Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 (75 page)

“Prince Ranen, you would like to marry me… wouldn’t you?” There, that was the best she could do.

“This is a gift from the God,” he whispered.

“I don’t know how the God feels about it. It’s my decision, not his.”

“I don’t mean that, I meant… I love you Talitha. I have ever since that day in council when you honoured my father with a quick death. I never dreamed you might love me the same way.”

“
Not
the same way,” Talitha said sadly and felt tears threaten. Ranen didn’t love her, he was
grateful
to her. If he did love her, it was just a prince’s love for his Matriarch. Nothing more than that.

“Mother just laughed when I told her that I loved you,” Ranen was saying. “When I insisted, she became angry. I had to order her to keep silent! Can you believe that?”

Talitha’s emotions were swinging first one way then the next. One moment depressed, the next jubilant. She didn’t know what was happening to her. She had never felt like this before. It was terrible, she had to make it stop!

“Do you love me as a man to a woman or not?”

Ranen blinked. “I thought we had already… Yes Matriarch. I do love you as a beautiful, special, lovely woman, and I love you as prince to Matriarch. I would be honoured and blessed to be your consort.”

Jubilant now, definitely jubilant.

Talitha gazed at Ranen and smiled. He smiled back and they kissed. It was wonderful. Better than Pella juice, better than her pool, better than… it was better than a slave in the morning! She remembered Jarek saying this might happen.

When you love someone, he will became the centre of your world.

Talitha couldn’t allow that to happen. She was Matriarch—superior to princes and all others. She had Japura to think of. She would not allow him to interfere with her duty.

I’ll have the palace redecorated for him. I wonder if Jarek knows what his favourite colours are. What ones doesn’t he like? I’ll have to throw away the wrong coloured silks in my wardrobe. What about…

Talitha, sole ruler and Matriarch of Japura, was in love. The centre of her world had just been redefined.

* * *

5 ~ Holy Isle

Dugan found Jymis waiting for him. “Bishop Jymis, if you will follow me?”

“Of course your Grace,” Jymis replied in that oily way of his.

Dugan nodded, but he couldn’t help but frown. It wasn’t charitable to call the man oily when he hardly knew him. He couldn’t afford to allow snap judgements to interfere with his investigations. Heresy was serious, perhaps more serious at this time than any before it.

“The Holy Father has instructed me to investigate the charge of heresy you recently laid against Lady Julia,” he said as they walked through bustling corridors. The holy palace was busier than ever before. A thing he wished were not so.

“I understand your Grace, but the charge was not recent. I have been here all summer
and
winter waiting for the Holy Father’s judgement!”

Dugan’s lips twitched but he straightened his face before Jymis could take note of his amusement. Farran expressly ordered him to keep Jymis away from Athione for as long as possible while he wrote and received letters from Lord Keverin and Lady Jessica.

“Yes I know, but the Holy Father is frail. He can no longer deal with every issue himself. Instead, he delegates the responsibility. Not the quickest way I will admit, but he must use his time on those issues he deems most important. As you would expect heresy ranks first among them. Unfortunately, speed and good judgement rarely go hand in hand.”

Jymis scowled. “I understand your grace, but Julia is a heretic and a witch. All the lands of Athione are in danger from her evil.”

Dugan frowned. “That remains to be seen. You should know the Holy Father dismissed the charge of witchcraft.”

“I was informed your grace, but if I might speak plainly?”

“Please,” Dugan said with a nod.

“The Holy Father is… mistaken.”

Dugan couldn’t prevent his expression from betraying his surprise. It wasn’t Jymis’ opinion that surprised him. No, it was the man’s utter gall in voicing it. Of course, he had invited plain speaking, but
still!

“It is hardly your place to judge his Holiness, Bishop Jymis,” he said coolly. “However, the Holy Father recognises his fallibility and the seriousness of the charge. That is why he called the conclave to debate the matter and why I represent him at its head.”

“With all due respect to you and the Holy Father your grace, Julia should be summoned here to stand before the conclave not me. I am not on trial here, she is!”

