The Godspeaker Trilogy

by Karen Miller

  “And how did you find Her Highness?” said Linfoi. “Was she distressed, as Dame Cecily claimed?”

  Not as distressed as how I left her.

  Remembering the stubborn overproud bitch’s weeping, he felt himself smile. Henrik Linfoi misread him entirely.

  “Our concerns amuse you, Prolate? I find that alarming! Our current predicament is without precedent,” said Linfoi, scandalised. “Since the days of Rollin this kingdom has never lacked a clear line of succession. In the last week every councillor here has fobbed off a clutch of ambassadors or been made aware of whispers on the street. This continued uncertainty is doing great damage, it must be resolved. The three great nations cannot be given a reason to question the accord.”

  “I know that, Linfoi,” he said. “Am I a fool?”

  Linfoi sighed. “Of course not. And nor am I. Please, Marlan, answer my question. Did you find the princess distressed?”

  “I did.”

  “Were you able to calm her?”

  “She is reconciled to her duty.”

  “Has she made her decision?”

  He smiled. “I expect it forthwith.”

  Around the table the councillors stirred, exchanging glances. Linfoi folded his hands. “Did she give any indication—”

  “My lord, I did not ask her if she’d formed a partiality,” he said. “That might be perceived as me unfairly using my influence.”

  “You showing your face in the clerica was unfairly using influence!” said Harley. “You know it, and we know it. I’ve no doubt you left the poor girl in tatters.”

  Time to put an end to this nonsense. “My lords, you do me a grave disservice. I am a man of God, my oaths sworn before the Living Flame. I say I went to Todding with the purest intentions. Do you say I would perjure my soul? If that’s what you think, gentlemen, I tell you declare it! Say to my face: you think me God’s enemy, and the kingdom’s too.”

  A sharp silence. Their bluff was called. They might think and think, but brought to the point they would never accuse him outright. He was Prolate of Ethrea. They were mere dukes’ men, barking on command.

  “Then be told by me and trust I tell you the truth,” he said, when the silence had stretched long enough. “Princess Rhian is aware of her duty and fully capable of carrying it out. She knows the time has come to make her choice.”

  Harley snorted. Of them all, he was the most resilient. “Her choice, Marlan? Or yours?”

  “Lord Harley, it seems to me that unless the girl selects your brother’s nephew— your nephew—as Ethrea’s next king you will never be satisfied that I kept my hands clean of her choice.”

  “You’re right,” said Harley, leaning forward. His florid face was ugly with suspicion and dislike. “I won’t. You never should’ve had a man in this race, Prolate. I said it at the start. I still say it now.”

  “And I say it’s irrelevant,” he replied. “Even without Lord Rulf in the running, if Rhian doesn’t choose your man you’ll find a way to call the outcome into question. You’ll accuse me of taking bribes to steer her towards Meercheq, or Hartshorn, or Arbat, or claim some other duke’s man applied undue influence.”

  And that was no lie. The other councillors knew it. Lord Harley was a troublemaker and always had been. He had no friends in this chamber, only convenient, temporary allies. The councillors looked at each other and then at Harley, their lips pursed and their eyes chilled with calculation.

  Harley surged to his feet. “This isn’t about me ! Don’t try and make this about me !” He glared at the other men seated at the table. “Niall—Volant—Porpont—you idiots ! Don’t you see what he’s doing? Intimidating—bullying—don’t let him do it. We’ve already agreed he’s just a councillor in here.”

  Marlan swallowed a smile. True. But the moment I set foot outside this chamber I am the prolate once again. And no duke with a spoonful of self-preservation is stupid enough to forget it .

  “Gentlemen,” he said. “I find this uproar ridiculous. The girl will reach her decision in the next day or two. Until then I suggest we adjourn. We are all busy men, with busy lives and much work to do. Dame Cecily will send word when the princess has made her choice.”

  What could they do but agree and obey? The meeting broke up. Preparing to withdraw, Marlan felt a touch on his elbow and turned. It was Linfoi.

