Deep, wide eyes of a cornflower hue, set in a heart-shaped face framed by gossamer silk; hair the color of flame in sunlight, swept wing-like past her temples and caught in a loose knot at the nape; the nose delicate and slightly upturned; the cheekbones high and touched with a blush of rose; the mouth full, generous, tinged with color and inviting; the redheaded child at her side was sleepy-eyed, his silken hair tousled.

Except in his dreams, Morgan had seen the pair only once, what seemed like an eternity ago, in a coach outside the ruined shrine not far from here. But on that occasion their image had been graven on his memory for all time to come. He reminded himself that the woman was married, the child some other man’s son, then wondered anew who they might be.

He felt a slight pressure at his left elbow and turned to find Duncan looking at him rather oddly. Morgan flashed him an apologetic look as he gathered his wits about him, then hazarded one last glance back at the corridor before returning his attention to the two bishops. But the woman and her child were gone.

As Duncan drew his hood farther onto his forehead and stepped out sedately, Morgan followed, trying to assume as near a copy of Duncan’s humble walk and manner as possible. The two bishops had rounded the turn of the next intersection, but they came back into sight as Morgan and Duncan followed at a discreet distance until the two prelates disappeared through a set of double doors. Uncertainly, the two Deryni came to a halt a short distance from the doors and considered their next move.

“What’s in there, do you know?” Morgan whispered.

Duncan shook his head. “I’ve never been here before either. It could be the Curia chamber, for all I know. We’ll just have to chance—”

He broke off as a group of soldiers came around the corner and halted in front of the doors. As one of them knocked respectfully, another glanced aside and saw the two monks loitering there. With a slight frown, he turned to murmur something to one of his companions, then headed toward them purposefully. Morgan and Duncan, with an exchange of apprehensive glances, attempted to appear as innocuous as possible.

“Good evening, Brothers,” the soldier said, eyeing them curiously. “May I ask what you’re doing here? Unless you have permission from your superior, you’re not permitted in this part of the palace. You know that.”

Duncan bowed slightly, keeping his face carefully averted. “We have urgent business with His Grace of Dhassa, sir. It is vital that we see him.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Brother,” the soldier said, shaking his head. “Their Excellencies are already overdue at a convocation meeting.”

“We only need a moment of his time,” Duncan ventured, glancing at Morgan and wondering how they were going to extricate themselves from this one. “Perhaps if we could speak with them as they walked…I know they will wish to see us.”