The Godspeaker Trilogy (61 page)

“Jones, he could be anything . All you know about him is his name!”

No. After last night he knew more than that. Zandakar was a soul in torment. Is that why I rescued him, Hettie? Have you become a soft touch, too? He shook his head. “If you’re worried I’m in some kind of danger, having him here, you mustn’t be. I’m perfectly safe.”

Ursa was frowning. “Yes. For now. While he’s weak as a kitten and I’m keeping him drugged. But once he’s got a bit more meat on his bones, once he’s on his feet again and his strength returns, that could be another story. Have you looked at him, Jones? Really looked at him, I mean, beyond the superficial wounds and emaciation? He’s formidable. Or he will be once he’s himself again. And the only formidable thing about you is your appetite.”

Dear Ursa. For some odd reason she was convinced he was helpless. “I don’t believe I’m in any danger, Ursa. Once we’re a little closer to understanding each other, Zandakar and I will rub along quite well.”

She snorted. “Because Hettie said you would?”

Hettie hadn’t said that exactly, but he wasn’t going to admit it to Ursa. “That’s right.”

“Then I hope for your sake she’s whispered in his ear too, Jones! Because if that heathen takes it into his head to swat you like a mosquito how are you going to stop him? Wave a puppet in his face and hope he laughs himself to death?”

“Oh, Ursa, I’ll be fine . Stop fussing . And anyway, as you say, he’s too weak at the moment to do anything but sleep. There’s plenty of time, isn’t there, before he’s formidable?”

“Yes,” said Ursa, after a reluctant pause. “Several weeks.”

“Then I won’t worry just yet. When he wakes should I offer him more gruel? Or maybe a little mouthful of stew?”

She got up. “No, not stew. Not unless you want to kill him. You say he refused to eat anything last night?”

Troubled, Dexterity stirred the carrots into the pot with a wooden spoon. “Yes.”

“And what else?” said Ursa. She sounded suspicious. “What haven’t you told me? I know you, Jones. I know that look.”

He glanced up, then busied himself with pinching salt into the pot. “If I tell you, you’ll only scold me for getting involved .”

“Maybe I will, and maybe I won’t. But whatever else he is or isn’t, this Zandakar is my patient,” said Ursa, hands braced firmly on her narrow hips. “It’s my business to know everything about him.”

Now he added a pinch of pepper to the leeks and carrots and barley and meat. “I don’t think he refused because he wasn’t hungry. He was thirsty enough. He drank the water I offered him like a drain.”

“Why, then?”

He sprinkled some dry herbs into the pot then settled its lid firmly in place. “You’ll think I’m imagining things.”

“Jones!”

Defiant, he stared at her. “All right then. I thought, when I was looking at him, perhaps he doesn’t want to live.”

“You think he wants to starve himself to death?”

“Yes. Maybe.” He shook his head again. “You didn’t see him, waking from that dream. Whatever he’s lost— whoever he’s lost—I tell you plain, there is agony in him. The kind of pain that …”

“Jones,” said Ursa. Not scolding, but kind. “I have no doubt this Zandakar has suffered. I’m sure he has memories that are difficult to bear. But you must realise—”

“No!” he said fiercely. “Ursa, please. I’m not imagining what I saw. The look in his eyes was the look in my own for a long time after I lost Hettie. Believe me. I understand him.”

Now Ursa looked disconcerted. “Are you telling me—”

“No. Even on the worst days I never considered doing away with myself. But I confess, there were times I went to bed hoping I wouldn’t wake up.”

Ursa cleared her throat. “You never told me.”

“You never guessed?”

“No. Jones …”

“Ursa, it’s all right,” he said quickly, sorry that he’d told her. “It’s not your fault. I didn’t want you to know. Besides, what could you have done? No-one could help me recover from Hettie’s death. I had to find a reason to live for myself.”

“And you did,” said Ursa, with an uncertain smile.

“Yes. I did. Hopefully Zandakar will find a reason too. And if there’s the smallest chance I can help him do that, then I must. I’m sorry if you don’t approve, but I don’t recall asking for your permission.”

“No. Just my time and physicking skills,” she retorted.

He winced. “True. And I’m grateful.”

“So you should be!”

“Ursa …” He sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to worry you. But you have to know I’ve no choice but to do this.”

