The Godspeaker Trilogy (112 page)

He stood, shoving the stool aside, and restlessly paced around the small space. “Your Zandakar worries me.”

“He’s not my Zandakar,” she said, feeling her spine stiffen.

“Well he’s certainly not
mine . All that talk of killing … that’s not our way. Is it your way now? Is that why you train with him, to learn the art of slaughter?”

She pressed her fingers to her temples where pain throbbed like a drum.

I shouldn’t have told him what Zandakar said. I thought it would reassure him, to know Zandakar thought Damwin and Kyrin were enemies too. Instead …

“No. Of course that’s not why,” she said, striving for patience. “I’ve told you why, must I explain it again? I agreed with you about Nyngdon, didn’t I?”

“You agreed then,” he said. “Perhaps you’ve changed your mind.”

She took a deep breath and forced back the tears. “I haven’t, Alasdair. I think you’re right and that’s what I told Zandakar.
No killing . Please, let’s not fight. We’re both weary, we’re both worried for Henrik and the others Marlan’s imprisoned. Tomorrow we cross into Hartshorn and anything could happen. Can’t we just sit quietly tonight? Hold hands and pretend just for a little time our world is at peace?”

He stopped pacing. “How can we pretend that? It’s
not at peace. Despite Mr Jones’ miracles not all the people are rushing to support you. For every chaplain who’s renounced Marlan’s interdicts we’ve met three others who scream ‘anathema’ and curse your name.”

“I know, but many
do support me,” she said. “And those who haven’t yet
will, once I’m confirmed on the throne. They’re ignorant and backward and they’re listening to lies. Once Marlan is silenced—”

“And how will you do
that ?”

She watched her fingers clench, feeling her hand sting beneath Ursa’s green ointment. “I don’t know,” she said. There was iron in her voice. “But I will.”

He shook his head. “You’ve changed, Rhian. You’re not the girl I—” he looked away “—knew, in Kingseat.”

He’d been going to say
the girl I fell in love with . She’d seen it in his eyes. Her heart hurt her so badly, as though Zandakar’s knife had plunged right through it. Blinking away the weak tears, she lifted her chin.

“Of course I’m not. A lot’s happened since we were last in Kingseat. I’m not that carefree princess any more.”

“No,” he said, softly. “No, she’s gone.”

“Go on. You can say it. I’ve become hard.” She scrambled off the cushion to face him, her own anger kindling. “And I think that’s not so bad. You might not like Zandakar, Alasdair, but you can’t deny he’s right about one thing: if I want to defeat Marlan and the others I can’t be soft. Being soft with Marlan would be fatal and you know it.”

“I’m not saying you should be
soft !” he protested. “I’m saying I don’t like his careless talk of killing. And I don’t like how easily you trust him. He’s good with a knife and that’s all you know. You don’t know how many men he’s killed or why he killed them. Rhian, there are
questions about Zandakar that haven’t been answered. If there weren’t you’d have told your dukes the truth of him, not made up that story about tavern brawls and—”

“Keep your voice down!” she hissed. “I told the dukes what they needed to hear. And you agreed with me!”

“I didn’t contradict you,” said Alasdair. “That’s not the same thing. God save me, Rhian. For all you know, Zandakar could’ve killed
innocents ! Why won’t you accept that he might not be—”

“Oh, Alasdair. Please. I’m not asking you to trust
him, I’m asking you to trust
me . Are you saying you can’t do that?” She stared at him, stricken. “Are you saying you
won’t ?”

Alasdair had a royal face he could put on at will. He wore it all day, every day, but it was discarded now. Now he looked exhausted and hurt and overwhelmed.

Just like me.

“Rhian …” He folded his arms across his chest. “Be fair. See this from my side. One minute I’m sitting with my dying father, preparing to be duke of a poor, disregarded duchy, and the next you’re on my doorstep, running from the Church, ordering me to marry you so you can be queen, and your new best friends are some old physick, a foreigner who thinks of nothing but bloodshed and a toymaker who bursts into flames and heals the dying on a whim! It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s—well, can’t you see how this
looks ?”

