Seven Brothers Blessed [ Lore of Penrua: Book IV ]

[ 44 ]

Diarmán had Han Taín's forgiveness—supposedly—but he knew now that he did not have his trust. Some of the household had made no secret of their dislike of Han Taín's intentions. It was unsafe for any of them to congregate within the walls of the castle.

Nevertheless, word of what had happened passed through the Eldran brothers in whispers, one to another: Naefe and Moigré had traded places, and they had one more day before all would unfold.

Meeting Aerte in the hall on the way to breakfast, Diarmán asked, "How is Mother?"

"She's in good spirits," Aerte said. Party to the deception, she did not ask to clarify who Diarmán meant. "As good as may be. I just took her breakfast."

Diarmán nodded, gesturing for his friend to precede him into the small dining room. "I'm glad to hear it. I was not sure how she would cope with the change."

"Who? Cope with what change?"

The sound of his father's voice chilled Diarmán. He looked up to see Han Taín seated at the head of the table. Lady Naefe—Moigré in her shape, that is—was sitting at his side.

"Good morning, Father," said Diarmán. He offered Naefe a slight bow. "My lady."

As Aerte made herself look busy, retreating into the role of a servant, Diarmán took his place at his father's right hand. He reached for a tray of fresh pastries. "I was speaking of Mother," he said. "Forgive me."

"What does she have to cope with?" Han Taín asked. He beckoned with two fingers for the pot of tea, and Aerte approached, lifting it to pour first for him, then for Diarmán. "She does nothing but languish in her room."

"She is unwell more often than not," Diarmán said, careful to keep his tone neutral. "Now, the prospect of a wedding seems to have weighed on her mind."

"Oh?" Han Taín gestured to Lady Naefe, and Aerte moved on with the tea pot, filling the lady's cup. "I cannot imagine why."

Diarmán glanced up at his disguised mother, catching her eye. If she was anxious about the line of questioning, it did not show. Her face was carefully blank. "I have a guess," he said with dry reluctance.

"Tell me, then. The very last thing I desire to is to cause your lady mother the slightest distress."

Were that true, Han Taín would have done much better to have remained in the Realm of the Faelán. His very presence in the castle was more than enough to distress Moigré, and he knew it. But Diarmán did not say as much. He had not challenged his father thus far, and it would not serve him to start now.

He broke a corner off of his pastry. "Though she does not look it, my lady mother grows older. She has seven sons, not one of them married. The lack of daughters-in-law and grandchildren was a constant lamentation for Old Lord Emón, I'm afraid; mayhaps it was catching."

Han Taín threw his head back. "Ha! Well, once I am well and wed, perhaps I will focus on you, my son. You're past the age to marry."

Diarmán pressed his lips together. "That may be true, but I've no interest in a wife. I thought you guessed as much."

"Pah." Han Taín waived a hand and picked up his cup of tea. "You would not be the only man to take a wife for the business of making heirs alone—no, nor the only one to find little pleasure in the prospect. It would be naught but an occasional duty; there are plenty of those when one wears a crown."

"Are there? I do not recall your crown bringing with it much in the way of unwanted responsibilities."

"Well, we don't have quite so much foolishness back home as there is in the human world. I think some change can be wrought for the better along those lines, once I'm well and wed." Han Taín folded his hand over Naefe's where it rested on the table.