The Stoneholding

she made a brave attempt to hide it. Now a look of puzzlement crossed her face at the sight of an unknown stranger in the garb of a merchant. The closely guarded confinement was taking its toll of her, streaking her hair with grey and adding careworn wrinkles to her finely chiselled features.

Frysan felt an upwelling of pity. Clearly the Queen was reaching the limits of her strength. The weary days had stretched into weeks, into months. It had begun with the hunting accident in the Deer's Slunk. The King had been gored by a stag, an injury from which he never recovered. He had grown steadily worse. Now he lay dying. Dinas Antrum was awash with rumours, dark hints from the Mindal that the day of reckoning was at hand. Rumours that soon the Queen would consider herself fortunate to be sharing a small cell in Tower Dinas with her daughters and the infant Crown Prince. Rumours that by one means or another the King would be dead.

Frysan stepped past Baldrick to approach the Queen, who lifted her hands from the cradle and rose, straightening herself to full height. It was the first time he had seen her at close quarters. No diamond-studded tiara or beautiful gown set her apart. Instead she was dressed in a loose blue smock embroidered simply at the neck and girdled with a narrow white belt. Her baby began to whimper again. She picked it up, kissed and soothed it, clutching it with both hands to her bosom. Frysan made a courtly bow.

"Your Highness, your humble servant, Elzemon Dorassy, Master Draper, as ready to be at your service as ever I have been all those many occasions in the past. The years since we last ...