it is not something I can forget. His son though? He was not even born!"

"And you do not pursue your family's claim upon the throne of Gwynedd?"

"You are alive, are you not?" She shook her head slowly. "I do not renounce the claim, but nor do I choose to pursue it. Brion Haldane was..." She barely had to grit her teeth at the admission. "A good king. Not perfect, particularly for Deryni, but he was no tyrant whose overthrow would be welcomed. Even if I had defeated him, yes, over your body Morgan, then I would not have a strong hand to rule Gwynedd. Some gambles are not worth the coin."

"If that's the best I can get, I will take it," Morgan allowed, clearly remembering the words so long ago. "And what brings you here?"

"I would take Kelson's measure," she admitted. "No one will notice one more lady in the cathedral tomorrow and it will give me a read on how seriously he takes his oaths."

The man's lip curled. "I beg to differ on the subject of you being noticed. You are quite striking, your grace of Tolan. And I think you would - Khadasa!" he exclaimed.

Clarissa took a moment to enjoy the childish satisfaction of seeing his startlement at seeing her own blonde hair and regal features replaced by a less - as he had put it - striking woman, with darker hair and a more kheldish look to her. "The foreign and exotic duchess of Tolam might be noticed but the comparatively Lady McTadhg of some minor border holding will not," she said complacently. "But it would be ill-done to attend without alerting at least one of your king's councilors as to my presence." She considered and then added: "At least one of my ancestors was less polite in their intrusions."

"I shudder to think," Morgan said, sinking back into his seat. He regarded her again over steepled hands, the gryphon ring of his house twinkling upon one finger. "You need not concern yourself with Kelson's character."

She shook her head. "I prefer to form my own impression. You are somewhat biased, milord Morgan. After all, you love the boy."

"As you are biased towards your father?"

She tilted her head in thought. It stung, but less than it once had. "Did you ever learn, your grace, what spurred him to take up a cause that had been left idle for eighty years?"

~/~

"The Killingford was a disaster for both kingdoms," her father reminded Prince Wencit as they sat in the solar at Marluk. It was winter, and as was his custom, Duke Hogan had relocated his family to the southerly duchy that he'd inherited from his mother. This left them in some proximity to Wencit's own estates at Vorna, and he was, after all, Hogan's cousin.

The redheaded prince nodded in agreement. "It is for the best that my father would not countenance such a war again, but that is not the only reason that the Festillic claim has been left dormant for so long."

Clarissa sat on the bench along with Charissa and their much younger cousin Eufemia who watched the duke and prince discussion with less comprehension than the twins. Hogan looked over at the young ladies. "Have you been taught that tale yet?" he asked them.

It was a young lady's place to be silent in such conversations, unless invited. Charissa spoke up once that restraint was lifted. "Killingford left no male heir of our line until grandfather Marek," she declared boldly.

Hogan nodded. "And my father died very young." He turned to his guest. "My ancestors tried for that throne many times, Wencit. And we have never shaken the Haldane's hold on their throne."

"An usurped throne," the Furstan prince reminded him.

"I crave your pardon, uncle," Clarissa asked politely, "but are you referring to Cinhil Haldane's usurpation from King Imre, or Festil Furstan's usurpation from King Ifor?"

Wencit gave her a shrewd look, but not one without respect. "I do not think you are a Haldane loyalist, my niece, but if you wish to play advocatus diaboli, the current Haldane line could be said to be of questionable lineage given that Cinhil Haldane broke the oaths of a priest to claim the throne two hundred years ago."

The girl felt her brow furrow. "I believe King Imre's father had also been a priest - an archbishop in fact - before his elder brother's untimely demise left him as Festil III's heir."

Hogan laughed proudly. "I have raised a scholar, you see."

Wencit nodded in approval. "And you, young lady?" he asked Charissa. "What do you think of your father replacing the Haldanes and putting an end to their persecution of the Deryni."

