Nigel Haldane could not remember when he first laid eyes upon the great golden throne of Gwynedd, backed by the vibrant crimson and gold heraldry of the kingdom's Haldane Kings. It had been his father's, his brother's, his nephew's and he had stood before it or beside it on so many times...

Page, squire, knight. Duke, which meant leader in war. Prince, which meant first among men.

Now king, which meant crushing responsibility, guilt and grief.

Lord, take this cup from me...

But he had been bred to duty and he had given his word. An oath as sacred as that to Meraude, though lacking all of its joy. And at least today he would not have to sit on the throne.

For the life of him, he could not say if that made it better or worse as he dropped to one knee and placed his hands between those of the man sat upon the throne of Gwynedd. "I, Nigel Cluim Gwydion Rhys Haldane, King of Gwynedd, Duke of Haldane, Lord of the Purple March do become your vassal of life and limb, and do homage for all the lands of Gwynedd, held by right of succession. Faith and truth will I..." His breath caught as it never had before, but he forced himself on: "...bear unto you, to live and die, against all manner of folk, so help me God."

The man upon the throne Wencit of Torenth, closed his hands briefly upon Nigel's. "I, Wenzel Zsubit Kyprian Nimur Furstan, accept your fealty and pledge justice for loyalty, reward for virtue and death for betrayal. Thus on heaven, thus on earth, amen."

There was a rumble through the court - thinly populated for the lords of Gwynedd had in many cases made their pledges already and been dispersed. A small host of Torenthi stood in a strong block on one side of the room but they seemed to have little more certainty of what the future held than their western counterparts.

A subtle twitch of Wencit's hands signalled for Nigel to rise and he took the familiar position of standing at the right hand of the throne. If he fixed his eyes forward he might almost deceive himself as to who sat upon it.

"Upon the morrow, the late King will be laid rest among his ancestors." Wencit's voice was as polished as the rest of his courtly manners. It filled the room silky precision. "Let it be known that the late prince, though my adversary, was worthy of my respect, and yours. In light of the solemn purpose of the morrow, I shall not prolong today's court beyond the most necessary of requirements."

Out of the corner of his eye, Nigel saw Thomas Cardiel lower his eyes slightly in relief. It was hard to remember anything else, but the Bishop of Dhassa had lost a close friend upon Llyndruth Meadows. The new king made a mental note to do what he could to help Cardiel. The matter of Loris still needed to be settled and Cardiel remained prominent amid the men who must settle the treacherous Archbishop's fate.

"I deem it necessary, however, that those of ducal rank and higher, must offer their oaths and support to the King of Gwynedd and his Overlord upon this day, rather than waiting for the formal coronation when the counts and barons must join them in that." Wencit's mustache twitched slightly. "Bishop Cardiel, do you serve as our herald in this."

Cardiel swallowed. "Let the Prince of Meara step forwards to make his obeisance to our King."

Nigel saw a shadow in the eyes of his son as Conall dropped to his knees and, their hands joined, swore vassalage to his father, homage to his king... and with jarringly unfamiliar phrases in the oaths, to the overlord of Gwynedd. There had been some talk that Wencit might style himself Emperor but for now at least the tall King of Torenth was restraining himself.

Next called was the Duke of Claibourne and Ewan MacEwan was stiff with both age and pride as he placed his hands between Nigel's. There was an unspoken question in his eyes: though most of the lord's retinues had returned to their own demesnes, enough Haldane men were in Rhemuth that the Torenthi could be overwhelmed - not quickly or painlessly, but it could be done.

Nigel's own eyes had the unwavering answer. He had been haunted at night by the possibility but to break faith with oaths sworn was not in him. And so many of the Torenthi must be Deryni. It was outside his calculation what might happen if he yielded to temptation.

With a muttered oath that might have been mistaken for prayer if one didn't listen too closely, Ewan said his own oaths and glared dourly at the throne as he backed away.

"Your grace of Torenth, the Duke of Cassan is dead," Cardiel reminded them. 'By your order' was not added but everyone heard it anyway. The deed was already infamous. "His sons are also dead and he has no close kin of the male line."

"Indeed, yes." Wencit leant forwards slightly. "Too powerful a land to be left without a strong hand as matters stand. Kierney might do well with a younger son but Cassan must have a ruler." He raised his hand and indicated one man - black of beard and hair, the latter worn long and tightly braided. "Mahael, come you here."