“You selfish bastard,” she whispered, as the tears she couldn’t hide spilled down her cheeks. “You think I
wanted this? My father dead, my brothers dead, the welfare of a kingdom thrust into my hands? You think I wanted to be given into Marlan’s cruel keeping? Should I have accepted
that, Alasdair? Married his former ward and put the crown on his head? Thrown away everything my father fought for throughout his reign? Is
that what you’d prefer? Is that the kind of woman you think you married?”

His face flushed a dull red, all its plain lines turned ugly. “I’m not sure who I married, Rhian. What I know is you don’t smile at me the way you smile at Zandakar. Perhaps if
I’d killed six men on the road, perhaps if
I could show you a dozen dances of death, show you how to gut a man ten times over with a blade … would that make you smile at me? Would that stir your blood?”

His attack was so unexpected, so ludicrous, she could only stare, her heart pounding out of control.
“Alasdair …”

“I’ve seen how he looks at you, too. When he thinks no-one’s watching.”

She almost laughed. “Oh, that’s
nonsense ! We’re friendly, I don’t deny that. But I’m not in
love with him. He’s not in love with me! I told you, he was married, he lost his wife in tragic circumstances! He still mourns for her. And he’s alone. Would you begrudge him a harmless smile? Are you so mean? How could I not know you were so mean?”

“Mean?” Slowly, Alasdair unfolded his arms. “You think I’m
mean ?”

And now she’d hurt him. Part of her was glad, he was being so childish, so jealous, so
hateful . Most of her was sorry, though. She held up her hands.

“No. Of course I don’t. Please, Alasdair. We’re tired. We’re worried. And we’re saying things we know aren’t true. Everything’s a mess. It’s such a mess. And it’s going to get messier before it’s over. Let’s not quarrel. Not over Zandakar. Not over
anything . It’s late. We should get some sleep. I know we didn’t marry under ideal circumstances but we
did marry. You’re my king. I’m your queen. And Ethrea needs us. Can we leave it at that, at least for tonight?”

His eyes were so wounded. He stood close enough to touch her yet he seemed far away. He offered her a horrible, stiff little bow. “Certainly, Your Majesty.”

“Oh, Alasdair,
no—don’t —”

But he was walking away from her, walking to the pavilion’s unlaced door. He was walking through it, and she was alone.

Numb and despairing, she dropped again to the cushion on the floor.

Oh, Papa. Papa. What do I do now?

Blessedly solitary, Dexterity sat on the bench in the back of the peddler’s van with a cooling bowl of stew beside him and no appetite to eat it. He had no appetite for anything now save the tainted oblivion of sleep.

Did I ask to be turned into a miraculous human bonfire? Let me think for a moment. No, I don’t believe I did. I didn’t ask for any of this. I was press-ganged. And I want to stop. Hettie, are you listening? I’ve had enough. If God wants this mess fixed he can fix it himself.

She didn’t answer. He’d not seen or heard from her since Heddonvale and the miracle of Walder. There’d been so many more miracles since then, they’d all blurred together. All he could remember clearly were the flames. And even though they never hurt him, still he was in pain. He was desperately exhausted … and his soul was in despair.

So many frightened people. So many Ethreans torn and confused. Who should they believe? Me or their chaplains? Marlan tells them they’ll be interdicted if they follow Rhian, I tell them God says Marlan is wrong. Then I frighten them witless by bursting into flames. And all the sick people … for every one I cure five more are turned away. Ursa does her best to help them but she’s one physick. She can’t save them all. I can’t save them all.

I can’t even save myself.

He realised, then, there were tears on his cheeks. He was weeping, silently. Dear God, he was so weary.

Without warning, the van’s hinged doors pushed open.

“Dexterity,” said Zandakar, ducking inside. “What is wrong? You need Ursa?”

Hastily he dragged his sleeve over his face. “No. I’m fine. What’s happened? Is Rhian—”

Zandakar closed the van’s doors and perched on the sleeping-shelf opposite. “Rhian fine. I come see you.”

“Oh.” Although he was exhausted, he felt his muscles tense. “Why?”

“We
wei speak many days,” said Zandakar. “You doing your god’s work. I training soldiers and Rhian. We speak now.” He looked around the van’s cramped interior. “Where is Ursa? Where is Helfred?”

