The Godspeaker Trilogy (83 page)

It was Linfoi, inevitably, who couldn’t leave well enough alone. The other councillors were nodding again, struck by the truth of his salient observations. Linfoi frowned. “But still, the kingdom needs a king.”

Marlan made himself smile. “Of course it does. And it will have one, Linfoi. But I for one am not eager to see Her Highness wedded solely to please a smattering of foreigners who do not have her best interests at heart. She will choose her husband when God sees fit to guide her to the right man. Who am I to hurry God, gentlemen? Who are any of us to act with such impudence?”

“No, no, you’re right, of course,” said Volant. “But I wonder—if we were to speak with her again…”

Marlan sighed, a portrait of regret. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. Princess Rhian is in seclusion. She’s asked to be left alone so she might pray more deeply upon the merits and flaws of the men presented to her.”

“And we’re sure she asked for this seclusion, are we?” said Harley, glowering.

“Harley, be reasonable!” said Henrik Linfoi. “In one breath you’re accusing Marlan of having too much influence over her, of possibly forcing her to choose his man Rulf. In the next, when it’s clear she’s having difficulty making a choice, which demonstrates he hasn’t forced her, you’re still trying to point a finger at the prolate. Make up your mind, man. You cannot have it both ways.”

Marlan smiled inwardly as Harley launched into an impassioned diatribe. It seemed Henrik Linfoi had his uses after all. It was certainly convenient having a decent man of conscience fighting his battles for him.

Much better this way. No-one could accuse Linfoi of being in my sway. And if any one of these men should discover the bitch is gone, before I’ve found her and dragged her back …

A week, and still no sign of her. Either she’d slipped past that incompetent idiot Idson and escaped Kingseat by river … or she was somewhere on the roads of Ethrea. His discreet enquiries had satisfied him she was not in league with Hartshorn, Arbat, Meercheq or Morvell. Which left only one possibility.

She’s heading towards duchy Linfoi, I would wager my palace on it. There’s nowhere else in the kingdom for her to run. Does she think to save herself by marrying impoverished Alasdair? Stupid girl. Even if she reaches him she’s a ward of the Church. She cannot wed without clerical dispensation and she’ll never get it. I’ll see her deposed—or dead—first. So there’s yet time …

Time to find her. Time to bring her back and show her the error of her ways. If she’d thought she knew what pain was before he’d be pleased to show her she was mistaken. He’d recalled Idson and his men, the useless sots. Now he’d send Ven’Martin swiftly north, to inspect the venerable house and clerica of duchy Linfoi and conduct a general audit of every parish. It was a plausible visitation. He regularly sent venerables to the religious houses of the kingdom, to bring him reports of their conduct and the conduct of their districts. No-one would remark on Ven’Martin’s presence. And when Rhian arrived in duchy Linfoi, Ven’Martin would tell him and then he’d have her.

It occurred to him to wonder, briefly, as Harley brangled on and on, whether Henrik Linfoi knew about any of this and in keeping it secret played some devious game of his own. Was that possible?

No … upon consideration, he didn’t think so. The man was a sheet of glass, easily seen through. He could never keep such momentous news secret. It was doubtful he’d try, he was such an honourable man. But even men of honour could succumb to divided loyalties. If his brother the duke commanded him to hold his tongue, for instance … there was an excellent chance Henrik Linfoi would hold it. It wasn’t the kind of information he’d share with a chaplain, either. I need a privy clerk in Henrik’s Kingseat household. One who I can control . A tricky task, but not insurmountable. He’d accomplish it within a few days.

Emerging from introspection, he saw that the disagreement between Linfoi and Harley had spilled over on the rest of the council. Now they were all shouting, their nerves perilously on edge at the continued delay in learning whose choice would be king. Dester had given up trying to record the session. Doubtless the rumpus would be covered by a brief: and there followed an animated discussion . It wouldn’t be the first time.

He stood. “ Gentlemen! You are rowdy, and to no useful purpose!”

Like a class of chastised novice devouts they turned to face him, jaws dropped and eyes wide. He let his disdain show as he stared back.

“My lords, instead of this profitless and self-indulgent bickering I suggest we discuss how we intend to deal with our gaggle of troublesome ambassadors. Speaking for myself, I am sorely offended that these foreign mouthpieces would presume to intrude themselves upon our sovereign jurisdiction. It must be made clear to them that our domestic governance is none of their affair and that we will take grave exception to any further harassment and demands for information. If we do not they will see it as a sign of weakness or indecision on our part and presume to interfere with more than words.”