  “Your Eminence, perhaps it might be useful if I visited Her Highness,” the old man said. “I have no reason to harass her, no need to harangue. As far as anyone can be, I’m a neutral party in this matter. I could—”

  Cause trouble. When I left her the girl was in no state to receive visitors.

  “Lord Linfoi, it’s a kind thought. But the princess made her feelings quite clear. She wishes to be left alone to pray. Given everything that’s happened I think we owe her that much, don’t you?”

  Linfoi’s lined face creased further. “Of course. But you’re sure she’s all right? She’s a good girl, despite her … unusual ways. I don’t like to think of her being unhappy.”

  Sentimental old fool . “Henrik, I assure you,” he said, dulcet as a dove, “there is no cause for alarm. As you say, the child is somewhat wild. I fear Eberg did not always discipline her as he might have.” He sighed, smiling. “A danger for every doting father, I fear. But she benefits from her time in the clerica. If she is unhappy it will soon pass. When she is a wife and a mother she’ll have no time to brood. Indeed, I feel her unhappiness springs from her lack of womanly pursuits. That will be remedied soon enough.”

  “Yes,” said Linfoi, slowly nodding. “Yes, I expect you’re right. Once she’s married and settled things must improve. Very well. I’ll not trouble her any further.”

  He clasped Linfoi’s shoulder. “A wise decision. Indeed, Henrik, you’ve impressed me throughout this difficult time. It can’t be easy, speaking for a duchy without any suitable man to put forth as our next king.”

  Linfoi considered him. “As to that, Prolate, while I’m flattered by your observation, I must say I cannot agree with your assessment. I bowed to the late king’s wishes to exclude Alasdair from consideration because they were the late king’s wishes. As Rhian’s father it was his right to decide who was eligible for her hand. But fathers can be wrong. And so can kings.” He nodded sharply. “And now, excuse me. As you say, we are all busy men.”

  He watched Linfoi leave. The only person left in the council chamber was Dester, hovering in the background, hoping to be noticed.

  He turned on his heel and walked away.

  Dexterity was mired in late-night book-keeping when Ursa finally came in answer to his note. To his surprise she let him lead her into the kitchen and tell her what he wanted without interrupting him, for once. When he was finished she stared with her eyebrows high.

  “Leave for Todding tomorrow morning?” she echoed, her spine like iron and her arms intransigently folded. She stood in the doorway, having refused a chair. “Jones, that’s very short notice. I’ve a clinic in the morning. I don’t think I can get away. Really, you’re the most exasperating man.” Not waiting for his reply, she fixed her sharp gaze on Zandakar. “And what have you to say for yourself? How are you feeling, my mysterious friend, hmm? Zandakar?”

  Seated at the kitchen table, paying no attention to their conversation, Zandakar looked up from his fledgling attempts to whittle a piece of soft yellow pine. “Ursa?”

  “How—are—you—feeling?” she repeated, with exaggerated care.

  He shrugged. “Good, Ursa.”

  “Yes, you’re looking much better,” she agreed, pleased. “There’s some meat on your bones now and your eyes aren’t so sunken. All thanks to me.”

  Dexterity straightened from his slouch against the sink. “And me! I did quite a lot of the nursing myself!”

  Ursa sniffed. “I’m not inclined to give you any credit, Jones. You’re trying to bustle me, and I don’t like being bustled.”

  Tcha . And she called him exasperating. “Well, I’m sorry but I�
��m not the one doing the bustling. I told you. It’s Hettie.”

  Ursa unfolded her arms and frowned at her herb-stained fingertips. “Yes. You told me.”

  And what was that supposed to mean? “Ursa…” He stepped forward, little prickles of foreboding dancing over his skin. “You said you’d help. Have you changed your mind?” Hettie, don’t let her do that! I’m sunk without Ursa .

  “Jones, Jones …” Ursa let out a gusty sigh. “If I have, can you blame me? In the cold light of day can you wonder if I’m wondering whether this isn’t all a terrible mistake?”

  He flung out his hand and pointed at Zandakar. “After everything that’s happened?” he demanded, not trying to hide his angry dismay. “With him sitting in my kitchen? Yes, Ursa, I can!”