“The king sent for Helfred. He and the dukes want to talk of Marlan. Since we’re about to cross into what will surely be hostile territory, with Kyrin of Hartshorn standing against us, they want to know what the prolate will likely do. And Ursa’s seeing to one of Duke Edward’s men. He has a belly gripe. She should be back by and by.”

Zandakar nodded. “Dexterity look bad.”

I don’t want to talk about it . “I told you. I’m fine.”

“Zho?” said Zandakar. His tone was disbelieving. “You burn for your god three times this day.”

“Really?” he said, waspish. “I wasn’t counting.”

There was no trace remaining of the mortally sick man he’d rescued from the slave ship. Zandakar’s strength had returned in full. He moved like a cat from the jungles of Haisun. Rhian’s bodyguards held him in mixed fear and respect. His stamina seemed endless, he never tired of riding or training or dancing
hotas with Rhian. As Ursa had foretold, he was formidable. Half-lidded, his startling eyes stared steadily.

“You
wei like burning. You
wei like your god, make you burn three times one day.”

Dexterity grimaced. “Believe me, Zandakar, I
wei like my God long before the burning started. That’s just the latest in a long list of reasons not to like my God.” Still not hungry, but needing something to hide behind, he picked up the bowl of stew and forced himself to take a mouthful. “You like
chalava, do you? After every terrible thing your god has made you do?”

“Like?” Zandakar shrugged. “What is like?
Chalava is
chalava .”

Ah, yes. That familiar refrain. “And what if you don’t want to? What if, like me, you have no interest in God?”

Zandakar looked baffled. “Want?
Wei want, Dexterity. All obey
chalava .”

Lowering the spoon, he considered that for a moment. Considered what Hettie had told him about the god of Mijak.
I wish I could tell him. He believes in a lie . “Zandakar, does
everyone in Mijak believe in your god? I mean, is there no-one in Mijak who thinks there
is no god?”

From the look on Zandakar’s face it was a stupid question. “You
wei believe sky, Dexterity? You
wei believe sun? Moons? Stars?
Chalava like that. Every day Mijak people see
chalava in
chalava-chaka . They see, they obey.
Wei obey,
chalava smites.”

Chalava and Marlan seem to have much in common. Thinking about it, he supposed it made sense that Zandakar and his people never questioned their god’s existence.
If I’d grown up seeing miracles on a daily basis …

He nodded. “I understand.”

“Like people of Ethrea now,” Zandakar persisted, anxious to make his point. “Dexterity is
chalava-chaka for Ethrea god,
zho? ”

“
Zho . I am.”
Unfortunately . “But my God is not a god of smiting, Zandakar. God doesn’t kill those who disobey.”

Clearly Zandakar wasn’t impressed. He muttered something under his breath in his own mysterious tongue.

“What was that?” he said.

Zandakar scowled. “Ethrea god like Rhian. Soft.
Wei smiting. You want Zandakar be
chalava-hagra ? How be
chalava-hagra Zandakar
wei smite?”

Dexterity’s head was pounding unmercifully again. He’d have to ask Ursa for another posset when she returned. She’d nag him and nag him and most likely rail at Rhian … “I don’t know. We mustn’t speak of that, Zandakar. Someone might hear. Let’s worry about what we’re facing at the moment, shall we? That’s enough to be going on with, there’s no need to borrow—”

The van’s doors pushed open again, revealing Ursa. “Well, well,” she said, staring at Zandakar. “Look who the cat dragged in.”

“Ursa,” said Zandakar, and stood.

“Oh, you remember?” she said, sniffing. “I suppose I should be flattered.”

“Yatzhay,” said Zandakar. “Must go.” He pressed a fist to his heart. “Dexterity.”

“
Zho . You be careful. Remember what I said.”

“What was that about?” asked Ursa as Zandakar closed the doors behind him, leaving them alone.

“Nothing. He stopped by to chat.”

She snorted. “Zandakar? Chatting? That’ll be the day.” Then she poked at his abandoned stew bowl. “Jones, what’s this? Haven’t I told you enough times? You have to
eat .”