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“No, Degas,” Saeryn tried to say, but all that came out was a hoarse whisper. She cleared her throat and tried again. “No, Degas,” she said, her voice stronger. “We must not have an uprising, of all things. That would be treason against the crown, if the nobles rose up for the reason you have said. Too many men would die. It would be better for Eodwine and I to step down.”
“It won’t to come to that,” Degas said. “And you and Eodwine should never have to step down!”
“I know.” She swiped at her tears and drew a shaking breath. “I know. But what am I to do, Degas? He has more men-at-arms than I do, not to mention that he has brought some of the guards from Edoras. I couldn’t fight him, even if I wanted to. And I can’t argue with him! He’s so. . .he’s so. . .commanding.”
She slipped down from the back of the horse and walked a few feet away. Degas dismounted and followed her, holding Gleowyn’s reins.
“There’s more, immediate concerns, though, and we can’t stay out here much longer. There is to be a banquet tonight and Athanar plans on presenting himself to the people. He said Thornden or I may speak then, too. And he said that if we had any concerns to speak to him about, we can beforehand. But, Degas, I don’t think it would do any good. He says he’s just acting for the king and that Eodwine himself would have it this way. Don’t get angry, Degas, but don’t you think it would be better if we all agreed and worked the same way, together?”
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