The Godspeaker Trilogy (65 page)

“Of course I trust you, Hettie, but—”

“Good!” she said. “Now go to the castle. Rhian needs you.” She shooed him with her transparent hands, just as she used to bustle him out of the kitchen before dinner. “ Hurry, Dexie! There isn’t much time!”

A breeze blew through her, and she was gone.

“Well, this is ridiculous,” he said, glaring at the empty garden bench. “Do you hear me, Hettie? It’s all complete poppycock!”

Except in the cottage behind him slept a man with blue hair. And overlooking the harbour, in the king’s castle, was a sweet young girl who’d just lost her father, the last of her kin. Who was all alone now and trammelled about with men who would see her as nothing more than a pawn for the furthering of their grand ambitions.

And if I don’t do my best to help her, what kind of a man does that make me?

“Sorry, Otto,” he said, turning to his long-suffering donkey. “It seems there’s been a change of plans.”

Ursa was scrubbing the frypan when he returned to the kitchen. “That was quick,” she said over her shoulder. “You must’ve galloped to Otto’s field and back.”

“Ah …” He cleared his throat and tried to charm her with a smile. “I didn’t go, actually. You see—well—Ursa, I need a favour.”

“ Another one?” She frowned. “Jones, this is what’s known as stretching the friendship.”

The smile wasn’t working, so he let it die. “Please. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. I need you to stay here a little longer. I’ve an errand to run.”

Ursa pulled the plug from the sink then put her soapy hands on her hips. “What kind of errand?”

He couldn’t tell her. She’d never believe him. He still wasn’t sure he believed it himself. In the kitchen’s corner sat an open trunkful of repaired dolls and toys he’d worked on through the night, while keeping an ear out for Zandakar. He gestured at them. “I’m a nodcocky fool. I completely forgot I’m supposed to deliver these back to the castle.”

“The castle ?” Ursa hooted. “Jones, the king just died. What makes you think they’ll let you in?”

“Eberg may be dead, Ursa, but life still goes on,” he said. “I’ll just join the other castle provisioners at the tradesmen’s entrance. And you know, I do need to get these toys back. I was supposed to have delivered them the other day but I had to wait for supplies before I could finish the repairs. And truth be told, I need the money. I’ve Tamas’s wages to pay and, well … Zandakar didn’t exactly come cheap.”

“That’ll teach you to buy strange men off foreign slave ships,” she said, typically unsympathetic. “And what about my patients, Jones? They’re waiting for me. I suppose you’ve forgotten all about them !”

Oh. Yes. Her patients. He had forgotten. Embarrassed, he stared at the floor. It needed sweeping, curls of pale pinewood and driftings of sawdust. How Hettie would grumble if she were here to see it. “I won’t be gone so terribly long,” he mumbled. “And I can’t leave Zandakar alone. I’m sorry, Ursa. I know I’m a nuisance.”

“You’re a sight more than a nuisance, Jones,” said Ursa. “You’re a trial and a ’cumbrance, that’s what you are.” She shook her head. “So what are you waiting for? Get out of here, would you? The quicker you leave, the quicker you’ll be back!”

He nearly kissed her. “Oh, thank you, Ursa!”

As he and Otto clopped and rattled through the sleepy streets, heading for Kingseat township and the road up to the castle, he saw the news had finally reached his neighbourhood. People milled on the pavements and gathered around gateways. He could hear muffled weeping, see the wringing of hands.

By this time tomorrow we’ll be a kingdom in mourning. And if Hettie’s right there’s more sorrow on the horizon. And I’m supposed to prevent it? Oh dear, oh dear.

He shook the reins at Otto. “Come on, you. Do get a move on. Ursa will skin us both if we take too long.”

Otto flattened his ears and grudgingly picked up the pace. And as the donkey trotted, Dexterity turned his thoughts to Ethrea’s current trouble, trying to unravel it like a knot in wool.

“Your Highness. Please . You must come away. This is most unseemly … and you don’t want the prolate to find you here like this.”

Rhian shrugged Helfred’s encroaching hand from her shoulder and continued to stroke her father’s hair. She hadn’t been with him when he died. His face was peaceful now, but what was the truth of his last living moments? Had he suffered? Had he missed her? Had he called her name in vain?

I should’ve been with him. Marlan should’ve let me stay.

But Marlan had refused her pleas for more time. He’d granted her a mean half-hour by her father’s side, after chapel, then sent her away as though she’d done something wrong.

