Sylvia sat in the quiet of a room slumbering in the late hour. When the maid had come to stir up the fire, she had sent the girl away without the task done. Now the embers were low, the warmth lessening from the robust rosy orange cheer into so many eyes winking out into grey ash.

The knock was soft and only gave brief warning to the prince's entrance. He did not wait for permission on many things. She watched him from the comfort of her chair. Her elbow propped on the arm of the tapestry set one hand to her chin with support of a thumb while fingertips rested on her bottom lip. This thoughtful repose was not altered as she watched him draw near out of the corners of violet eyes.

He looked to the low fire then across to the two low burning candles both at the small table near her chair. "Are you intending to make the entirety of my visit uncomfortable, Sylvia?"

She lifted her head and turned to face him. "Again you fail to give notice of your arrival. I should have had the candles burning bright and hearth alive with flame had I known you would take this hour to call." With a delicate smile, she motioned to a chair curved at angle to hers. "Bad dreams, your Highness?"

"I was unaware of such desperate requirements to come speak with a sister-in-law." He sat with a well practiced art of casual aloofness. "My dreams are neither good nor bad, but merely artifices of a busy mind. How are the children?" The charm of a smile turned upon her. Even in the uncertain light the silver streaks peeked through the darker hair and speckled the neatly trimmed beard.

"They are well, my lord. Cian turns five soon." Paying courtesy to the turn of conversation he dealt. The ploy would lead back around in time. She could see it in the way he played with the end of his elegant heather blue doublet.

Ink marred fingers picked up the hemmed edge and dropped it again. "Yes, so he does. Very good. We are expecting our second in the spring."

Sylvia felt her jaw clench as she fought against her open dismay at the news. Rian had said nothing in her letters. The rift had always been there between them, but it seemed to widen with Kieran's death into a crumbling chasm. Sporting a schooled smile, able to give true warmth to it once the aching surprise had passed. "I am delighted for you both. I shall write Her Highness in the morning to wish her well."

"It is good of you, Sylvia, but," he sat up and searched her face so keenly as to draw her back away from him. He noticed this and his eyes softened though he did not sit back. "I would ask more of you."

"More?" Black brows drew together in a furrow of misunderstanding.

"Rian and the children are not safe right now with father as he is and his net of vultures who feed on his sickness in hopes of favors after he is gone. I want to send them here."

Sylvia felt the cold chill spread along her arms. "You will draw the wrath of your father to our doorstep?" Her voice rasped along the words like a specter's moaning.

The prince sat back rubbing hands harsh over a face that had gained shadows and sunken under the weight of the wicked dance. "What am I to do? None have the power or might of Yransea - "

"You have more than we. Protect your family -- protect my sister as you swore to protect her and your people. Yransea is not your shield, my lord."

Maelgwn's eyes narrowed on her and his voice set a terrible pitch, dark with the threat like far off thunder. "Yransea is vassal to the crown and to me, my lady, and will do as I command or see its lands forfeit to another. Do you wish us to play with such fire, Baroness? Do you wish to see the family of your son torn down and cast into shame? Shame that will touch two other baronies in turn?"

Communications came in cresting waves at odd hours of the day. Messengers with road dust upon their clothes and weary in their walk delivered sealed papers to Sylvia in the creeping hours of night. She found her time more often spent in the company of Keefe as they read over the missives, their contents hinting at movements and alliances.

Rian had settled into her old rooms with her child and waiting ladies, two that required a rearrangement of furniture. Her Highness and Sylvia spent little more than meal times in each others' company. Lyana caught between her sister and her sister-in-law, kept her own council, or at least did not share it with Sylvia. She did, however, spend time with Keefe and Sylvia in the afternoons looking over the ever changing political landscape.

"The lords of Briggara are feeling their oats it seems," Lyana remarked before biting into the apple. She sat with her heels crossed on the empty chair across from her.

The chair was empty only because Keefe was standing over the map of Palendies spread across the desk. "So they are. A great deal of influence felt in that corner by one of His Majesty's particular counselors."

"Maelgwn is not being idle either, asserting his own sphere of influence." Sylvia smirked, casting aside the letter. She lifted her arms above her head and stretched. Tired muscles ached in the arch of her back, soothed by the motion when she relaxed once more. "I fear most of all King Rhodri making some bold, unexpected move that will put all this maneuvering into the fires."

At Keefe's nod and scowl, Lyana looked from one to another. "Why would he do so?"

The rumors to the King's ill health were wide spread, but not the truth of it. It stung that Sylvia could not confess all she suspected, and even more than beyond suspicion, Ewan knew the full truth and could not tell her. Could not just yet. Without a pause, she answered Lyana's innocent question. "Who can ever tell with King's who set their own counselors against their heir?"

"That Maelgwn was not first in line for succession should not have turned the King so bitter. His Highness has served this country well with his father's increasing illness. That it has to come to this fever of intrigue, and in the winter, too, is a hard time. The warbands grow restless, but not stupid. If it comes to battle, the people will suffer most for it in supporting our fighters." Lyana drew her legs from the chair and sat them down hard upon the ground. The apple seemed to have lost its appeal and rested in the cradled hand.

Sylvia shook her head, "You will find no argument from me on that count, Lyana, but there are some things we must prepare for against our better judgment. It has been brought to our doorstep, and those of our kin."

"How fares Marghaid? Have you had word?" Lyana looked hopeful for a moment.

"Only word that little changes and she is kept under constant care, sheltered to her rooms with little time upon her feet." Sylvia gave a sympathetic smile. "I will hope the best. Kiema will soon be in their court, and I will hear more regularly and with less subtlety."

"Another day or two?" Keefe cleared his throat as he reclaimed his seat.

"If the travel has gone well, yes." Sylvia used the pen knife to open the latest letter delivered by a quiet page who slipped in and out with the barest notice.

The seal had not revealed the identity of its writer. Sylvia stood and gave her smile to Lyana and Keefe. "I think it is time for a break. Are we close to the dinner hour?"

"My guess is we are. We will join you then." Keefe escorted a bewildered Lyana out at Sylvia's quiet nod.

When she sat at the broad desk that was once Kieran's, now Keefe's, she dipped the pen in the ink and started a short note.

You are called.

Sealed without signature and marked for delivery to Master Ewan Corinsson, Zephyr Cottage, Rhydin.