From a distance Mahael might have looked almost Haldane but his eyes were dark and heavy lidded in a way that made mockery of the comparison.

"Mahael is the Count of Amassy, and brother to Duke Lionel of Arjenol. A man of noble blood and upbringing." Wencit's voice lowered perhaps a fraction. "He was husband to my own daughter and, alas briefly, father to my grandchild. Mahael, would you swear to King Nigel as his loyal Duke of Cassan?"

No question who he is loyal to, Nigel thought. A Dernyni, no doubt. Worse for the folk of Cassan, an outsider.

"I stand ready to serve, my king."

He couldn't bring himself to speak at first, but Nigel knew that rebelling in this would be no better than any other form so he gestured for the man to kneel and accepted his hands and his formal submission.

Wencit held up his hand to still Cardiel. "Yes, Bishop, one need not remind me of the Duke of Corwyn. A shame he had not wed, and thus ends an ancient and noble bloodline. I do not think that his lands should be left leaderless, particularly with rebellion so recently rife there."

Again he summoned forth one of his Torenthi, a man who shared much in feature with Mahael. This, it seemed, was the new Duke of Cassan's brother, Count Teymuraz of Brustarkia. Nigel did not have to guess at Deryni blood (though Arjenol's heritage was no mystery to him), for the man let his shields light up the hall slightly as he said his oaths.

Trying to shake me? He might be new to kingship, but Nigel remained a prince and was sure he kept his eyes cold and level as he accepted the oath. I may not be Deryni, but steel kills as well as any spell and you aren't receiving a safe sinecure, Duke Teymuraz. Warin de Gray left our camp almost before Kelson's death was known and I doubt he went anywhere save Corwyn.

It was a relief after those two that Wencit made no proposal when Cardiel observed that Carthmoor was, of course, Nigel's own demesne. Not the first time it had been granted to a younger son who later succeeded to Gwynedd. Rather than seeing the towns and villages he had ruled - first in name and then in truth - for all his life passed to another Torenthi, Nigel was able to invest Rory with those responsibilities. Pray god that Rory would not be fifth Duke to drink from this bitter cup.

"Enough, Nigel." If Wencit could fill the room with his voice, he could also murmur so quietly that no one closer than Cardiel could have overheard these words. "The rest we can manage in more private council."

Nigel nodded, feeling as if he was a puppet on the other man's strings. He'd never felt that way with Brion or Kelson. "Court is dismissed," he announced firmly and then stepped aside, nodding with stark deference as Wencit rose and turned towards the stairs that led to - among other places - the chamber of the Royal Council.

In that room with its long, polished table and dark-stained walls, Wencit unhesitatingly took the throne that had belonged to Brion. He glanced at the table and then ran one finger down a gash that Nigel's brother had made once with a dagger in emphasis of a particularly trying point. Automatically standing by his usual seat, Nigel recalled many dark day here. That nightmarish meeting when Morgan had so nearly...

No, there was no use dwelling upon it.

There were four of them, not a formal convening of the council. Himself, Cardiel, Wencit and one more of his kinsmen - this one with paler eyes and a manner Nigel found less... adversarial than many of the foreigners who had thrust themselves into Rhemuth's halls and apartments.

"A tale here," Wencit mused and Nigel blinked before realising he meant the scar in the table. "Sit," he said, but indicated the seat next to him - where Jehana had sat. "We are no longer enemies, King Nigel and thus we shall not find ourselves on opposite sides of this table."

"Do you believe that?"

"I say that. And since you are a faithful vassal and a man of honour, you will also say that. In time, men will come to believe." He did not lack confidence, Wencit of Torenth. "You've met two of Matyas' brothers now, he is the youngest of them."

"Lord Matyas." Nigel inclined his head courteously as he sat where he was directed. "I regret I have no further duchies to distribute you."

Wencit's lips pursed. "Your anger is to be expected. I also expect you to control it."

Matyas inclined his own head. "Frankly, your grace, I would be content to return to my vineyards at Komnene and trouble you no longer but my king commands and I obey."

"Unlike his brothers, Matyas has studied outside of Torenth," the Furstan informed Nigel and Cardiel. "He's more the diplomat, which will make him well suited to sit on your Royal Council as my ambassador. If you wish to invite Mahael or Teymuraz to do likewise then you may, but I do not insist upon it. They will do us both more good keeping their new lands in order."