Clarissa's face tightened at the question and she felt Charissa take her hand. "If we can stop the burnings," the younger twin answered directly, "Then of course we should. But without the backing of the royal army I do not see how."

There was an air of triumph on Wencit's face as he glanced over at Hogan.

For his part, Clarissa's father looked troubled. "A failed attempt would likely only make that worse," he said slowly. "I would rather stay on my own lands than spark more such atrocities..." He did not say 'but'... though everyone except little Eufemia knew that it was in the air.

~\~

"He was right about reprisals," Morgan affirmed after Clarissa explained the conversation. "Brion did what he could, but it got ugly. You probably heard about some of the incidents in the northwest. Stavenham in particular."

"Bishop Loris," she agreed. "Archbishop, I should say. Elevating someone like him... I had reservations about your church before that but what were they thinking?"

The lines around Morgan's eyes tightened but he said nothing.

Clarissa half-covered her face. "The threat of a Deryni coup," she concluded. "Loris, whatever else he does, would stand against me if I had tried to kill your king."

"He might have offered you a chance to do penance for just killing me," the duke said lightly. "But that doesn't mean he'd tolerate a Festil on the throne again. If your sister does try to claim the throne then Loris will have every priest in the kingdom preaching rebellion against her."

"Content that every peasant who dies in the resulting bloodbath is going directly to heaven," she said bitterly. "I wish I could say that there are no men like that east of the Rheljan Mountains but I cannot."

Morgan spread his hands. "Loris wasn't Brion's preference either. He would have stopped the burnings if he could, but overturning the Statues of Ramos would require support in the Synod."

"The Statutes of Ramos were imposed on the Church after a military coup led by an ambitious bishop who butchered half the Synod who had presumed to elect someone other than himself as Archbishop of Valoret," Clarissa said bitterly. "Where is the Restoration for that?"

The Gwyneddian spread his hands helplessly. "Unfortunately, the Statutes are heavily entrenched. It would require the Synod's active support to overturn them. And however unfounded, rumors that you are after Kelson's crown does nothing to enable that."

She sighed. "I know. One reason I refrained from taking up the Festil cause was the hope that the fervor might die down."

"One reason?"

Clarissa gave Morgan a dour look, one she had had much practice with over the years. "Refusing Prince Aldred's suite was not without a cost. King Nimur was offended both on his grandson's behalf and for the flaunting of his own authority. Given my father's first marriage was against his will, he was very firmly opposed to my marrying anyone other than his choice."

"I see." The duke nodded. "And once your sister married Aldred in your place, keeping you childless meant that the Furstans would inherit the Festillic claim upon your death. Through Aldred's children or, after her remarriage to him, Wencit's."

"You understand exactly. Four successive kings have been chipping away at what independence I can muster, restrained only because if they go too far then other great lords may fear for their own positions." Clarissa knew her lips were thin at the memories of fifteen years of political wrangling.

~/~

It was winter but there was no more customary retreat to Marluk. Charissa sat at the head of the council chamber in Tolan. Two years since Hogan Gwernach's death, and the seat still felt too large for her.

Such discomfort was secondary to the letter on the table though.

"That bastard!" Mikael exclaimed from her left, still reading the table.

"Prince Karoly is many things, brother, but his legitimacy is not in doubt," she cautioned him. "King Karoly, I should say, given the news."

Zimarek sighed heavily. Her father's elder children had no inheritance rights, even after being legitimized. They had been granted lands and titles but had no claim on the many titles that had converged upon Hogan by virtue of generations of well bargained marriages. As the firstborn, the Count of Tarkhan had become Clarissa's strong right hand - regent in all but name until she wed or had enough hardwon credibility to openly rule in her own right.

At least here in Tolan, where her great-grandmother was in living memory, that might be a possibility.

"Restrain yourself, Mikael," he warned. "Run your mouth like that in Beldour - or too publically anywhere - and there will be dire consequences. No king appreciates that word being applied to them, whether as insult or slander."

"He never hesitates to put it on us though."

