Hammer Of God (26 page)

“Then it's settled. The first chance I get, I'll have words with Her Majesty.”

“Thank you,” said Zandakar, again. Then he looked down at himself, sweat-stained and dirty from dancing the hotas. “Food soon. I bathe. You wait, zho?”

He nodded. “Zho. Of course.”

Zandakar went into the second room, closing the door. Dexterity settled himself comfortably in the armchair, and at length Zandakar returned in a clean linen shirt and another pair of leather huntsman's leggings. His feet were bare. If it weren't for his blue hair, tied back now with a strip of leather, he'd look like any ordinary man.

Dexterity shook his head. And yet he's anything but commonplace. “Zandakar…” He hesitated. “When this is over, what will you do? Where will you go?”

Zandakar moved back to the window, and stared down at the Great Lawn. “If I live, Dexterity? If I wei die for Ethrea?”

He swallowed. “Zho. If you live. Will you go home?”

“Home?” said Zandakar. “Tcha. What is home?”

He didn't know how to answer that. And then he didn't have to, because the key turned in the chamber door's lock, it opened, and two soldiers entered bearing trays of steaming food. They put the trays on the small dining table, nodded warily, and withdrew.

It had been a mistake to ask that question. Thoughtlessly cruel. He stood, and dusted his hands together. “My, that smells good!” he said brightly. “Shall we eat? I'm famished.”

“Zho,” said Zandakar, his expression cool, contained. “We eat.”

Within days of his elevation to the prolateship, Helfred had begun conducting evening Litany in Kingseat capital's great chapel. It was important, he'd said, that the people of Kingseat quickly accept him as their new spiritual leader. The faster Marlan's memory was laid to rest, the better for everyone. So every night of the week, as darkness rolled over the harbour and the township, the chapel bells rang out and the devout of Kingseat gathered to pray.

The queen and her king consort gathered with them.

“Every night?” Rhian had protested when Helfred informed her their presence was requested. “You expect us to attend public Litany every night?”

“Every night that you can,” said Helfred, serenely unmoved by her lack of enthusiasm. “Majesty, it is vital you set a most perfect example for your people. You are Ethrea's first queen, they must see you are a queen in whom they can repose their trust. God himself placed you on your throne. Would you deny him thanks? Is Eberg's daughter so churlish?”

She'd felt her face heat at that. “No, of course I'm not, but Helfred, every night?”

Not answering her immediately, he'd turned to the Living Flame of her privy chapel and contemplated its steady burning, his expression sober.

“Rhian,” he'd said softly, “you are a monarch like none other in our history. Not only because you're a woman, but because of the dangers confronting us. Ethrea, having weathered one tempest, will soon face an even greater maelstrom. The peace we enjoy now is an illusion, and you know it. When the truth of Mijak is revealed you and the king must not be strangers to your people. Most particularly, they must know you for a faithful queen who is reconciled with God. They must know in their hearts that when they lean on you, you'll not falter.”

She'd shaken her head at him. “And you think me going to Litany every night is going to achieve that?”

“Going to Litany in the town's great chapel, yes,” said Helfred. “Rhian, think. When word spreads that you attend public Litany many folk who rarely bother will come for curiosity's sake, just to see you. So they can say they've seen you. Who knows? It may well be that folk from beyond our own duchy might come to see you for themselves. I pray they do, it can only be to our benefit.”

“I see little benefit to being paraded like a cow at market,” she'd grumbled.

Helfred had sighed. “Majesty, the benefit is clear. If we fail in our effort to sink Mijak's warships at sea, if we are forced to confront them here, in Ethrea, every man, woman and child shall be made a soldier in your army. They'll look to you for leadership and the saving of their lives – and I look to pave the way to their belief that you will. Once captive in the chapel, your people will have no choice but to hear my admonitions. I can quietly, discreetly, prepare them for what's to come. I can give them hope and strength and belief in God's mercy, in you, and remind them you're queen because of God's great grace.”

The worst of it was, Helfred made sense. She'd almost heard her father's voice, whispering agreement in her ear. Was sure she could hear her brothers, sniggering. They'd always poked fun at her impatience of Church ceremony.

“All right,” she'd said, without any grace at all. “I'll be there, some nights.”

And Helfred had smiled.

So now here she sat in the front pew of Kingseat's great chapel with her husband, acutely aware of the crowded pews behind them, of the folk pressed close at the chapel's open doors, of even more residents and visitors collected in the township's streets waiting for a glimpse of their young queen as she returned from Litany to the castle.

