By Heresies Distressed (61 page)

“Indeed,” Halleck continued, “unless I misread section
three
of the marriage contract rather badly, the function of this assembly is to organize our new Imperial Parliament with what might most accurately be described as a House of Lords and a House of Commons, each of which has two chambers: one whose membership is drawn from Old Charis, and one whose membership is drawn from Chisholm. All of the members of that new Imperial Parliament will, of course, be equal colleagues of one another, regardless of the kingdom from which they may come, but my own strong feeling at this time is that the membership of those two chambers in each House ought to be determined by the parliament of the kingdom which they will be representing. I believe it would be presumptuous of us at this time to make any attempt to dictate to either of those sovereign bodies. Surely it would constitute an unjustified infringement upon their prerogatives and ancient legal rights and responsibilities.”

Halleck seated himself, and there was a buzz of side conversations. The majority of them were approving, judging from their tone, and Sharleyan chuckled as she watched Black Horse's expression.

Did he really think Charisians were too stupid to have anticipated something quite
that
obvious?
she wondered scornfully.
Of course, he—and Rock Coast and Dragon Hill—are all three stupid enough to go on hoping that they're going to be able to wiggle out from under the foot Mahrak, Mother, and I have firmly on the backs of their necks in Chisholm. So maybe they
were
dumb enough to think they could get away with something like this so quickly
.

She shook her head, and then her eyes narrowed as she saw Black Horse's head twitch in the direction of yet another Chisholmian nobleman. Sir Paitryk Mahknee, the Duke of Lakeland, was gazing attentively at the Speaker, apparently oblivious to Black Horse, but Sharleyan felt an abrupt prickle of suspicion. At thirty-six, Lakeland was no callow youth, yet he was very new to his title. His father had been killed in a fall from a horse when Lakeland was only eleven, which had made him his grandfather's heir. But that grandfather, who had died less than a year ago, had been well over eighty, and still vigorous, still fully in charge of his duchy and all its responsibilities, up to the very day of his death. The previous duke had also been closely allied with Black Horse and Rock Coast, longing for the “good old days” of Irwain III, which he had remembered only too well. Despite his mental vigor, however, he'd been understandably frail, no longer up to the demands of making long journeys to the capital, and Sir Paitryk had always been a dutiful grandson, carrying out his grandfather's instructions to the letter whenever he had deputized for the old man in Parliament Hall. The assumption had been that he agreed with those instructions, but Sharleyan was suddenly less certain of that.

I've always known he was smarter than his grandfather
, she thought.
Is it possible that he's also a lot
sneakier?
And that perhaps—just perhaps—he
wasn't
in agreement with his grandfather's political ambitions all these years? If he wasn't, and if he was both smart and sneaky enough not to let his grandfather' allies
realize
that he wasn't
. . .

Perhaps she'd been wronging Black Horse just a bit. It had still been a particularly stupid opening move, but was it possible the stupidity hadn't been entirely self-grown? That someone else, someone like the Duke of Lakeland, might have suggested the ploy to him to deliberately maneuver him and his allies into a false step? One which would make it crystal clear to everyone, Charisian and Chisholmian alike, exactly where that line of battle was going to be drawn?

I really have to get to know Lakeland a little better
, she told herself.
If he's truly that devious, I need to make certain he really is on the Crown's side, too. Cayleb and I certainly don't need him on the
other
side!

“Well, I think that probably went rather better than you'd anticipated, Rayjhis,” Sharleyan said cheerfully much later that evening as she dined with Gray Harbor and Archbishop Maikel.

“Actually, Your Majesty,” Gray Harbor pointed out in a gently corrective tone, “I think it went rather better than
either
of us had anticipated.”

“Nonsense.” Sharleyan chuckled. “I never doubted for a moment.”

“Remember what I said about career changes, Your Majesty.”

Sharleyan laughed out loud and shook her head. Then she emptied her wineglass, and the archbishop refilled it for her.

“Thank you, Your Eminence,” she said.