“They wouldn’t dare,” said Niall, blustering. “By God, they wouldn’t! Not even the Emperor of Tzhung-tzhung-chai would presume so far.”

Marlan raised an eyebrow. “You think not, my lord? Your confidence surprises me. Every man in this chamber recalls what happened last year between Barbruish and Haisun. Two treatied trading partners whom we now cannot permit the same window of landfall. And then, of course, there was the Arbenian incursion into Dev’kareshi waters, and the attempts by the Potentate of Harbisland to involve our merchants in the dispute and thus turn the matter to their advantage. Truly, Niall, are you so naïve as to think that given the chance these lofty rulers would not presume ?”

They were useful memories to resurrect. Blood had run in Kingseat’s gutters after the Barbruish and Haisun unpleasantness.

Niall grimaced. “That was different, surely.”

“To some degree, perhaps,” he allowed, and let his gaze linger on their thoughtful faces. “But at the nub of it, gentlemen, let us not forget: the Grand Convocate of Barbruish allowed the Little Emperor of Haisun to imagine he had a say in their internal affairs … a lapse of judgement with unfortunate results. Are we so careless of our own dignity that we would make the same mistake?”

His fellow councillors said nothing. Bloated silence was its own assent.

“Then we are agreed,” he announced, and smiled. Far from being irritated, he could have kissed the ambassadors. Their persistent haranguing gave the councillors something useful and distracting to focus on. Encourage them to believe Ethrea’s independence was being trampled and their jealous pride could be trusted to thrust aside concerns over Rhian. He sat down again. “Now … I suggest we spend the rest of our time today deciding upon the language with which we shall remind our presumptuous guests of their … limitations.”

“Jones! Jones! Stop the wagon!”

Startled out of reverie, Dexterity sat up straight then rolled his eyes. “Again? Ursa, we’ve already stopped six times since sunrise. What is it now ? At this rate we’ll never reach the border with duchy Arbat!”

“Tcha! Of course we will. We’ll reach it by sunset,” said Ursa, sitting beside him, and snatching the reins from his loose grasp. “And I’m not driving past the best crop of liverberries I’ve ever seen in my life!”

Liverberries. He’d never heard of them. But then he’d never heard of foxfoot, wormslime, toadflax or puffed jilty before, either, and they’d had to rush about collecting them too. “And that’s good, is it?”

She withered him with a look. “Would I be stopping the wagon if it wasn’t?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say something pointed, but he thought better of it and didn’t take his reins back. It was far easier in the long run just to give Ursa her head.

The brown cobs slowed, the van creaked to a stop. Ursa threw the reins at him and, with more agility than was decent in a woman of her years, clambered off the driving seat down to the puddled ground. Zandakar, striding ahead, heedless of mud and splashes, realised the van no longer followed him and turned. Ursa waved an impatient hand.

“Come along, Zandakar, you can make yourself useful! Get my basket from the back of the wagon then help me pick these berries! You never know, they could save your life.”

“Berries?” said Zandakar. “What are berries?”

“Little fruits,” said Ursa, wading into the tangled undergrowth along the side of the narrow grass and dirt road. “In this case liverberries. Guaranteed to cure a case of jaundice in two shakes of a duck’s tail!”

“Shakes of a duck’s tail?” Zandakar echoed, bewildered. His Ethrean had come along remarkably with Helfred’s intensive tutelage, but even so … “ Yatzhay, Ursa. I do not un—”

“Oh, never mind,” she said, grubbing amongst the riotous thorny vines. If she wasn’t careful she’d end up scratched to pieces. “Just fetch my basket!”

“He’s doing his best, Ursa,” Dexterity reminded her, then raised his voice. “It’s all right, Zandakar. I’ll fetch the basket.”

“Fine!” said Ursa. “So long as somebody fetches it!”

Shaking his head at her impatience, Dexterity hauled on the van’s brake and looped the reins around its handle. Not that the brown cobs were flighty types but it was his habit and he didn’t like to take chances. Not with Rhian sleeping behind him.

But when he stepped round to the rear of the van she was awake and swinging open its hinged door, Ursa’s basket held in one hand. “I wasn’t sleeping, I was thinking,” she said when he’d finished apologising for waking her. “And even if I was, who could stay asleep with all the shouting? Except Helfred, of course. I think he could sleep through the end of the world.”

