By Schism Rent Asunder (82 page)

“I'm not planning on holding the entire city of Ferayd responsible for those deaths and stringing up every head of household in the city limits, My Lord,” Cayleb interrupted the Keeper of the Seal. “But I do intend to call the guilty to account. Whoever they may be.”

There was dead silence in the council chamber for several seconds. Sharleyan glanced at the faces of the men seated around the council table and felt that silence singing in her bones. White Church looked profoundly unhappy, and one or two others certainly looked … less than eager, yet she was almost surprised by how little true resistance she sensed.

And why should I be surprised?
She shook her head mentally.
As White Church himself pointed out, we're already at war with the Church, and with enough just cause for
twenty
kingdoms!

“And how will you establish that guilt, Your Majesty?” Staynair asked quietly at length.

“I don't propose to select two or three dozen Temple Loyalist priests at random and hang them as examples or reprisals, Maikel.” Cayleb's expression lightened slightly, and he snorted. “Mind you, there are times I find the temptation to do precisely that greater than at others. However, if we're not going to act without evidence right here in Charis, we can't do the same thing somewhere else, either. Not unless we want to open ourselves to the deserved accusation that our actions are just as capricious and reprehensible as those of Clyntahn himself, and no matter how angry I may be, I refuse to put myself into the same category as Zhaspahr Clyntahn! On the other hand, I don't suppose that anyone in Ferayd—and especially not anyone from the Office of the Inquisition—is particularly concerned about any possible consequences stemming from their actions in this case. Which probably means there hasn't been any cover-up yet. Or, at least, not any
effective
cover up. And if there hasn't, then I think it's time they, and the Grand Inquisitor, discover they're wrong about those consequences. No one is going to act without evidence. If, however, that evidence exists, and if it can be found, then the men who incited the murder of Charisian children in front of their mothers' and fathers' eyes,
will
face the justice meted out to any murderer of children. I don't care who they are, I don't care what their names are, and I don't care about whatever vestments they may wear. Is that clear to everyone around this table?”

He swept his eyes around the table. White Church still looked deeply unhappy, but even he met that flint-brown gaze without flinching, and Cayleb nodded.

“Good,” he said softly. Then he inhaled deeply.

“However,” he continued in a deliberately lighter voice, “lest all of you decide I'm turning all wishy-washy by insisting on evidence, I do believe a significant slap on the wrist is due to King Zhames, Ferayd, and Delferahk generally. Just as a gentle reminder that we're none too happy with
them,
either. And since we'd like for others to profit from their example, I want that slap delivered firmly.
Very
firmly.”

“Administered exactly how, Your Majesty?” Lock Island asked just a little cautiously.

“We're not going to need the entire Navy for the invasion of Corisande,” Cayleb replied. “Enough to provide security for the invasion transports, of course. And enough light units to provide the flank security we'll need and to blockade Hektor's ports. But no matter how hard he's been working on replacing
his
navy, he can't have any more than a handful of ships … yet. It's partly because of the need to keep that from changing that I refuse to be diverted from Corisande at this point.

“We, on the other hand, have over fifty galleons in commission by now. I imagine we could let you have twenty or thirty of them for something besides invading Corisande, Bryahn. I'm thinking we should hand them over to Admiral Rock Point and tell him to go … remonstrate with Ferayd. He can have a few Marines, too. Enough to pretty much burn the entire waterfront district of Ferayd to the ground, let's say.”

Cayleb's voice had gone iron-hard once more with the last sentence. Even so, it was warmer than the brown eyes looking levelly into Lock Island's.

“I want no counter-massacre here, Bryahn. Be sure all your captains understand that. Justice against those we know are guilty, yes, but I don't want our people provoked into anything that could even be
called
a counter-massacre. I don't doubt that even if we managed to refrain from injuring a single soul, the Group of Four would announce we'd raped and murdered half the city. In the end, though, the truth is going to get out. When it does, I want it to bite Clyntahn on the arse, not us. But having said that, I also don't want a single unburned ship floating in that harbor, or a building standing within two miles of that waterfront. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Lock Island said formally, without a trace of levity.