“That remains to be determined. The conclave is not a trial, merely an investigation.”

The conversation lapsed for a time. They made their way through the palace and all its glory without taking note for the most part. Dugan took this place for granted, perhaps too much so. Everywhere he looked, he saw riches. Marble floors and artistry abounded. The ceilings were decorated with scenes from the holy chronicle and from the Founding. It was a crime to ignore such beauty, one he was determined to remedy—he glanced at Jymis’ scowling face—but not now. Riches… riches couldn’t feed the hungry. That was why so many people filled the palace these days. The island could grow barely enough food for those living here. Just a few thousand people he had saved, only a fraction of those in need in Devarr, but while the king lived, he was powerless to do more.

In the silence of his own mind, Dugan cursed King Pergann for allowing this to happen and not dying sooner, but then he guiltily offered a prayer to the God asking for forgiveness of his lapse. He was always too quick to judge others. One of his many faults, he knew. It was a fact he had rued many a time. He had been praying for the God to take the King for judgement for years, and the news of his death had lifted his spirits when it finally came. Was that wrong of him? Praying for another’s death… surely that was wrong, but what of the people? They had deserved respite from his misrule… surely?

Dugan entered his room with Jymis a step behind. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said as he lit the lamps.

Jymis stood in the doorway looking around the spartan room in something akin to shock. Dugan frowned looking for what had upset the man. His bed was neat and tidy, and the few books on his shelf were proper, though two of them
were
poetry. His desk was bare, and there was a fire in the grate.

“Is something wrong?”

“No I… I was just surprised by your accommodations your grace. I thought…” Jymis broke off in confusion.

“I see,” Dugan said. “The palace is large, but not so large that we can live as you are evidently accustomed to at Athione. I prefer this actually. Luxuries are a distraction from the God.”

“I don’t reside within the fortress, your grace. I prefer to live among the people,” Jymis said fervently.

Dugan smile politely. He had heard the story a little differently. Keverin’s father couldn’t abide Jymis, or so Keverin said. He wouldn’t discuss his father’s reasons for disliking the man, but from what he had managed to weasel out of his Holiness the reasons were good ones. Farran was reticent regarding those days, but what he did say had put Dugan on his guard where Jymis was concerned.

“Have a seat,” Dugan said throwing the burning taper into the fire and seating himself opposite the Bishop. “Tell me all you can about Lady Julia.”

“She’s a witch and a heretic and—”

“No, no, no!” Dugan broke in crossly. “I meant how did you first hear about her. What did she do and why?”

Jymis scowled. “As I said your grace, I do not reside within the fortress. If I did, I would have prevented her blasphemy, I assure you!”

Dugan sighed. This was going nowhere. “Who told you of her then?”

“I received word from Gideon. He was the only priest I had within the walls of the fortress. I have complained many times about that, but Kever…
lord
Keverin is deaf to my words.”

“What did Gideon say?”

“He wrote of his concern regarding the blasphemous spell Darius wrought. About the breaching of the barrier and subsequent death of the mage—”

Dugan winced at the satisfaction in Jymis’ voice.

“—scandalous attire. I did mention my concerns to Keverin before leaving for Devarr your grace, but he insisted the woman was chaste.”

“Is that all?”

“All!” Jymis gasped red faced.

“Yes. This woman was brought to us against her will, and all you’re concerned about is her lack of modest clothing? Forgive me, but this does not prove her guilty of heresy or witchcraft, not that witches are real in any case. Perhaps different customs hold sway where she comes from.”

“Different customs I don’t know about, but that she has magic at her command is beyond question. She killed thousands—”

Dugan raised a finger in emphasis. “And
saved
thousands. That balances… to a degree.”

“I bow to your judgement your grace,” Jymis said stiffly.

“Not mine, but the Holy Father’s. I merely listen in his stead.”

“As you say your grace. Men not women wield the God’s power. Julia is against nature and therefore against the God!”

Dugan frowned. There was something in that. The God chose certain individuals to wield his power in the world. They were mages and called the God’s power magic, but did that mean He would always choose men?

