Cethe (41 page)

relatives somewhere I don’t know about?”

“The mistress, Beth, never had children, whether by nature or design, I don’t know. I do know my father loved her deeply and

was inconsolable at her death. There is no reason you cannot take a mistress, as wel . To our wives we owe kindness and

compassion, but our hearts remain ours alone to give. It has been that way as long as this absurd law has been in place. Most of

our kings have done the same. Arami, I understand, hasn’t honored the Queen’s bed for years.”

Michael declined to drink himself to insensibility that night, but thought regretful y of the lost opportunity the next afternoon as

the hotel footmen finished dressing him for the occasion. Formal garb was required and the duke had spared no expense. Heavy

black silk and the finest white lace had been transformed by Lothmonth’s most exclusive tailor into a suit of superb cut and highest

style. The ruby nestled in the snowy folds of Michael’s cravat matched the one sparkling in his ear. There was a ring, too. He had

seen the box earlier among his grandfather’s things. It would be on his finger by the end of the evening. In spite of knowing it was al

for show, Michael dreaded what was to come.

“I’m not required to actual y consummate the union, am I?” he asked as the two gentlemen went down to meet their carriage.

“Of course.” The duke was matter-of-fact. “Do you think the Arranz heir springs from a cabbage?” He gave his grandson a

mocking smile. “You’ve only to do your duty, lad, nothing more.”

Michael wanted to remind Lord Damon that Chris was an Arranz, too, and perfectly wel qualified to carry on the family name,

but he knew better. His father’s second marriage had taken place over Lord Damon’s furious objections. Neither Chris nor Amy, with

their obvious human heritage, would ever be true Arranzes in his eyes.

As they rol ed uptown toward the Cathedral, Michael listened while Lord Damon discussed the coming ceremony.

“The king wil be there as a Witness. Arami’s father attended my Betrothal as a very young man and, later, Phil ip’s, as wel .

Technical y, of course, either of them have the authority to contest the Church’s selection, but I’ve not heard of a single instance

where they’ve done so.”

“I don’t understand why the Church stil honors the damned law. They can’t possibly care if our family dies out.” Michael

looked out at the passing buildings. Shadows deepened as twilight faded and lamp-lighters moved from pole to pole through the

emptying streets. “They’ve done so much changing of the Chronicles, why not just change that, too?”

“Perhaps they wil ,” his grandfather said, “but would that be good or bad? At least the law keeps the Family Arranz alive. The

circumstances may not be as we would wish it, but the law has seen to the survival of our bloodline.”

They arrived at the Cathedral soon after. Hunters stood guard at the massive front gate. More stood at attention up the steps

to the Sanctuary’s magnificent, pil ared entrance. Torchlight danced and sparkled off the gold in their uniform braid and medals.

They were in formal dress, eyes straight ahead, shoulders back.

Descending from their carriage, Michael saw at once the entire area was otherwise deserted. Except for the Hunters, no other

human was in sight. Their footsteps echoed across the courtyard, fol owing them up the steps of the Sanctuary and through the

soaring columns of the portico. A priest held open the door and dozens more waited inside, some in white robes, others in green.

They lined the corridor ahead, a gauntlet of stares and mute hostility.

The hair on the back of Michael’s neck stood straight up. He lifted his chin slightly and, imagining himself, sword in hand,

cutting them down like wheat as he passed, he went into the Sanctuary to meet his wife.

Severyn knew Michael and Lord Damon were already in Lothmont. He thought of sending word he was in town, but suspected

Lord Damon might not approve of his efforts to spare Michael this absurd marriage. The Duke was of the firm opinion that they must

attract as little Church attention as possible. What Severyn intended would hardly meet that particular goal.

Arami had been easier to persuade than Severyn had expected. In spite of his indebtedness to the Church, he resented their

power over him and was only too happy to do what he could to cause them inconvenience. Nor had he been in a hurry to attend

what he termed a “damned dul ceremony.” Alas, inconvenience was as far as he’d go, however. When Severyn suggested

rescinding the law altogether, he shook his head.

“Play your games,” he said, indifferent. He was in his rooms, pelthe glass beside him, a paintbrush in hand. In front of him

stood an easel with a decent rendering of a nearby bouquet of flowers.

“I don’t know why you bother,” he continued, dipping his brush into the yel ow paint. “Mick wil have to wed sooner or later.

Besides, it’s not as if you showed this much concern when they foisted that bitch, Eleanor, on me.”

Severyn had completely forgotten about Eldering. Between emergency meetings with his solicitors and the unpleasant

discussion with Arami, al thoughts of Michael’s cethe had slipped his mind. Time was of the essence and every moment must be

spent in shoring up his legal defenses. At the last minute, however, he recal ed the young man and, although he preferred not to

think about it, the likelihood that Michael might need to avail himself of Eldering’s particular gifts.

The youth was exactly where Severyn had left him, seated quietly in one of the palace guest rooms, reading. He came when

Severyn ordered, speaking only when spoken to. Inside the prince’s carriage, he listened without comment as Severyn gave him

instructions.

