The Godspeaker Trilogy (72 page)

A lamb leapt through her, and he sat upright in his bed.

“Hettie!” he called into the darkness. “Hettie, come back!”

She didn’t. With a shivering sigh he curled himself under his blankets. The warm deliciousness of the dream meadow was vanished. Now all he could think of was the danger Hettie had hinted at. Dark days. Zandakar.

For all he’s been behaving himself, no more thrown cups or any such nonsense, there’s a tiny part of me afraid of him. Beneath his docile surface lurks something wild … something untamed and brutal. He’s not a safe man. I just hope I can control him if …

But that was nonsense. He was being ridiculous. Hettie would never put him or Rhian in danger.

Beyond the loosely drawn curtains it was still night. There was nothing he could do until dawn broke. When the sun rose he’d put his rescue plan in motion. It wasn’t perfect, there were risks involved, but it was the best he could do. He was a toymaker, not a military strategist. He didn’t even play chess very well … though he did make a splendid chess set.

I hope Otto forgives me for leaving him behind. I hope he doesn’t forget me. But I can’t take him with me, he can’t possibly pull a peddler’s van. And Tamas’ll take grand care of him while I’m gone. He won’t have to work any harder for the apprentice than he does for the master.

Tamas had been thrilled to learn he’d be put in charge of the toymaking business while his master went on holiday for the first time in years. A good lad, Tamas, with a promising eye for carving puppets. He’d be sorry to lose the boy once his apprenticeship was done.

As for the rest, I’ll just have to trust that once Ursa and I are in the clerica things will fall out to our advantage. For if they don’t …

Smothering nerves, Dexterity closed his eyes and dozed fitfully until the sky beyond his bedroom window lightened and it was time to get up.

Standing in the kitchen, drinking tea and keeping one eye on a panful of sizzling bacon, he stared into the back garden and watched Zandakar dance his hotas for the rising sun. The man was much stronger now, far steadier on his feet. He didn’t look precisely well yet, but at least his face was no longer a death’s-head and his emaciated frame was beginning to fill out.

When he reached full strength, he’d definitely be formidable.

His hair’s growing back. I’m not sure that’s wise. Bad enough he’s got dark skin to make him stand out, but at least that’s explainable. I’ve got no hope of explaining away blue hair.

With the bacon nearly cooked he set a second pan on the hob, dropped in a chunk of butter to melt and fetched six eggs from the pantry ready to fry. Zandakar came in through the back door, sheened in sweat and lightly panting.

“Good morning, Dexterity,” he said with care. His Ethrean was improving. He had a lightning-fast mind. Looking at the hob’s two frypans, he thought for a moment then added, “Eggs and bacon for breakfast.”

Dexterity nodded. “Good morning. Yes, eggs and bacon. Well said. And tea. But bathe first.” He mimed scrubbing with a sponge. “Bathe. Zho? ”

Zandakar gave him a look. “Zho. Bathe.” He muttered something else in his own incomprehensible, tongue-twisting language. Whatever it was, Dexterity doubted it was flattering.

While Zandakar made himself presentable for the table, Dexterity cooked the eggs and served the meal on two plates. Zandakar returned and they ate in companionable silence.

“I clean kitchen,” said Zandakar when they were finished.

He nodded. “Good. And I’ll send a message to Ursa.”

“Ursa,” said Zandakar. His expression was wary. “ Wei Ursa. Zandakar wei — wei —” He slapped the table. “Aieee! Tcha!” Then he pulled a face of extreme pain and pretended to retch.

“Sick,” Dexterity said. “Zandakar wei sick.” He nodded reassuringly. “ Zho . Yes. I know. It’s all right.”

Zandakar considered him suspiciously for a moment then relaxed. “All right.”

“Yes. Zho .”

“Tcha,” said Zandakar, with another look, and got up to clear the table and do the breakfast dishes.

Dexterity fetched pen and paper and scribbled a quick note to Ursa. Must see you urgently. Come at once . Then he sealed it with a drop of wax, addressed it and fetched a pigget for the messenger.

After he’d put coin and note in the message box on his front gate and lifted its red flag so the next passing runner-boy would know to stop, he took a moment to look up and down his quiet lane. No-one was stirring yet, it was still too early.

If my neighbours knew what I was planning they’d never believe it. I hardly believe it myself.

But he only had to look at Zandakar to be reminded it was all too real. He went back inside, to wait for Ursa and soothe his jangled nerves with carving.

