The Godspeaker Trilogy (67 page)

Dinsy gathered up the rejected jewellery. “Is there anything else you need from me, Highness?”

“Actually … yes,” she said, feeling her heart thud. “After my meeting with the council I’ll have another errand for you to run.”

Dinsy nodded. “To Mr Jones, Highness?”

“Yes. You’re willing?”

“Always, Highness.”

“God bless you, Dinsy,” she said, her voice not quite steady. “I’d be in sore straits if it wasn’t for you.”

“You’re the king’s true daughter, Highness,” said Dinsy, softly. “And a beautiful lady. I’d do anything for you.”

Again, she had to blink back tears. “I’ll leave the note for you in the usual place. Make sure the ladies don’t see you fetch it and be certain not to draw attention to yourself as you leave the castle. Slip out quietly and don’t stay away longer than you need.”

It was the same warning she gave every time there was a message for Mr Jones. Dinsy, to her credit, didn’t sigh or roll her eyes even though she’d heard it five times before.

Instead she nodded, all eager earnestness. “Yes, Your Highness. Must I wait for an answer?”

“Not this time. Just hurry straight back.”

Dinsy bobbed a curtsy. “I’ll do that, never worry.”

Of course she’d worry. The consequences of discovery were too terrible to dwell on. How I hate you, Marlan, for making me risk this child . “You’ve never asked what this is about.”

Her privy maid shrugged. “You’d tell me if I needed to know.”

Impulsively, she clasped Dinsy’s hand. “I wish I could tell you, but I daren’t. I can promise you this, though. It’s important. It’s for the kingdom. For Ethrea. You believe me?”

“I believe you, Highness,” said Dinsy. “And I trust you, too. I know you’d never do anything to hurt this land or its people.”

The girl’s simple declaration of faith was humbling. “I must go. The council is waiting.”

“Yes, Highness.”

She pulled a face. “Wish me luck.” God knows I need it .

“Oh yes, Highness. All the luck in the world,” said Dinsy, fierce as a tabby cat with one lone kitten. “And mind you don’t let them fine lords browbeat you, Princess Rhian. You’re King Eberg’s daughter and they shouldn’t forget it.”

“They won’t, if I have anything to say about it. Thank you, Dinsy.”

With a last glance in the mirror—gracious, she did look like her mother—Rhian swept from her apartments and made her way to the council chamber, head high and chin tilted, with the heavy ruby dragon’s eyes swaying regally in her ears.

Marlan sighed, steepling his fingers before him on the council table. “My lords, I was under the impression we had settled the question of Lord Rulf’s candidacy.”

“Settled? We’ve barely scratched its surface,” said Lord Harley, the intransigent. “Eberg died before we could properly consider your … interesting suggestion. Now that the official mourning period is ended and this council is meeting again, we need to address the issue before matters progress.”

One swift glance around the table showed Marlan that the cursed Lord Harley was not alone in his sentiment. He nodded. “Very well. Though I should remind you that the princess herself accepted Rulf as a potential husband.”

“Her father was dying,” said Harley. “Grief does strange things to the mind. Anyway, she’s a child. She’s not equipped to make that kind of decision. That’s what we’re for.”

If he allowed his temper to show, Harley would have a victory. Shuttering his eyes, smoothing his expression, he nodded again. “Very well. Let us settle this once and for all. Am I to understand you dispute my right to nominate any candidate?”

“You’re not a duke, Prolate,” said Harley, his wide smile wolfish. “You don’t belong to one of this kingdom’s founding families. You—”

“I am a Duke of the Church. My duchy is Ethrea. My concern is for—”

“Yourself,” said Harley.

“Do not insult me by suggesting the dukes are not eager to see their fortunes raised with a crown!”

Harley leaned forward. “I don’t. But at least the dukes’ candidates have breeding to recommend them. This former ward of yours, lord or not he’s a nobody . An orphaned sprig of an insignificant House fallen into obscurity. How can you think he is worthy to be king?”

“True, Harley,” he agreed, nodding. “Unlike you, Rulf cannot claim a duke for his brother. But my former ward is hardly bereft of noble qualities. Enough to satisfy King Eberg of his suit, before his passing.”

Harley sat back. “We only have your word for that.”

Silence, as the other councillors stared at the man, their mouths hanging open. Doubtless it was what they all were thinking … but only Harley was rash enough to say it.

