The Godspeaker Trilogy (131 page)

Moving from the window, Rhian sat once more on the straight-backed chair that best accommodated her elaborate dress. Her gaze upon him was fixed and uncompromising.

“Are you afraid of meeting Ven’Martin, if he’s still here? Are you afraid of what will happen when your uncle hears what you’ve done?”

“Yes,” he said baldly. “You’ve no idea what he’s like when his anger is riled.”

“No idea?” she echoed. Her face twisted, scornful. “You’ve a short memory, Helfred.”

The crack of the whip thongs on her welted, bleeding back. His uncle’s grunts of satisfaction as she cried out in pain . His memory was not short. Those sounds would sear him till the day he died. “Tcha,” he said. “The clerica was nothing. He was irritated then, Your Majesty. Just irritated. Nothing more.”

“Then why did you help me, if his wrath is so much to be feared?”

He smoothed his fingers over the cracked leather cover of his Admonitions. “It was the right thing to do.”

“Does that mean we’ll be victorious, Helfred?”

He shrugged. “The future is in God’s hands, Your Majesty. All we can do is pray.”

Her lips quirked in a tiny smile. “Is that a hint, Chaplain?”

“Well …” He resisted the temptation to smile back. “It cannot hurt.”

She slid from the chair onto her knees before him. Clasped her hands and bowed her head, demurely. “Then by all means, Chaplain, let us take a moment to pray. I don’t mind confessing it—I need all the help I can get.”

“Majesty …” He sighed. “You must abandon this unfortunate tendency towards levity. These men who’ve gathered here, these dukes who you must sway to your cause … you require them to take you seriously. They must see you as queen. How will they do either if you cannot?”

She looked at him, sharply. “Don’t be stupid, Helfred. I take this so seriously I’ve risked everything to achieve it. My life. My liberty. Perhaps even my soul. I have risked Mr Jones and his friend Ursa. I’ve risked Zandakar. You. And I’ve risked Alasdair.” Her voice broke on the duke’s name. It was a moment before she spoke again. “Helfred, I’ve risked Ethrea . My father’s greatest legacy. The brightest jewel in the world, a beacon of peace and hope and prosperity to countless thousands in lands I’ll never see. No matter what strife there may be in their lives they know we are here. A safe port in any storm, one nation in all the world that will never succumb to violence. And yet here am I pushing us to the brink of bloodshed because I believe it’s the only way. Because I believe I am meant to be Ethrea’s sovereign. Because I have listened to a dead woman’s voice.” She brushed tears from her cheeks. “And you say I don’t take this matter seriously ? Oh, Helfred …”

He felt his own eyes prickle. She so easily, so swiftly, drove him to distraction, offended him and frustrated him and made him question his actions and sanity both. But how could he doubt the truth of her beliefs when she laid them before him with such conviction? Such passion?

“I do not doubt your heart, Majesty,” he said, resting his hand upon her bent head. “If I doubted, if I did not believe in your claim to the Crown, I would never have allowed you to escape the clerica at Todding. I would never have run with you or married you to Alasdair.”

“I thank God you did, Helfred. Without your help …”

“My helpfulness is most likely at an end,” he admitted, withdrawing his hand. “I have no influence over the dukes. But I would make an observation …”

“Speak your mind,” she said, looking up at him. “No queen can count herself higher than well-meant counsel.”

“Another lesson from King Eberg?”

She nodded. “He was very wise.”

And were he alive he would be proud of his daughter. And if he was not proud, then shame upon him . “Majesty, I know you better now than ever I did in Kingseat. But the dukes, they knew your father. They do not know you. They saw you here and there as a child, growing up. They saw you at Eberg’s funeral, where they paid their brief respects. But you are not a real person to them. You are a symbol of the power they believe they can accrue through you. When they see that power lost they will be most displeased.”

She pulled a face. “True. But there is power yet to be had, if they’re willing to look a little lower than a crown. With no surviving male in my family I must still create a Duke of Kingseat. The dukes have sons and nephews whose noble blood qualifies them for notice. And of course there’s the question of Ludo’s marriage. I’ve made a list of eligible girls. The next Duchess of Linfoi will be related to a duke of Ethrea and married to the cousin of Ethrea’s king. No small prize, I think you’ll agree. There is every reason for the dukes to mind their manners.”

“Certainly,” he murmured. “But when tempers run hot, Majesty, commonsense runs out the doorway.”

“Then I’ll just have to cool them down, won’t I? And I will cool them, Helfred. I will sway them to my cause. I am my father’s daughter … and I intend to have my way.”

