Chapter 303: The Penalty For Threatening The Ward Of The Crown...

"My lord," she said.

Her voice carried.

"You are very kind to ask after my mother."

He inclined his head.

"She is ill. That is true. She has been ill for three winters. She is a weaver’s widow and lives at the foot of the hill by the old mill, as you say." Her voice did not shake. "I did not know that anyone in this hall knew where she lived. I did not know that anyone in this hall cared."

Carrick’s smile deepened, a little.

"But it is touching," Morgana said, "to learn that a lord of the realm takes such an interest in the health of a village woman. More than I would have expected, I confess, from a man whose family had me put in chains."

A sharp indrawn breath ran through the benches.

"I do not say it in anger," she said. "I say it because it is true, and because I think it is worth noticing. You have been in this palace two days. You have written to every great house. You have found out the name of my village, and the position of my mother’s cottage, and the nature of her sickness, and the hour of the evening she coughs." She tilted her head. "That is a great deal of attention to pay to a peasant girl with strange gifts."

His smile held.

"And I wonder," said Morgana, "why you chose to tell it to two hundred people."

The silence deepened.

"If you wished to inquire after my mother’s health, my lord, you might have asked me. Privately. I would have answered. I would have been glad of the kindness." She met his eyes. "Instead you chose to ask the council. In the royal hall. In front of the crown. In the hearing of every lord and lady in the capital."

She paused.

"I can only suppose," she said, "that you wished everyone to know that you knew."

Nobody breathed.

"And so I will take it as concern, my lord." Her voice was soft. "Because if it were anything else, I would be obliged to ask the kings a question."

"And what question is that, Lady Morgana?" said Carrick, pleasantly.

"What is the penalty," said Morgana, "for threatening a ward of the crown, in the royal hall, under the Law of Crown Protection?"

A pause.

Then a dry, calm voice from behind her.

"The penalty," said Draeven, "is considerable."

She did not turn.

She did not have to. She felt him move, a warm solid presence at her left shoulder, tall and still and utterly certain. Thorne’s shadow settled at her back. Kaelen stepped up on her right, and she heard the soft crackle of ice under his boots.

The three of them stood around her.

"Under the Law of Crown Protection," Draeven said, "any threat made against a protected person, whether by word or deed, in the presence of the crown, is treated as a threat against the crown itself." His voice was quiet. "The sentence may extend to forfeiture of lands, titles, and liberty. I should be reluctant to apply it to a guest. But I would apply it."

"As would I," said Thorne.

"With pleasure," said Kaelen.

Carrick’s face had not changed.

But he had gone very still.

It was the stillness of a man weighing a very expensive piece of furniture on a very narrow stair. The charming warmth had drained out of his expression, leaving it smooth and polite and blank. His fingers tightened, once, on his rimed ring.

"Lady Morgana," he said slowly. "I fear you have misunderstood me."

"Have I?"

"I intended only kindness."

"Then I thank you for it, my lord." She inclined her head. "And I will tell my mother how deeply the Greythorne family has her welfare at heart."

A strangled sound went up from the benches.

It was a laugh. It was the beginning of several. Behind her hand, a woman in violet had turned scarlet. Two lords in the third tier had put their heads together and were whispering fiercely. Somewhere in the back, someone began, very softly, to clap, and was silenced by an elbow.

Carrick bowed.

It was a precise, correct bow, perfect in every particular. He straightened with his smile fixed in place.

"You are very quick, Lady Morgana," he said.

"I was taught by the best," she said. "You may ask your daughter." Morgana replied.

***

It was Cedric who broke the silence.

She had almost forgotten him. He had stood so still at the foot of the dais, a grey and silent figure with his hands folded in his sleeves, that his presence had faded from her mind. Now he stepped forward, slowly, leaning on his staff, and his dry old voice rose over the hall like the creak of a door.

"My lords. My ladies."

The murmurs stilled.

"This has been an unusual morning." He smiled faintly into his beard. "I shall not insult you by pretending otherwise. We have heard a claim, a counterclaim, and a withdrawal. We have heard a lady speak. We have heard the Law of Crown Protection invoked, which I have witnessed only once before, and that was for the lady herself." His eyes twinkled. "I find it most refreshing."

A faint ripple of laughter.

"But we are a council," said Cedric. "And a council must decide. We have been presented with a matter that touches the future of the realm. I will therefore put the question as it must be put." He lifted his staff. "What does this house say? In the matter of the Mother of Dragons, and the ward of the crown, and the claiming?"

A hush fell.

Then, from the second tier, a man rose to his feet.

He was a tall, broad lord in gold-embroidered green, with a thick grey beard and the booming voice of a man accustomed to being heard across a hunting field. She remembered him from the day the kings had named her ward, standing at the back, saying nothing.

"Lord Aldous Vane," said Cedric. "You have the floor."