By Heresies Distressed (80 page)

“Of course, breaking down the barriers is going to take more than simply defeating the Group of Four,” Cayleb said. “I know you already told me that, but now, looking at all this, I think I finally realize what you really meant. Nobody who's grown up on Safehold is going to be ready for something like
this
without an awful lot of advance preparation. And I see now exactly why you said you can't just hand this over. Why we have to learn to build it—and accept it as something which isn't ‘evil'—for ourselves.”

“As Maikel says, one battle at a time,” Merlin agreed. “First, we break the Temple's political and economic stranglehold; after
that
, we tackle the lies in the
Writ
, itself. And that, Cayleb, is going to be an even tougher fight, in a lot of ways. The fact that eight million literate colonists left so many letters and journals and personal accounts—absolutely honest ones, as far as they knew—of how they interacted with the ‘archangels,' and about their experiences on the day of Creation itself, is going to leave us with a nightmare when we try to tell everyone they're all lies. The mere fact that I have a cave stuffed with technological toys isn't going to ‘magically' make nine hundred years of faith disappear overnight . . . or make the people who share that faith feel one bit happier about the possibility of falling for ‘Shan-wei's snares.' That's why we need people like Howsmyn, Rhaiyan, Rahzhyr Mahklyn, and all the rest. The Safeholdian ‘scientific revolution' is going to have to come from within, not be handed over by some supernatural minion of Shan-wei, and the mindset that goes with it is going to have to infect the entire planet. I only hope we can avoid an entire series of religious wars between the people eager to embrace the new and the people desperate to defend the old as their only hope of salvation.”

“I'm not going to see Safehold building these ‘recon skimmers' in my lifetime, am I?” Cayleb asked softly.

“I don't think so,” Merlin confirmed, equally softly. “I wish you were, and I suppose it could happen. But I'm afraid of what would happen if we crammed the truth at everyone that quickly. Maybe things will change, maybe I'm being too pessimistic. But I've got enough blood on my hands already, Cayleb. I don't want any more than there has to be.”

“I think I'm finally beginning to understand why you're so lonely, too,” Cayleb said. “You're not just the only person who remembers where we all really came from. You're the one person who's going to see people like me and Father and Sharleyan die and leave you to go on, fighting the same fight without them.”

“Yes.” Cayleb could hardly hear the single word, and Merlin closed his eyes briefly. “Yes,” he repeated more loudly. “And if you want to look at it one way, I think I've got a very good chance of being personally responsible for more bloodshed than any other single person in history.”

“Dragon shit!”
Cayleb snapped the two words so sharply that Merlin twitched upright in his flight couch. “Don't go borrowing guilt, Merlin!” the emperor continued in an only marginally less sharp tone. “Langhorne and Bédard and Schueler are the ones who built this mess, and Clyntahn and Maigwair and Trynair are the ones who were willing to murder an entire kingdom to prop it up! Do you think that somehow all of that would magically stop if you'd simply decided to leave ‘well enough alone'? You're not that stupid.”

“But—”

“And don't give me any
‘buts
,' either,” the Emperor of Charis growled. “It's a mess, thousands of people are going to be killed, maybe millions of them, and you—and I, and my children, and my
grandchildren
, if that's what it takes—are going to be right in the middle of it. But in the end, Merlin Athrawes—or Nimue Alban—the truth is going to win. And part of that truth is the fact that a batch of self-serving, corrupt tyrants chose to use God Himself as a prison for all the rest of us. I remember something I read in that
History of the Terran Federation
Saint Zherneau left. Something about watering the tree of liberty with the blood of patriots. Personally, I'd just as soon water it with the blood of a few
tyrants
, but that doesn't change the truth that sometimes people have to die for the things they believe in, for the freedom they want for themselves and their children. And it doesn't make
you
responsible for it, either. Blame the people who built the prison, the ones who've spent so long trying to strangle the tree. Don't blame the person trying to tear that prison down.”

Silence hovered in the recon skimmer's cockpit for several seconds, and then Merlin Athrawes smiled crookedly.