“—the true faith and Gideon agreed she did not,” Jymis finished.

“But did you ask her directly?” Dugan asked intently.

“I?” Jymis said shifting uncomfortably. “No your grace.”

“Then you should have!”

“Yes, your grace,” Jymis said sullenly.

“Gideon wrote to the Holy Father you know. He insists Julia
does
believe in the God. Her customs are indeed different from ours, but the God made all worlds. I do not hold her differences against her. Gideon says she is working hard to learn our ways, and that she is not a heretic. What would be your answer to that?”

“I would say that he, like Keverin, is bewitched! All Athione’s guardsmen love her your grace. It’s not a pure love, but one created by the misuse of the God’s power.”

Dugan pursed his lips. “People love her you say. She has magic, she killed thousands to save thousands more, and she came here not understanding our ways. These things constitute your
entire
reasoning?”

Jymis nodded.

“Are you
mad?
You have no direct proof she practises heretical doctrine, you have no witnesses or statements. You have no confession—you don’t even have a condemnation from the one priest living close enough to Julia to see wrong doing!”

“I have done as my conscience dictates your grace.”

“Yes well,” Dugan paused for a moment trying to see a way to end this thing quickly, but there wasn’t one. “Though Gideon was recently raised to Bishop of Athione, his word in this matter must be weighed as that of a priest. Although I would dearly love to have it otherwise, your word holds more weight.”

Jymis flushed in anger.

“I will make known my report to the Holy Father. You will be called before the conclave and perhaps his Holiness also. Until then you may go.”

Jymis stood and bowed before stalking out of the room.

Dugan sighed. “Fool.”

Jymis had threatened Keverin with anathema on absolutely no evidence of heresy. As far as he could see, Jymis had accused Julia on little more than fear of the unknown! If heresy there was, Gideon would not have written about her in such glowing terms. His letters were full of Julia’s selfless bravery and her devotion to healing the sick and injured. Unfortunately his word regarding the comparative weight given Gideon’s and Jymis’ statements was accurate. Gideon had been a priest when the events in question took place. He was a good man but new in his position where Jymis had been a bishop for years. There was nothing more to be done and he was late. Dugan quickly extinguished the lamps and hurried out. He had a conclave to lead and the life of a young woman was in the balance.

Dugan listened to Patriarch Edrigu with apparent interest. It was apparent because he had plenty of practise perfecting his outward demeanour. Edrigu was a towering bore. Worse, he was a highly respected towering bore, but Dugan was polite enough not to hurt the man’s feelings.

“—the God. Now then, some might say the God knows all things and use this truth to blind us to the real issue. This woman came to our world through the barrier. The God set the barrier to keep his worlds separate. A fallible man breached the barrier. These three things, and these three things
only
, are the crux of the argument, but why is there argument? The facts are beyond question. Lady Julia
was
brought through, the God
did
set the barrier, and all men
are
fallible. No, the argument is without question, pointless. In my opinion, we should turn our collective gaze upon the woman’s character and actions since coming here, and ignore the circumstances of her arrival.”

Dugan’s ears pricked at the last part of Edrigu’s speech. There was real promise there. “I thank you for your most learned summation of the situation, Edrigu,” he said and waited for the man to take his seat. “Patriarch Malvin has a few words to add. Malvin, if you would please?”

“Certainly,” Malvin said as he stood and made his way down from his seat. He stood in the centre of the patterned floor and surveyed the faces of his brother patriarchs. “Our brother Edrigu would have us ignore the manner of Lady Julia’s arrival into our world. He would have us ignore the perversion of nature she represents. I say no. I say these things are at the heart of the issue laid before us. The God knows all things, but his knowing of them has no bearing on the matter. The God does not prevent our mistakes, he accepts them for what they are: The fumbling and uncertain journey of his children toward him. It is for us to prevent mistakes—when we can—and limit them when we cannot. In this way we learn what He wishes us to know. Julia is against nature and therefore against the God. It is that simple. Her being here is a
mistake
, one we should remedy without delay. Thank you,” Malvin said and climbed the tiers back to his seat.