"They seem ambitious men."

"Ambitious and able. My cousins, so the first would follow. The second, not so reliably. Just as I hold you to your oaths, I expect you to hold them to theirs. If you cannot rule them then I will regret my misjudgement and act accordingly. Do you understand?"

"I do."

"Good. It will please you, no doubt, that I will not remain in Rhemuth overly long. It will serve nothing if a large presence of my people here causes relations to falter in the first steps. Both our kingdoms will lower their guards only slowly."

Nigel nodded slowly. "I agree."

"Then you will understand that the young Duke of Carthmoor will be accompanying me."

"I had anticipated you would want hostages."

Wencit steepled his fingers. "Yes. The young Earl of Derry too, since I was rough with him earlier and he is too valuable a man to expend."

"He is intensely loyal to Morgan."

"Yes. There is an eastern saying you might not have come across. The truest victory is not to annihilate one's foes, it is to make them your allies."

"He won't serve the man who killed Morgan."

Wencit tilted his head to one side. "I can be very convincing. In any event, he and your son will acquire some courtly polish and perhaps suitable marriages. Carthmoor may also be able to learn some of what we Deryni have to teach."

"Rory knows nothing of magic, less even than I do. And I don't have the slightest idea who could activate the Haldane powers." Nigel shook his head. "So far as I know, Kelson and Morgan took those secrets to the grave."

Matyas looked over at Cardiel. "Does this concern you, Bishop?"

"Before he died," the Bremagne-born bishop said calmly, "Denis Arilan and I had some interesting conversations on the topic of Deryni. You were fostered in Andelon, I believe. I have some connection with the principality so while I don't claim much personal knowledge of Deryni I know that many lands have a less... negative impression of them than Gwynedd."

Wencit's voice was deep with sarcasm. "How very broadminded of you."

"I also know that the Statutes of Ramos are the product of scars left on Gwynedd's people by some Deryni." Cardiel didn't shrink from the challenge, Nigel thought admiringly. "If your race are not by nature ungodly, King Wencit, then nor are they unreservedly saintly."

Very slowly, the King of Torenth raised one hand and pulled on the end of his moustache. "Your nephew had a way of attracting talented adherents," he noted. "A few more years and he would have been truly dangerous."

"I was very proud of Kelson." Nigel's voice somehow didn't tremble.

"Understandably." Wencit lowered his hand and made a dismissive gesture. "Get you gone, Bishop Cardiel. Tell your peers that I have but two commands for your Curia. Abide by them and I will not interfere in the Church of Gwynedd any further."

Cardiel rose and bowed, pectoral cross swaying. "The first I can guess. The Statutes of Ramos to be revoked."

"I do not demand that you love the Deryni as God commands that thou shalt love thy neighbour," Wencit confirmed, "But no longer will they be subject to systematic persecution."

"I will tell them that." The bishop made no comment on the likely reaction, although anyone with any wits must have known it will come. "And besides that."

"Besides that, Loris is mine."

"You want him?" asked Nigel.

Wencit smiled tightly. "I want him dead, Haldane. But I will not make a martyr of him. Instead, I will take him to Beldour and let him rot away in a gilded cage surrounded by those he hates, an example to everyone of the depths to which Gwynedd's church had sunk. You may assure the Curia, however, that his suffering will be merely spiritual."

Matyas cleared his throat. "One further point, before you go, Bishop?"

"Yes?"

Wencit's own brow was as furrowed as Cardiel's.

The lord of Komnene unfolded a document and slipped it deftly in front of his king. "You're an uncle of Countess Richenda of Marley, I believe. The dowager countess, that is."

"Ah yes." Wencit's face smoothed. "Very good, Matyas. Be so good as to advise her that I will speak with herself and her son after Kelson's funeral." Gwynedd's overlord seemed to find this amusing. "Her husband served me well and it's important that a king should reward that."

"I doubt she has much want of your gratitude, your grace. I will tell her."

"She has her son back, which I was not in any way required to allow," Nigel's overlord pointed out drily. "I don't think that is lost on her."

"She is a formidable woman," Nigel warned, wary of bringing wrath down on the lady - she had, after all, been faultlessly loyal. "And Marley is a county of Gwynedd."

"Then I shall be sure not to introduce her to my sister," the other king snorted. "Don't worry, I won't ask you to find a spare duchy for young Brendan. I have Tolan should I find that for some reason suitable."