“Good. I also want all of our captains, and all of our privateers, to understand that it's hunting season for anything flying the Delferahkan flag. Again, make it clear I will tolerate no unnecessary brutality or vengeance killing. But I don't want a single Delferahk-flagged merchant ship anywhere on the seas of Safehold two months from today.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Lock Island repeated.

“If it should turn out that any of the other realms have treated our people the way Delferahk has, they'll receive the same treatment, one port city at a time. In the meantime, though, we need to be concentrating our primary effort on Corisande and Hektor. So, since we have you and General Chermyn both present, what can you tell us?”

“Mainly that so far we're on schedule, Your Majesty. The transports are collecting now, although if we've lost as many merchantmen as we may have to this new move by the Group of Four, it could put a crimp into our plans. Aside from that possibility, I don't see any significant problems. The troop strengths should reach the required level on schedule, at any rate.”

“Ah, if I might, Your Majesty?” Prince Nahrmahn said, raising one plump hand in a polite attention-seeking gesture.

“Yes, Your Highness?” Cayleb replied.

“I simply wished to say, first, that I agree wholeheartedly with the priorities you've just established. And, second, that I've had a certain amount of correspondence with Grand Duke Tohmas.”

“What sort of ‘correspondence'?” Cayleb asked, his eyes narrowing intently.

“It was purely of an exploratory nature, you understand, between myself as Prince of Emerald and him as the Grand Duke of Zebediah,” Nahrmahn said in a self-deprecating tone. “As such it was, of course, well before Emerald became a territory of the Empire. In fact, it began well before the recent … unpleasantness the ‘Knights of the Temple Lands' demanded of Her Grace and me. It's continued since, however. Until, ah, quite
recently
, in fact.”

“I see.” Cayleb kept his eyes on Nahrmahn, Sharleyan noticed. Earl Gray Harbor, on the other hand, glanced at Cayleb, rather than the Emeraldian prince. Or perhaps not. For just a moment, the first councilor's eyes actually seemed to slip past the emperor, instead.

“And the nature of this correspondence was…?” Cayleb continued before she had any time to consider that possibility, and the question promptly refocused her own attention fully upon Nahrmahn.

“As I say, it was of an exploratory nature,” Nahrmahn repeated. “Nonetheless, I suspect from some of the points we discussed that it's entirely possible he might be prepared to be … rather more reasonable than you and your advisers may have been assuming. In fact, I believe it's entirely possible he might be open to the possibility of providing Admiral Lock Island and General Chermyn with a forward base much closer to Corisande than, say, Chisholm.”

“I see,” Cayleb said slowly. He cocked his head to one side, considering his younger brother's father-in-law-to-be thoughtfully. Then he nodded. “I'll want to be more fully informed on that previous correspondence of yours, Your Highness. I believe, however, that if the possibility you've suggested actually exists, it could prove quite valuable.”

Nahrmahn said nothing. Instead, he inclined his head in a half bow of assent.

“Very well,” Cayleb said then, with an air of finality as he laid his palms flat on the council table and pushed his chair back from it. “I believe that completes our business for the day, Gentlemen?”

There was a general rumble of agreement. Of course, there always was, Merlin thought, and wondered what would happen if one day one of Cayleb's councilors disagreed with him, instead.

“In that case,” the emperor continued, “I'll ask you all to excuse Her Grace and me. We have an appointment with the survivors from Ferayd.” His mouth tightened briefly, then his nostrils flared as he stood, extending his hand to Sharleyan to assist her to her feet. “I hope they'll take a certain comfort from learning that Delferahk and Ferayd will soon learn the error of their ways. At any rate,
I'll
take a great deal of comfort from telling them so.”

OCTOBER, YEAR OF GOD 892

.I.

