«For someone who made little of our suggestion that she might really become our sister», Alyce said to Vera much later, in the room the three of them now shared, «it did look like the two of them were getting along rather well».

Vera laughed and wrapped a shawl more closely around her shoulders, settling down beside Alyce on the sheepskin rug before the fire.

«It did, indeed. I noticed them well after dinner, sitting in one of the window embrasures, just holding hands and looking into one another's eyes. I — uh — don't think they noticed me».

«I don't think they noticed much of anyone besides one another». Alyce picked up an ivory-backed brush and began brushing her hair, gazing into the fire.

«Oh, Vera», she said after a moment. «Six months ago, it was Zoë and I who were waiting for Marie to come in. I hope Zoë will be luckier in love».

«So do I», Vera replied. «I think Ahern is quite smitten. And I think Zoë would make him quite a wonderful duchess. Here, give me that and I'll brush». She took up the brush that Alyce surrendered and fell to, saying, after a moment, «What would you think of having two duchesses in the family?»

Alyce turned to stare at her twin, eyes wide. «Jared McLain?» she breathed. «Truly?»

«Well, it's early on, as yet», Vera said, smiling somewhat self-consciously, «but he does need a wife — and a mother for that baby boy of his. One would think he invented babies. At first, he spoke of little else — until he started asking about my family. Apparently, the daughter of a Lendouri knight would be well regarded in Kierney — and Cassan».

Alyce found herself containing a grin. «Well, Keryell was a Lendouri knight, among other things», she said. «And he would have approved of such a match for you, I feel certain». She cocked her head to one side. «Could you find contentment as Jared's countess, and eventually his duchess?»

«I think I could», Vera said softly. «He's very sweet and gentle — and he isn't at all as grand as I'd feared».

Giggling together, they sat there, gossiping and brushing one another's hair, for the best part of an hour before Zoë came tiptoeing in, quite flustered to discover that they were still awake.

«I'm not even going to ask», Alyce said, laughing, as Zoë dropped onto the sheepskins between them and reached for one of the cups of mulled wine set on the hearth. «We both saw you with Ahern earlier this evening».

«Well, I might have been with someone else», Zoë said slyly, gulping down some of the wine. «But I wasn't», she added with a grin.

She set down the cup and hugged her arms across her chest, closing her eyes in happy remembrance.

«We talked about Cynfyn, and Castle Coroth, and he asked me if I liked them. He told me about growing up with you and Marie — and Vera, I'd forgotten that you lived at Cynfyn for a while as well, after Alyce and Marie came to Arc-en-Ciel. He showed me the signet that the king gave him today, and asked if I'd like to try it on».

«Now, that sounds serious», Vera said, grinning. «He's only just got it, and already he's letting pretty girls try it on».

«Well, he will need a bride», Alyce said reasonably, «and the king told us in Coroth that he intends to marry off both of us soon. He thinks a great deal of your father, Zoë. That might make you quite an acceptable wife for a future duke».

«Do you really think so?» Zoë asked, wide-eyed.

«More unlikely things have happened», Alyce replied. «Remember when Marie and I asked whether you were campaigning to be our sister?»

«But, that was just in fun. I never dreamed…»

«Well, you may well dream tonight», Vera said, grinning as she poked Zoë in the ribs. «Alyce, you'll have to speak to that brother of yours, and make sure his intentions are honorable, where our dear Zoë is concerned. Dare we tell her about my prospect?»

As Zoë looked at her in question, Alyce slipped her arm around the other girl's shoulders and smiled.

«Zoë darling, it appears entirely possible that both of you may be duchesses someday».

Neither of the prospective dukes lingered long in Rhemuth. By mid-January, both had returned to their own lands to hold themselves in readiness for a war all hoped would not be necessary. Their prospective brides pined through the rest of the winter and into spring, though Alyce did her best to divert their energies into the activities of the court and the royal children.

Such diversion served her own purposes as well, as she released her wistful affection for Sé Trelawnev to the reality of what she had seen of him during his brief visit in January. Friends they had been during their childhood, and friends they remained; but now Sé had turned to dreams of his own, and. a new life with the mysterious and ascetic Knights of the Anvil. That life did not include her, and never could.

To no one's surprise, insurrection flared again in Meara in that spring of 1089, obliging Donal to mount the threatened personal expedition into that rebellious land. By April, the king had begun to assemble the local levies that would go with him to Meara; the Kierney levies would meet him there, on the plains before Ratharkin.

Though proclaimed Prince of Meara at birth, by right of his Mearan mother, Donal Haldane had actually visited Meara only half a dozen times in his life, and two of those previous ventures onto Mearan soil had been under arms, to put down rebellions. The present insurrection was again centered around Donal's first cousin Judhael, eldest son of his mother's sister Annalind, neither of whom had ever accepted the succession intended by Donal's mother or, indeed, his grandfather. More than a decade had passed since a Haldane king last had ridden into Meara under arms, and the present contretemps came of having stopped short of finishing the task he then had set out to do.

This time his brother Richard rode at his side: a mature and formidable general to whom he gladly had relinquished active command of the Gwyneddan expeditionary force, a generation younger than Donal. For his personal safeguarding, the king had retained a crack bodyguard of fast-mounted Lendouri cavalry captained by Ahern Earl of Lendour, giving him the flexibility to go when and where he sensed he was needed, to assess conditions for himself. Among them, though not part of their number, was Sir Kenneth Morgan, now restored to his function as the king's aide, rarely far from his side since returning from the last expedition into Meara, three years before.

Their advance into that turbulent land was swift and focused, bringing them quickly into the heartland of the rebellious province. Half a day's ride from Ratharkin, the provincial capital, forward scouts made contact with the first wary outriders from the city, where rebels had ousted the royal governor and occupied part of the city. To the king's dismay, initial reports regarding rebel numbers suggested that Judhael of Meara had mustered far more support than initially had been supposed. The prospect gave pause to all previous assumptions that this would be any ordinary quashing of a minor dissident insurrection.

That night, as the king and his army encamped between Ratharkin and loyal Trurill, Donal called his commanders to his tent for a council of war.

«I want to know how it's possible that Judhael can keep alive such support, after so long», the king said, glancing across the grim faces faintly illuminated in the torchlight. «We've had nearly sixty years of wrangling about Meara. Have I truly given these people cause to resent me that much?»

Andrew McLain, senior among Gwynedd's dukes, shook his grizzled head, infinitely patient. His son Jared was already scouring the hills south of Ratharkin, seeking intelligence regarding local opposition.

«Not at all, Sire», Andrew said. «This is a regrettable legacy of your father's generation, and Jolyon of Meara, and the Great War. Your parents' marriage was intended to resolve the succession of the principality. It was your grandmother who simply would not accept the loss of Mearan sovereignty».