By Schism Rent Asunder (88 page)

“I know.” Cayleb chuckled again. “On the other hand, it's remarkable how quickly he started getting over that once he laid eyes on her.”

“Didn't you tell me you were pleasantly surprised at the way
your
arranged marriage worked out?”

“Stop fishing for compliments, dear.” Cayleb lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss upon the back of her wrist, his eyes smiling up at her. Then he straightened. “I didn't say I was pleasantly
surprised
,” he continued. “I said I was pleasantly
relieved
.”

“I knew it was something tactful like that,” Sharleyan said dryly.

“Well,” he smiled wickedly, “I hope the noble and selfless dedication I've brought to the task of begetting an heir for our new dynasty has convinced you I don't feel
too
much like a martyr to international politics.”

Sharleyan blushed. One would have had to look very closely to see the rising color in her cheeks, given the lighting and her complexion of antique ivory, but
Cayleb
saw it, and his smile turned into a broader grin. Sharleyan reached across and whacked him on the knuckles with her fan—a practical necessity, and not simply a fashion accessory here in Charis—then found herself fighting hard against an attack of giggles as he winked suggestively at her. The fact was that Cayleb's ardor was … remarkable, she told herself with a slight but pardonable complacency. He was not only extraordinarily good-looking, but young, fit, and a trained warrior, with all the hardihood and … endurance that implied. She might have been forced to avoid entanglements, or any hint of a potential scandal, before her marriage, but the two of them were making up for lost time quite handily. Even better, almost everyone in Charis seemed pleased for both of them, and that could be entirely too rare when a member of a royal family brought home “that foreign woman” as his bride.

“As a matter of fact, the possibility that you'd managed to resign yourself to your fate had crossed my mind,” she told him after a moment. “And,” she added in a softer voice, “so have I.”

“I'm glad,” he said simply.

“Yes, well,” she gave her head a slight shake, “to return to your younger brother's future nuptials. I think he's
already
‘resigned to his fate.' And,” she added frankly, “given Mahrya's figure, I'd be astonished if he weren't. He may be young, but he's definitely male! It seems to run in the family.”

“That's what Father always said, at any rate,” Cayleb agreed.

“And did your father, pray tell, suggest to you that it might be a good idea to keep an eye on your younger
sister
, as well, Your Majesty?”

“Zhanayt?” Cayleb blinked. “What about Zhanayt?”

“Men!” Sharleyan shook her head. “Even the best of you seem to think that all you have to do is beat your hairy chests to encourage the female of your choice to swoon and fall into your manly arms! Doesn't it occur to
any
of you that we women have minds of our own, as well?”

“Believe me, My Lady,” Cayleb said sincerely, “if my mother had allowed any silly notion that you don't to take root in my brain in the first place, the first few days of marriage to you would have disabused me of it. But what, exactly, does that have to do with Zhanayt?”

“Haven't you seen the way she's been looking at Nahrmahn the Younger?” Sharleyan said, and Cayleb's eyes widened.

“You're not serious!”

“Never more so, my dear.” Sharleyan shook her head. “She's three years older than Zhan, you know. Trust me, she's even more aware of how … interesting the opposite sex is than
he
is right now. Not only that, but she sees everyone else getting married right and left. I'm not saying she cherishes any overwhelming need to leap into young Nahrmahn's arms. For that matter, I wouldn't be a bit surprised if someone else displaced him in her thoughts in the next several months. But given her rank and his, he's about the only youngster here in Tellesberg she could realistically consider. And the fact is that he really isn't all that bad looking. For that matter, I can actually see what Princess Ohlyvya sees in his
father
, although it wouldn't hurt Nahrmahn the Elder a bit to lose a little weight. Like half his body weight, perhaps.”

“My God, you
are
serious!” It was Cayleb's turn to shake his head. Then he frowned. “I suppose, in some ways, it could be a beneficial match,” he said slowly.

