He took off his cap as he came farther into the room, tossing it onto a chest at the foot of the great bed with easy grace. He had been born in the halcyon years shortly following Gwynedd's costly victory at Killingford in 1025, the only surviving son of Malcolm Haldane and Roisian of Meara, whose marriage was to have cemented a lasting peace between the two lands. Instead, it had spawned a new dispute regarding the Mearan succession — and launched the first in an ongoing series of Haldane military incursions back into Meara.

The succession, even in Gwynedd, had remained precarious in the years that followed, for Donal was the only male heir Malcolm had produced by his first marriage, despite several children by assorted mistresses, the known ones legitimated shortly before his death but without dynastic rights. Donal's half-siblings had made good marriages and served him loyally, and Malcolm's second marriage to Queen Síle had produced another true-born prince in Duke Richard — Donal's heir presumptive until the birth of Prince Brion, little though Richard aspired to the crown. Though trained from birth to rule after Donal, if need be, none had rejoiced more than he when, within a year of his brother's new nuptials, Queen Richeldis had presented Donal with his long-awaited son: Prince Brion Donal Cinhil Urien Haldane, born the previous June.

«Good evening, Sire», Jessamy said to the father of that prince, as he moved closer beside the bed. «How fares the son and heir?»

«He flourishes», Donal replied, smiling. «When I put a sword in his hand, he doesn't want to let go. I expect he will be walking soon. He pulls himself up already. And how fares your son and heir?»

«He suckles well. He knows to reach out for what he wants. His father has reason to be proud of him».

«May I see him?» Donal asked, craning for a closer look.

«Of course».

Gathering the infant's blankets around him, and carefully supporting the tiny head, Jessamy held out the bundle to the king, who took the babe in the crook of his arm and proceeded to inspect him thoroughly.

«He appears to have the correct number of fingers and toes and other appendages», Donal declared. «And those are warrior's hands», he added, letting the infant seize one of his fingers and convey it to the tiny rosebud mouth. «He will be a fitting companion for a prince».

«One had hoped that would be the case», Jessamy agreed good-naturedly.

«Brothers — that's what they'll be», came the reply. «He's perfect. His hair will be like yours, I think», Donal went on, gently cupping the child's downy head. «But those are not your eyes, or Sief’s».

«No», was all the child's mother replied.

Chuckling softly, Donal let himself sit on the edge of the bed, and was carefully giving the child back into its mother's keeping when the bedroom door opened and Sief entered.

«Ah, and here's the proud father now», Donal said, twisting around to greet the newcomer. «I'd come to congratulate you, Sief, and to inspect the new bairn. And to cheer the mother in her childbed, if the truth be known. My queen tells me that a new mother appreciates such things. Not that she speaks to me overmuch, of late. The morning sickness is a trial she would liefer have foregone for a few more months».

Sief found himself smiling dutifully in response to the king's boyish grin, though he could not say why he found it unsettling to find Donal here.

They had long been friends beyond mere courtier and prince. He had served Donal Haldane for most of his life — had been assigned by King Malcolm as the prince's first aide, when Sief was a new-made knight and Donal but a lad of ten — and been his confidant and brother-in-arms through many a campaign and court intrigue. It had taken most of a decade for the young prince to guess that Sief was Deryni. By then, Sief had come to realize that Donal possessed certain powers of his own that were somewhat similar, somehow related to his kingship. Malcolm had possessed them as well, and perhaps had also recognized Sief for what he was, though they had never spoken of it.

Sief had never spoken of it to the Council, either, though privately he had intimated to Donal that certain of his not inconsiderable powers were at the prince's service. After all, part of the reason for the Council's very existence — and for Sief’s placement in the royal household — was to safeguard the Haldane line on the throne of Gwynedd; for the Haldanes knew, as other humans did not, that the Deryni, properly ruled, posed little threat to the human population.

In practice, Sief’s direct service to the king as a Deryni had been limited, and extremely discreet. Those of his race were able to determine when a person was lying — a talent of undoubted use to a king. In addition, a trained Deryni could usually compel disclosures when a person attempted simply to tell part of the truth, or to withhold it. With care, the memories of a person subjected to such attentions could even be blurred to hide what had been done — though such investigations were always carried out in private. The court was only aware that Sir Sief MacAthan was an extremely skilled interrogator. More often, he merely stood at the king's side and observed, only later reporting on the veracity of what had been said.

Over the years, such attention to nuance of truth and falsehood had become second-nature when in the king's presence. Why, then, were Sief’s senses suddenly all atingle? Surely it was not at the prospect that the queen was once again with child.

«Then, the palace gossip is correct», Sief said tentatively.

«Palace gossip», Donal said, standing up with fists set to hips. «Surety you don't pay any mind to that.»

«I do, when it may pertain to the welfare of the kingdom, Sire», Sief replied. «Prince Brion is still shy of his first birthday. It is still very early for a new pregnancy for the queen. Self-restraint, my lord», he added, trying not to sound self-righteous.

«A king needs an heir and a spare», Donal said breezily, «and good men to guard them and guide them as they grow. You know the heartache of losing sons, Sief. I must make certain that Brion has brothers».

Suddenly Sief caught just a flicker of subtle evasion: not a lie, but a truth not fully divulged. To his consternation, it sparked a dread possibility that had never come to mind before, but which might make sense of several things in the year since the prince's birth; but he put such thoughts aside as he forced an uneasy chuckle.

«Just now», Sief said, «methinks Prince Brion needs his mother more than he needs brothers. At least have a care for her, Sire. People would talk, were you to take a third queen».

Donal shrugged, and his next words again left Sief with the impression that all was not being said.

«People will always talk about kings. I little care, so long as the succession is secure».

«There is Duke Richard, if all else were to fail», Sief pointed out.

«True enough. But my brother Richard aspires to a warrior's fame — and he has the sheer ability to excel at it. He little cares for the finer diplomacies of the council chamber — or even of marriage, at least thus far», Donal added with a shrug. «Besides that, he is the fruit of my father's loins; not mine».

«Aye, but blood is blood, Sire», Sief said, echoing the words of the Council not an hour earlier. «Richard is as much a Haldane as you or the new prince».

He thought he saw Jessamy stiffen slightly at those words, though her gray-streaked head was bowed over the infant in her arms.

«Indeed», the king said mildly. «I trust you aren't presuming to instruct me in my duties as a husband?»

Sief raised a placating hand, hesitant to even consider pursuing the subject; but Donal's manner seemed increasingly evasive, making Sief wonder whether he had, indeed, stumbled on something he would be happier not knowing.