“You're entirely welcome, Your Majesty. Although, as a priest, I must feel some slight concern for the state of your soul if you continue to prevaricate the way you just did.”

“Oh, no, Your Eminence! You're quite wrong. I didn't ‘prevaricate' at all. I
lied
.”

“Oh, that's much better.” Staynair's eye twinkled. “Or more direct, at least.”

“I try, Your Eminence.”

“Indeed you do, Your Majesty,” Gray Harbor agreed. “And if I may be permitted to steer this conversation into slightly more serious territory, you have a point about how well things went today.”

“I know.” Sharleyan leaned back in her chair, her own expression more serious, and nodded. “Were either of you watching Black Horse after Duke Halleck cut his legs off?”

“What a charming turn of phrase, Your Majesty,” Staynair observed. She made a face at him, and he smiled, then shook his head. “Actually, I must confess that I wasn't. May I ask why?”

“Because I'm not at all certain his stupidity was entirely his own idea,” Sharleyan said. She explained her own thoughts about the Duke of Lakeland, and both the first councilor and the archbishop looked thoughtful when she'd finished.

“Obviously, Your Majesty, you know both Black Horse and Lakeland far better than Maikel or I do,” Gray Harbor said. “I'd certainly like to think you're right about this, though. Frankly, I suspect that arm-wrestling your Chisholmian noblemen is going to get exhausting fairly quickly.”

“It may,” Staynair said. “Then again, it may not. Obviously, if Your Majesty is right about Lakeland, it means we've managed to acquire an ally behind enemy lines, as it were. On the other hand, Halleck's point that we can scarcely dictate to either kingdom's parliament without infringing its prerogatives was a particularly nasty thumb in the eye for Black Horse and his friends. It wouldn't happen, would it, that you and he might have discussed that before this morning's session?”

“I suppose it's remotely possible,” Gray Harbor admitted.

“I thought I detected your touch.” Staynair smiled. “At any rate, it's probably going to cause at least some of Black Horse's more conservative fellows to think hard about whether or not they want to undermine their own prerogatives back home. And I have to admit that I've been rather pleasantly surprised by the attitude of Archbishop Pawal's delegates.”

“You have?” Sharleyan looked at him.

“Assuredly, Your Majesty.” The archbishop inclined his head in a seated bow. “On several levels. First and foremost because I've detected no reservations on their part about the legitimacy of our quarrel with the Temple Loyalists. One or two of them obviously have major concerns about precisely where we may be headed in a theological and doctrinal sense, but they clearly support our basic position about the corruption of Mother Church. Archbishop Pawal's letters make it quite clear that he feels the same, and that he's readily prepared to accept the Church of Charis' existing hierarchy and the primacy of the Archbishop of Tellesberg, which is nothing to sneeze at. Emerald has already done the same thing, of course, but despite Princess Mahrya's betrothal to young Zhan, the fact remains that most of the world is going to see Emerald as essentially a conquered province. Clyntahn and Trynair will be able to argue fairly convincingly that Cayleb constrained the Emeraldian Church to accept the Church of Charis.

“That's not the case in Chisholm. Or, at least, not nearly as much the case. That makes Archbishop Pawal's willingness to openly and willingly accept the Chisholmian Church's position within the Church hierarchy both far more valuable and more courageous. He can't hide behind the threat of Charisian bayonets, can't pretend we ‘made' him do it, yet he's openly embraced the schism and its implications. The attitude of his representatives convinces me his letter is completely sincere, as well. Mind you, he's already drawn my attention to several areas in Chisholm where both firmness and patience—and wariness—are going to be required, but overall, he's managed to put to rest most of my most pressing concerns.

“On another level, however, and the one which actually brought it to mind at the moment, I've also read his instructions to his representatives where the Imperial Parliament is concerned. Essentially, they've been instructed to take their lead from myself in political as well as temporal matters, and he's impressed upon them that it is his desire, as their archbishop, for them to assist the Crown in whatever ways may be possible.”