“I hate to think in cold-blooded dynastic terms, Cayleb,” Sharleyan replied in a rather more serious tone, “but however beneficial it might be, I have to suspect that an even more advantageous match is likely to offer itself—possibly quite soon—in Zhanayt's case.”

“Yes?” He raised an eyebrow at her, and she waved her fan gently.

“The match between Zhan and Mahrya is already going to bind the House of Ahrmahk and the House of Baytz together,” she pointed out. “I happen to think Nahrmahn the Younger is actually quite a pleasant young man, but I don't think we need to put Zhanayt on the Emeraldian throne as princess consort just to ensure his future loyalty to the imperial crown. He's bright enough to see the advantages, and by the time he takes the throne, Emerald will have been part of the Empire for decades, and he and his family will be deeply involved in and committed to governing it. I don't think he'll have the least motive or inclination to be anything except a loyal supporter of the Crown. But Corisande is going to be rather a different case. To be perfectly blunt, there's no way I'd trust any member of
Hektor's
house as far as I could throw one of those new guns of Baron Seamount's. There's been far too much blood spilt between Corisande and the House of Ahrmahk and the House of Tayt, and Corisande
isn't
going to be peacefully and willingly integrated into the Empire. I don't know about you, but given all that, I could never trust one of Hektor's children, far less Hektor himself.”

“I'm afraid I agree with you,” Cayleb said, and his nostrils flared. “In fact, it's given me the occasional nightmare. I don't have the stomach for slaughtering all the possible pretenders to the Corisandian throne, but I'm not at all sure that simply removing Hektor from it and leaving his children alive to plot against us—or to be used as cat's-paws by someone else … like Zhamsyn Trynair or Zhaspahr Clyntahn, for example—is going to be enough.”

“I'm quite certain it isn't,” Sharleyan said bluntly. “I'm no more in favor of killing children just to keep them from being potential future threats than you are, but the fact remains that we have a responsibility here. One that doesn't end when we take Hektor's head. That's what I'm thinking about where Zhanayt is concerned.”

“In exactly what way?” Cayleb asked, but his tone suggested he was following Sharleyan's thoughts quite well now.

“What we're going to have to do is to find some Corisandian noble who's sufficiently popular in Corisande to have at least some chance of gradually winning public acceptance as our vassal
and
Prince of Corisande, but smart enough—or pragmatic enough, at any rate—to realize we can't allow him to survive if he isn't a
loyal
vassal. And then we're going to have to bind him to us as closely as possible. Which may well mean.…”

She allowed her voice to trail off, and Cayleb nodded. It wasn't an entirely happy nod.

“I see your logic,” he conceded. “I hate to think of putting Zhanayt on the marital auction block so cold-bloodedly, though.”

“Did that stop you from proposing to someone you'd never even met?” she asked gently. “Did it stop you from doing exactly that with Zhan?”

“No, but that's—”

“That's
different
,” she finished for him. “Cayleb, I think I really do love you, but to be perfectly honest, that wasn't something I counted on, and it wasn't something that was necessary, either. Can you honestly tell me it was different for you?”

“No,” he admitted softly.

“But Zhanayt is your baby sister.” Sharleyan smiled just a bit wistfully. “I wish sometimes that I'd had at least one sibling, just so I could really experience what you're feeling about Zhanayt right now. Of course, if I had—and especially if it had been a younger
brother
—Mahrak would have had an even harder time keeping me alive and on the throne, I suppose. But the fact is, you were ruthless enough to make a necessary marriage of state for yourself, and you were ruthless enough to do the same thing with Zhan, for the same reasons. If the time comes, my love, you
will
make the same decision for Zhanayt. I only hope it works out as well for her as it has for us and as it seems likely to for Zhan and Mahrya.”

“And what do you think the odds of that are?” he asked even more softly.

“Honestly?” She met his eyes unflinchingly. “Not that high,” she said then. “The fact that you and I are able to do more than merely tolerate one another because we have to already puts us ahead of the game, Cayleb. The fact that Mahrya looks like being an ideal mate for your younger brother puts us even farther ahead. But it has to even out somewhere, you know.”

