Gunpowder God (34 page)

Kyblannos fell prostrate to the floor in supplication as he had been instructed.

“You may rise,” Styphon’s Voice ordered.

Keeping his head bowed, so as not to look into the Supreme Priest’s face directly, he said, “Your Divinity, my master, Prince Phidestros of Greater Beshta, has done the deed as you so ordered.”

Kyblannos nodded toward the steel barrel, which looked like a large old-style helm of the sort still worn in Hos-Bletha, at his feet, “Show me his head!” Styphon’s Voice demanded.

Kyblannos bent down and pried the lid off the cylinder, pushed away the rock salt and thrust his fingers down into the granules until he felt the topknot of Selestros’ hair. He pulled the head out of the barrel by the hair with a sucking noise that was followed by the sound of hail as rock salt spilled upon the marble floors of the presentation chamber. He held the head up for Anaxthenes’ inspection.

“Come closer, I want to make sure it’s Selestros’ head and not a fake,” Styphon’s Voice ordered.

As Kyblannos approached the Throne with the Prince’s grisly remains, the two guards moved closer, following his every movement with their eyes. He was shocked when Styphon’s Voice grabbed the head by the cheeks and yanked it out of his hands.

He quickly fell back while Styphon’s Voice peered closely into the dead man’s frozen eyes. “Danthor, show me his image.”

Kyblannos’ heart started pounding wildly against his rib cage as he waited.

An Archpriest, wearing a yellow robe with red trim, came out from behind the curtains behind the Throne. He was accompanied by a fat underpriest in a black robe and bearing a small painting imbued with the image of former Great King-Elect Selestros. Anaxthenes motioned the Archpriest closer and shoved the dead man’s face right up next to his own, looking it in the eyes. “It looks like him to me, what do you see, Danthor?”

Archpriest Danthor motioned to the fat underpriest. “This is underpriest Fysog, who spent several winters at the Grand Temple of Harphax and has been face to face with the wastrel Selestros many times.” Fysog studied the head and nodded.

Danthor pointed dramatically at the bloodless head. “Your Divinity, I see a treacherous cur who will no longer mock the One True God Styphon.”

Anaxthenes laughed. “Good. I didn’t think we gave Phidestros enough time to find an imposter. This is one thorn we shall not have to worry again. Son of Dralm indeed!”

As Styphon’s Voice passed the head off to the other Archpriest, he said, “Your Prince has followed Our orders. Danthor, you can fetch the Princess now.”

Kyblannos took a deep breath and felt his heart begin to slow down to its regular pace.

He stood statue-like until, after what felt like an interminable wait, the Princess arrived in the Great Audience Chamber. Princess Arminta was wan but physically unharmed, at least, from what he could see of her face and hands. Her belly had grown even larger, although he hadn’t thought that possible. Kyblannos was glad to see that her spirit, displayed by a brave little grin aimed directly at him, hadn’t been broken.

Styphon’s Voice looked right through her and then turned toward him. “I am only returning the Princess unharmed because Prince Phidestros followed my orders to the rune. I suggest that you tell your Prince that We have enjoyed his services in the past and that We look forward to using them again.”

“Yes, Your Divinity,” he answered out of the side of his mouth.
Phidestros will have his use of Styphon’s House
, he thought,
and you can put that bill into Styphon’s Great Banking House as soon-to-be-paid, you bald-headed fraud
.

Anaxthenes dismissed them with a nod of his head. Princess Arminta grasped his upper arm so tightly that he could feel each finger and knew he would have bruises when they were released. They were escorted out of the Golden Temple by four of Styphon’s Voice’s Own Guardsmen and several highpriests. Fortunately, the guards and priests stopped at the carriage and bid them leave. Only then were they able to talk in private.

“Thanks be to you, Kyblannos! I was beginning to think I would never escape this foul nest of vipers.”

“Did they hurt you, Princess?”

She shook her head. Then she began to cry.

Kyblannos took her in his arms and she cried on his shoulder.

“I’m just so glad to get away from those creatures….”

“I know. We’ll get you home, Arminta, one way or another,” he said, helping her up into the carriage.