“I'll try, Your Majesty,” he said. “I'll try.”

The Empress of Charis sat curled up in the comfortable armchair in her luxurious suite in Tellesberg Palace with her feet tucked under her. It was the way she'd sat when she was worried ever since she'd been a little girl, despite the best efforts of her mother, Baron Green Mountain, her uncle, and Sairaih Hahlmyn to break her of the habit. She'd never been quite certain why a queen wasn't supposed to sit that way, at least in private, and her various relatives and loyal retainers had discovered that her stubbornness extended to more than simply matters of state.

She smiled almost wistfully at the thought. It was comforting to think of such ordinary, everyday arguments and decisions, rather than the monumental upheavals of the last two days. As frightening as the world she faced had sometimes been before, at least she'd always been reasonably confident she understood it. Now, it was as if a doorway she hadn't even known existed had been opened, revealing the existence of an entirely new layer of reality, one that threatened to stand every comfortable, known fact on its head. She'd begun to feel at home here in Charis, only to find herself once again in a new and unknown land, and this time she had no map, no shelter, and no guide to explain its frightening mysteries to her.

The thought sent a stab of loneliness through her, and she looked around her suite. It was larger and airier than the one she'd enjoyed in her “own” palace in Cherayth, with the pointed arches, high ceilings, thick, heat-shedding walls, and windowed doors of Charisian architecture. She'd grown accustomed to its exoticness in the months since Cayleb's departure. What she hadn't grown accustomed to—and didn't
want
to grow accustomed to—was Cayleb's absence.

You've got more to be worried about than that, you nincompoop!
she told herself sternly.
You've only been married to the man for seven months, and he's been gone for almost six of them! Don't you think it might be a
little
more sensible to spend your time worrying about whether or not Merlin is a demon, after all, than how much you miss a man you've hardly had time to even
start
to know?

No doubt it would have been. And, in fairness, she had spent quite a bit of time worrying about that very point, despite Archbishop Maikel's reassurance. Her relief when the archbishop confirmed that he'd known the truth about Captain Athrawes all along had been the next best thing to unspeakable, although he'd declined to be more specific about that truth until after she'd spoken again with Merlin and Cayleb.
That
had been more than a little frustrating, but she'd had to admit that it made perfectly good sense under the circumstances. And the archbishop's serenity when he confirmed that he knew about Merlin had done more to relieve her mind than she might have believed possible, although the fact that Staynair honestly
believed
Merlin was neither a demon nor an angel didn't necessarily mean the archbishop was correct. Nonetheless, she'd told herself, if Archbishop Maikel was prepared to grant Merlin the benefit of the doubt, the least
she
could do was listen to what the
seijin
had to say. Especially since, as she'd pointed out to him herself in the smoke, blood, and bodies of the failed assassination attempt, she would most certainly have been dead along with the members of her guard detail without him.

Her eyes darkened, and she felt her lower lip trying to quiver once again as she thought about the men who had died to keep her alive. It had been their job, their duty, just as she had duties and responsibilities. She knew that. Yet knowing was a frail shield against the faces she would never see again . . . and the faces of the wives, children, fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers they'd left behind.

Stop that
, she told the tears prickling at the backs of her eyes.
You can't bring them back. All you can do is to make their deaths
mean
something
.
You're an empress;
be
an empress. You know who wanted to kill you—who did kill your guardsmen. Halcom may be dead, thanks to Merlin, but there are scores of other Halcoms just like him out there. Now you've got another reason not to let them win
.

It was true, yet there were times when she felt herself being spread far too thin. When the duties and the responsibilities and the debts looming before her seemed fit to crush one of the archangels themselves. When all she wanted was to find some way to pass those duties and responsibilities to someone else. To find the time for the girlhood which had been stolen from her by a throne. Surely she was entitled to at least a little sliver of a life that was hers and hers alone, not the property of Chisholm, or of Charis.
Hers
.

