The Godspeaker Trilogy (120 page)

“I’ll be there directly, Edward,” she told her duke. “And Edward—”

He straightened out of his bow. “Majesty?”

“Thank you. Accepting me as your sovereign hasn’t been easy, I know. But you’ve honoured the law. You’ve honoured right above ambition. Assuming I’m still queen by the end of the day, I promise I’ll not forget it.”

He cleared his throat, roughly. “This is God’s will, Your Majesty. You’re Eberg’s daughter. If your name was Robert instead of Rhian none of this would be happening. And you’ve shown us all that you’re pluck to the backbone. I follow you gladly, and so will my House.”

“Thank you, Edward. That means a great deal.”

“As for marrying Linfoi,” added Edward. “You made the right choice. I only offered Shimon because I didn’t have anyone else. Never thought you’d choose him. He’s a little boy … and a pain in the arse.”

That surprised a shout of laughter from her. “Oh, Edward! That’s outrageous!”

“I know,” he said, grinning. “But it’s true.” He sobered. “I’ll tell the king to expect you.”

The door closed behind him and she was alone. She looked around the plain panelled dining room, witness to a thousand passing travellers. It wasn’t a chapel but it would have to do. She knelt, and bowed her head.

“I don’t have Helfred to lead the Litany,” she murmured. “And believe it or not, God, it doesn’t feel right to say it without him. But if you love me, never tell him I said so.”

A warm silence settled over her, easing the tension singing through her bones.

“God, you sent Zandakar to save me and Dexterity to light my way. I have to believe that means I can be queen, that I can be a good queen, even with my myriad faults. Today I’ll face my greatest test. My greatest enemy. A man who wishes me such ill. A man who professes to speak with your voice, to interpret your wishes. He’s a liar. We both know that. Please, I beg you, let the world know it too.”

The warm silence cradled her. She felt for a moment like a little girl again, settled on her father’s lap with his strong arms around her, holding her close and safe with love.

Tears filled her eyes. “Oh, Papa, I miss you. And Ranald. And Simon. How can the sun rise on a world without you in it?”

For one dark moment it seemed the resurrected loss would overwhelm her, just when she needed her bloody-minded stubbornness most. Then she felt, for an instant, lips pressed against her brow. Heard a distant voice whisper: Be strong, Rhian. Be unafraid .

“Mama?” she gasped. Lurching to her feet again, she stared around the room. It was empty. No distant voice answered. She was alone … and it was time to leave.

Stepping out to the inn’s rear courtyard, her breath was stolen by the faces waiting there. Alasdair. Edward. Rudi. Adric. Her stalwart council, a new family of a sort. Waiting with them, the miracle that was Dexterity, weak and unsteady on his feet, supported by his tart friend Ursa whose astringent advice had helped her so much.

And Zandakar. Oh, Zandakar. Her strange friend. Her unlikely saviour. The biggest mystery she’d ever met.

Behind them, the rest of her travel weary company. Soldiers and ducal retainers, plain people of Ethrea, whose simple unquestioning loyalty humbled her. What she did, she did for them.

She had no great words. A stirring speech was beyond her. All she could do was smile, her fisted hand pressed hard to her heart.

“God bless you all,” she said, her voice catching in her throat. “Let’s ride to Kingseat, shall we? We have unfinished business there.”

B
y the time it reached Kingseat capital, Rhian’s royal party had become a people’s army.

The citizens of Old Scooton were the first to join. Led by three of the township’s venerables and its entire council, the men, women and children of Old Scooton abandoned their fields, their homes, their shops, the schoolroom. On foot and on horseback, on donkeys and in carts, they fell into step behind the soldier escort and ducal retainers, shouting and laughing, fierce in their love.

“Oh, Alasdair,” Rhian whispered. “Should I send them home? If even one should get hurt on my behalf …”

“Send them home?” Riding close beside her, he took her hand and held it tightly. “You’d break their hearts. They adore you, Rhian. You are their queen and they’ve made themselves your champions. You can’t send them home. They are the best weapon you’ll ever have against Marlan and his lies.”

He was right. She knew it. And to prove it further, as they continued the journey from Old Scooton to Kingseat capital, more and more of duchy Kingseat’s people rushed to swell the ranks of her retinue. Venerables, chaplains, farmers, teachers, grocers, chandlers, fresh-faced mothers and grey-haired goodfathers, all lining the roads and laneways of duchy Kingseat to see her, to shout her name, to swear their allegiance to Rhian, Eberg’s daughter. As the royal progress swept by them they swept along with it, determined that Rhian would be their queen.

