By Heresies Distressed (88 page)

“And the Church, Your Majesty?” Tartarian asked softly.

“And the Church, My Lord?” Cayleb's voice was almost as soft as Tartarian's, and his smile was unpleasant. “The Church of Charis follows the Crown of Charis.”

“Which means precisely what, Your Majesty?” Anvil Rock asked, his voice harsher than it had been.

“Which means the Church's bishops and serving clergy in Corisande will be required to affirm their loyalty to the Church of Charis and to acknowledge Archbishop Maikel as the primate of that church,” Cayleb replied flatly. “Any bishop or priest who cannot, in good conscience, make that affirmation and acknowledgment will be deprived of his office. He will not be imprisoned for his refusal, nor will he be forced into exile or deprived of his priest's cap. As Archbishop Maikel has agreed, a priest is a priest forever, and despite the Group of Four's accusations, we have no desire to punish or victimize anyone simply because he cannot, in good conscience, agree with the position and organization of the Church of Charis. We
will
punish any treasonous acts, regardless of their justification, and regardless of who the traitors may be, but there will be no arbitrary arrests or imprisonment.”

“Many of our people will reject your right to dictate terms to Mother Church, however reasonably you may dress them up, Your Majesty,” Anvil Rock said warningly.

“For themselves, as individuals, they have every right to do so,” Cayleb said unflinchingly. “If they step beyond matters of personal conscience into open defiance of the law which binds all men, or into organized resistance to the Crown, then they become criminals, and they will be treated as such. Although,” his eyes became harder than brown agate, “I would recommend to their consideration the fact that Archbishop Maikel has specifically rejected the teachings of
The Book of Schueler
dealing with the ‘appropriate punishment' for heresy. Whatever the Group of Four may choose to do, the Church of Charis will not be responsible for atrocities like those inflicted upon Archbishop Erayk. Nor will the Charisian Empire burn innocent cities or murder, rape, and terrorize their citizens as the Group of Four proposed to do to Charis.”

Anvil Rock tried to meet those hard, brown eyes. After a moment, his own fell.

“For what it's worth, My Lords,” Cayleb said after a few moments, his voice rather lighter than it had been, “you can console yourself with the knowledge that Empress Sharleyan and myself remain under Grand Vicar Erek's writ of excommunication. Theoretically, I suppose, that means any oath you may swear to us is nonbinding, in the eyes of Mother Church. Or, perhaps, I should say the Council of Vicars and the Group of Four. Mind you, I intend to enforce any oaths you may swear exactly as if they
were
binding, but if it helps you or any of Corisande's other nobles where your consciences are concerned . . .”

He shrugged.

“Your Majesty, we—” Anvil Rock began just a bit sharply, but Cayleb shook his head.

“Forgive me, My Lord,” he interrupted. “I didn't mean to sound as if I were making light of the situation, nor would I for a moment impugn the personal honor of you or Earl Tartarian. On the other hand, whether we wish to acknowledge the point or not, all of us know
someone
in Corisande is going to take precisely that view in order to justify active resistance to the Empire. It's going to happen, My Lords, and all of us know it. When it happens, I will do all in my power to avoid overreactions, but there
will
be consequences for those responsible, and those consequences will be severe. I have no more choice in that regard than any other secular ruler, however those involved may choose to justify their actions. I won't attempt to deceive you on that point, nor would you believe me if I did.”

Anvil Rock looked at him for a moment, then nodded with genuine, if perhaps grudging, respect.

“At any rate, My Lords,” Cayleb said more briskly, “I believe we all understand both sides' beginning positions. As I say, my terms and requirements are essentially simple, although I'm not so naïve as to believe that giving effect to them won't be complicated, difficult, and—unfortunately—quite possibly accompanied by additional bloodshed. I would suggest at this time that you return to Manchyr to discuss them with the other members of the Council. Unless you disagree, I would recommend we meet again tomorrow, when you can give me the sense of the Council's response and we can continue these discussions, if that should be the Council's decision. In the meantime, the truce between our two armies will continue.”