Helfred, in his prolate's robe of good quality but great restraint, stood in his pulpit before the Living Flame in its magnificent gold and jewel-crusted sconce. He was flanked on either side by those members of his Court Ecclesiastica not engaged on royal business, equally magnificent in their finest attire. Their presence lent weight to his youthful, deliberately unflamboyant appearance.

Though he preaches like a man thrice his age. But then he always did, and wasn't that just one reason why he drove me to distraction?

And still did, if she were honest. But she was able to admit – if only to herself, and grudgingly – that she needed him in this fight, the greatest fight of her life.

Beside her, Alasdair shifted a little on the hard pew. Not looking at him, feeling her heart thud beneath her gown's ornately beautiful green velvet bodice, she slid her fingers over his and listened to Helfred's voice thunder beneath the rafters.

“For did not Rollin himself say, in Admonitions 32, ‘Be sure you do not let down your guard, for evil flourishes in quiet places,’” he preached. “‘Its seeds take root in an untilled garden. Do not think because I bring you peace today that peace tomorrow is your portion. Peace must be husbanded, for God knows there are men of the world who see peace as an enemy to be defeated. I say again, be on your guard, for who shall know when God's peace will stand threatened?’” Hands firmly grasping the edge of his gilded wooden pulpit, Helfred swept his fierce gaze across his congregation. “Rollin wrote those words centuries ago, my children. But what is time, to the timelessness of God? We must be ever vigilant. We cannot take our island kingdom's serenity for granted.”

Upright on their carved, gilded benches, the most venerables of the Court Ecclesiastica nodded their approval of his words. The congregation murmured, inspired by his passion.

“We are a blesséd people, my children,” Helfred continued. “For in the midst of upheaval and despair God heard our prayers and delivered unto us a queen of might and power. The wicked fall before her like wheat before the scythe. She is young and full of fire. She is the Rollin of our age, sworn to preserve God's peace, God's garden kingdom of Ethrea. Let us pledge to be her trustworthy gardeners. Let us commit our hearts and souls to plucking out any weeds that would take root in this our glorious, peaceful home.”

In the choristers' gallery above the pulpit, a lone exquisite voice rose in song.

“To those whom God has granted much bounty, much devotion is in turn required.”

It was the signal that the Litany had concluded. With a gracious lifting of his hands, Helfred invited the congregation to stand and sing.

Rhian, painfully aware she had the vocal talents of a frog with a sore throat, mimed the words and basked in Alasdair's glorious tenor, which helped soothe her irritation and jittering nerves.

A queen of might and power? The Rollin of our age? Helfred, are you mad? How am I to live up to such fulsome praise?

It was the most extravagant he'd been since she'd started attending each evening's service. At first he'd hardly mentioned her, choosing instead to focus on her father's legacy of harmony and prosperity, on the good fortune of Ethrea to be a shining example of peace in the world. He'd preached the importance of friendship: husband and wife, brother and sister, neighbour and neighbour…nation and nation. Encouraging each night's congregation to look upon the league of trading nations as friends and brothers under the skin, people of good heart and good intent whose differences from Ethrea were far outweighed by their shared beliefs in mutual support and appreciation.

Preparing the fallow field of public opinion for the day warships of Harbisland, Arbenia and Tzhung-tzhungchai are moored in our harbour. Oh, Papa. Did you ever think to see such a sight?

In the past week, though, Helfred had slowly but surely shifted his compass until it pointed due Rhian. It was important, she knew, for her people to see her as some kind of invincible, God-blessed hero. Her mantle of royalty must glow so brightly that they were blinded to the truth of her youth and inexperience. They had to believe in her, be willing to lay down their lives, the fathers and sons, the wives, mothers and daughters of Kingseat, who would surely be the first at risk should the warriors of Mijak reach their shores.

Oh, God, I beg you. Don't let it come to that.

As ever when she let her thoughts touch upon Mijak, her belly churned with nausea and her palms slicked with sweat. Especially tonight, with fresh horrors newly revealed.

Human blood for sacrifice. Is there no end to Mijak's evil?

Also churning through her, Emperor Han's revelations. Just when she thought she had his measure, he found new ways to confound her.

But I have to trust him. I can't let myself be a prisoner of the childish, mistrustful past. It seems that without Han and his witch-men, the warships of Mijak would be in the harbour already. But, dear God, he frightens me.

And so did her prolate's extravagant praise. Being chosen by God didn't make her divine. Helfred of all people should understand that.

The hymn ended. Helfred descended from his pulpit and walked the tiled pathway between the chapel's pews, followed by his Court Ecclesiastica. As soon as they reached the chapel's open, ornate doors, Rhian followed with Alasdair half a pace behind her.