“There is no tel ing what Locke wil do when I present them with the Objection,” Severyn said. “They could give in graceful y or

they may choose to cause trouble. Be ready.”

Stefn nodded. He seemed oddly unperturbed at the prospect, especial y for someone who claimed to be monstrously offended

by the role he was forced to play.

They arrived at the Cathedral, only to find the gates closed and guarded by Dragons. The guards had the audacity to refuse

him entrance, insisting the Archbishop alone could give permission for latecomers to enter. Severyn, temper already flayed by lack

of sleep and too many meetings, exploded, threatening the men with arrest. He went so far as to draw his sword before the alarmed

Hunters quickly decided this was a fight they could not win and opened the gate. Not before one of their number was sent running

toward the Sanctuary, however.

Never mind, thought Severyn grimly. In his current mood, he welcomed the chance to face down Locke. “Drive on!” he ordered

the nervous coachman.

More Hunters waited on the steps of the Sanctuary. These made no attempt to stop him. Perhaps they thought he was a

stand-in for the king. He swept past them without stopping.

The gloomy old edifice was brightly lit by a multitude of candles and torches, forming an obvious path toward the ceremony.

He fol owed it deep into the building, past several magnificent chapels until, near the back, he came upon a large number of priests

and acolytes, al who scampered aside in alarm as he stalked swiftly through their ranks.

They were holding the wedding in one of the smal er, lesser-used chapels. As Severyn approached, he caught sight of Locke,

surrounded by clerics and officers of the Order of the Dragon. The archbishop was in ful , formal regalia, conferring with his

companions while, standing off to one side, attended by green and red-robed priests was a smal figure, gowned and veiled in

shimmering white silk. The blushing bride, no doubt.

Locke saw him approach and, for just an instant, frowned. Immediately, however, he smiled politely and, saying something to

his startled companions, started toward Severyn.

“Your Highness! What a pleasant surprise! Do you mean to attend the wedding? We expected your brother, but any member

of the Lothlain family is welcome!”

“I’m not here to witness the wedding,” replied Severyn. “I’ve come to stop this charade.”

“Your Highness?” Locke’s smile became strained. “I’m afraid I’m at a loss as to your meaning. The law is clear…”

“You’re right, Your Eminence, the law is very clear.” Severyn withdrew the thick envelope from inside his jacket, the result of

al those damned meetings. He shoved it at Locke who, startled, took it. “Should there be objection by any member of the Advisori,

the ceremony must be postponed until the objection is satisfactorily addressed. That…” Severyn nodded toward the envelope,

“spel s out al the legalities.”

“Who objects?” A furrow appeared between the archbishop’s eyebrows.

“I do.”

“On what grounds?”

“On the grounds that, at this time, there is no reason to fear the Arranz line is in danger of extinction. There are currently two

heirs living. It is reasonable and lawful to delay any wedding until a clear need.”

“But Your Highness,” objected Locke, looking more irritated by the moment. “His lordship is already overdue for a wife. Surely,

Lord Michael and the Duke are eager to get on with it.”

“It doesn’t matter. The objection has been filed,” said Severyn doggedly. “And I very much doubt if Michael wil protest.”

“Would it not be better to conduct the ceremony first and argue later? Perhaps an arrangement could be made to have the

marriage annul ed should this objection be found to be in order.”

“I’m curious, Your Eminence. Why do you care so much? If he weds today or next year, what is it to you?”

A muscle leapt in the Archbishop’s jaw. He was holding his own temper with an effort. “It is to further the Arranz line, of course.

I’m natural y concerned that St. Aramis’ wishes be fol owed. After al , is that not what we al want?”

“I wonder,” grated Severyn. He glanced back toward the chapel. “Is that the wench? What are her antecedents? Why was she

selected?”

Locke didn’t answer. His jaw was tight; his mouth set in a thin, angry line.

“Where are they?” Severyn asked, turning toward the chapel door. “Where are Mick and His Grace?”

He thought for one dangerous moment that Locke would attempt to prevent him from entering. The man’s anger looked to be

nearly as hot as his own. But Locke was no fool. A confrontation between them could not end wel for the Church. Rage simmered

within his gaze, but he forced a smile and bowed. “They are waiting inside, of course. Perhaps, if I may speak to them first?”

But Severyn did not wait to hear Locke’s next attempt at distraction. He stepped around the Archbishop and strode to the

chapel door. Ignoring the scandalized clerics and the mute figure in white, he flung it open and went in.

Standing before the altar, Michael and Lord Damon turned quickly around in surprise.

“Sev?” Michael looked past him to the door and the clerics bunched up outside it. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to stop this travesty,” replied Severyn. “I’ve lodged an Objection. You’ve no obligation to continue with this farce.

Let’s go have dinner.”

Michael stared, then started to grin. Lord Damon was not so amused.

“What are you doing, boy?” he asked in a low voice. “What is the point of antagonizing the Council in this way?”

“Perhaps I’m tired of their meddling,” replied Severyn.

The duke looked back to the door. Locke stood in the doorway, watching them. Something in his expression sent a chil up