The Godspeaker Trilogy (98 page)

“A canny bird who’s squawking about the princess,” said Ludo, torn between amusement and concern. “She’s still refusing to leave the clerica. He says the council’s about at daggers-drawn over it. Marlan’s defending her right to religious retreat for all he’s worth.” Ludo pulled a face. “It’d be easier to believe in his protestations if he didn’t have a man he wanted her to marry.”

Alasdair stared at his hands. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” said Ludo. “You’ve not erased Rhian from your heart yet, have you?”

It was an astute observation, surprising from Ludo. Though he was two years older, Ludo oftentimes seemed the younger of them. He had a roving eye and a rollicking sense of humour. He was unmarried and showed no sign of repenting. Like a bee taking pollen he supped from this blossom, then from that. But never so deeply as to mire himself in scandal, he was too wily to get caught compromised in the wrong bed. His father Henrik was old-fashioned, and so was duchy Linfoi. Not even a ranking noble could flout moral convention with impunity.

“Don’t fret on her, Alasdair,” Ludo added. “If you loved once, you’ll love again. And even if you don’t you still must marry. A duke must have a duchess, at least in the beginning.”

Alasdair nodded. “Yes. I’m glad you can see that.” He looked up. “Ludo, I am married. I’ve married Rhian.”

Ludo’s jaw dropped, the look on his face comical.

I might even laugh at it if this were not so serious.

“But you can’t have, Alasdair,” Ludo protested. “Eberg forbade it. And anyway, she’s in a clerica at Todding.”

“No, she’s upstairs actually. Taking a morning bath.”

His cousin nearly fell out of his chair. “She’s here ?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve married her?”

“Yes.”

With an effort Ludo regained his composure. “Does my father know?”

“We thought it safest not to tell him. Secret letters don’t always remain secret.”

“No,” said Ludo. He sounded dazed. “Well, you always did love the wench.” He shook himself. “And the council doesn’t know? What about Marlan?”

“We’re sure he knows she’s escaped the clerica and for his own reasons is keeping the news to himself. He knows Rhian will have no choice but to show herself, sooner or later. He’ll make his move against her then.”

“But—but Alasdair, ” said Ludo, torn between astonishment and shouting. “How can you have married her? She’s a ward of the Church!”

“We received a dispensation. Ludo—”

But Ludo wasn’t listening. Shoving out of the comfortable armchair, he ranged about the library, the heel of one hand pressed to his brow. “Good God ! Do you know what this means? If you’ve married Rhian that makes you the—”

“King,” said Alasdair. “Yes. I do realise.”

Ludo spun around. “Alasdair!”

He felt himself smile. “Ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“Ridiculous?” Ludo flung his arms in the air. “It’s—it’s—is it legal ?”

“I’m told it is, yes.”

“Told?” Ludo stared. “Told by whom?”

Ludo had to know all of it. He and Rhian had agreed on that yesterday, as they’d talked through the implications and consequences of their marriage. If Ludo was to take his place as duke he had to know it all and support their decisions. “Chaplain Helfred. He’s the divine who dispensed with the Church wardship and married us. Ludo … he’s Marlan’s nephew.”

Ludo collapsed once more in his chair. “I am speechless,” he announced. “Shocked beyond words. How in Rollin’s name did you convince the prolate’s nephew to do such a madcap thing? He’ll be stripped of his divinity and thrown into a Church prison for the rest of his days. And the council will declare the marriage invalid. It’ll have you arrested and likely executed for the rape of a royal princess!” He cleared his throat. “Ah—I take it there are grounds for a charge of—”

“There are,” Alasdair said, coolly. “But you’re assuming Rhian will allow the council any such leeway. I promise you she won’t.”

“ Rhian won’t allow—” Ludo’s jaw dropped again. “Alasdair—you don’t mean—you’re not telling me she’s—”

“I do. She is. She intends to rule in her own right.”

Ludo slumped, amazed. “A queen ruling Ethrea? It’s never been done!”

“Thank you, Ludo,” he said, his voice dry as dust. “We hadn’t considered that.”

Ludo wagged a finger at him. “There’s no point raising hackles at me, Alasdair. I’m not the one taken leave of his senses. Do you have the faintest notion what will happen when word of this spills out?”

“Surprisingly we do. Ludo, we haven’t acted on a whim. We know there will be loud opposition from men who have only their own best interests at heart. But their opposition can be no more than empty posturing. There’s no question of Rhian’s breeding, she is Eberg’s heir and I’m of undisputed noble blood. The marriage was contracted lawfully … and, being married, Rhian is lawfully queen.”