  Zandakar looked up from his carving. From the expression on his face he didn’t care for raised voices. His pale eyes narrowed and his fingers tightened on the small, almost blunt whittling knife. Not the best tool for carving even soft wood … but it had seemed prudent. Abruptly, for the first time since the business with the thrown cup, he looked dangerous.

  “It’s all right, Zandakar,” he said quickly, softening his voice, and raised a placating hand. “All right. Zho? ”

  Zandakar’s sharp gaze shifted between them then settled on Ursa. “Ursa? All right?”

  If she said no, what would Zandakar do? From the look on her face she was wondering the same thing. After a moment she nodded, though she was far from happy. “Yes, Zandakar. All right.”

  “Tcha,” he said, then added something in his own tongue. Not a word of it was familiar, but his tone was easy to read. Behave yourselves. Act like adults . A strict authority echoed in his voice. Scarred and diminished and reduced as he was, still he seemed for a moment formidable.

  Unexpectedly embarrassed, Dexterity felt his face heat beneath its unruly beard. “Ursa. Please,” he said, making his voice reflect entreaty, not temper. “I can’t do this without you. I don’t understand. What’s made you change your mind?”

  “Oh, Jones, ” she said, goaded, and stamped around the kitchen. Zandakar looked up again, frowning, but she paid him no mind. “Why do you have to be a such a dreamer ?” She stopped stamping and fisted her hands on her narrow hips. “Sometimes I think there’s never more of you in the real world than a toe and two fingers. I was in town this morning. There’s a nasty feeling in the air and it’s got nothing to do with a breeze from the fish markets. I swear I could cut the tension with a knife. The sun’s shining, birds are singing. Folk are out and about, as always. On the surface everything looks fine. But underneath it all? Jones, it’s not fine.”

  He scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “No? Well, I suppose people are still grieving for Eberg. The funeral wasn’t that long ago and he was our king for a good many years. It’s only natural that—”

  “There’s nothing natural about it!” said Ursa. “I wish you’d listen to what I’m saying. The mood is tense. Every person I spoke to had just one thing on his mind: how long before the princess marries and gives us a king? Everyone’s worried, Jones.”

  “Yes, perhaps they are,” he agreed. “But shopkeepers and carters and the like, they can’t be expected to understand how these matters are—”

  “No, but it’s not only the working folk dancing on their toes!” she retorted. “It’s the muckety-mucks as well. I’m a physick, I treat rich and poor alike. Silk and velvet’s no protection against gripe. You’d best believe me, everyone’s fretting. And it’s not just us Ethreans either. The foreigners are rattled too.”

  “What? How do you know?”

  “How do you think I know?” she said, exasperated. “The harbour’s full of ships, those ships are full of sailors, and when they drink one rum too many and trip over in the gutter they need stitching up, don’t they? And they’re not like Zandakar, here, gabbling gibberish no soul can understand. They’ve got the decency to speak Ethrean!”

  He gaped at her. “Ursa, I’m sorry—what are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about trouble, Jones! Stop wittering and listen! As a favour to another physick I stitched up more than my share of split skulls today and whether you like it or not, here is the truth. Kingseat’s a tinderbox looking for a spark.”

  He’d never seen her like this. Never heard such rancour and fear in her voice, or seen her eyes look so accusing. “What—and you think I’m a spark?”

  “I think you could be!” she snapped. “I think if you run away with that girl you could set fire to the whole blessed kingdom!”

  “But Ursa …” He clutched at his beard. “If I don’t run away with her, if I don’t find a way to stop Rhian being forced into marriage with the wrong man, the kingdom’s going to go up in flames anyway! And not just the kingdom!”

  Ursa sniffed. “So Hettie says.”

  “Yes! She does!” He saw the scepticism in her face and crossed his arms, fighting to keep hold of his temper. “Oh, I see. We’re back to that again, are we? Me being overworked and imagining things? Ursa —”

  “Don’t you Ursa me, Jones!” his friend said fiercely. “I’m trying to look out for you, can’t you see that? If I help you and that girl run away and you get caught—what do you think will happen, eh? How do you think the lords and dukes will react? Not to mention Prolate Marlan. What do you think they’ll do to a toymaker found meddling in affairs of state?”