She let out her own gusty sigh. “I do. Just as I’ve got no choice but to try and save you from yourself. A fool’s errand, I admit. So best call me a fool.”

He went to her and kissed her cheek. “Never. I call you my dear friend.”

Displays of affection never failed to embarrass her. She swatted his shoulder and retrieved her bag. “I’m off. I’ll stop by again this evening to see how Zandakar’s getting on.”

“Stop by for supper. Mutton stew’s still your favourite, isn’t it?”

“It is,” she said, smiling. “So perhaps I’ll see you—if I don’t get a better offer in the meantime.”

He opened the kitchen door for her. “While you’re out and about, would you mind stopping by the shop and letting Tamas know he’s on his own today? Tell him I’ve a belly gripe. And tell him he’s to finish painting that farm set by closing or I’ll not give him his ’prentice due this week.”

She nodded. “All right, Master Jones.”

“And mind you keep an ear open for news from the castle. I’m still worried about the princess, and the king. I know in my bones he’s much worse than they’re saying.”

“In your bones?” said Ursa, scoffing. “In your water, more like. Now let me on my way, I’ve patients to see… and your errands to run!”

He stood back from the door. “Till this evening, then. Mind you bring a sharp appetite to match your sharp tongue.”

She rolled scornful eyes at him and marched away.

Actuely aware of all the courtiers eavesdropping in plain sight, Rhian took a moment to ensure her voice was calm and composed. “Forgive me, Physick Ardell. Perhaps I’m being stupid but I’m not entirely certain what it is you’re saying.”

Ardell stroked a thin finger across his moustache, an irritating habit. More a mannerism, really, designed to give the impression of profound, wise thought. It didn’t.

“Stupid, Your Highness? Dear me. Not at all.” As always, the physick spoke in a ripe, portentous baritone. It was even more irritating than his incessant moustache-grooming. “I’m sure you’re a very clever young lady. But this is a difficult time for you. Grief often clouds the intellect. It is nothing to be shamed by.”

They stood in the antechamber to her father’s privy room. They’d arrived here together, she and Ardell, but when she’d attempted to accompany him to see her father he’d made her wait outside with the courtiers for company while he went in alone. All right. That wasn’t unreasonable, a physick consulting with his patient in private.

But the consultation was over now. And still he insisted she couldn’t go in.

“Thank you, but my intellect is clear as crystal,” she snapped. “I fully comprehend the fragile state of His Majesty’s health. What I don’t comprehend, since it’s been fragile for some time, is why I’m suddenly unable to sit with him.”

“Physick Ardell is acting under my instructions,” said Lord Dester, sweeping through the open doorway. The attending courtiers hurriedly bowed; unlike herself, the council secretary positively thrived on ostentatious displays of obsequious recognition.

The bow he gave her was distinctly … reserved.

“ Your instructions, my Lord Secretary?” she said, and let her voice bite. “Since when do you presume to—”

“Since His Majesty formally relinquished his sovereignty to the council,” said Dester. He was positively gloating. His eyes were obscene.

“Relinquished his sovereignty?” No. This had to be a mistake. Or a bluff. “I don’t believe you, my lord. Papa would never —”

“He did,” said Dester. “Before the required five witnesses.” His teeth bared in a deprecating smile. “Of which I was one and Prolate Marlan another. The matter is settled, I assure you, quite properly.”

Her father’s spacious antechamber was suddenly crowded and overwarm. Tilting her chin, because it was fatal to reveal any kind of weakness before men like Dester, Rhian poured every ounce of royalty she had into her voice. “This is unacceptable. I am His Majesty’s sole living heir. Why wasn’t I sent for? Why wasn’t I informed? Consulted? I—”

Exquisitely supercilious, Dester’s right eyebrow lifted. “Because, Rhian, such matters are not your concern.”

Not her concern ? With an effort, she managed not to strike him. The omission of her rank was a deliberate slight. He thinks he no longer needs to worry about things like that. He must discover he’s sorely mistaken . “My dear Lord Dester, you—”

“The king, may God bless him, knew he could no longer perform his duty,” said Dester. Clearly, he was determined she should never finish a sentence. “In the early hours of this morning he sent for the prolate who immediately recognised the need for haste and assembled the necessary witnesses and documents. His Majesty signed them, they were duly countersigned and shortly afterwards the king lapsed into a stupor.”

