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Katherine Kurtz

«Childe Morgan»

Christmas Eve, 1093

The fair-haired woman who paused in the doorway to the royal crypt was the Lady Alyce, Deryni heiress to the Duchy of Corwyn and now the wife of Sir Kenneth Morgan, and mother of his son. Fondly she watched as the black-cloaked Queen of Gwynedd touched a wax spill to the torch set in a cresset on a side wall, then used the spill to light a votive candle shielded in red glass.

The child sleeping beneath the stone lid of the sepulcher on which she placed the votive light had been gone more than a year now, but Alyce knew that a day never passed when Richeldis of Gwynedd did not remember this, the second-born of her four sons, and mourn his loss. Blaine Emanuel Haldane had been only nine when he passed into the care of God’s holy angels.

Nor did it much matter now just how or why Prince Blaine had met his premature death, though his bravery had saved his younger sister from drowning. Gallant though his action had been, the chill he took that day had been the death of him hardly a week later, wheezing for breath and finally succumbing to the illness that gradually filled his lungs with fluid and finally choked out his life. Though the royal physicians had done their best to save him, the boy’s condition had been beyond their skill, either to cure him or even much to ease his suffering. Only recently had his mother begun to smile again, and to emerge from the profound depression she had suffered following the young prince’s death.

Breathing a heavy sigh, the queen sank to her knees to pray, head bowing over her hands, which were folded on Blaine’s tomb. Alyce knelt as well, quietly reaching behind her to pull a basket of greenery closer.

Earlier, she and another of the queen’s ladies had helped gather cuttings of what sparse winter foliage the royal gardens had to offer, floral tributes intended not just for Prince Blaine but for several other notables buried here in the royal crypt, sleeping with Haldane princes and princesses.

«Please bring the basket, Alyce», the queen said suddenly, getting to her feet and turning.

Rising wordlessly, Alyce brought the basket closer so that Richeldis could select a single white camellia blossom, which she kissed and then laid on her son’s tomb beside the votive candle. She then added a sprig of winter holly, rich with berries, and a companion cutting of evergreen, tied with a ribbon of Haldane crimson.

«Sleep gently, my son», the queen murmured, bending briefly to touch her lips to the cool marble.

As she took the basket and moved on to lay tributes at several other Haldane graves, Alyce paid her own respects at another pair of tombs: the Lady Jessamy, wife of Sir Sief MacAthan, and Krispin her son — who also had been the son of the king, though Alyce doubted that Richeldis had ever learned of this. The plan had been that Krispin, heir to the magic of his Deryni mother and the similar magic of the Haldanes, should grow to be a Deryni protector to the king’s eldest son and heir, Prince Brion.