Clarissa rubbed her brow. "I do not recall hearing that from uncle Karoly," she said slowly. "His father, yes, and Aldred too... but not from him. He is not quick to anger others, give him that credit."

Mikael slumped into his seat. "You're right," he conceded. "I apologize for my temper. But he calls you to Beldour and..."

"And I cannot refuse," she pointed out. "I would not be able to attend the killijalay -" (the ceremonial girding of the king with the sword of state before the tomb of Sankt Iob) "- and he allows a low profile, but if I do not offer fealty then he can call me rebel and suffer no consequence to it."

"And once you're there and in his hands, he'll see you married off," the young count warned grimly. "He won't let you retreat here again."

As proud as Clarissa was of her accomplishments, she had to admit the truth: the king of Torenth could command many a Deryni Lord and Lady. There was little chance of leaving Beldour without Karoly's consent. "You may be right."

"Or wrong," Zimarek observed thoughtfully. "It may be that he is willing to bargain."

She gave him a curious look.

"The letter is fairly conciliatory," he pointed out. "Diplomatic, I would even say. Casting your absence from court as grief for your father is not a consideration I would have expected from Nimur." He tapped his chin. "But the reason I think he's bargaining is the mention of Charissa marrying Aldred."

"That doesn't mean he won't want to control Clarissa's marriage," the younger brother warned.

"From his point of view, it would be better to block a marriage," Zimarek corrected him. "If he wants the Festillic claim - and some of the lands - in royal hands then Clarissa marrying anyone would weaken his own grandchildren's position." He held out his hand for the letter and, being offered it, refreshed his memory. "I don't believe you'll get royal assent for any marriage, Clarissa, but if you offer him something - perhaps in terms of a gift to Charissa - then Karoly may well let you ride north again."

"Portal," she corrected him absently. "He wants lands?"

There was a pained sound from Mikael. For all his hot-temper, he was very good with numbers and the loss of revenue over the last two years had been painful. "First Truvorsk," he muttered. "Where will it stop?"

Her father's principal titles had extended to no less than three duchies and one county, making him by far the wealthiest man in Torenth outside of the immediate royal house. Tolan alone was the second-largest domain in the kingdom. The duchy of Truvorsk had been entailed to a male line of succession though, so a great-uncle Clarissa barely knew had inherited the strategically placed lands near the capital. That hadn't been unexpected, but from there various problems had sprung up, very probably not coincidental. She (and her loyal siblings) were all convinced that Nimur and his councilors had hoped that failing to manage her remaining lands would force Clarissa to back down and fall into the status of royal ward.

"Presumably it will stop if we can come to a compromise that Karoly and I can live with," she said thoughtfully. "And that Charissa accepts. Let us not forget that she has a will of her own."

"Yes..." Zimarek said slowly. "And while we're at it, keeping you out of royal custody is only one concern for you being in Beldour. You haven't seen Charissa since Llegoddin... I would really suggest we give thought to how to avoid the two of you starting a duel arcane in the royal palace... or the streets."

"It wouldn't come to that."

"Clarissa," her brother warned, "She is very angry with you. Two years has not cooled her temper on the matter."

She looked to the younger brother for support and the fact that he wouldn't meet her gaze said much...

~\~

"So that is how Clarissa became duchess of Marluk," Morgan deduced.

"It was the furthest lands from Gwynedd," she admitted.

"Not that far, but I suppose none of your family's lands were far east."

"No," Clarissa agreed. "We have been looking back west." Looking for another topic of conversation: "So that is why I have never wed. Why is the handsome and eligible Duke of Corwyn still single? I doubt royal assent would be a problem for you."

He failed to meet her eyes. "I never met the right lady. And many who are suitable by rank, my ancestry is a problem."

Her eyes narrowed. "Human bigotry!"

"Or Deryni who object to my father," he added, puncturing her anger with a certain satisfaction.

"Touche." Her eyes fell on the open book and she asked: "So what brought you to the library? I heard you invoking Camber..."