“God willing,” said Helfred. “Now, Majesty. Let us pray.”

The king’s man Sardre came to the salon almost an hour later. With their prayer concluded, Rhian had lapsed into pensive silence. Helfred had returned with gratitude to the solace and sanctuary of Rollin’s Admonitions. When the rap on the door came, he answered it.

“Chaplain,” said Sardre, austere and discreet as was his habit. “The dukes are gathered in the Great Hall, in the expectation of the Linfoi investiture. His Majesty suggests Her Majesty join him there at this time.”

Rhian stood. “Thank you, Sardre. Chaplain Helfred and I will be downstairs directly.”

Sardre bowed. “Your Majesty.”

“Sardre …”

“Majesty?”

“Would you know if a divine by the name of Ven’Martin is also downstairs?”

“I believe he is, Majesty. Also Most Venerable Artemis, from the Linfoi venerable house.”

“I see. Thank you.” As the door closed, she smoothed down her dress and favoured Helfred with a challenging stare. “Are you ready, Helfred? Is your courage high? We’re about to walk into a storm, you know. Ven’Martin is your superior as well as being your uncle’s trusted man. Can you stand against him? If you doubt yourself, stay here. I won’t think any less of you.”

“Because your opinion is already sunk low?” he said. “Majesty, I will not shrink from what I have done. What I have done has been for God, and Ethrea.”

“And me,” she said, her eyes glinting. “I’m in your debt, Helfred. Never think I don’t know it. My opinion of you is not so low as that.”

“Majesty,” he said, bowing, then opened the door for her and stood aside. She swept past him as regal as any monarch born and he fell into trembling step behind her.

Dear God … Blessed Rollin … I beg you give me strength.

Trestle tables had been erected in the manor house’s Great Hall, ready for the feasting that would follow the funeral and investiture. Neatly clad servants, their tabards badged with duchy Linfoi’s exuberant salmon, moved among the dukes and their retainers proffering goblets of ale and spiced wine to quench thirst and pass the time till the ceremonies commenced.

Helfred stood behind Rhian, who stood in the Great Hall’s open double-doorway, and watched as the dukes failed to notice her arrival. Then he looked past them to find Ven’Martin. Ah … there he was. Standing silent in a corner, his raised hand refusing an offer of drink. The divine standing with him must be Most Venerable Artemis. The older man’s vestments proclaimed his seniority but his demeanour was less assured. The divines of duchy Linfoi were not counted high in Marlan’s estimation. Tainted by their duke’s lack of prestige they were largely left to fend for themselves. Never had one of their brethren risen to prominence in the Prolates Palace.

The poor man must have lost his continence on the day Ven’Martin darkened his venerable house door.

The dukes continud talking, still oblivious to Rhian’s presence. Then the king saw her … and his face lit up. Beside him Ludo realised that his cousin’s wife—his queen—had joined them, and he too smiled … though there was anxiety in his eyes.

Rhian stepped forward. “God’s grace upon you, my lords,” she announced above the hum of conversations. “You are welcome to my temporary court.”

Silence fell, as though God had stolen every tongue.

“Rollin’s arrow!” cried Damwin, Duke of Meercheq, the first released from stupefaction. “Princess Rhian!”

A tinkling smash and a splatter as his dropped glass goblet hit the floor.

Ven’Martin came forward, pushing between the dukes and their retainers and King Alasdair’s servants, his broad face suffused with anger. “ Chaplain Helfred? In the name of the Prolate explain your presence here!”

“Helfred’s presence is not your concern,” said Rhian, her tone icy. “Control yourself, divine. You are not recognised in this court.”

“Court? Court? What are you talking about, court ? What are you doing here?” demanded Duke Edward of duchy Morvell, his blond whiskers bristling with outrage. “You’re supposed to be in Todding!”

“And so I was, Duke Edward,” Rhian replied, calmly. “But despite our prolate’s unorthodox opinion a clerica is not a prison. I was free to leave, and so I left.”

“As a ward of the Church you are free to do nothing that is not sanctioned by its prolate!” snapped Ven’Martin. “You are in gross breach of conduct, Your Highness. You will be brought to task. Gather your belongings if you have any. We will depart this place for Kingseat immediately, where on your wicked knees you will explain your disobedience to His Eminence.”

The king moved to speak, but Rhian silenced him with a gently raised hand. “Your name, Venerable? I believe we are not formally introduced.”