“He might have stayed with us but our chaplain remains a troubled man,” he said. “Highness, perhaps it’s time we let him start saying the Litany. At least on those days we’re alone and camping in a field or on the side of the road, with no-one nearby to hear and ask questions. Not saying it chafes him.”

“He can say what he likes,” she muttered, looking rebellious. “Just so long as I don’t have to listen.”

“So now you’re blaming God for Helfred’s shortcomings?”

The look she gave him was hot blue fire. “I blame God for a lot of things, Mr Jones.”

She was still so angry. So full of grief. “Oh dear, you shouldn’t do that.”

“Why not?” she countered. “You do.”

And then she leapt from the steps to the grass and slipped past him, Ursa’s basket hooked over her arm, slender and swift in her boy’s rough clothing. Feeling eyes upon him, he turned to see Helfred, hovering in the van’s open doorway. The chaplain’s pasty cheeks were pink.

“I should be reciting the Litany every day, Mr Jones,” he said, his pimpled chin unsteady. His prayer beads dangled from one hand. “Regardless of where we are or who can see us. Your souls are in danger if you turn your back on God.”

Dexterity had no intention of miring himself in a debate on theology. “You should be taking fresh air every day, Chaplain. It’s not good for you to spend most of your time cooped up in the back of this van. You can teach Zandakar under blue skies just as well.”

Helfred nodded reluctantly, his eyebrows pinched. “I suppose.”

Honesty prompted Dexterity to add, “You’ve done a fine job with him. I never dreamed he could progress so well.”

Despite the frown, a little gleam of pleasure touched Helfred’s eyes. “He is learning at a goodly pace, isn’t he? Perhaps I missed my true calling.” The gleam died. “Perhaps I should’ve been a teacher.” He slipped the prayer beads into his pocket. “I’m not a very good chaplain. If I were, the princess would have a better care for her duty.”

“I doubt you need worry about Her Highness’ sense of duty. There’s more duty in her veins than blood.”

Helfred’s chin tucked in. “And there is more to duty than claiming a crown. She has an obligation to set a spiritual example. I fear her father did not always do so. He was often careless of appearances, and frequently contradicted the prolate. In public .”

“From what I can gather, Chaplain, the prolate could do with contradicting,” Dexterity said sourly. “Besides, who are you to talk? You’re contradicting Marlan just by standing there.”

Deeper colour flooded Helfred’s cheeks. “That’s quite different and it’s certainly not the point. Rhian is to be our queen. She should be hearing Litany daily. The fact that she refuses my request that she do so raises questions about her fitness for a crown. She—”

Dexterity stepped closer. “For an obviously bright and well-educated man, Helfred, you certainly know how to spout nonsense! Whatever else she is, thanks to her birth. Rhian is a young proud woman you treated disgracefully. Her stripes and bruises may have healed but her pride will take longer. Can’t you see you wronged her? You’d have better luck if you went down on your knees and begged her forgiveness. Because the more you pontificate and sulk, the more you justify her dislike.”

“Sulk?” Helfred looked outraged. “I do not sulk, I—I—contemplate matters of grave spiritual importance!”

“With a look on your face that could curdle cream! Truly, Helfred—” He softened his tone. “I’m not saying you’re entirely wrong. As Ethrea’s queen, Rhian does have certain obligations. But she’s not a novice devout under your jurisdiction.”

“Actually, she is,” said Helfred. “In a manner of speaking. She’s a ward of the Church and I’m the only Church representative here.”

You pompous prat. Life was so much easier when it was just dolls and puppets … “A Church representative on the run from his prolate. No better than the rest of us, Chaplain. We’re all in the same small peddler’s van and you know it.”

Helfred seemed to deflate. The self-righteous zeal leached out of his face, leaving only misery behind. “Yes. I do.”

“But that doesn’t matter,” Dexterity added. “Because we’re doing the right thing.”

The prayer beads appeared again. Helfred fingered them, then heaved a tremulous sigh. “Yes.”

Dexterity swallowed a groan. He didn’t like Helfred. Who could like Helfred? Even Ursa had doubts and she was predisposed to liking the clergy. Still, he had to feel sorry for him. It couldn’t be easy with Marlan as his uncle. And it had taken courage to defy the prolate like this. Perhaps it was a damp, self-righteous courage … but Helfred had taken a stand, even if it was wobbly.