Helfred paced Dame Cecily’s privy chamber, wiping his damp palms down the front of his habit. Unlike his uncle’s opulent office, the dame’s official retreat was spare of decoration. A small Flame burned in its holder on one wall. That was it. She didn’t even have a portrait of Rollin anywhere. Her copy of his Admonitions, leather-bound without a hint of gilt, sat on the oak table before the window. The window was plain glass, not a stained picturesque pane to be seen. A severe woman, Dame Cecily. Strict in her faith. Strict in her oversight of this devout community. Revered and respected, it was unlikely she was loved.

Perhaps I should’ve asked her to speak with the princess. Perhaps she might’ve had better luck.

His wretched palms were damp again, and sweat trickled its short way down his spine. His uncle would be here soon. An outrider had arrived half an hour ago as he took morning tea with the dame, to warn of the prolate’s imminent arrival and request on his behalf private conversation with Her Highness’s chaplain. Dame Cecily had nodded, dismissed the outrider and left Helfred in her chamber to stew in apprehension and solitary silence.

Marlan’s going to be furious. He’s going to blame me.

Princess Rhian, despite every argument and appeal he could think of, steadfastly refused to accept Lord Rulf’s suit. She steadfastly refused to accept any suit, the dreadful girl, insisting that she needed more time.

Marlan will never agree to that. He knows what he wants and he expects to get it. Now that Eberg is dead he thinks to get everything he wants. He can’t begin to imagine she might stand in his way as did her father for nearly twenty years.

Besides, who was he to question a prolate? To decide Lord Rulf wasn’t fit to be king? What was Helfred but a lowly, powerless chaplain? If God didn’t want Rhian to marry the man surely he’d do something to prevent it. Nothing happened in the world without God’s desiring, even events as tragic and inexplicable as the deaths of Eberg and his sons.

Whimpering, he turned to the Living Flame burning in its sconce and fell face-down in extreme supplication.

“Dear God, please help me. I’ve done my best to persuade the princess but she’s not a biddable girl. Her father raised her unwisely. He put mad ideas in her head. She is far too educated for her sex. I’ve done my best to counter what she’s been taught, I swear it, but I fear the damage is done, her womanliness ruined.” He sat up and wiped his moist hands yet again down the front of his habit. “Please, God, make that clear to my uncle.”

As though words might conjure flesh he turned to the door. It remained blessedly closed. A little time yet, then, before the storm broke over his head.

Marlan won’t understand. He doesn’t seem to realise what Rhian’s like. Proud. Wilful. Stubborn. Every inch her father’s daughter. If he wanted me to have any real authority over her he should’ve made me a venerable.

The door opened without warning and his uncle entered. “Well, Helfred? What have you to say?”

He scrambled awkwardly to his feet. “Prolate Marlan,” he said, his thumb pressed to his thudding heart and then his dry lips. “God save Your Eminence.”

The devout acting as escort bowed her head and withdrew, closing the door. Marlan, his eyes cool and calculating, clasped his hands before him. “God save you, Helfred, if you disappoint me.”

Helfred swallowed. I just have to tell him. There’s no pretty bow to tie around this harsh truth . “Forgive me, Your Eminence. The princess remains … unpersuaded.”

“I see,” said his uncle. Todding was well over an hour’s ride from the capital on a fit, fast horse but he looked unweary. Immaculate. His robust travelling vestments were untouched by sweat or dust or any sign of the road. Despite his age he never seemed to feel fatigue. His body was lean, unblemished by fat. He had ten times the energy of any younger man. He liked to say, God’s strength is mine. The divine power moves me. How can I falter when his will runs through my veins?

Helfred stepped back. “Please. You must believe me. I have toiled ceaselessly on your behalf, extolling Lord Rulf’s virtues for hours at a time.” And in doing so had he perjured himself? He was so afraid he had. Dear God, forgive me . “Armed with your privy information, Eminence, I have pointed out to the princess the true flaws and shortcomings of the dukes’ candidates, making sure to paint them in the most unflattering light. I have reminded the princess more times than I can count of her duty to you, Ethrea’s supreme spiritual advisor. In short I have used every method of persuasion I can think of. Still she is not moved.”

Marlan smiled. “Not every method, Helfred.” He opened the door. “Come.”

Uncertain, Helfred followed his uncle through the halls of the clerica. Every devout they passed dropped in a deep curtsy. Marlan nodded but never once looked at a face.