“Yes, I do,” he half murmured, and she reached out to squeeze his hand.

“However it works out in the end, there's no need for us to rush to meet it,” she told him. “One of the very first lessons Mahrak taught me when I inherited the crown was that more troubles than not work
themselves
out with the passage of time. I'm not trying to suggest to you that you have to start scheming about who you're going to marry Zhanayt off to right this minute. I'm only suggesting that it might be wise for you to not encourage any possible yearnings on her part at this time.”

Cayleb looked at her for a moment and started to open his mouth. Then he changed his mind and lifted her hand with his to kiss it once more. She looked a question at him, obviously wondering what he'd begun to say, but he only shook his head with another smile.

I really wish I could tell you how thoroughly events have proven that Merlin was right when he told me to make you my
partner
, and not just my wife
, he thought.

*   *   *

“I thought that went fairly well,” Cayleb said again, later that night, to a considerably different audience.

Sharleyan had gone on to bed, and he'd discovered that, since his marriage, he felt much less temptation to stay up late drinking too much wine or telling too many bad jokes with Merlin or some other crony. At the moment, however, he didn't have much choice, and he, Archbishop Maikel, Rahzhyr Mahklyn, and Merlin sat on a palace balcony sipping Desnairian whiskey while they gazed up at the stars. The distant chips of light—lights, he knew now, which were every one of them a sun as fiercely bright as Safehold's own—glittered like jewels in the heavens' velvet vault, with that cool hush that comes only in the hours before dawn. It was scarcely a setting most people would have associated with a meeting between an emperor and three of his most trusted advisers, but that suited Cayleb just fine. If he simply had to deal with matters of state instead of the bedroom, he could at least do it as comfortably as possible.

“As a matter of fact, I thought it went quite well myself,” Staynair agreed.

“And a good thing, too, if you'll pardon my saying so, Your Majesty,” Mahklyn put it. “I'm delighted to have that particular arrangement made and solidly accepted well before you go sailing off to invade Corisande.”

Merlin nodded, although the doctor's observation showed a far greater degree of pragmatism and political awareness than he'd ever expected to hear out of him. He'd known all along that the perpetually bemused look Mahklyn presented to the rest of the world was deceiving, but he'd never appreciated how acute the older man's political insights were likely to prove when he chose to exercise them.

And he's been exercising them a lot more ever since Cayleb moved the Royal College into the Palace, hasn't he?
Merlin thought.
Well, that and since the Brethren cleared him for the complete story of Saint Zherneau
.

Judging from Cayleb's next words, the same thought might well have been passing through the emperor's brain.

“I agree with you, Rahzhyr,” he said. “But that brings me back to my ongoing concern. I
am
going to be leaving the Kingdom within the next few five-days now. And Sharleyan is going to be ruling as my regent, with Rayjhis as her first councilor. Don't you think it's about time for the Brethren to make up their minds to let me tell at least one of them the full story?”

Mahklyn had the good sense to keep his mouth firmly shut. Cayleb's tone was determinedly pleasant, but that only emphasized the very real anger at the backs of his brown eyes.

“Cayleb,” Staynair said after glancing at Merlin, “I understand your impatience. Truly, I do. But it's simply not reasonable to expect the Brethren to reach that decision this quickly.”

“With all due respect, Maikel, I disagree,” the emperor said flatly. Staynair started to open his mouth again, but Cayleb raised his hand in a gesture which, while far from discourteous, was undeniably imperious, and continued speaking.

“The fact is that Merlin was absolutely right when he told me how smart this woman was,” he said. “In fact, if anything, I think Merlin
under
estimated her. She's not just ‘smart'; she's a hell of a lot more than that, and keeping her in the dark about something this fundamental is depriving us of one of our most valuable resources. Not only that, but as I believe I've mentioned before, she's my
wife
, as well as the Empress of Charis. As Empress, she very definitely has Merlin's ‘need to know.' And as my wife, she has every
right
to expect me to be open and honest with her, especially when it comes to something as fundamental as this!”