“Which makes you what, cousin? If you’re not to rule?”

“It makes me king consort,” he said quietly. “And if you think to sit there and suggest I am somehow unmanned by that, Ludo, then shame on you.”

Ludo’s cheeks flushed. “I—I— don’t, I never —Alasdair, you’re being unfair!”

“Many will say it. I just don’t want you to be one of them.”

“Well, I won’t !” said Ludo hotly, and pushed again to his feet. “And shame on you for thinking I’d be so base! We’ve been friends all our lives, Alasdair. Is this to be our first quarrel?”

“No, our sixth,” he retorted. “At the very least. Or have you conveniently forgotten the others since you lost them all to me?”

Ludo waved their previous arguments away. “I concede not a one of them. Nor will I argue with you now. You say you’re happy to be the king consort, who am I to gainsay that? You’re a man who knows his mind.”

“I’m a man who needs a duke,” he said. “Now that I’m king, duchy Linfoi’s in want of governance.”

“Me? You’ll make me duke?”

“You’re already the heir presumptive.”

“Yes, but I never thought—I never imagined —I imagined you married and siring a baby duke of your own.”

“And so I am married, Ludo. But I’ll be siring a king.” He smiled. “Or a queen, perhaps. That’s for God to decide. My concern is this duchy of Linfoi. Will you accept it from me, cousin? Will you be my loyal duke?”

All indignation and comical dismay vanished from Ludo’s face. He went down on one knee, his wide-fingered right hand pressed hard to his heart. “I will, Alasdair,” he said solemnly. “I’ll be yours until death. Only …”

“Yes, Ludo. You will have to get married.”

Ludo mimed himself arrow-shot. “God have mercy! Pierced to the heart!”

Alasdair stood and extended his hand. “You’ll survive the experience, cousin,” he said, pulling Ludo to his feet. “I hope. Though I must give you fair warning … Rhian is making a list.”

“A list?” echoed Ludo. “Of suitable damsels? You mean I can’t choose my own bride?”

He pulled a face. “It seems unlikely. I’m sorry.”

“Politics?” said Ludo, scowling. “Of course. Always politics. I should’ve married when I had the chance.”

“Yes, you should’ve. Truly, I am sorry,” he added, sincerely. “So is Rhian. She knows how it feels to be used in this way. But—”

“Don’t fret,” said Ludo. “My heart’s not given to anyone.”

“A blessing.” He stepped back. “You’ll be invested as Linfoi’s duke after the funeral. That’s when Rhian and I will tell the other dukes how things now stand.”

Ludo shook his head. “I fear we’re in for an interesting afternoon, Your Majesty.” His eyes opened wide, then. “Your Majesty,” he murmured. “Truly, it hardly feels real.”

“Not to me, either. And if we fail in placing Rhian on the throne most likely it won’t be. Not beyond these four walls.”

“Marlan will oppose you. He’ll instruct the Church to oppose you. Alasdair, I fear life will become monstrous ugly.”

“Nothing is more certain. But … I’m told I must have faith, that we proceed upon divine counsel.”

“Divine counsel?” Ludo stared. “Who told you that? This foolhardy Chaplain Helfred?”

“No. Another man. You’ll meet him presently.”

“And when do I meet your bride, Alasdair? When do I meet Rhian, Ethrea’s queen?”

“After the funeral. She’ll witness your investiture and give her seal to your elevation.”

“Which, along with your kingship, might not last beyond these four walls,” said Ludo, grimacing. “Alasdair, what will you do if the dukes refuse to recognise her? Or you? What will you do if you find yourselves alone in this?”

“With God on my side?” he said, striving for lightness. “I’d hardly call that alone .”

“Alasdair—”

“I know, Ludo. I know,” he said, his hands raised placatingly. “But even without God, I’m not alone. I have you. I trust I’ll have your father too. And I trust the other dukes, once they recognise it’s a choice between Rhian and Marlan’s puppet, will not stand against us. At least, not for long.”

“And if Marlan threatens them with the power of the Church? If he declares God is on his side? Do you trust the other dukes will stand with you then?”

Alasdair sighed. “Ludo, not counting you there are currently four dukes of Ethrea. Four men among the many thousands who live in this kingdom. Rhian is Eberg’s daughter and he was loved by the people. They will love her too. She’ll make a magnificent queen. If the people see she is persecuted by Marlan when her right to the Crown cannot be disputed they will turn against him.”

“Even if he says that turning against him is to turn against God?” Ludo chewed his lip. “Alasdair, it’s a fearsome gamble.”