He’s a thief, that Marlan. He stole the last of my father from me. I’ll never forgive him. I’ll never forget.

“Leave me alone, Helfred,” she said, her voice gritty with grief. “I’m a princess in mourning. Have you no respect?”

Helfred stomped to the other side of the bed and glared at her across her father’s cooling corpse. “Have you no respect, Highness? The king must be taken to the Great Chapel, he must be bathed and oiled and dressed according to his rank, so when he is laid out in state the world will know his great majesty. But so long as you sit here the devouts cannot fulfil their sacred task. Would you leave Eberg in his rumpled bed, Your Highness, soiled and unkempt, in a ruined nightshirt like any common man?”

His sharp words struck like daggers through the fog of anguish surrounding her. Oh, Papa. Papa . “Of course not,” she muttered. “He must be made beautiful. But I don’t wish to leave him. I’ll help the devouts, Helfred. I’ll escort his body to—”

“Highness, be sensible!” Helfred begged. “You know that’s impossible. Prolate Marlan would never permit it. Please. You need some fresh air and time to compose yourself. Let me escort you into the garden. After that you must pray, then dress yourself in mourning. The council wishes to see you at four o’clock.”

Her head snapped up. “Today? The council expects me to dance attendance on them today ? Mere hours after my father’s death? Are they deranged, Helfred? Are you deranged, to give me such a message now ? Touch the king’s face, you fool! There’s a little warmth to him still! My God, you’re outrageous !”

If her furious accusations hurt him, he didn’t show it. “The summons came from the prolate, Highness.” Helfred’s voice and expression were neutral. “Do you suggest I should’ve told him he was deranged?”

Some venerable or other had mercifully closed her father’s eyes. She was grateful for that much. The thought of walking into this chamber to see them empty of his spirit, his soul …

She leaned forward and kissed him, kissed each eyelid, his cool lips. His hands. “Forgive me, Papa,” she whispered. “They won’t let me stay. But I’ll see you again soon, I promise.”

She could’ve slapped Helfred, he looked so relieved.

In the antechamber beyond her father’s room hovered a gaggle of devouts and four po-faced venerables and a scattering of wet-cheeked, red-eyed courtiers. She swept past them all, her head high, Helfred scuttling at her heels. As she made her way through the castle’s corridors, down the flights of stone stairs leading outside, staff and more courtiers bowed to her, weeping. She nodded but couldn’t bring herself to speak.

If I speak, I’ll lose control. I can’t lose control. I am Rhian, Eberg’s daughter. I am Ethrea’s rightful queen.

Helfred herded her outside and into the castle’s privy gardens, closed the wrought-iron gate behind them and stared at her, uncertain. Then he folded his hands unctuously before him and opened his mouth to deliver a lecture.

“I warn you, Helfred!” she snapped, her voice grating. “Dare to tell me this was God’s will and I’ll beat you to a bloody pulp!”

He gaped in shock. “Your Highness ! I—”

“You think I won’t do it?” Her hands were tight fists, aching to strike him. “You think I can’t? I had two brothers, remember? And we all sparred together! I could knock you down with a single blow and you could never hope to stop me, Chaplain!”

Helfred took a prudent step back. “Princess Rhian, you are clearly distraught. I will forgive your inappropriate outburst. I must make allowances, for—”

She flung herself away from him. “Oh, Helfred! Shut up! ”

They were the only two people in the privy garden. Of course, it was a beautiful day. The sky was blue and cloudless, the sun mellow. A light breeze coaxed perfume from the rioting flowers. There were birds in the trees, singing without a care in the world.

Fetch me my bow, someone. I’ll shoot them all dead.

Her chest was a vast ice cavern, freezing and hollow. If she closed her eyes she’d hear the cruel wind, howling through it.

How could you leave me, Papa? How could you go? Don’t you realise I’m all alone now? Can’t you see I’m at Marlan’s mercy? Of no value to him or your precious council, except as a broodmare? Did you know of the prolate’s former ward, Lord Rulf? Did you plot with Marlan to see me married to him, this unsophisticated country bumpkin? Did you? Did you? Was I never more than a broodmare to you?

Close behind her, Helfred said, “Perhaps, Your Highness, if you could weep …”

She turned on him. “Really? Why? Because it’s womanly , Helfred? Because weeping is what a weak female should do?”

