“You must understand, Morgan,” Rogier was saying. “None of us has anything against you personally. But the queen—well, she hasn’t taken Brion’s death well at all.”

“Neither have I, Rogier,” Morgan replied evenly, his gray eyes flashing.

Nigel stepped deftly between Rogier and Ewan and took Morgan’s arm. “Alaric, I’m delighted to see you. And Lord Derry, I believe.”

Derry bowed acknowledgement, obviously pleased to have been recognized by the royal duke and grateful for the interruption of hostilities. Around him, the others also bowed.

“I have a favor to ask, though,” Nigel continued, playing the part of perfect host to the hilt. “Would you mind sitting in at Alaric’s place in Council, Derry? He has some important matters to take care of for me.”

“It would be my honor, Your Highness.”

“Excellent,” Nigel said, beginning to edge himself and Morgan in the direction Kevin had disappeared. “You’ll excuse us, won’t you, gentlemen?”

As Nigel and Morgan moved off and disappeared in the direction of the royal apartments, Ian mentally congratulated Nigel on the smoothness of the rescue. Not that it would matter in the end. Even if Morgan did talk to Kelson—and there was no way he could have stopped it at this point—there would still be a few unexpected surprises for the Deryni lord.

Meanwhile, there was the matter of this Lord Derry of Morgan’s. And Bran Coris—that had been a surprise. He had known that Morgan’s strength in Council would be lessened by at least one vote. Ralson’s timely end had assured that. But now it appeared that Bran Coris had defected, too. It would be interesting to find out what had prompted the change. Bran had always been carefully neutral in the past.

AS he and Nigel left the great hall, Morgan was amazed at the change that had come over Brion’s younger brother in the past two months. For though the royal duke was only in his mid-thirties, but a few years older than Morgan, he had the look of a man of twice the years.

It was not really a physical manifestation. There was no gray streaking the jet-black hair. Nigel did not stoop or tremble with the palsy of the aged.

It was in the eyes, Morgan decided, as they strode down a long marble corridor. Nigel had always been the quieter, more studious of the two brothers, but this was something new—a haunted (or was it hunted?) look that Morgan had never seen there before. Nigel, too, had not taken Brion’s death well.

As soon as they were out of sight and earshot of the door attendants, Nigel dropped his feigned smile and glanced at Morgan worriedly.

“We’ve got to hurry,” he murmured, his long strides echoing on the expanse of marble tile. “Jehana’s getting ready to convene the Council and prefer charges against you. And I can’t remember when I’ve seen the Council lords in a nastier mood. It’s almost as though they believe the rumors about Brion’s death.”