Helen Island,
Howell Bay,
Kingdom of Charis

The breeze piled whitecaps across King's Harbor as Empress Sharleyan stepped out onto the battlements of the Citadel. It was a most impressive sight, she thought, gazing down at the tiny model ships lying at anchor across the sun-sparkled, white-veined blue marble. The wind was a cool, vigorous relief from the day's heat, and the flags and banners along the battlements danced and clapped wildly, as if applauding the scene stretched out before her. Edwyrd Seahamper, on the other hand, seemed less impressed by the spectacular vista than he was relieved by the fact that up here on the battlements, she was safe from any lurking assassins.

“I really don't believe you're going to be required to sell your life dearly in my service, Edwyrd,” she said to the man who had spent his life keeping her safe since she was a little girl.

“With all due respect, Your Majesty, I don't really think so, either. Not today, at any rate.”

She turned her head, gazing at him with a fond smile. Then the smile faded just a bit, and she reached out and laid one hand on his upper arm.

“Do you still think this was all a dreadful mistake, Edwyrd?” she asked, her quiet voice almost lost in the rippling thunder of the flags snapping and popping on the breeze.

“Your Majesty, it would never have been my place to say anyth—”

“Don't be silly, Edwyrd.” She squeezed his chain mail–covered arm. “I don't believe you've actually had to
say
anything since I was eleven!”

Despite himself, the guardsman's mouth twitched on the shivering edge of a smile, and she laughed.

“Edwyrd, Edwyrd!” She shook his arm gently. “It's such a pity you've spent so much time working on that poker face of yours, when the only person you really want to fool can read you like a book!”

“Well, it's hardly my fault you've always been too smart by half, Your Majesty,” he replied.

“No, it's not. And you still haven't answered my question. Do you still think this was all a dreadful idea?”

Seahamper looked at her for a moment, then turned to gaze out over the harbor. It wasn't often he and the queen—
Empress, you dolt!
he corrected himself—found themselves alone like this. Indeed, she had even less privacy now than she'd had when she was “only” the Queen of Chisholm.

“Your Majesty,” he said finally, his eyes still on the galleons anchored so far below them, “I don't know. I have to admit, the Emperor's a better man—a better
husband
for you—than I'd ever truly hoped you'd find. It's good you've found someone I think you can actually love, and who can love you back.” He looked at her last. “It's not many a king or a queen who can say that, when all's said and done. But whether or not this ‘Empire of Charis' is a good idea or a bad idea.… That's more than I can say.”

“It was only a matter of time, you know, Edwyrd,” she said softly. It was her turn to turn back to the anchorage, her eyes unfocused as they stared into the blue distance of Howell Bay, stretching limitlessly to the diamond-hard horizon beyond the harbor breakwater. “Whatever I wanted, whatever I might have preferred, the day was coming when I would have had no choice but to defy the Council of Vicars on my own. I'd always been afraid of that. When Clyntahn and the rest of the Group of Four decided to destroy Charis, and to use
us
to do it, I knew my fears had been justified.”

Seahamper folded his hands behind him in a “parade rest” stance, looking at her sword-straight spine.

“And then, somehow, Charis survived. Not just survived, but devastated the fleets sent against her … including my own. And while I was still wondering what I was supposed to do, how Chisholm and everything I cared for might somehow find a way to survive, Cayleb proposed.”

She shook her head, breathing deep of the tropical air. To her northern sensibilities, Charis was often swelteringly hot, and the sunlight had to be experienced to be believed. She was glad the healers had advised her to be careful about exposing herself to it; one or two members of her party, including Mairah Lywkys, who'd been less cautious had experienced agonizing sunburns, as a result.

But those things were as much a part of the exotic beauty with which Cayleb's kingdom had entranced her as the year-round fresh fruit, the coconuts, the rich and varied cuisine, and the spectacular forests crawling up the flanks of the Charisian Mountains like tropical green fur. It was all so
different
from anything she'd grown up with, like some sort of magical fairyland, and yet there were so many similarities between Charisians and her own Chisholmians. Differences, too, of course. Perhaps even more of them than there were similarities. But if the differences were more numerous, the similarities were vastly more important, because under the skin, where their hearts and souls lived, they were so
much
alike.