The Godspeaker Trilogy (91 page)

He knocked her hand away, furious. “You think I want you for the crown ?”

“Why not? Everyone else does.”

“I’m not everyone else! I wanted you before there was a crown, remember? I wanted you before Ranald and Simon died, before Eberg died. Even when I knew it was hopeless I wanted you. I wanted you when I was twelve and you were six!”

“You did?” She sounded surprised. “You never told me.”

He wasn’t going to be distracted. She might as well have cut him with her knife. “How can you stand there and accuse me of being like those others? Why come here to marry me if you think I’m like them ?”

“I don’t,” she said, quickly. “Alasdair, I don’t.”

“You just said—”

“Forget what I said. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. I told you, I’m exhausted. I’ve come a long way from Todding.”

“You certainly have.” She’d come so far he wasn’t certain he knew her. “Who else in Kingseat knows you’ve fled the clerica? Anyone?”

“The clerica’s dame. And Marlan. Cecily must have told him, she’d have had no choice. And there were Kingseat guards looking for someone at the Pipslock river-station. That’s why it took so long to reach you. We came by road most of the way.”

“Marlan,” he said, feeling sick. “Rhian, you can’t mean to stand against the Prolate of Ethrea. He’s as powerful as a king. And you’re his ward, you—”

Her chin came up, sharply. “No. I’m the Church’s ward. There’s a difference.”

By a hairsbreadth, maybe . But it was an argument that could wait for later. He took her hands. They felt small and cold. “Rhian … when you say I can’t have the crown…”

In the faint light, her eyes were shining. “It’s my birthright, Alasdair. I’m Eberg’s legitimate offspring, his only living heir. No man in this kingdom, not even you, has a greater claim to the throne. I won’t give it away just because I’m a woman. I won’t give it away because Marlan says I must. I won’t give it to him . I’ll go to hell first.”

He wasn’t surprised. How could he be surprised? She was Eberg’s daughter. “So if I marry you …”

“You’ll be my king consort. My chief advisor. Ethrea’s monarch after me. You’ll be a king, and the father of kings. Is that enough for you? I can’t—I won’t —give you more.”

To be made Alasdair, King Consort? He’d never dreamed so high. “And what happens to Linfoi? The duchy needs a duke.”

She slid her hands free of his and folded her arms. “Well… who’d become duke if you dropped dead in your sleep? Henrik?”

“Ludo. Henrik renounced his claim in my cousin’s favour when I came home and he took my place on the council.”

“Did he?” She pulled a face. “No-one told me. Then Ludo would be duke. Is that acceptable to you?”

He nodded. “Ludo’s a good man. I’d thought to name him to the council once Henrik stepped down.”

“Then we’re agreed, at least in principle?” Her lips curved in a tiny smile. She was trying to flirt with him but her eyes were too anxious. “You’ll marry me, and be my king?”

He felt like a tree branch torn loose in a storm and flung pell-mell into a raging torrent. “In principle? Yes. I suppose. But it’s more complicated, surely! Aside from Marlan you’re still a minor in law, we can’t—”

“Hush,” she said, her fingers pressed against his lips. “We’re agreed in principle. Let’s leave it there for tonight. I’m tired and I’m hungry and I’m desperate for another bath. But first … will you take me to see your father?”

His father? “Yes. Of course. He’s in the chapel.”

He didn’t need torches to help him find his way to the free-standing stone chapel that had held services for the manor’s people for over five hundred years. As they walked through the darkness she slid her hand into his, he thought to seek comfort as well as offer it.

“Is there someone in there?” she said, seeing the lamp-glow through the ancient stained-glass windows.

“One of the chaplains from the venerable house,” he said. “There’s a vigil between now and the funeral. I’ll ask him to leave his praying for a while so he won’t see you.”

She stopped. “Send him away altogether. Tell him you want to stand the rest of the vigil yourself. It’s important,” she added, when he opened his mouth to argue. “I’ll explain later, I promise.”

“All right,” he said, and let go of her hand. “Wait here. I’ll dismiss him. Assuming he’ll let me.”

“Assuming nothing, Alasdair. You’re the Duke of Linfoi. Send him away.”

The chaplain departed with a walking-lamp, protesting but acquiescent in the end to his ducal authority. Once the man was gone Rhian entered the chapel and knelt by the bier supporting Alasdair’s father’s heavy, lead-lined coffin. It was draped in the Linfoi standard, seeming too small to contain such a larger-than-life man. Alasdair knelt beside her, his bones achingly familiar with the cushions placed before the bier.