Marlan let his fingertips rest quietly, one against the other. “Perhaps I misheard you, my lord. Or do you indeed imply that I—”

“This is the king’s council chamber,” said Harley, shoving to his feet. “ We are the King’s Council. You’re its titular head, Marlan, but you’re not the king. Outside this room, you are God’s prolate, with the authority to speak in his name, to chastise your Church subordinates, to lay down his law to them and the people of this kingdom. Inside this room we are all the same. God’s law is not Ethrea’s law, and was never designed to be so. Eberg, God bless him, made sure that would remain the case.”

Marlan smiled. “Then if we are equal, my lord, you cannot protest if, as a king’s councillor, I nominate a candidate for Rhian’s hand.”

Henrik Linfoi, the old fool, cleared his throat. “Harley, sit down. Remember who we are and the duty laid upon us.”

Glowering, Harley sat.

“You’re right, Marlan,” Linfoi continued, with every civility. “As a councillor you are free to nominate. But let us not forget that Rhian is a ward of the Church and you’re the Church’s most senior official.”

He spread his hands wide. “You’re suggesting I would place undue pressure on the girl?”

Lord Niall snorted. “It’s not inconceivable.”

“It is to me,” he said. “Are you saying I have tried to influence her?”

“Not yet,” said Harley. His face burned a dull red. “Eberg died and threw a caltrop in your path. You’ve been too busy pulling its points out of your foot to pressure the girl and anyway, she’s been shut up in the castle. But she steps back into the world today. A world full of foreign ambassadors eager to know who’ll be the next king. I tell you I’m sick to death of falling over them, they want to know who it’ll be worse than I do! But until we can trust that you aren’t—”

“All we want, Marlan,” said Lord Porpont quickly, with a spiked glare at Harley, “is your assurance that as prolate you won’t influence the princess’s choice of a king.”

“It’s not an unreasonable request, Marlan,” added Lord Volant. “We’d demand the same of each other, should any of us have a similar advantage.”

Marlan stared. “Request? Demand? Which is it, my lords?”

Another silence, punctuated by more spiky glares and sneaking glances.

“Stop playing games, Marlan,” said Porpont. “Will you agree or won’t you?”

“Before I answer that there is still the matter of Lord Harley’s outrageous accusation. Am I to let that pass unchallenged?”

Henrik Linfoi raised his hand. “Lord Harley misspoke himself. If you say King Eberg approved in principle of Lord Rulf’s inclusion then we of course accept your word on that. Just as we accept your word you’ll not pressure Rhian to accept his suit.” He looked around the table. “Is that not so, my lords?”

A grudging chorus of murmurs, signifying assent.

“And you, Marlan. You’re agreeable to that? And you further agree to abide by Princess Rhian’s decision, even if it does not favour your former ward?”

She’ll make no decisions I do not approve of . “Yes, my lord. I gladly agree.”

“Then the matter’s settled,” said Linfoi. “Secretary Lord Dester has recorded our deliberations, and they are entered in the official council journal. I think we should move on now. Her Highness will be joining us soon.”

Niall said, scowling, “What about his nephew?”

Another chorus of murmurs, this time complaining.

“If you’re referring to Chaplain Helfred you have nothing to fear,” said Marlan, smiling blandly. “He is bound by his oath before the Living Flame to abjure all worldly desires and ambitions. He has no interest in politics. All he cares for is Rhian’s spiritual health.”

“And it’s no secret the girl barely tolerates him,” added Lord Porpont. “You’re mad, Niall, if you think she’ll pay the least attention to anything that fribble says. Helfred’s harmless. He couldn’t coerce a dog to scratch fleas.”

In silence Marlan watched his fellow councillors smile and nod, as though sneering at the prolate’s flesh and blood were nothing to fear.

When Rulf is king in name, and I in fact, we’ll see who laughs then … and who is chastened.

The chamber doors swung open, admitting a courtier. He bowed. “My lords, Her Highness the Princess Rhian, as requested.”

Rhian entered the council room. She looked magnificent. As one man, the other councillors rose to their feet.

Marlan remained seated. She was only a girl. Soon enough she would wear a crown, true. A thing of tin, without any power. In the grand scheme of things she would kneel to him.

“My lords,” she said, and swept them an elaborate obeisance. “You desired my presence, so I have come.”