“Oh, good.” Sharleyan nodded in satisfaction. “Mahrak—Baron Green Mountain—and Mother both told me they expected something very like that from him. I'm glad to see they were right.”

“They most certainly were, Your Majesty.”

“And,” Gray Harbor said, his satisfaction undisguised, “the delegates from the Chamber of Commons are already forming working partnerships with their counterparts here in Charis. Zhak Blackwyvern and Sir Samyl Waismym tell me that they've already been in conversation with a Wyllym Watsyn and Tobis Samylsyn, Your Majesty.”

“I know both of them well.” Sharleyan nodded again. “Watsyn, especially, has been one of Mahrak's closer allies in the Commons for years. I'm not a bit surprised he's taking the offensive here in Tellesberg, as it were.”

“It's my impression that that's exactly what he's doing,” Gray Harbor agreed. “Although Zhak tells me he's gotten the impression that Master Samylsyn may have more substantial reservations about our ‘schismatic' policies than Master Watsyn does.”

“Really?” Sharleyan frowned slightly, then gave her head a little toss. “That could well be. Tobis is an extraordinarily loyal man by nature. He isn't the very smartest man in the world, but he's uncommonly levelheaded, which is one reason he and Watsyn usually work in tandem. Watsyn can be downright brilliant, but he can also be a bit . . . erratic, from time to time. Tobis helps keep him centered. But Tobis also extends that loyalty of his to more than just the Crown. In fact, that's one of the things I've always liked most about him; he brings that same steadiness, that same sense of responsibility, to
all
of the important things in his life. And the Church is important to him.”

“Is that likely to become a problem, Your Majesty?” Gray Harbor's eyes were much more serious than they had been. “From what Zhak had to say, both he and Sir Samyl believe Watsyn and Samylsyn may well be the two most important delegates from the Chamber of Commons.”

“They almost certainly are the two most important delegates,” Sharleyan agreed. “And I suspect that one reason Tobis was chosen was because the other members of the Chamber know he has at least some doubts about the schism. He'll abide by whatever instructions they sent with him—or, at least, if he decides he can't abide by them in good conscience, he'll resign and withdraw from the process rather than
violate
them—but I'm sure there are quite a few other Chamber members who have reservations of their own. They trust his integrity, and they also trust him to address those reservations.”

“Should I seek to set to rest any concerns he might have, Your Majesty?” Staynair asked quietly.

“I think that would be a very good idea,” Sharleyan said after a moment. “I don't think you're going to have to go looking for him, though, Your Eminence. Unless I'm very mistaken,
he's
going to come to
you
. As I say, he's very levelheaded, and I believe, now that I've thought about it, that he'll probably want to discuss those reservations of his directly with you at the earliest possible moment. And I think he'll do his best to listen to what you have to say with an open mind, when he does.”

“I can ask no more than that of any man.” Staynair smiled another of his serene smiles. “If he's truly willing to listen, I expect God will be able to make Himself heard, even if He has to use a fallible conduit like myself.”

Sharleyan shook her head. In most men in Staynair's position, that last sentence would have been an example of pure false modesty. In Maikel Staynair's case, it was entirely genuine.

“You may not be able to ask more than that of any man, Maikel,” Gray Harbor's voice was considerably more sour than the archbishop's, “but I could wish that you got it a bit more often.”

“And what brought that on, My Lord?” Sharleyan asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“That idiot Kairee, Your Majesty,” Gray Harbor growled. “I wish I knew what the Commons were thinking when they added
him
to their list of delegates!”

Sharleyan grimaced. Traivyr Kairee was one of the handful of Charisian delegates about whom she cherished serious reservations. She, too, had wondered what could possibly have inspired the rest of the House of Commons to choose him to help speak for them, and she still hadn't been able to come up with an answer she liked.

“Most of it was simply wealth talking, Rayjhis,” Staynair said, his tone considerably calmer than the first councilor's. “Do I really have to explain to you just how many other members of the House of Commons owe him money, favors, or both?”