Morgan said nothing at first, rising and crossing back to the desk. Then he looked over at her. "Would you believe I had a vision of him?"

Clarissa shivered at the thought. "I suppose the main miracles ascribed to him were appearances after his reported death. I cannot imagine your Synod stripping his sainthood would stop one such as he."

The duke arched an eyebrow. "You're well versed in his affairs. There's no mention of such appearances here."

"When it comes to matters of our race are you surprised I have a more complete library?" the duchess asked acerbically. "I am working from memory, of course, but there were two or three claimed appearances of him and his tomb was found to be empty, although his son claimed to have reburied him in case of enemies profaning it. Foresighted of him, given what followed. Did he say anything?"

"No," Morgan admitted. "It was just a glimpse, I couldn't even have named him but I opened this book and found his page marked. The portrait is exactly the face I saw."

A chill went through Clarissa. Alaric Morgan might be prone to some whimsy but not on such matters. He was, when it came to it, as precisely adept as any Deryni Lord she knew of. With more education, he might well have fit into their number - halfblood or not. She could not dismiss his words as fancy.

"Saints should remain dead," she said out loud. "But Camber... he was one of the most able adepts since the days of Orin. He would have been legendary even without his politics. You just happened to see his face?"

"I was in a Thuryn trance."

The blond didn't explain why and Clarissa elected not to ask. Some matters were personal and if it was relevant then he had elected not to share it, no doubt with reason. That did spark some memory though. "He married Camber's daughter," the heir of the Festil kings noted. "Lord Rhys Thuryn, an accomplished healer. I am unsure if he devised the trance or was simply associated with it, but I do know that his wife was Evaine MacRorie, the youngest child of Camber."

"A strange association."

"She was a very able Deryni lady," Clarissa told him. "Vanished in the chaos around the Council of Ramos. The Camberian Council may know more about that but I have never had the chance to see their archives. I only hope that their refusal of my request was political and not embarrassment about some failing of their archivists."

Morgan chuckled at the jest and then shook his head. "I imagine Camber himself might have words with them if it is the latter."

"Any reputable scholar would," she told him drily. "The Council claims its remit in overseeing the Deryni based on his reputation, however tarnished, as defender of humankind."

The duke stared at her for a moment.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"No," he said slowly. "I think you may have just solved the problem I was puzzling over."

Clarissa gave him a quizzical look.

"A matter of state," Morgan said apologetically.

"How unfair!" For the first time in years, Clarissa pouted.

~/~

Some two-score of the Haldane entourage still stood when Clarissa dismounted her palfrey. Even with the addition of her small escort, the Tolan men were badly outnumbered. The bodies on the bloody earth were inverted in their allegiance and the girl saw many a familiar face still and silent among those on the soiled canyon floor.

Brion Haldane was darkly handsome, if fatigued from the bloody day as he stood and watched her, flanked by his brother and an older man in the colors of Eastmarch. The new earl, Clarissa assumed. Rorik Howell and her father had promised much to each other and neither had managed to deliver.

"Your father said that you would be safely to Cardosa before anyone could catch you," the... the King of Gywnedd said without greeting or courtesy. "It seemed he misjudged you."

"The Pretender's daughter?" exclaimed the Eastmarcher. "We should..."

The king shook his head slightly. "A moment, Arban." With what seemed like effort he released hold of the quillions of the sword he was leaning against. Clarissa felt her gorge rise as she realized whose blood stained the blade. "I think you know what my loyal Earl of Eastmarch recommends."

She looked up at him and spoke only when she was sure that her voice would not shake. "Your church would have me decorate a pyre, your highness. If this is Arban Howell...?" A nod from the man confirmed it. "Then he may recall we are distant kin by way of Sudrey of Kheldour and counsel that you do by me as his ancestor did with her." Sudrey had wed a son of Sighere of Eastmarch, who had brought down the princes of Kheldour and then sworn himself to the Haldanes as their chief vassal in the north.

Brion's lips twitched. "I am wed already and Nigel would not thank me for disrupting his own courtship."