And that's why you're thinking about Cayleb
, she thought.
Because he
is
yours. You don't have all of him any more than he has all of you—the two of you are too many other people, have too many other responsibilities. But the
Writ
says that to those of whom much is asked, much is also given. It hasn't seemed that way ever since Father died . . . until now
.

Her lips stopped trying to quiver and curved in a tender smile, instead. A marriage of state, yes, but so much more. Her heart seemed to lighten magically as she remembered his smile, the taste of his lips, the magic of his touch and her own responsiveness to it. Archbishop Maikel had said a true marriage was a union of shared burdens and tasks, of two hearts, two minds, and two souls, and he'd been right. There was no challenge the two of them couldn't face together, and if it was silly of her to believe that of a man she'd actually known for barely two months, then so be it. She—

Knuckles rapped gently on a doorframe and she heard Sairaih's voice murmuring something. A moment later, Sairaih herself appeared in her bedchamber door.

“Edwyrd is here, Your Majesty,” she said.

It was a mark of how shaken Sairaih had been by the assassination attempt that she didn't even frown when she saw her mistress' feet tucked up under her like some schoolroom child's. Sharleyan felt an urge to chuckle at the thought, but instead, she only nodded.

“Ask him to come in, please.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

Sairaih swept an abbreviated curtsy and withdrew. A few pulse beats later, she returned with Sergeant Seahamper.

“Edwyrd,” Sharleyan said quietly. She winced slightly with the pain in her brutally bruised shoulder as she held out her hand, and the sergeant, armed and armored for duty, bent over it, kissing it, then straightened. “I see Colonel Ropewalk decided I could have you after all,” the empress observed with a faint, bittersweet twinkle.

“Your Majesty, if you want me on your balcony all night, then that's where I'll be,” he told her simply.

“I remember when you used to sit outside my bedroom door when I was a girl,” she told him. “Right after Father died. I could always sleep knowing you were there, my very own armsman, to keep the nightmares outside, where they belonged. Maybe I'll be able to sleep tonight, too.”

“I hope so, Your Majesty.”

“So do I.” She glanced at her maid. “Go on to bed yourself, Sairaih.”

“I'm not that tired, Your Majesty. If you need—”

“If you're not that tired, you certainly ought to be. And I'm not exactly a little girl anymore, even if I do need Edwyrd to help keep the bad dreams at bay tonight. Go to bed. If it turns out I need you, I promise I'll ring and drag you back out of bed without a qualm. Now scoot!”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Sairaih smiled slightly, produced another half-curtsy, and withdrew, leaving Sharleyan alone with Seahamper.

“She's as much a worrier as you are, Edwyrd,” the empress said.

“Funny how you seem to have that effect on people, Your Majesty.”

“Undoubtedly because people don't trust me to have the sense to come in out of the rain.”

“Undoubtedly, Your Majesty,” Seahamper agreed, and she laughed a bit sadly.

“We really have been through a lot together, haven't we, Edwyrd?”

“And, if you'll pardon me for saying it, Your Majesty, I'm hoping we'll be through a lot
more
together, as well.”

“I suppose that
would
beat the alternative. Still, I'd just as soon not have another couple of days as strenuous as the last two,” she said, and this time, he only smiled, his eyes as sad as her own, and nodded in agreement.

“Well,” she said more briskly, “I suppose we should get you out onto the balcony.”

She climbed out of the armchair and tucked one arm into his armored elbow, walking barefoot across the bedchamber's cool marble floor beside him in a fluttering swirl of nightgown and steel thistle-silk night robe. He opened the latticed door onto the enormous balcony and escorted her out into the cool darkness of evening.

The sky was a cobalt-blue dome, beginning to flicker faintly with stars, and the moon was a burnished copper coin just peeking above the eastern horizon, but it wasn't quite completely dark yet. She could look out over the roofs of Tellesberg, across the waterfront to the twinkling lights of galleons moving out of the harbor on the wings of the falling tide. Other lights were beginning to glimmer across the capital, and she raised her head, savoring the cool kiss of the breeze on her face.