The words washed over her like so much bilge water. No. I don’t believe any of it. If Papa’s done this thing it’s because he was coerced. He would’ve asked for me, he would’ve wanted to see me first. We’re supposed to consider the council’s list of my suitors. He promised to support me in my choice so the councillors couldn’t bully me into a decision that favoured one of them. He wouldn’t want me to face that on my own. He wouldn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.

“Even if what you’re saying is true,” she said, glaring at Dester, “that doesn’t explain why I can’t see him now.”

“Now, Your Highness, your presence is required elsewhere. You may rest assured you will be permitted some time with him before the end. Which won’t be long, according to Ardell.”

“No,” said the physick, just like a trained parrot. “Not long at all, it saddens me to say.”

Permitted? Now the antechamber was gently rocking. Her whole world was rocking, its anchor torn free. “This is ridiculous. I am the king’s daughter . Who are you to—”

“Your Highness,” said Ardell, with a glance at Dester. “Even if his lordship did not need you, I’m afraid the king’s condition cannot allow for any … commotion, at the moment.”

She stared at the fool. “You said he was in a stupor.”

“A fragile stupor, yes,” said the physick. “At long last His Majesty is free of suffering. But that could change if the atmosphere in his chamber becomes polluted with heightened emotions.”

“What are you saying? That if I go in there upset he might wake? Good! Let him wake! I want him awake, I want him to speak to me, we have matters of vital importance to discuss, matters of government that don’t concern you , sir.” She turned. “Or you , Lord Dester, no matter what you like to think.”

“What you want is not important,” said Dester. “The moment His Majesty relinquished his sovereignty you became a ward of the Church. It is on Marlan’s authority I come here to fetch you. And it is to him you will answer if you disobey.”

This isn’t happening . Rhian clasped her hands behind her back so Dester wouldn’t see them trembling. “Before I go anywhere I wish to see the paper my father signed.”

“Prolate Marlan anticipated as much,” said Dester, and slid his fingers beneath his velvet and brocade coat. When he withdrew them he was holding a square of folded official parchment. “This is your copy. The prolate made certain one was created for you. As you’ll see, the signature is genuine.”

She took the paper from him, mortified that her hands were still unsteady. Blinking hard, she unfolded the document, then let her eyes rest on the words it contained.

Be it known that I, King Eberg, lawful sovereign of Ethrea, being cognisant of my imminent demise, do hereby and without coercion surrender my sovereignty to the care of my Council, headed by Prolate Marlan, and my daughter Rhian to the Church as its ward. Pray for my soul as I pray that God will guide my good councillors in the best interests of my beloved Ethrea and my daughter, Rhian.

Below the brief declaration, a familiar signature. Erratic, cruelly echoing the illness of its writer, but without any doubt … genuine.

Oh, Papa. Papa. What have you done?

The parchment crumpled as she clenched her fist.

“Any questions you have, you may pose them to the council,” said Dester. “It awaits you now, Rhian. Among other things there is the matter of your marriage to discuss.”

Her eyes were still dry. She lifted them to Dester, making no attempt to disguise her rage and disgust. “My marriage ? Do you think I care about that, my lord? My father is dying and I am forbidden his side. There will be no talk of marriage until I have seen him and wept for him and settled in my own mind how I feel about the question of a husband.”

Dester’s expression chilled. “You don’t have that luxury. We do not speak of a common husband. We speak of Ethrea’s king.”

“Ethrea has a king!” she shouted, and held up the crumpled abdication. “This paper means nothing, you stupid man! Not to me and I promise you not to the people of my father’s kingdom! He’ll be their king till he draws his last breath and I won’t betray him by discussing his inferior replacement before he’s even dead !”

The antechamber’s courtiers were goggling. She had no doubt that word of this confrontation would be all over the castle by nightfall.

Good. Let them whisper. My God, let them shout. What’s happening here is infamous. Marlan must’ve gone mad. The thought of so much power at his fingertips has deranged his reason.

Dester stepped close and took her arm in his fingers. He touched her. Without permission. As though he had nothing to fear. “It is you who are stupid,” he said, his voice low and threatening. “You have lost, girl. Eberg has relinquished his crown, for all the power he has now he might as well be dead. You belong to the council, Rhian. Persist in this pointless resistance and you will regret it. That is a promise I am eager to keep.”