It seemed she’d been granted another miracle.

The shouting woke Dexterity, sleeping fitfully in the peddler’s van.

“What is it? What’s happening?” he mumbled, sitting up. “Ursa? Are we there?”

“Not yet,” she said, sitting on the bench reading a book. She turned the page. “Go back to sleep, Jones.”

“Sleep?” He scrubbed his hands across his stubbled face. “Who can sleep with that racket? And anyway, I’ve been sleeping for days.”

“And you’ll sleep for days more if I’ve anything to say on it.” She put the book down. “Did you see yourself in the mirror this morning? Death warmed over sideways, that’s what you look like.”

And what he felt like, despite Ursa’s nonstop physicking, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. “I’m fine. I’m much better.”

She snorted. “You’re not dead, Jones. It’s not the same thing.”

No, it wasn’t, but if he agreed with her she’d only take that for permission to continue her aggressive care of him. He wasn’t ungrateful … but he wasn’t used to her hovering, either. Wasn’t used to the fear in her eyes. It was horribly unsettling, and he’d had enough unsettlement for now.

Pushing his blanket aside, he coaxed his feet off the sleeping-shelf and onto the floor. The din outside the van was extraordinary.

“What is that, Ursa? Who’s making that noise?”

“We’ve picked up a few strays along the road.”

“A few? Sounds more like half the duchy.”

“You’re not far wrong,” she said. “The people have rallied to Rhian’s cause.”

He felt a burst of relief, warm as summer sun. “That’s good. That’s wonderful. She’s winning the fight. Don’t you think it’s wonderful?” he added, seeing Ursa’s frown.

“I suppose,” she said. “But I can’t help wondering what’ll happen when we do reach the capital. There’s soldiers there, Jones. Marlan’s there, with his cronies. I doubt he’ll think Rhian and a rabble of subjects is anything to dance a jig about.”

“He won’t attack the people. If he does that, he’s lost.”

Ursa sighed. “He might not have to, Jones. One wrong word, one shove at the wrong time … trouble’s started from less than that. I should know, I’ve had to stitch up the results.” She picked up her book, smoothed a finger along its creased spine. “No sign of Hettie, I suppose?”

He shook his head, trying to ignore the clutch of panic in his belly. She hasn’t deserted me. I’m not alone. She did say she wasn’t always able to come . “No. But I’m sure I’ll hear something if it’s important enough.”

“Of course you will,” said Ursa … but she didn’t sound convinced. Then she shook her head. “Rollin’s mercy, Jones. Can you believe the things we’ve seen and done since the day you bolted into my workshop, convinced you were victim of some exotic brain-fever?”

Could he believe them? Hardly. He’d lived them and found himself half-convinced it was a dream.

And if Hettie’s right the dream’s not over yet. There’s greater danger still looming on our horizon . The thought was enough to freeze his blood. I’m exhausted, Hettie. Please don’t ask me for anything more. Please let me go home to Otto and my toyshop. Let queens and kings and warriors shoulder Ethrea’s burdens now .

“What is it, Jones?” said Ursa, alarmed. “Are you having a spasm? Have the megrims returned?”

“No,” he said, and managed a smile. “As you say, I’m still weary. I just need more rest.”

He stretched out again and closed his eyes. Let the sound of all those people cheering Rhian wash over him, in the hope they’d wash him into sleep.

But sleep eluded him. Instead his mind raced. Rhian. Marlan. Zandakar. Garabatsas. His burden of secrets. Truths concealed, as good as lies.

Please come back, Hettie. I don’t know what to do.

Marlan stared at the hastily written note Idson had sent him, then at the garrison runner who’d brought it.

“An army ? Is the man serious ?”

The runner paled. “Eminence, I don’t know what else you’d call it. There must be thousands, all trailing the qu— Princess Rhian and her retinue. They’ll reach town within the hour.”

“They’ll do nothing of the sort,” he snapped. “Return to Idson. Tell him to assemble his soldiery across Kingsway, near Castle Bridge. I will bring the Court Ecclesiastica to join him in due course. Rhian and her rabble will be apprehended before they set foot in the township, in full sight of the castle she will never enter again.”

“Your Eminence,” said the runner, and bolted.