The young Haldane at the king's side looked pained at the idea and Clarissa might have giggled if the moment was less serious. "My congratulations," she offered him stiffly.

"And wedding you to one of my vassals would simply move the Festillic claim from a threat across the border to one within my own court," the king continued. "Knowing that my duty may lead me to bury you with your father, why have you come here?"

"I request the return of my father's body, and tokens of those who served him," the young duchess asked quietly. "I cannot bring them all home to their loved ones, but that, at least, I can do. Beyond that, you have others of his following here and I request their freedom - I will pay any reasonable ransom."

Arban hissed. "Honorable, but foolish. Your highness, I suggest she be taken into custody for now."

Again, Brion held the earl back with but a gesture. "And what would happen, young lady, if I do as I am advised?"

"Custody will end in my death eventually," she answered, a tremble escaping despite all her effort. "By fire, the sword -" she nodded towards the bloodied blade - "Or age eventually. My twin sister is already well on her way to Cardosa and even if she were... removed..." For a long moment she was unable to speak and the men remained silent. "In that event, the claim passes to my father's cousin Karoly, who is heir to King Nimur. At this time, the line of Festil is better established than your own."

Brion turned his head to a young squire who Clarissa had dismissed until now as merely an attendant. "Truth, Alaric?" he asked.

The girl felt her eyes widen as she realized that she was looking at a Deryni in Haldane service! Who was this? And why would he serve a king whose church proscribed his god-given gifts?!

"The Lady Festil speaks truly," the boy reported quietly.

For a moment the king lowered his eyes in thought. "Blood spilled has never settled this matter yet," he said at last. "Let us try something else. Your men will help our prisoners bury the dead of both our entourages. You may take tokens of the dead and names of the living - an exchange of heralds later will discuss ransoms."

Clarissa bowed her head. It was not what she had hoped, but better than she feared.

"And then they will escort you and your late father back into Torenth," Brion continued calmly. "Let those who followed him see what came of his claim upon my kingdom."

There was an approving grunt from Arban as Clarissa looked up in surprise.

"Generosity is the province of the victor."

Damn him. She felt the knife edge of that mercy against her pride. "Then I will impose upon my distant kinsman, the Earl Howell," the young blonde declared, words racing almost ahead of her thoughts, "And ask to cross to Tolan via Culliecairn, rather than riding to Cardosa."

That set the men back on their heels as nothing else she said had.

"And may I ask why?" Prince Nigel asked, speaking for the first time.

"Because I have no wish to marry Karoly's son, Aldred," she said frankly. "And in Cardosa I will likely be made the ward of the King, who would desire my inheritance to pass back into the royal line." Which inheritance, she did not specify. Most of them, probably.

Brion rubbed his bare chin. "And why do you oppose this?"

"He is my cousin of the second degree, and there are good reasons that dispensation would be needed of the church for such a match." She let an acid edge touch her lips. "And it was an Aldred who first annexed Tolan to Torenth."

"Truly spoken in both regards," young Alaric (though he had a few years on her, she suspected) "But neither was an actual answer."

"Could you," the earl asked the squire, "Make her answer you?"

There was an air of distaste to the answer. "As could torture, Lord Arban. Is either called for?"

Clarissa was less than certain this boy could do as he boasted. It would take both skill and power. But torture had not occurred to her until this moment.

"They are not," King Brion said flatly, tone permitting no disagreement. "Knowing when not to take action is sometimes more important than having the ability to do so. I would have you grant the lady's request, Arban. And I will send Alaric with you to ensure there is no mischief on her part."

Mischief?! Indignation flared alongside the misery of her loss. Until now, she had not considered the possibility but now that it was said...

~\~

There was a stir in the Cathedral as Charissa Festil, Duchess of Marluk and twice-over Queen of Torenth called her own champion to face Alaric Morgan. The surprise was not that she did so, but that she didn't choose from the Moors behind her.