The only face he sees is God’s. The rest of us are just … scenery, I think.

He risked a question. “Eminence, do we go to the princess? Do you know where she is?”

“She waits in the privy chapel,” said Marlan. “Dame Cecily has advised me.”

And where was the dame now? Marlan strode through this place as though it were the Prolates Palace, as though every brick and tile and pane of stained glass were his personal possession.

I suppose they are, really. He is the prolate after all.

The dame had given excellent directions. His uncle found the privy chapel without a single wrong turn. Rhian was in there … and so was Dame Cecily. Both women shifted round on their knees as he and his uncle entered the quiet, incensed chamber.

“Leave us, Dame,” said Marlan at his most austere.

Dame Cecily bowed her head. “Your Eminence,” she murmured, and withdrew from the chapel with her gaze downcast. It was astonishing to see. Marlan’s crackling aura of power had extinguished her entirely.

Princess Rhian did not wait to be commanded onto her feet. As the privy chapel’s door closed behind Dame Cecily she rose in a single smooth motion, letting her simple linen skirts fall around her as they may. Her riotous black hair was contained within a modest, unjewelled net, baring her fine facial bones for admiration. Her dark blue gaze was steady, her pointed chin lifted high. She was the epitome of beautiful, self-contained royalty … but Helfred could see the throttled fear behind her haughty mask.

“I was praying,” she said, her tone curt. “You’ve disturbed me, Eminence. I hope for a good reason.”

Helfred bit the inside of his cheek, and tasted blood. You stupid child. Don’t bait him like that. Can’t you see the dangerous mood he’s in? He tried to warn her with a glaring stare but she wasn’t looking at him. She never looked at him if she could help it. She never hid, either, her impatient contempt. Once it had hurt him but he was used to it now. And he never let it interfere with his battle for her soul. What kind of a chaplain would he be if the personal were permitted to dictate duty?

Marlan considered Rhian coldly. “If your late father had listened to me, girl, we would not now be in this invidious position. You may thank Eberg for what is about to transpire.”

“I see.” Rhian’s eyes glittered. “Helfred has told you I will never marry Lord Rulf.”

“Helfred has told me of your impious intransigence, yes.”

“And you think where he’s failed to persuade me you can succeed?” Unwisely, she laughed. “Then you’ve ridden a long way for naught, Eminence. Nothing you say will change my mind. I’m not interested in putting your puppet on the throne. And let’s not pretend any more, Prolate. This Lord Rulf would be your puppet.”

In the light shining through the chapel’s pretty windows, Marlan’s jewelled chain of office, containing a piece of the arrow that had slain Blessed Rollin, flashed emerald fire. His face was tranquil. His eyes were ice.

“As a minor in law and a ward of the Church you are bound to obey me, Your Highness. I stand before you in the place of your father. As you owed obedience to him while he lived, now he is dead you owe it to me.”

Helfred saw his uncle’s words strike Rhian like arrows as deadly as any that had slain a saint. She blinked. “You are not my father, Eminence. My father respected me. He loved me. He—”

“Is dead,” said Marlan. “You are mine in law. Body and soul.”

Rhian stepped back. “I belong to myself, we have no slavery in Ethrea. But if I am owned by something, I’m owned by the Crown. By my duty as the last living Havrell. This kingdom owns me, Eminence. And I won’t sell myself elsewhere because you say I must. I tell you again, I’ll never marry Lord Rulf. Have you forgotten there is more than one candidate for king?”

Marlan laughed. “You can marry no-one without the Church’s release. You are its ward, girl. How often must you be told?”

For the first time the princess looked uncertain. “Are you saying you’ll refuse me permission to wed any man but Lord Rulf? The council won’t permit that.”

Marlan shrugged. “The council has no say in spiritual matters. Whoever you choose, girl, will have his soul examined most closely. I think I can say with surety that only Rulf’s soul is clean enough to be crowned.”

Helfred flinched. That is a misuse of power. Can God desire this? I find it hard to believe …

“Marlan, you’re perfidious,” said Rhian, pale with temper. “You’re an insult to the God you claim to revere. You make me want to vomit, you—”

“Be silent!” hissed Marlan, seizing her jaw between his fingers, forcing her face up so she looked into his. “You impious slut. You say you were praying when I entered this room of God? I doubt you know the meaning of the word. You are a prideful sinner, puffed up with conceit. You think you know more of God’s will than his chosen prolate? God forgive you. How far you have strayed.”