“I believe that sounds reasonable, Your Majesty,” Anvil Rock agreed gravely, although he must have recognized as well as Cayleb that, ultimately, the Council had no option other than to accept Cayleb's terms. And, Cayleb suspected, whether Anvil Rock cared to admit it or not, he and Tartarian had to recognize that Cayleb's demands were not simply reasonable, but minimal, under the circumstances.

“Before you return to the city, however,” the emperor said, “I hope you'll do me the honor of dining with me and my own senior officers. I've arranged for certain of our guests to join us at table,” he added, and if his smile was small, it was also warmer than any which had yet been exchanged as he nodded sideways at Sir Koryn.

“Your Majesty,” Anvil Rock said with a smile of his own, “the honor will be ours.”

Empress Sharleyan looked around the small, familiar council chamber.

She'd gotten a lot accomplished in this chamber, over the years, she thought. And she'd never before been away from it for so long, either. It was one year and two months, to the day, since she'd left Chisholm to marry Cayleb Ahrmahk, and there were times when she found it impossible to believe that so much had happened in so short a time.

She crossed to the open widow, put her hands on the sill, and looked out it, and her eyes softened with memory. It was true absence made one see familiar things through fresh, new eyes, she thought, and savored the vista of hills, roofs, and trees. Beyond them, she could just see the living blue marble of Cherry Bay, and the air was cool, not quite crisp, as if to warn her Chisholm's autumn was on its way. No doubt it seemed even cooler to her, after her long stay in Charis, and she shivered inside as she gazed at leaves hovering on the brink of seasonal change and thought about the approaching winter. If she thought Charis had made her sensitive to
this
coolness, winter was going to be icy, indeed! Yet even as she thought that, she realized there was something about the idea of winter that seemed almost comforting, a part of the life she'd always known, and her shiver turned into a smile as she thought about the ways in which this winter was going to be different.

And how much warmer your bed's going to be, you mean
, she told herself, and chuckled.

“You don't know how much I've missed hearing you do that,” a voice said behind her, and she turned with a smile. Her mother smiled back, then crossed to seat herself at the conference table. Baron Green Mountain got there before she did and pulled the chair out for her, and she looked up at him over her shoulder as he pushed it back closer to the table once she was seated.

“Thank you, Mahrak,” she said.

“You're welcome, Your Majesty.”

He bowed to her with a smile, and Sharleyan's eyes narrowed in sudden speculation. Green Mountain's wife of more than thirty years had died three years ago, and Queen Mother Alahnah had been a widow for almost thirteen years. They'd known each other literally since childhood, and they'd always been close, even before King Sailys' death. Since then, they'd worked with one another—and with her—as political allies who relied upon one another absolutely, and the empress suddenly wondered how she'd managed to miss the other ways in which they'd grown steadily closer.

I wonder if—?

She cut that thought off in a hurry. Mostly because it was none of her business, as long as they were discreet enough to keep their relationship from becoming a political issue, but also because she'd thought of them as Mother and Uncle Mahrak for so long that thinking of them any other way seemed obscurely wrong, somehow.

“How much you've missed me doing what, Mother?” she asked now, innocently.

“Laughing,” Queen Mother Alahnah said simply. “Of course, I've missed hearing you
giggle
even more.”

Sharleyan grinned and shook her head, then turned her back firmly on the window and took her own place at the table.

“I've missed you, too, Mother—and you, Mahrak,” she said, her expression more serious.

“The feeling is mutual,” Green Mountain told her, “and not just because we've got such a stack of documents waiting for you. Of course,” it was his turn to glance somewhat pointedly at the window, “we'd rather expected you home some time ago.”

“I know—I know!” she said repentantly. “It was just one thing after another, and Cayleb and I both thought—”

“Darling, we all know what you and Cayleb thought. For that matter, we agreed with you,” Alahnah said, reaching out to lay a slim hand on her daughter's forearm. “I won't pretend I didn't resent the decision that kept you there so much longer . . . until I met Cayleb on his way through to Corisande, that is.” She smiled warmly at her daughter and rolled her eyes. “Such a delicious young man! You managed to land quite a catch with that one, Sharley!”