They arrived at the hostelry a quarter of a candle later. The Princess had huddled in a corner during the entire trip. She was very big and he was worried about the journey to Besh Town over almost impassable roads. The midwife and priestess of Yirtta Allmother helped Arminta up the stairs to the third floor of the inn.

He motioned aside the midwife and asked, “Is she safe to travel?”

“I’ll have to examine her, Your Grace, and talk with the healer.”

“She’s so big!” he exclaimed.

“Her mother was the same way. It runs in the family, but it may be another moon before she gives birth. Still, it would be best if we departed from this accursed city.”

The next morning, Kyblannos talked with the Chief Midwife.

“I have examined her, Your Grace. She will have the baby within the moon half. The healer doesn’t want her to leave Balph, but he’s never delivered a baby. If we stay, the Princess will be in so much distress that it may be more dangerous to stay than leave.”

“Do you have any idea when the baby will arrive?”

“If you want answers, pray to the Allmother. I’m just a mortal. The Princess may go give birth during the journey home, but I still believe it will be more dangerous for her to remain among these devil worshippers than leave.”

Kyblannos sighed.

He went upstairs and knocked at the door of the Princess’ bedchamber. “Your Highness, it’s me.”

“Come in, Kyblannos.”

Arminta was already dressed and seated on the bed.

“Your Highness, do you feel well enough to travel?”

She nodded. “By Yirtta Allmother, I refuse to have my baby in this cursed town!”

He made a shushing motion, leaning forward to whisper in her ear. “I have rented the entire floor, but we do not know who is above and below. The Styphoni have probably stationed intelligencers all over this inn.”

She nodded that she understood. In a whisper, she asked, “Can we leave today?”

“Yes, Your Highness. We will leave for Besh Town in two candles.”

The Princess shook her head, her long brown hair flying back and forth, like someone waking from a nightmare. “It cannot be soon enough for me.”

“W
hat should I do?” the Great Queen pleaded.

Sirna did her best to hide her growing impatience. As she saw it, Lavena had two choices, marry Prince-Regent Geblon or face being banished to Hostigos to live with her father. The latter was tantamount to suicide, since she’d probably never survive passage across war-ravaged Nostor and Hostigos. Too many enemies and bandits.

To some Harphaxi loyalists, the heir to the Kaiphranos Dynasty could be a path to the Iron Throne. To others, it would be their
ironbound duty
to make sure such an heir never lived to see his or her Name Day. Either way: suicide.

“Your Majesty, you can’t keep putting off Prince Geblon’s requests for your nuptials. You’ve already had one false labor and you must be within a moon quarter of giving birth. The time has arrived for you to make your decision.”

“But I don’t know what to do,” Lavena said, wringing her hands. “I’m not sure I love him. Yes, it is true that Geblon has a certain charm. He’s even handsome in a manner of speaking; he even has most of his teeth. But his heart does not speak to my heart.”

“That is absolutely irrelevant in your current situation, Your Majesty. What is important is that Prince Geblon has Prince Phidestros’ backing and can give you and your child protection. Protection from Lysandros’ lackeys, assassins and even Roxthar’s Investigators. No one else can give you that. Geblon even appears to have feelings for you. What more could you ask for?”

“Love!”

Sirna shook her head in disgust. “Right now, love should be your least concern. You should be thinking about your life, your future, your unborn child. Let me tell you about love: I married my first and only husband for love. It was wonderful, transcendent; for about a winter. Then he turned into someone I didn’t know and soon learned to hate. And, I discovered, he did not love me.

“I would have traded that one winter of bliss for a man who treasured and truly cared for me. For you, Geblon could be that man.”

“What happened to your husband?” Lavena asked. “Did he leave you?”

There was no divorce among the Zarthani. A husband could banish a wife if he had good cause and she would have to leave to live with her parents, if they were still alive, siblings or other relatives, if they were deceased. A wife, for better or worse, as with most Indo-Aryanpatriarchies, had no choice but to stay with her husband.

Since she couldn’t tell Lavena the truth, she made up a reasonable
truth.
“My husband died on a trading expedition to the Sea of Grass.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Sirna.”

Sirna sighed. “It was a few winters ago and why I joined the Grefftscharrer party that came to Hostigos to work in the Royal Foundry.”

“But, Sirna, your husband was a merchant, a man of distinction.”