Ian Howell stepped out into the aisle with a sly grin on his face to stand by the would-be usurper.

Clarissa, safely anonymous behind a veil as well as her glamor was as surprised as any there. Who would have thought that the stiff old Earl Arban would have a son who followed Earl Rorik into treason against the Haldanes? Had Charissa appealed to the thin Deryni blood in the earl's veins?

"You would dare to raise steel against me, Ian? And in this House?" Kelson was barely hours past his majority, perhaps of Alaric's age back at that day in the Llegoddin gorge, but he showed nothing but composure as he looked on the treacherous earl.

Ian's blade slithered free of its scabbard. "Aye, and in a thousand like it. And now," he pointed the sword up towards the group at the altar. "WIll your champion come down to do battle or must I come up and slay him where he stands?"

Not that there was any question. Morgan drew his own sword as he descended the chancel steps, using it to flick Charissa's gauntlet back at her feet. He spoke contemptuously, but Clarissa was still drinking in the sight of her sister. How long had it been - almost five years now since the last of their rare meetings. The queen's hair was up and braided around her coronet, reflecting her royal status. She wore jewels, blued-gray silk and a cloak of velvet and fox - for it was a cold November, even within the cathedrals crowd.

And her expression was resolved. It reminded the elder of the twins of another day, of their father's face when he rode from Cardosa.

The men circled and then steel clashed. Ian struck first and he was skilled, Clarissa - drawn from her sister by the sound - could acknowledge that. But Morgan was more than able to counter and though it took several passes for him to take the other lord's measure, it was he who drew first blood - a pinking on the right shoulder and a tear in the velvet doublet.

Had that strike been deeper it could have ended the duel, for both men were right-handed, but it was no more than a scratch.

Ian was enraged though, and his attacks grew wilder, more reckless. Anger was a fine tool, but not a good master and Clarissa was not surprised that before too long Morgan managed a riposte that plunged into Eastmarch's side. The thrill surprised her, in fact. She had taken the defender's side without realizing it. The side that... was not her sister's. What was she thinking?

And yet, she could not deny the relief as Morgan, unwounded, watched Ian drop his sword. The duke stepped forwards then, not to finish but merely to wipe his blade disrespectfully against his tottering opponent's cloth of gold cloak to cleanse it of the blood.

"Who now," Morgan growled, pointing his sword at Charissa, "Is ruler of Gwynedd."

The crowd surged and then cried out - Clarissa felt a spell cast in the moment and when she saw Morgan again he was half-turned and a dagger hilt jutted from his shoulder. No small flesh wound this - at best his arm was disabled and at worst the artery there might be severed.

Again, steel rang on the marble floor of the nave as a champion dropped his sword.

While Ian lay alone, Morgan at least had aid. As he wrenched his chain of office from his neck - ah! It had been ensorcelled somehow, the duchess realized - three priests rushed to his side and helped the wounded duke back to the sanctuary.

"Yes, who now is ruler of Gwynedd, my proud friend?" Charissa purred, strolling forwards to the moaning Ian.

Clarissa looked at her twin and nothing was as it should be. Where was the sister she had spent almost every hour with from birth until after their stepmother passed away? Where was the laughter, the wit?

There was just coldness, just resolve and... and hatred.

Why did I leave her in Beldour? She castigated her. I should have done something, anything!

As Charissa exchanged last words with Ian, her sister began pushing through the crowd, veil swept away as it caught on the jeweled collar of another lady. Her heart chilled as she heard the cruelty towards the fallen ally. Their father had never, would never, have dealt with the man so!

"Well, Kelson," the queen asked mockingly as Ian's heart stilled. "It seems our little duel has decided nothing. My champion is dead, granted, but yours is so sorely wounded, his fate too is doubtful. It appears -"

"Enough."

All eyes turned to Clarissa as she freed herself of the crowd, glamor falling away. "Charissa, this is graceless. You have no claim yet by blood and with your champion's defeat, none by combat."