Marlan frowned. She was suspiciously meek. He would never trust her, this ill-advisedly educated girl. “Have a seat, Your Highness,” he invited, indicating the table’s one empty chair. “I think we can discuss state matters in comfort.”

She curtsied a second time. “Prolate Marlan,” she said, and took her place among the councillors, sitting so straight they could have hung a sail upon her and weighed anchor.

Marlan felt his skin prickle. He deeply mistrusted the glint in her eyes.

“Princess Rhian, in deference to your grief and the protocols of mourning this council has not pressed you in the matter of your marriage,” he said. “And were you any ordinary girl still no pressure would be brought to bear. But you are extraordinary, therefore we must put aside delicate considerations and address the needs of the kingdom, which this council holds in trust for God.”

She nodded. “Of course, Prolate Marlan.” She looked at each face around the table, her eyes wide and guileless, a portrait of sincerity. “A royal princess belongs to herself last … and the kingdom first. My father, God bless him, taught me that from the cradle.”

“So you accept it’s time to choose a husband?” said Lord Linfoi.

“Perfectly,” she said, the portrait of compliance. “Indeed, I’m eager to do so. I can think of no better way to honour my father’s memory. During my seclusion I have been considering each name on your list. Unfortunately …”

Marlan straightened, as the lords exchanged sharp glances. “Unfortunately what, Highness?”

Rhian sighed, her blue eyes cast demurely down. “My lords, I regret to inform you I’m having trouble reaching a decision.”

Lord Porpont rapped his knuckles on the table. “And why is that? I’m told you pride yourself as a young lady of acumen. If that is not vainglorious boasting you must know your choice can be delayed no longer. Do you think to play coy with us? Hold us to ransom for a name more to your liking, though it bring Ethrea into disrepute?”

Marlan watched Henrik Linfoi fold down his mouth in restrained displeasure. Watched Rhian’s heavy ruby earrings flash fire as a muscle tightened along her jaw. Watched the heavy ruby necklace prism light blood-red as she brought her breathing under control.

“King Eberg taught me many things, Lord Porpont,” she said. “But being coy wasn’t one of them. My lords, I ask you to consider my position. Five men—well, four men and a boy—are given me as candidates for my hand. I’m a little familiar with all save Lord Rulf, whom I’d not met before the king’s funeral. Indeed, I don’t believe I ever knew he existed.”

Lord Harley snorted. “You know what you need to know. We have selected them, they are therefore suitable.”

“But one must be more suitable than the rest,” said the princess. “If the king …” Without warning her voice hitched, and her eyes were brighter in the filtering light. Was she play-acting? It was hard to tell … “If Papa and I had been granted the time to consider your list together I wouldn’t feel so uncertain now. Papa would’ve helped me make the right choice. With him gone …”

Marlan stirred. “God will help you make the right decision. You must pray, Your Highness, until God makes his wishes known.” With Helfred’s guidance, of course. Prompted by himself.

Rhian clasped her hands. “Oh, Prolate Marlan, God bless you for saying so. You’re an answer to my prayers.”

It wasn’t the response he’d been expecting. He steepled his fingers again and considered her closely. “How so?”

Instead of replying, she turned again to the council. “My lords, I want to do what’s right for Ethrea. I want to allay the qualms of the foreign ambassadors so they might tell their own kings and queens and emperors and chieftains that Ethrea continues as safe and untroubled as it ever did. I want to give Ethrea a boy-child to be king. But to do that, I must make the right choice of husband.”

“How can we help you, Rhian?” said Linfoi.

“Give me leave to withdraw from Kingseat, my lords. I wish to sequester myself in the clerica at Todding. Such holy surroundings must surely help me hear God clearly. And while I’m there, I can meet with those of you who’ve presented me with a candidate for king and we can talk of them discreetly, with God as our witness.” She smiled. “For while I’m sure your candidates are admirable in their particular ways, no man is perfect. I’d like to know a little of their … imperfections, too. And doubtless you’d feel more comfortable disclosing their shortfalls in private.”

The princess sat back, hands neatly folded in her lap. Everything about her was meek and mild, sweet as milk, the very essence of gentility. Marlan felt the blood pound in his veins.

I have never known her to be so docile. She is up to something. She seeks to circumvent me.

Of course it was Linfoi who first added his support for the notion. “If it was a short retreat I can’t think of a reason to forbid it. As you say, the holy cloisters are conducive to clear thought and receiving guidance from God.”