They prayed in silence, and he remembered love and laughter and a life lived in duty.

“My father always said a man was more than the coins piled high in his coffers,” Rhian said eventually, lifting her head. “Yet he used your father’s lack of affluence as an excuse to deny us and refused to explain himself. I came close to hating him for it.” Her voice broke. “What kind of daughter hates her father on his deathbed?”

He rested his gaze on her profile, on the sweet curve of her cheek. “An angry one.”

“As if that’s an excuse.”

“Our fathers liked each other well enough, Rhian, before they both fell in love with the same woman.”

She looked at him, startled. “What?”

Oh. So even at the end, no-one had told her. “My father once had his eye on your mother. It was before she was Queen Ilda, of course. When she was still plain Lady Ilda of Morvell and your father was Prince of Kingseat. Mine had just become Duke of Linfoi.”

“I never knew that,” she said, scowling. “Probably the boys knew.” She jabbed him with her elbow. “Why did you never tell me?”

He stared at the coffin. “My father asked me not to. He thought it a sleeping dog best left to snore undisturbed.”

“Well, I want it woken. What happened, Alasdair?”

“Nothing good,” he said, pulling a face. “At first their rivalry was … playful. Then they realised they both were deadly serious and the games turned nasty. Things were said and couldn’t be unsaid. Their friendship was poisoned, and never recovered. Father withdrew his suit. He knew he couldn’t afford to offend the future king. He chose my mother soon after and they were happy enough.”

But then she died birthing his brother, and the baby died with her, and somehow his father had never re-married. I’ve got my heir , he’d always said. More than one leads to trouble. You’ll do as the next duke. I don’t need another wife .

Rhian shook her head. “Men.” Her breath hitched. “What a stupid reason to keep us apart. Why were we to pay for the foolishness of our fathers?”

“Some hurts don’t heal,” he said. “Anyway. It’s over now.”

“No, it’s not over! Don’t you see? I’m still paying. If Papa hadn’t been so petty none of this would be happening! We could have married before he died and I never would’ve been made Marlan’s prisoner. So much awfulness avoided, if only—if only—”

He put his arm around her shoulders. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry!” she said, shrugging free of him. “Be angry ! How can you be so calm ?”

“I don’t see the point of being anything else. Anger won’t change what happened. It’s the past. It’s done.”

She got to her feet and went to stand before the Living Flame flickering gently in its sconce. “How admirable. Clearly you’re a better man than I.”

With her hair cut short the nape of her neck was exposed. Slender. Vulnerable. Desire stirred. “Rhian, whether you’re here or in a clerica or even in your castle, until you turn twenty you’re still Marlan’s prisoner. I don’t see how we can marry when—”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Ursa doesn’t have an assistant, Alasdair. That man is my personal chaplain. His name is Helfred and he’s Marlan’s nephew. He was forced on me the day after you left court.”

Swearing and cursing in a chapel was a sin. He sinned anyway, scrambling to his feet. “Rollin’s wounds, Rhian! What were you thinking, bringing him here with you? Marlan’s nephew ? When the prolate finds out he’ll put the duchy under interdict . I’ll have the people in arms against me for imperilling their souls!”

“Marlan won’t find out,” she said, turning. “Not until it’s too late for him to do anything so foolish as to interdict Linfoi. Helfred has no intention of telling his uncle where he is. He’s broken with the prolate, Alasdair. He’s with me, not against me.”

He couldn’t stand still. Pacing round his father’s coffin, hands tucked into his armpits so he didn’t shake Rhian, he said, “And this Helfred’s how you plan to get around your Church wardship?”

She smiled, a thinly dangerous curve of her lips. “As a divine chaplain he has the power to release me from it and marry us.”

“Why would he do that? Marlan will destroy him when he finds out!”

“Why? Because it’s the right thing to do … and because he owes me a debt. Marlan is venal and Helfred knows it,” said Rhian. Her smile vanished. Her eyes were bleak. “When we are married and naked together, Alasdair, you’ll see the mementos from my sojourn in the clerica. Marlan claims to love me like a daughter but he has a poor way of showing it.”

He stopped pacing. “The prolate beat you?”

“Till I fainted. Twice.”

