Cethe (40 page)

A lamp stil burned on Stefn’s reading table, giving enough light for Michael to see the bed in the next room with its lump of

blankets. When the lump remained motionless, Michael let himself al the way in, padding silently to the bedside. Stefn slept,

oblivious, curled up on the side he’d occupied when they’d shared it.

Perhaps he sensed Michael’s presence. He murmured and shifted in his sleep, opening his eyes. Michael held his breath,

going perfectly stil .

“Nnnng. What’s t’matter? Get back into bed. ‘S cold.” Then Stefn flopped around onto his side and was stil again, breathing

regular and deep.

Michael almost did it, almost accepted an invitation he knew Stefn would never remember giving in the morning. “Pleasant

dreams,” he whispered instead and went back to his room.

He slept late, waking only when a pounding on his door became too annoying to ignore. “Come in!” he shouted hoarsely,

sitting up.

“Are you dead?” Auron asked, poking Michael’s head. “You’d better get up. Your grandfather’s just arrived and he’s pacing the

study. Something’s got him in a foul mood.”

That woke Michael completely. He vaulted out of bed and stumbled to his dresser. He didn’t bother to cal Marin, but dressed

hastily and went straight to the study.

The duke was no longer pacing, but even seated on the sofa across from a nervous Auron, his posture conveyed impatience.

They both looked around when Michael came in. Lord Damon rose. “It’s about damned time!”

“What’s wrong? Is everyone al right at home?”

“They’re fine. It’s you we need to worry about, damn the timing.” Lord Damon reached into his jacket and brought out a

crumpled envelope. Michael took it and was jolted by the sight of the Church insignia at the corner.

A sinking feeling made him loathe to open it, but he did so anyway. The letter inside was brief.

“What is it?” Auron demanded. “Mick? Your Grace?”

“It’s a summons,” replied Michael, numb with shock. He stared at his grandfather, whose grave expression was not without

sympathy. “I’m to go to Lothmont at once and be wed.”

With the defeat of the naran armies and the signing of the armistice, King Aramis I set about forming his new government.

He divided power between the Royal House of Lothlain and the Church of Loth, taking the care and protection of his subjects’

bodily needs under his authority and giving over to the Church all matters pertaining to the Immortal Soul.

from:
The Chronicles of Tanyrin: Volume II
,

Year of Loth’s Dominion 1349

Severyn had four more days of Petition hearings scheduled. He’d specifical y instructed his staff to approve half that number,

but it seemed as if they, as wel as the rest of the world, conspired to keep him nailed to the spot. As Nedby acerbical y pointed out,

who was to know when he might “condescend” to return to Tantagrel again?

The criticism was al owed to go unrebuked, mainly because Severyn knew the old man had the right of it. His duty was here,

doing his brother’s work. These audiences were tedious, if necessary, but his heart was in Shia with his friends and their cause.

Seven weeks was far too long to be away from them — from Mick.

“Who is next?” he asked a clerk when the door closed on the most recent of his Petitioners.

“You have nothing scheduled for next forty-five minutes,” replied the clerk, a hint of disapproval in his voice. “Would you care

to see someone instead?”

It had been Nedby’s single, grudging compromise, to al ow his weary prince scheduled breaks in the long day of petitioners.

Severyn rose. “No. I’m going into my antechamber for a nap. Knock when my time is up.”

The clerk looked like he wanted to object, fol owing Severyn across the dais to the smal door directly behind the prince’s table

and high-backed chair. Severyn closed the door in his face, imagining the clerk’s expression as he locked it and shot home the bolt.

After a moment, he heard rapidly retreating footsteps, then silence.

Grinning, Severyn went directly to the built-in bookshelf and pul ed out the copy of Barhm’s excruciating poetry. Tripping the

hidden latch, he stepped aside to let the section of shelf swing outward.

A narrow passage ran between the wal s. As had generations of Lothlain princes, Severyn fol owed it to various spyholes

placed around the Petitioners’ Hal . His goal this time was the luxurious chamber where noble petitioners waited for their audience.

The spyhole was hidden in the elaborate carving of a mirror’s frame. A special glass lens had been fitted into it, giving a fish-

eye’s view of the entire room. Today, only a handful of men awaited his pleasure: Lord Brant of Kel weather and Sir Anthony Grade

with their land dispute, Sir Martin Corlent and his solicitors, an inheritance question, and a newcomer. Seated by himself near the

windows was a very young, very handsome youth who… Loth’s breeches! It was Stefn Eldering! He was here alone? There was no

part of the room out of view of the spy-lens; if Michael was here, or any of the others, they were hiding behind something.

The prince startled his clerk, bursting out of the antechamber and demanding Nedby’s instant presence. The clerk, with one

look at his master’s face, took off running. The old Hal master appeared at once, huffing and puffing in alarm.

“When did Lord Eldering arrive?”

Nedby’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. “L-Lord who?”

“Eldering! He’s in the highbood waiting room.”

“Your Highness! Wait! You mustn’t go out there yourself!”

Severyn stopped, making an effort at calm. Of course he mustn’t. He said, “Nedby?”

“Eldering… Eldering. Let me see. About an hour ago, I don’t know why he’s in there, however. Surely he doesn’t think he can

see you on such short… ”

“Nedby!” Severyn’s thunderous roar silenced the old man. Then, with dangerous calm, “Were you not informed of my

impending marriage?”

The old man’s face fel . “M-marriage. Of course, I… Eldering. Oh, dear!”

Severyn cut short the resulting flurry of bows and apologies. “Quit babbling, man! Go get him!”

“But your other appointments?”