For her part, the queen of Torenth looked pale even behind her own veil. "You have no business here, Clarissa. It is the Haldane I am here to challenge. If you lack the stomach, then stand aside."

Clarissa shook her head. "You embarrass us by interference - nay, do not deny what we both know - and then you would have repeated the challenge simply because you did not gain the result you looked for?"

"The prize our father died for is there," her sister instructed, turning to charm when demands failed her. "We need only take it and you will be ruler here!"

"That is not for you to dispose," Kelson Haldane declared. He stepped forwards to join them,  the three forming a triangle upon the marble floor, and gave Clarissa a terse nod. "Nor even you, your grace of Tolan."

"In the sense only that I elect not to exercise my family's claim while Gwynedd is well ruled," she replied. They circled, almost dancelike, Charissa trying to close in on her sister, Kelson intent on keeping his distance from them both and Clarissa (straining every sense to see if Brion's magic might have been passed on to this new generation) unwilling to commit to either. "As to my sister's poor courtesy, I can only apologize."

Kelson appeared to reach a position that suited him for he halted sharply, foot upon one of the many seals set into the floor. "I do not feel that she shares your remorse, milady of Tolan."

"I suppose not," Clarissa agreed drily. She also halted and turned towards Charissa. "Well, sister? I do not think either of us knows which of us would win in a contest of the arts, but even if you are the victor then I think you would struggle against the Haldane then."

"Assuming he has anything of Brion's magic," her sister began dismissively, but then her eyes went wide.

The young King's aura had sprung up around him, outlining him to their senses in the crimson power that both had seen pitted against their father fifteen years before.

Clarissa inclined her head slightly. "I believe I will assume that, should you put me in the uncomfortable position of defending the Haldane from my own sister."

Something seemed to snap shut within Charissa. "This is treason, sister."

"Are you here on your royal husband's will or on your own?" But they both knew it didn't really matter. Wencit was already preparing for war when spring came. He would have no tolerance for a lady, however great, who stood between him and turning Gwynedd into an easy conquest.

Her twin turned her back and there was finality to her stride as she crossed the nave to the great doors. "You have made a mistake today, Clarissa."

"It would not be the first time," she allowed. And then the door opened and Charissa departed into the bright cold light of the day outside.

The silence was broken almost immediately by clamor from those who had been watching. Queen Jehana was - perhaps surprisingly - the first to reach her son, stepping defensively between Kelson and Clarissa. No lioness could be fiercer than when defending her cub.

But Clarissa simply felt tired. This was not what she had wanted. Not ever what she had dreamed.

"Your highness," she said, projecting her voice to cut across the words of others. "I believe you have a coronation to complete."

"Indeed." Kelson took his mother's hand, perhaps to escort her back to where the Archbishops waited. But his gray eyes, very much like those of his father, sought Clarissa's. "And you, milady of Tolan?"

"It would..." She lowered her gaze to the floor. Oh, it was Camber's seal that the young king had sought. There must be a story there - how had it never been removed in two centuries of maligning the man? "It would seem that I am renounced by my own monarch. Perhaps, when you have your crown, you can suggest another I might offer allegiance to."

The king's eyes widened in surprise, though not so far as his mother's. To Clarissa's amusement, given Jehana's famous dislike of her husband's favorite, both turned to look to where one of the priests was helping Morgan to his feet.

"If she gives her word, you can believe it," the duke replied with his usual sardony. "After all, it is the only reason I am still alive."

Nothing was as it should be. But the great game of kings continued, and who knew where it might end?

---------------------------------------------------------------

Author Note:
According to the 2nd edition of the Deryni Codex, Hogan Zimri Marek Gwernach Furstan-Festil mac Tadhg, called "The Marluk" was first married to Kethevan von Soslan-Davit, with their marriage annulled less than two months later. Despite this they went on to have four children, who were legitimized when they remarried in 1099.