The crowding townsfolk on the wide, torchlit stone steps had respectfully fallen back, giving her prolate his pride of place. The most venerables stood ranged behind him, lending him their aged, solemn presence. She still found it marvellous that these old men, so united against her under Marlan, now stood shoulder to shoulder in defence of her crown. In support of Helfred, whom they had so eagerly declared anathema and would happily have seen flogged near to death.

It's extraordinary, really, what one little miracle can do.

As was by now their custom, she and Alasdair joined Helfred on the top step. Though by rights it was the prolate who should receive the congregation's respects after Litany, Helfred was only briefly acknowledged as the church slowly emptied of Kingseat's devout. Instead, again, Rhian found herself the focus of attention.

After their first attendance at the Litany, Alasdair had been uneasy, so many people crowding that close. Ven'Martin was buried but his memory lived on. He'd wanted a skein of Kingseat guards posted outside the chapel, a silent warning to anyone with ideas.

She'd over-ruled him. “Let them stand in the street at the foot of the chapel steps,” she'd decreed. “That's not unseemly. But to post them a handsbreadth from me? It would send the wrong message entirely. I am Rhian of Ethrea, God's chosen queen, who slew two recalcitrant dukes with her righteous sword. How then can I stand on the chapel's steps surrounded by armed guards?”

He'd acquiesced, of course. But every time he made a suggestion and she declined to take it, she thought she saw him drift a little further away.

Now, standing with him and Helfred, lit by rank after rank of burning torches and accepting her subjects' awed praise and thanks, smiling, smiling, frozenly smiling, she knew she'd done the right thing…no matter the personal cost.

She'd thought she might become used to this, to facing the people she'd sworn to defend with her blood and her life. Instead she felt the weight of that promise pressing her harder and harder against the ground. The hope in their eyes. The blind, fervent belief. The love they had for her because she was Eberg's daughter, his sole surviving child. Because she had God's favour. Because she was so young and beautiful. But how would it be when they realised their lives really were in her hands? Would they still believe in her? Would their faith remain strong?

Or will they turn against me when the first blood is spilled?

A frightening thought. She felt herself shiver.

“Rhian?” murmured Alasdair, his hand on her elbow. “You're weary. We should return to the castle.”

She was more than weary, she was exhausted. The afternoon's hotas had been relentless. “In a moment,” she said, smiling, and eased her arm free. “Let everyone come out of the chapel first.”

He didn't protest, just gave the signal to their footman, waiting discreetly at the bottom of the chapel steps. As the last worshipper paid his respects their carriage drew to a halt in the street before them. She turned to Helfred.

“Your Eminence, thank you for such a rousing sermon. Surely you've given us much to think on.”

“Majesty, that is always my intention,” he replied, his eyebrows raised.

Young and full of fire, indeed. If you're not careful, Helfred, my fire will singe you.

She turned to the most venerables. “My lords, God's blessing and the peace of Rollin upon you.”

They murmured the same to her in reply. Then it seemed she was free to depart…only it was swiftly apparent her people didn't wish her to leave.

“God bless you, Majesty!” a voice called from the crowd.

“Bless the memory of your father, too!”

“Aye, bless him and bless you!”

Distinct words were quickly lost in the rising tide of praise, prayer and acclaim. Helpless she stood there, awash in emotion…theirs and her own. This hadn't happened before. Helfred's pointed sermon had surely stirred them.

“Good people!” she cried at last, struggling to pitch her voice above the clamour. “Good people of Kingseat and Ethrea, my thanks!”

Raggedly the crowd fell silent. So many torchlit faces, staring. So much eager, breathless hunger for her words, for her. It almost stole her courage.

“Good people,” she said again, “indeed, my thanks, and the thanks also of Alasdair, your king. My beloved husband and the strength by my side.”

Another cheer went up, and more calls for God's blessings.

“You ask God to bless me,” she said, “but I tell you he already has, beyond measure. I am queen of a jewelled country. My dear friends, know that you and your welfare are my first and last thought upon rising and upon closing my eyes at night. There's nothing I won't do for you. No battle I won't fight, no danger I won't face. I am my father's daughter, I'm the sister of your two grand princes, three men taken from us so untimely. I still grieve. I know you grieve with me. But I also know they want me to be strong…I know you need me to be strong…and I am. You give me strength. You heal my heart. You're my family.”

The crowd's roar then threatened to crack the new night sky. Stinging with tears, abruptly overwhelmed by the past, she made her way down the steps to the carriage with Alasdair's hand warm on her back. The footman opened its door for them. Before she ducked inside, Rhian turned and raised a hand to the people clustered on the great chapel's steps and on the cobbled footpath, even spilling into the street.