If her object had been to listen to her daughter's giggle, she succeeded admirably, and Sharleyan shook her head at her.

“I can't disagree with any of that, Mother,” the empress said. “On the other hand, you might want to think about the fact that he's made more visits to Cherayth over the last, oh, half-year or so than he has to Tellesberg.”

“Of course he has. That's how I know your decision to stay in Tellesberg was one of state, based on cold political calculation and your sense of duty, my dear. Given how . . . tasty he is, that's the only conceivable reason you haven't been right here all that time!”

“I'm glad you appreciate the sacrifices I've been willing to make.”

“We certainly do,” the queen mother said rather more seriously. “And the fact that we may have agreed with your decision doesn't mean we didn't miss you.”

“If only I could be in two places at one time,” Sharleyan sighed.

“If you could, life would be a lot simpler,” Green Mountain agreed. “Since you can't, we'll just have to do the best we can, won't we?”

“And if I haven't mentioned this before, I want you to know how thankful I am that I have the two of you to help do that,” Sharleyan said with utter sincerity.

“I believe you
have
mentioned it, a time or two,” he said.

“Possibly even more often than that,” the queen mother added. “I'd have to check my diary to be certain, of course.”

“Good.” Sharleyan smiled. “My mother raised me to thank people whenever they did me little favors like, oh, running my kingdom for a year while I go galavanting off to get married.”

Green Mountain laughed, but the skin around Alahnah's eyes tightened.

“It wasn't the getting married that worried me, dear. Not, at least, after we met Cayleb.” She tried to keep her voice light, but she failed, and it was Sharleyan's turn to touch her arm with a comforting hand.

“Mother, I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am,” she said quietly.

“Don't be silly,” Alahnah said. The briskness she put into her voice was belied by the unshed tears glistening in her eyes, and she straightened in her chair and drew a deep breath. “Byrtrym always made his own decisions—you know that, if anyone does. He made that one, just like all the others, and no one else is responsible for its consequences. I only thank God that that monster Halcom didn't succeed!”

“You can thank Edwyrd and the rest of my guards for that, Mother,” Sharleyan said somberly. “Without them . . .”

She let her voice trail off, shaking her head, and Green Mountain nodded.

“I already have—thanked Edwyrd, I mean,” he told her. “I offered him a more substantial token of my gratitude, as well. He turned it down.”

“Politely, I hope?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Green Mountain smiled at her. “He was
very
polite, in fact.”

“Good,” Sharleyan said again, then leaned back in her chair, thinking about the past few five-days.

She'd been back in Cherayth for almost a full five-day, and every one of those days had been an incredible whirl of events. She could scarcely sort them all out in her memory, and she felt relatively certain that several of those memories had gotten themselves arranged out of order, but despite her sense of exhaustion, she'd found herself feeling an enormous relief, as well. She'd had her mother's regular letters, of course, and Green Mountain's—and Cayleb's—for that matter, but that hadn't been the same thing as actually being here. After more than twelve years on the throne, it had seemed . . . unnatural to have to rely on the reports of others, no matter how much she trusted those others. And it had to have seemed even odder to them to have their monarch off living in another kingdom, entirely.

“I have to admit,” she said aloud, after a few moments, “that, overall, things have worked out even better than I'd hoped they would.”

“Aside from any minor plots to murder you, you mean?” Green Mountain's voice was just a little edgy, and Sharleyan realized he'd been less calm about the assassination attempt than he tried to pretend. Her eyes softened at the thought, and she smiled at him.

“Aside from that, of course,” she conceded.

“I must say, dear, that however well we might have managed in the long term with you in Tellesberg, the decision to come home was a good one,” her mother said. Sharleyan looked at her, and the queen mother shrugged. “When word of the attack on Saint Agtha's reached us, the public reaction was . . . unhappy.”