The old fool needed to be retired, badly. Perhaps Nedby saw that in Severyn’s face, for he gulped, bobbed once more and

scampered off. The clerk, looking like he wanted to sink into the floor, stared woodenly ahead.

“Who’s next?” Severyn asked him.

“M-Masters Smith and Graviston, trade dispute.”

“Inform them I wil be delayed.”

“Yes, Highness! Right away!”

It did not take long for Eldering to arrive. Severyn dismissed his servants and took Stefn straight into the antechamber. “Who’s

with you?” he demanded at once. “Is Mick here?”

“No. I’m alone. It’s about Michael I’ve come.”

“What about him?” Severyn’s heart lurched.

“The Church has issued its marriage Edict. Lord Arranz and the duke went to Lothmont.”

It was as if someone had punched Sev in the gut. “Why? Why now?”

“It’s tradition, isn’t it? The Arranz line is sacred. Like your own, it must be continued.”

“Wel , yes, but… ” Damn Locke! “It comes at a bad time. Besides, both his father and grandfather are stil alive. Legal y,

there’s no need.”

“What reason would he have to fight it?” Eldering’s question was reasonable. Severyn forced himself to calm down. “Would it

not bring more attention to us if he resists?”

“Us?” Severyn recal ed the circumstances of Eldering’s presence. “Where’s your keeper? Did Auron come with you? One of

the others?”

“Lord Chal ory remained behind. I was accompanied by two of his guards. He sent this for you, as wel .”

The earl produced an envelope from his vest pocket. It was crumpled, but the seal was unbroken. Severyn tore it open and

quickly scanned the contents. When he was done, he looked over at Eldering, who was perusing the bookshelf.

“Auron apparently trusts you.” Severyn folded the letter and tucked it away. “A remarkable change of heart.”

Eldering’s green eyes met Severyn’s, clear and direct. “Do not misunderstand, Lothlain. I have no fondness for the role you

have al forced upon me and if that were al I knew you by, I should even now be resisting you with al my might. But I have seen

how you treat those beneath you, the way you’ve come to the aid of Shia’s vil ages. I have listened to you and the others argue

passionately to improve the lot of al Tanyrians, rich or poor. I, too, think the Church has lost its way. Restoring justice and prosperity

to Tanyrin is a cause for which I wil endure whatever humiliation I must.”

Humiliation? Severyn had the sudden, almost irresistible urge to seize the younger man by his slim shoulders and shake him

until his teeth fel out. Had it been Severyn with the Blood, he would have gladly suffered such “humiliation.”

But he did not. He could never touch Michael as anything other than a friend. He tried to keep the bitterness from his smile as

he waved Lord Eldering to one of the chairs and proceeded to get a ful report.

It had been a long time since Michael had last been in Lothmont. He and the duke did not stay in the family’s city house, one

of several mansions along the lakeshore with a view of the royal palace. Lake House had, for as long as he remembered, been

leased out to provide the family badly needed revenue so Lord Damon hired rooms in a smal hotel near the Gate, unprepossessing,

but comfortable, and far away from Lothmont Cathedral. It was a genteel, but slightly shabby place, favored by gentlemen of good

birth but modest means.

Their rooms looked down on a smal , cobbled square, dreary and deserted under a light, icy mist. Now and again, a dark

shape hurried across, hastening toward shelter.

“Half of Zelenov wil be here,” Lord Damon had warned. “The streets around the Cathedral wil be crawling with the Celestial

vermin and I’ve no desire to encounter any of them if I’ve the choice.”

The Council’s summons had bade them present themselves before Bishop Montaigne immediately, but once they’d sent word

of their arrival, His Excel ency was slow in responding. When, at last, the reply came, it was to inform them that His Eminence, the

Archbishop Locke, had not yet arrived, nor, for that matter, had the bride. Would His Grace and Lord Michael be so kind as to wait?

“How typical,” grumbled Lord Damon. “We must rush here with al speed, only to cool our heels at their pleasure. I can’t wait

for Severyn to replace that addle-witted brother of his.”

“What if I refuse her?” Michael asked.

“The king or his Advisori can override your decision at any time,” replied the duke. “And, since Arami sits securely in Locke’s

pocket, I suggest getting it over with.”

Michael’s gut tightened, a not-unfamiliar feeling of late. He stared blindly into the gray afternoon. Stefn was alone at Shia. It

wasn’t that Michael feared betrayal. Rather, he worried about Stefn’s safety. Would Auron look after him properly? Would the idiot

look after himself?

“Ever since the Reformation, we’ve had to deal with this absurdity,” the duke continued. “But at least it has prevented such

disasters as your stepmother from attaining an official place in the Arranz genealogy.”

“I should send a message to Severyn. He’l be furious when he learns he wasn’t told.”

“Why waste his time? If you’re not overly discriminating, the ceremony should last no more than an hour. You’l spend the night

with your bride, then send her home.”

Not until the end of the week did they hear from the Cathedral again. A liveried messenger arrived in the middle of their dinner

bearing a sealed envelope from the bishop. Inside, in flowery language, they were commanded to present themselves at the

Cathedral tomorrow for the wedding ceremony.

Michael stared at his grandfather. “Tomorrow?”

“May I suggest an evening spent patronizing al the low taverns of Lothmont?” his grandfather said. “You wil be sufficiently

dazed to make the entire affair nothing more than a hazy memory. I highly recommend it.”

“But you and grandmother loved each other.”

“I was fortunate. My own father’s marriage was like Phil ip’s, the girl half-crazed and unreachable. Father, too, took a mistress,

the younger daughter of a lesser lord in Baskervil e. It was a great scandal, of course, but they were happy.”

“You’ve never spoken of this before,” Michael said, the letter settling, forgotten, on the table beside his plate. “Do I have