“Rhian …” No wonder she was different. No wonder she had run.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “He did me a good turn. Helfred never would’ve sided with me otherwise and without him I’d be lost and so would Ethrea.” Sighing, she turned back to the Flame. “It might still be lost. I don’t know. Too much is still uncertain.”

The thought of Marlan hurting her made him sick to vomiting. Quelling nausea, stifling rage, he joined her at the Flame. “What does that mean?”

“There’s more I have to tell you, Alasdair.” Her sideways glance was … complicated. “I doubt you’ll like it overmuch. Or even understand. I don’t understand it all myself. I’m travelling on blind faith. On the faith of a toymaker. On whispers and rumours and promises from the grave.”

What? “Rhian—”

“Not here,” she said tiredly. “Let’s go back to the manor. I’ll bathe. We’ll eat. Then we’ll sit down and talk.”

Dexterity perched on the edge of a beautiful tapestried library chair with his hands tucked between his knees and his heart lodged in his throat.

Oh dear. Oh Hettie. Please do what you can. For if the duke rejects us …

He wasn’t alone. Rhian, Duke Alasdair, Ursa, Helfred and Zandakar, they all sat in the library with him. Dinner was eaten, the servants largely gone to bed. The library door was closed tight and the time for spilling secrets had come. Again.

“I think, Alasdair,” said Rhian, breaking the silence, “it would be easier if Dexterity explained things. All I ask is that you hold your questions till he’s done.”

Alasdair Linfoi wasn’t a handsome man. He wasn’t ugly, but he was certainly … plain. His eyes were a pale brown, his hair a few shades darker. Straight and untidy. Unfashionably short. His face was bony. There were calluses on his hands. His body was well knit but his carriage lacked elegance. He looked more like a farmer than he looked like a duke.

He doesn’t look like a king at all. But Rhian loves him, and we must believe she has cause.

The duke nodded. “All right. I’ll hold my questions. Mr Jones, your explanation.”

Dexterity glanced at Ursa, who nodded once in support. Helfred was staring at the faded carpet. No help there. Zandakar stood in a corner, his hands clasped before him and his extraordinary eyes half closed. With them but not with them. As usual, apart.

“Go on, Dexterity,” said Rhian. Her expression was serious but her eyes were warm. “Just tell him. You’ll be fine.”

So he told his ridiculous, unbelievable story. True to his word Duke Alasdair stayed silent. When the tale was told he sat quietly behind the library’s desk, his brown eyes staring at his folded hands.

“You believe him, Rhian?” he asked at last, looking up.

“I do, Alasdair,” she said firmly.

He looked at Ursa. “And you, Madam? You believe this?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“And you, Chaplain Helfred? How does the prolate’s nephew feel about this?”

“I told His Grace the truth,” said Rhian. “It was needful. Say what you like, Helfred. Let conscience be your only constraint.”

Helfred released a cautious breath. “My feelings are divided, Your Grace. To all outward appearances Mr Jones is an honest upright man, though his carelessness of scripture must be a cause for concern. I do not doubt his care for Her Highness. I do not doubt he believes what he says. Nor can I deny that some of what he says has come to pass. I am less convinced, however, that we deal with benign forces.”

Duke Alasdair nodded. “And what do you make of Zandakar?”

“What can I make of him?” said Helfred, his face pinched. “He is mysterious and dangerous, Your Grace. An unsavoury combination. To be blunt, I have deplored Princess Rhian’s easy acceptance of the man. He is a brute, from what I suspect must be a brute race. If you had seen his killing of those unfortunate men …”

“Unfortunate?” said Rhian, temper kindling. “They were footpads set on violence, Helfred! Would you rather now be lying dead in a ditch?”

“I would rather not have witnessed such a casual slaughter!” Helfred retorted. “I do not say the men shouldn’t have been stopped. But there are ways of stopping men short of death, Highness! And if, God save us, there must be death, do you call it seemly to revel in it after? And Zandakar revelled in it! You were there! You saw him! You know he did!”

“I know nothing of the sort,” said Rhian, her voice tight in her throat. “You’re letting your dislike of him colour your opinion. Hardly scriptural, Chaplain. Doesn’t Rollin say in Eighth Admonitions that no man is perfect, therefore can render no perfect judgement? Or have you conveniently forgotten what transpired in the clerica?”

Helfred pushed to his feet. “You would throw the shame of Todding at me again ? When will that business be laid to rest between us, Highness?”

“I have no idea, Helfred!” said Rhian, leaping to face him. “I suggest you ask me this time next year!”