However, in 1093, Hogan married Lady Larissa Duchess and Heiress of Marluk, and by her he had twin daughters: the Hereditary Princess and Duchess Clarissa later duchess of Marluk, who died at the age of IV days;  the Hereditary Princess and Duchess Charissa later duchess of Marluk and Tolan and Countess of Gwernach. Lady Larissa passed away the day before her daughter Clarissa - thus the infant's brief reign over Marluk.

Well, as my mind goes, what if Clarissa did not die young?

[tmcd]

So richly and skillfully done! Though I fear that praise from a careless reader is maybe no praise at all: I had to stop halfway through to realize I'd been reading "l" as "h", so I had to start over.

I'd have to read again more closely (o dreadful fate!!1!) to see whether you were entirely consistent. I think "milady of Torenth" near the end should be "milady of Tolan".

[Nezz]

I had to stop halfway through to realize I'd been reading "l" as "h", so I had to start over.

I had the same problem, although I think I might have caught it sooner than halfway. Drakensis, perhaps if Clarissa makes some internal reference to "my sister, Charissa" within the first few paragraphs. (or not: maybe you want people to confuse the two)

[Evie]

The twins having such similar names makes sense (especially if they are identical twins), but does the reader no favors, although when one draws the names directly from the Codex, there's not much that can be done about that. I know readers of my stories have confused Javana and Jashana Arilan for years even though I just used the names found in the Codex for Denis's nieces and nephews. While writing my current story, I accidentally swapped the names Camber and Cinhil a few times, which were thankfully caught by my eagle-eyed beta readers if I missed the errors. Fortunately they weren't Camber and Canber, or Cinhil and Cinnil!

Great story! I want to go back and reread it when I can do so at a more leisurely pace.

[Jerusha]

Drakensis, you never disappoint.  A very engaging perspective.

[drakensis]

I'd have to read again more closely (o dreadful fate!!1!) to see whether you were entirely consistent. I think "milady of Torenth" near the end should be "milady of Tolan".

Quite correct, thanks. I have fixed that.

The twins having such similar names makes sense (especially if they are identical twins), but does the reader no favors, although when one draws the names directly from the Codex, there's not much that can be done about that.

The fact their mother's name was Larissa suggests someone was not using their imagination.

[Nezz]

I had to stop halfway through to realize I'd been reading "l" as "h", so I had to start over.

I had the same problem, although I think I might have caught it sooner than halfway. Drakensis, perhaps if Clarissa makes some internal reference to "my sister, Charissa" within the first few paragraphs. (or not: maybe you want people to confuse the two)

Drakensis, I just noticed that I failed to compliment you on your wonderful story when I'd made that suggestion. Let me rectify that now. I really enjoyed this piece of AU. Made me sad Clarissa did not survive that first week to become the ally that she could have been.

[tmcd]

I wasn't complaining when I mentioned I'd missed the "Cl". My reaction was more like, "aw, man, I really whiffed that -- ya got me, Drakensis! Well done!"

[revanne]

Masterfully done. Though as a younger twin myself it pains me that Charissa, as Jacob, is the less honorable.

[Demercia]

Masterfully done. Though as a younger twin myself it pains me that Charissa, as Jacob, is the less honorable.

I couldn't possibly comment 😂

[drakensis]

Masterfully done. Though as a younger twin myself it pains me that Charissa, as Jacob, is the less honorable.

She certainly doesn't present herself well in Deryni Rising, which doesn't really suggest she'd be a good queen regnant - she treats Ian pretty badly, cheats in his duel with Morgan and re-challenging once the champions are both out of action is rather dubious.

Then again, the novel does suffer a bit from early instalment weirdness, so a relatively limited characterisation of the villain is understandable. At least she has a clear motivation.

I'm glad this story is being enjoyed.

[tmcd]

"She certainly doesn't present herself well in Deryni Rising"

You're right, she definitely got a bucket of "mwhahaha I'm sooooo eeeeeevil" dumped on her head there. If only someone would write some stories from the point of view of some lord close to her, who can see when she's less armored, who sees her as determined and masterful and clever rather than just brutal and tyrannical ....