escape winter's bite in the far north and summer's plague of insects in the south.'
Midalis nodded and smiled, obviously unconvinced of the benefits of such a life.
'This road was more lonely than most,' the ranger went on. 'Few contacts, out of necessity. Trust me, my friend, you will enjoy another such journey someday, after the plague has passed, when we can dine with the farmers along the road or speak with the hardy woodsmen of the Timberlands across a tavern table.'
'And perhaps we shall do just that,' said Midalis. 'But for now, I am glad to be home.'
Soon after, the pair came in sight of St. Belfour, walking their mounts along the trail climbing to the lea that lay before the abbey.
And then they saw them, the refugees, strewn across the lawn before St. Belfour, Miserable, plague-ridden wretches, many near death.
The rosy plague had beaten Prince Midalis back to his homeland.
'Would that I was born with a womb,' Duke Kalas snickered as Constance walked by him later that night in a torch-lit corridor in Castle Ursal, 'and all the charms to catch a nobleman's fancy.'
Constance glared at him, but he relieved the tension with a burst of laughter. 'I blame you hot at all,' Kalas went on.
'And I do not appreciate your sarcasm,' she coldly replied. 'Can you deny the responsibility of my decision? Would you have Honce-the-Bear without a proper line of succession should King Danube die? '
Kalas laughed again. 'Pragmatism? Or personal gain?'
'Can they not be one and the same? '
'I am not angry with you, dear Constance,' the Duke explained. 'Jealous, perhaps, and filled with admiration. I believe that you became Pregnant by King Danube deliberately, both times. You conceived Merwick on the barge south from Palmaris, when you knew that another woman had caught Danube's oft-wandering eye.' He noted that Constance did wince a bit at the reference to Jilseponie. 'And so you struck your love coup, and brilliantly, and you have patiently awaited the time to gain the declaration that you hold so dear.'
Constance stood, steel jawed, staring at him, not blinking.
'You used those tools and weapons available to you to insinuate yourself into the royal line,' Duke Kalas stated bluntly, and he gave a great bow and swept his arm out wide. He staggered a bit as he did, and only then did Constance catch on that the man might have indulged himself with a few potent drinks.
She started to comment on that, but stopped herself. How could she judge Kalas at this unsettling time, after the terrifying incident in the garden? In truth, Constance, too, would have liked to spend that night curled up with a bottle!
'You can think whatever you wish of me,' she said instead calmly, 'but I do love him-'
'You always have,' Duke Kalas replied. 'And do not misunderstand me, for I'll say nothing to King Danube to change his mind or his course, nor do I consider that course ill for Honce-the-Bear.'
'You judge me,' Constance accused, 'but I do love him, with all of my heart.'
'And he?'
Constance looked away, then shook her head. 'He does not love me,' she admitted. 'He'll not even share my bed any longer, though he proclaims that we remain friends-and indeed, he treats me well.'
'He asked you to ride today,' Duke Kalas said, and his voice took on a different, sympathetic tone.
'Danube has always held me dear as a friend,' Constance said. 'But he does not love me. Never that. He loves the memory of Vivian. He loves…'
'That woman,' Kalas finished, his voice low. 'The hero.'
His obvious enmity surprised Constance. She was no friend of Jilseponie Wyndon's, of course, but it seemed from Duke Kalas' tone that he cared for the woman even less than she. Wounded pride, Constance figured, for hadn't Jilseponie refused his advances in Palmaris?
But then Kalas surprised her even more.
'Pity the kingdom if King Danube finds his love,' he said.
Constance stared at him curiously,
'The marriage of Church and Crown,' Kalas said dryly, 'the end of the world.'
'If you feel that way, then it is good that you do not oppose me,' Constance said after a long and considering pause. She gave a little snicker and started away. 'A pity that you have no connections in Vanguard,' came Kalas' voice behind her, and she stopped and turned on him suspiciously. 'Else you could eliminate the last barrier to your glory.'
Duke Kalas bowed again and wisely ran away.
His remark had been said in jest, Constance knew, but still, she could not help but retrace the actions that had brought her to this point. She was not without guilt, but that was only a minor twinge against the reality of her current situation. The kingdom was better off for her deliberate course, and now Constance had insinuated her bloodline, her children, into the royal line. Even if neither of her sons actually got to the throne, their children would remain in the line of ascent, and so on throughout the coming generations.
One day in the future, near or far, Constance Pemblebury would be remembered as the Queen Mother of Honce-the-Bear.
Chapter 33
He looked at his lover and blamed himself. There was no avoiding it. Dainsey had wanted to come back to Palmaris for a visit-the plague had arrived in all force in Caer Tinella, anyway-but Roger had argued against the course.
But he hadn't argued strenuously enough, and the two had traveled south. Now, less than a month later, Dainsey stood beside him on wobbly legs, her eyes sunken and listless, her brow beaded with the sweat of a fever, her body marked by rosy splotches ringed in white-though Roger had taken great pains to cover the woman enough to hide those telltale marks before venturing here to St. Precious.
Still, it would not be enough, he knew, to get them through the gatehouse. They had been admitted over the tussie-mussie bed immediately, for Abbot Braumin's invitation to them remained in force. However, inside the gatehouse came a second test, where several monks, trained with soul stones, sent out their spirits to inspect any who would cross into the abbey.
With that uncomfortable scrutiny ended, Roger now could only wait and hope.
The minutes stretched on and on, and Roger understood that if the monks had failed to detect the illness, they would have already let them in. No, they knew the truth of it, he realized, and had gone to speak with Abbot Braumin.
Roger knew what was coming even as the small panel slid away at the end of the narrow gatehouse corridor, and the grim face of a brother appeared beyond.
'You may enter, but the woman cannot,' came the voice-a voice that Roger recognized.
'She is my heart and my soul, Brother Castinagis,' Roger argued.
'She is thick with plague,' came the reply, firm but somewhat tempered by compassion. 'She cannot enter St. Precious. I am sorry, my friend.'
'I want to speak with Abbot Braumin.' 'Then come in.'
Roger looked at Dainsey. 'What of her?' he asked.
'She cannot enter,' Castinagis said again. 'Nor can she remain within the gatehouse. Send her back out, beyond the flower bed.'
Roger considered the course. Things beyond that flower bed were not pretty, with plague victims milling about and-since the town guard would come nowhere near them-lawlessness abundant. He had to take Dainsey back to their rented room at The Giant's Bones, he knew.
'Tell Abbot Braumin that I will soon return,' he said to Castinagis, lowering his voice to show his anger. 'Alone.'
'If you go back beyond the flower bed, then you will be subjected to another spiritual inspection before you