“This is Ven’Martin, Your Highness,” said Most Venerable Artemis, hesitantly approaching. “Prolate Marlan’s representative and a guest of duchy Linfoi’s venerable house. I am Most Venerable Artemis, its preceptor. Welcome to duchy Linfoi. My sympathies for the loss of your great father, Princess Rhian. You must know all of Ethrea grieves with you.”

“Your sentiment is appreciated,” said Rhian, with a gracious nod. “But I must correct your form of address, Most Venerable. I am no longer Her Highness Princess Rhian. I am now Queen Rhian, monarch of Ethrea.”

A second stunned silence. Then Kyrin of Hartshorn leapt at the king. “You bastard, Linfoi! What have you done?”

As Lord Ludo caught the duke before violence was committed Ven’Martin marched across the Great Hall, through the goggling dukes and their retainers, marched past Rhian as though she were a chair, and fetched up short.

“Helfred,” he said. His voice was shaking with fury. “Explain yourself on pain of dire retribution!”

“You must!” added Most Venerable Artemis. “If indeed, as it seems, you have involved yourself in secular matters beyond the limits of your authority.”

Helfred had never cared for being the centre of attention. Sweat trickled down his skin beneath his plain chaplain robe. Ven’Martin’s green eyes were venomous. All the dukes were glaring too, their baffled rage scorching him like the heat of a monstrous bonfire. Kyrin had wrenched himself free of Lord Ludo. A vinegar-faced barrel of a man, his chest was heaving with the depth of his ire.

“Most Venerable, Ven’Martin, you lack my leave to question Chaplain Helfred,” said Rhian, quietly. “He did not exceed his authority. He is a good son of the Church.”

Ven’Martin turned on her. “The Church does not recognise your right to an opinion! You are female and a minor. You will hold your tongue!”

“That is not the accepted way of addressing a queen, Ven’Martin,” said Rhian. Temper echoed through her voice. “I advise you to mind your manners.”

“How are you a queen?” demanded Duke Rudi of Arbat. “To be a queen you must be—”

“Married,” said Rhian. “And so I am. To Alasdair of Linfoi, King Consort of Ethrea. Chaplain Helfred granted dispensation of my wardship—a lawful act—and wed us in God’s sight the day before last. As Eberg’s heir I have claimed my birthright. I am Queen Rhian, Ethrea’s sovereign ruler.”

Duke Damwin of Meercheq took a step forward, his pointed finger shaking. “You—you deceitful, conniving, upstart miscreant, Linfoi! You were forbidden to marry her! Eberg expressly excluded you from marriage consideration! You accepted the decree. Henrik Linfoi said so! Or is the man a liar just like—”

“Call my father a liar at your peril, Damwin!” said Ludo, glowering.

“My peril?” snarled Damwin. “You would threaten me, you gadabout upstart, you—”

“Forget him!” said Kyrin, and spat on the floor. “He’s a cur pup not worth your notice. Henrik Linfoi’s gone back on his word. What else would you expect from a Linfoi? Honour? ”

“ No, Ludo,” said the king, and threw out a barring arm. “These are empty words, they have no meaning. I won’t brook bloodshed under my roof.”

Lord Ludo gave ground, reluctant and resentful.

“For shame, Alasdair!” Rudi chimed in, hotly. “To marry the princess out of hand like this! It’s not the conduct expected of a duke! Your father’s rattling his coffin, he’s pounding on the doors of heaven! Shame on you for a disreputable tyke!”

“When Marlan hears of this,” said Damwin, face thunderous, “you can expect a full Church censure! In fact you can expect questions as to your fitness to inherit duchy Linfoi! You’ve invited us here for your investiture but after this act of arrant recklessness and impropriety I won’t—”

“My cousin Lord Ludo will be the next duke of Linfoi,” said the king, standing ground. “With you or without you he’ll be invested this day and confirmed by Queen Rhian. You’re here by courtesy, not necessity. As for Eberg … he is dead, God rest him. And Rhian—Her Majesty—was in danger from the prolate.” One by one, he looked at the dukes. “As Ethrea’s premier nobles you should’ve had a care for her. As Eberg’s declared friends you should’ve been more concerned for his daughter than for yourselves. But your representatives on the King’s Council, those little men who dance to your tunes, all they did was harangue her and torment her with word of who you wanted to see made king. And while you sat safely in your duchies, gloating yourselves to fatness, dreaming of the power that you would make your own, Marlan was free to persecute her at his leisure. Or have you forgotten he wanted her to marry his former ward, Lord Rulf?”