A fresh crop of pimples had broken out on his chin. His hair needed cutting. His habit was limp. “Because you loved him, Highness,” he said simply. “And he’s gone.”

His unexpected words were nearly her undoing. The garden blurred and her throat closed tight. She pressed a fist to her mouth, biting her knuckles hard. When she could trust her voice she clasped her hands behind her back and said, “Yes, Helfred. He’s gone. And if the council has its way the shoes I wear to his funeral will do for my wedding as well.”

Helfred frowned, censorious. “Highness. Consider your position. It’s not seemly to—”

“How much care do you think I have for seemly, Helfred?” she demanded, and snapped her fingers under his nose. “ This much? No, not even so little! Stupid man. If you can’t be useful I wish you’d go away.”

Again, he refused to react to her temper. “Highness, you don’t know the council wishes to discuss your impending marriage,” he said, so reasonable he made her teeth ache. “They could wish only to tender their formal condolences.”

She snorted. “You think so? You’re generous.”

“I try to be,” he said, after a moment. “Rollin encourages generosity.”

“Why are you a chaplain, Helfred?” she said, considering him closely. “Is it your wish to emulate your uncle and be prolate one day?”

“No!” he said, horrified. “Such a thought has never entered my head, Highness. God called me to serve in the Church, and I answered the summons.”

“You had another career in mind?” It was hard to imagine him as anything but a chaplain. Or possibly … a swineherd. Lecturing the pigs.

“What I did or did not dream of in my green days, it hardly matters now,” he said, pretension returned. “Highness, this conversation is not—seemly. I suggest we return to the castle, where you can collect yourself in your privy chapel before your meeting with the council.”

She glared at him, aching anew to punch him silly. What should I pray for, Helfred? An unexpected fever, to carry me off? Now there’s a notion …

“Chaplain—” she began, teeth clenched, then stopped. Over his shoulder she could see a face peering through the wrought-iron garden gate. It was familiar. Completely unexpected. And possibly, oddly, the only face she could bear to look at in the midst of her pain.

“Highness?”

She took a shuddering breath, let it out, and turned her attention intently to her chaplain. Helfred mustn’t see me looking at my visitor. They’ll throw him out of the castle and never let him return . “You’re quite right, Helfred. Forgive me. The king’s death has—I am—”

“I understand, Highness,” he said, nodding.

She let her fingertips rest on his arm. “But I need a little time alone first. The garden is so beautiful. It brings me close to God, and to my parents. My mother in particular. It was her favourite retreat. Please. Leave me. You must have duties, I don’t want to keep you from them.”

Helfred frowned. “Your spiritual wellbeing is my most important duty, Highness. I’m not sure I should—”

Damn. Why, for once, couldn’t he make things easy? “I am, Helfred. You’re dismissed.”

He had no actual authority to disobey her. She wasn’t giving him an unlawful command and she was the king’s daughter, after all. That still counted for something, even if to the council it meant as a broodmare.

“Highness,” he said, and reluctantly withdrew.

No sooner had the garden gate closed behind him than it opened again and her surprising visitor slipped in.

“Mr Jones ?” she said as he bowed untidily. “What in Rollin’s name are you doing here?”

“Oh dear,” he said, his expression anxious. “It’s a long story, Your Highness.”

“You might want to condense it,” she advised. “I don’t have much time.”

“Of course. But first, Your Highness—” Mr Jones bit his lip. “I’ve heard about King Eberg. I’m so, so sorry.”

To her complete surprise she burst into tears.

A comforting arm went round her shoulders. A rough hand stroked her aching head. “There, there,” said the toymaker, softly. “There, there, you poor young thing.”

She didn’t weep for long. She’d never been much for crying, it had long since been a point of honour—and an essential survival trait. Tears meant her tormenting brothers had beaten her.

“Mr Jones,” she said, embarrassed, stepping out of the warm, safe shelter of his embrace. “Forgive me.”

His smile was a benediction. “What’s to forgive, Your Highness? If a loving daughter can’t grieve for her father what’s this world coming to, that’s what I’d like to know.”

She blotted her face dry with a lace hanky. “And what I’d like to know is what you’re doing here.”

His smile vanished. “Princess Rhian, you’re in trouble.”

She folded her arms, perilously close to hugging herself. “You’ve come a long way to tell me what I already know.”

“But it’s not just you,” the toymaker added. “It’s Ethrea as well. Terrible things are brewing, Your Highness. There’s danger on the horizon and it’s sweeping in fast.”