Marlan climbed the stairs up to the Court chamber, seething.

That bitch would challenge me with rustics? With cowherds plucked shit-stinking from the byre? I should have beaten her harder. I should have beaten her to death.

He flung open the Court chamber doors, startling the assembled Ecclesiastica.

“Brothers!” he cried dramatically. “What we feared has come to pass. Blasphemous heretical Rhian has bewitched the populace. She and her rabble approach us now intending no good works. We must ride to meet her. We must throw her in the dust!”

As one man the Court Ecclesiastica stood. As one man it shouted: “God save Prolate Marlan! May Princess Rhian burn in hell!”

“Look, Rhian,” said Alasdair, pointing. “Kingseat Castle. You’re home.”

She was already looking. She knew this rising road like her face in a mirror. Every turn, every dip, every stone, every tree. The avenue they rode along, running beside the Ethling riverlet, had been her playground from the time she sat on her first pony. She and her brothers had raced each other here through all the long hot summers of childhood.

She knew exactly when to turn her head so Kingseat Castle would fill her eyes.

Majestically cradled in the open space created by the river Eth’s splitting in two, the hereditary seat of the House of Havrell dominated the land. Its grey and cream stone blocks were bathed in bright sunshine. Its dozens of windows winked in the light. Rhian swallowed tears to see it. Was it her imagination or could she smell her mother’s gardens perfuming the breeze? No Havrell flag flew on the battlements, but she’d soon remedy that.

Some way ahead was Castle Bridge, that crossed the Ethling and led into the castle grounds. She had to breathe hard for a moment, so overwhelming was the urge to abandon her retinue, abandon her people, and send her stallion galloping over it.

I’ll sleep in my castle bed tonight. Let that sweet promise sustain me through what is to come.

Alasdair said, “Soon, my love. We’ll reclaim the castle soon. Then no man will ever force you from it again.”

She gave him a brilliant smile. “Nor woman, either. Our children will play here, Alasdair, and our children’s children. It will be our family’s home until the end of time.”

They were riding so close together he could rest his hand on her knee. “It’s nearly over,” he said softly. “Only Marlan to subdue.”

Yes. Only Marlan . “Thank you for standing with me. Thank you for believing.”

His fingers tightened, caressing. “I’ve believed in you from the first day we met.”

“I think if you didn’t,” she said, covering his hand with hers, “we wouldn’t be here.”

Trailing behind them, the brave, hardy people of Kingseat who’d refused to let weariness, blisters, thirst or heat sway them from seeing her all the way home. She loved them so much she had no words to express it. Perhaps some three thousand good souls … if it beggared her Treasury she’d find them a fit reward.

“We should stop soon,” said Alasdair. “We must decide how best to enter the town, given—”

He broke off as a shout went up behind them. It was Zandakar. “Rhian! Wei!”

She twisted round in her saddle. “What? What is it?”

He kicked his stallion alongside her. His eyes were wide, his nostrils flaring. “Rhian wei smell? Rhian wei hear? Many men! Many horses!” He pointed ahead. “There!”

Even as he spoke, the sound of a horse neighing. Another horse joined it. One of their own horses replied. Then a chorus of whinnies. Zandakar was right. Many men . The dukes jogged their own horses up to join her.

“Marlan?” said Edward, his eyes slitted, his face grim.

“It has to be,” she replied, her belly tightening.

“He doesn’t dare risk letting you into town,” said Rudi. “He knows its citizens will rally to you, just like the rest of the duchy has.”

Twisting round in her saddle again, she looked at the great horde of her subjects walking in her wake. Surely it was her duty to keep them safe.

“This is their kingdom, too, Rhian,” said Alasdair, softly. “They have the right to fight for it. They won’t thank you for denying them.”

He was right. She couldn’t deny them.

But if Marlan spills a single drop of their blood not even God will save him from my revenge …

She looked at Zandakar, silent beside her on his beloved Didijik.

I’ve missed him. I’ve missed dancing my hotas. I’ve missed laughing with him as we trained. Somehow, without meaning to, I made him my friend.

“I don’t want bloodshed if it can be avoided, Zandakar. They must be the first to offer violence, zho? ”

He nodded. “Zho.”

“Bring the rest of the escort up with my bodyguards. Do not so much as touch your blade without a sign from me.”

“ Zho, Rhian hushla, ” he said, and wheeled Didijik away.