“Yes, it is. But what choice do we have? Rhian is Ethrea’s rightful queen. The rest of it is nothing but greed and ambition. What kind of man would I be if I allowed myself to be intimidated out of acting for the truth?”

“You wouldn’t be yourself, I know that much,” said Ludo. “And I’d not be myself if I didn’t stand with you. And the people of duchy Linfoi will stand with you too. We’re loyal to our own, Alasdair. And we’re loyal to the king—or queen. That’s as important as our loyalty to God. We’ve always been stubborn, cross-grained and independent. Comes of being despised by Ethrea’s spoilt south. If Marlan forces us to choose sides, I think I know whose side we’ll choose.”

Moved almost to tears, Alasdair embraced his cousin. “God bless you, Ludo,” he whispered. “And God keep you safe. I must go now. The venerables and chaplains will soon arrive and I must greet them with the proper face. The dukes too. I expect them here by noon. Stay here. Rest and read a while. The most recent manor ledger is on the desk, there. You’ll need to make yourself familiar with the estates and their business. I’ll have Sardre bring you refreshments.”

Ludo had never been one for books and study. He eyed the open ledger with despair. “Are you sure there’s nothing else I can do for you? Perhaps there’s a window or two that need washing…”

Alasdair laughed. “Read the ledger, Ludo. I’ll come for you when it’s time.”

“Tyrant,” muttered Ludo, and sat himself behind the desk.

As his fingers touched the library door’s handle, Alasdair turned. “Ludo.”

Ludo looked up. “Hmmm?”

Alasdair’s vision blurred for a moment, an excess of emotion that for once he didn’t try to hide. “Thank you. I won’t forget this. Neither will Rhian.”

“Just make sure my bride will be beautiful, Alasdair,” said Ludo. His eyes were tear-bright too but his smile was unrepentantly wicked. “All things considered, it’s the least you can do.”

Most Venerable Artemis greeted Alasdair in the manor chapel, where a host of venerables and chaplains gathered ready for his father’s solemn farewell. Artemis was a gracious elderly man who’d never quite forgiven Alasdair’s father for refusing to remarry. A tempting of God, Artemis had called it, and professed permanent astonishment that God had found the strength to resist.

“Your Grace,” he said, splendid in his elaborate vestments. “God give you mercy on this sad day.”

He nodded. “Ven’Artemis. It eases my sorrow to know you’ll preside over the ceremony. And I know my father would be equally pleased.”

“Indeed, Your Grace,” said Ven’Artemis. “And it would give me great pleasure to perform the office for him. However …” Turning, he crooked a finger at a venerable who was standing a small distance away. The man was of medium height, lithe and alert beneath his sober religious garb, and his light green eyes had an oddly wolfish look. Seeing the summons he joined them before the Living Flame.

“Most Venerable?”

His tone and manner were suitably deferential but Alasdair felt his spine stiffen. This man is not safe .

Seemingly oblivious, Most Venerable Artemis was benignly smiling. “Your Grace, I present to you Venerable Martin of Kingseat. Ven’Martin, behold Alasdair, Duke of Linfoi. Strictly speaking not until his investiture, of course, but I think we need hardly stand upon ceremony.”

Odd, that Artemis would so single out a venerable. “Welcome to duchy Linfoi, Ven’Martin,” Alasdair said, nodding slightly.

Ven’Martin considered him with his odd, light green eyes. “Your Grace. My sympathy for your loss.”

“Ven’Martin is the prolate’s personal assistant,” Artemis added. There was the slightest hint of strain beneath his temperate smile. “He has come north to visit duchy Linfoi’s venerable house and its parishes. I have asked him to conduct your late father’s obsequies and he has kindly accepted in Prolate Marlan’s name. Provided you do not object, of course.”

Well … damn . “How could I object?” he said, punctiliously correct. “I am honoured that so important a divine as Ven’Martin would consent to this task.”

“The loss of a duke is no small matter,” said Ven’Martin. “Only the loss of a king ranks more highly, Your Grace. We did not see you at Eberg’s funeral.”

This man must not see his temper. “My father’s brother Henrik represented duchy Linfoi, Ven’Martin. I was at the time concerned with my late father’s declining health.”

Ven’Martin nodded. “Of course.”

Turning to Artemis, Alasdair dismissed Ven’Martin from his attention. The man was too much danced upon already. “Most Venerable, are your preparations completed?”

“They are, Your Grace. We will be ready to proceed once your fellow dukes arrive.”

“I doubt they’ll be much longer, Most Venerable. Can I have a simple repast prepared for you and your brethren, which you can partake of while you wait?”