Sirna had to agree since she was called “Lady Sirna.” She found it telling how quickly the Queen skipped from love to position when it came to matters of the heart.

Lavena went on. “Geblon’s parents are commoners; he told me his father works as a
tanner!”

Sirna was on the verge of tearing her hair out. Between Lavena’s childish notions of love, her grandiose fantasies, her fixation on class and her naiveté, she had the wits of an adolescent school girl.
How was she able to survive adolescence in Hostigos? Her father, Prince Sthentros, must have spoiled her rotten
.

Then it hit her, like a burst of sunlight. “Your Majesty, there are other things you need to consider. If Geblon does not win the Election as Prince-Regent, or marries you and becomes Great King, with the Election just a matter of form, then you will be under the reign of one of the other Princes. Prince Soligon of Argros is the likely candidate since he’s in high standing with the Harphaxi League of Dralm and is unmarried.”

“Prince Soligon! By Yirtta’s Staff, he’s older than my father and as wrinkled as a crab apple. He even has the same horse face as his homely daughter.”

Sirna wanted to cry. Soligon was not even sixty years old and, even by the standards of Aryan-Transpacific, still a vital man. His daughter, Princess Arminta, did share his long horse face, but she also had the biggest and most beautiful dark-brown eyes Sirna had ever seen.

“Or Prince Thukyblos could be elected.”

“That mean little man, with the big ears, who chews his moustache?” Lavena asked.

“Yes, he recently renounced his ties to Styphon’s House and if Geblon and Soligon are unacceptable, he’s the next best candidate.”

Lavena’s face clouded up and she looked like she was about to burst into tears.

Sirna took that moment to play her best card. “You also have to consider what your marriage to Prince Geblon will mean to your father.”

“My Father, he has nothing to say about it. Even if I wanted to consult him, I’d have to wait until spring when the roads are passable again.”

“That is true. What I meant, is what will happen to your father if you
don’t
marry the new Prince-Regent?”

“What do you mean, Sirna. You’re talking in circles.”

Sirna felt like a pussycat about to dine on a songbird. “If you turn down Geblon’s proposal, then it’s very likely that Prince Phidestros will encourage Prince-Regent Geblon to rescind your father’s crown.”

“He wouldn’t do that!” Lavena said, in shocked tones.

“What loyalty does Phidestros—or Geblon for that matter, owe your father who was crowned by the Regicide Lysandros?”

“Regicide! I’ve asked you not to call him that, Sirna. You displease me.

It’s time for a dose of reality
, thought Sirna. “Not as much as you’ll have displeased Phidestros and your father. Prince Sthentros could very well lose his crown, or even his head, because you refuse to marry the Prince-Regent.”

“Phidestros is much too kind to do any such thing to my father.”

“Phidestros is not a kind man. He can be a generous man, even a tolerant man, but never a kind man. If you gain his displeasure, as you appear to be doing, you risk everything: your father, your baby—even your own life.”

“Do you really believe that?” the Princess looked as if she were about to go into labor at any moment.

“Yes,” Sirna said, “and I’ve slept in his bed. When Princess Arminta arrived in Beshta, he sent me away without a by-your-leave. He’s been generous at times, but only because he can afford to be, and because I was doing him a service.”

Lavena turned ashen. “Then it is my duty to marry the Prince.”

Sirna nodded, thankful that reason had returned.

“How should I tell him, Sirna?”

“He’s already asked for your hand twice. You’ve put him off; I doubt he’ll ask again. You must invite him to your audience chamber.”

“He might take that wrongly,” the Queen blanched.

Sirna shook her head. As bloated as the Great Queen was, she doubt ed that Geblon would take it as an invitation to a bed warming; how ever, knowing men….

“No, you can write him a note and tell him that you wish to see him about an urgent matter. He’s no dimwit. He’ll know what it’s about.”

“But Geblon doesn’t read.”

“True, but he has scribes who do.”

“Will you take the note for me, Lady Sirna?”

She bowed and fought to keep the relief she felt off her face. Whatever the Queen’s fate might have been had she refused Geblon’s offer of marriage, Sirna knew she did not want to share it with her.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Sirna said, as she waited for the Princess to laboriously compose her thoughts onto a piece of vellum.