  “Nothing!” he said hotly. “ If I’m caught, which I won’t be, Rhian will speak up for me and they’ll have to listen, she’s the rightful queen of Ethrea and—”

  “And she’s a girl, you stupid man! They won’t listen to a word she says! If they listened to her, Jones, she wouldn’t have to run away in the first place, would she? She’d be handing out royal decrees and commandments like cupcakes at afternoon tea and they’d be covered in crumbs, wouldn’t they?”

  He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. Ursa had a point. But it doesn’t matter. I know what I have to do and I’m going to do it . With a sideways glance at Zandakar, who was glaring again, he took a deep breath and made himself calm down before the man did something unfortunate with his blunt whittling knife.

  “Ursa, I understand you’re uncertain. If you’ve had second thoughts and you’d rather not be involved, of course that’s your right. I won’t say another word. All I’ll ask is that you keep this a secret and don’t try to stop me, even though you disagree.”

  She dropped into an empty kitchen chair, her face half hidden by salt and pepper hair escaped from the knot on top of her head. “Oh, Jones,” she sighed. “You haven’t heard a word I said.”

  He took the third chair at the table and covered her hand with his. “Yes, I heard every one of them. I still have to do this. I promised Hettie and I promised Rhian. At dawn tomorrow, Zandakar and I are leaving for Todding. I’d much prefer you left with us but I will understand if you decide you can’t. I’ll just have to think of another way into the clerica while we’re on the road.”

  “There is no other way, you silly man,” she said, and pulled her fingers free. “If I don’t go with you, you’ll never get in.”

  He shrugged. “Then the future’s in your hands, Ursa, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t want that.” She looked away. “I’m frightened, Jones. The mood in town, it scared me. I’ve never felt anything like it before. I don’t think you realise what you’ve got yourself into. What Hettie’s got you into. If it’s Hettie, of course.”

  “Ursa,” he said gently, and took her hand again. “Look at me.” Reluctantly, she looked. There were tears in her eyes. He felt a breath catch in his throat. I don’t believe it. Ursa never cries . “Of course it’s Hettie. Who else could it be?”

  Her cheeks flushed. “Some malevolent spirit. Some wicked thing bent on mischief.”

  “And you rail at me for being impractical?” he said, and laughed. “Oh, Ursa. That’s superstitious nonsense! Foreign sailors who don’t know any better, they believe in demons and s
prites. But you?”

  Her chin shot up. “There’s good in the world, Jones. Why can’t there be evil?”

  “Of course there’s evil. People do bad things every day. But it’s people doing them, not—not invisible agents of darkness.”

  “I see.” She glared. “You’ll believe in a ghost but not malevolent spirits? Or God?”

  Now they were straying far from the purpose. “If I am going in the morning I’ve a lot to do between now and then. So let’s settle this once and for all, shall we? Are you coming or are you staying behind? I promise I won’t nag if you decide not to come. I just need to know.”

  “I can’t tell you, Jones!” said Ursa. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. After the fracas I saw in town, I’m going to need the night to think on this.”

  Dismayed, he stared at her. “But Ursa—”

  “I know! It’s not what you want to hear. I can’t help that, I’m afraid. I’m asking you to give me the night. I think I’ve earned a few hours of space, Jones, after all I’ve done for you these last few weeks.”

  Of course she had. But it wasn’t like her to say a thing like that … which meant she really must be unnerved. He sighed. “Yes.”

  “If, come sunrise, I’m standing in this kitchen with a packed bag in my hand you’ll know I’ve taken leave of my senses,” she muttered. “If not, well … I’ll give you a letter to give to Cecily.”

  He nodded, trying to hide his disappointment. “I’d appreciate it.” Then he looked at Zandakar. The man with the blue-stubbled skull had finished his tentative whittling and stared at them now, his expression guarded.

  “All right, Dexterity?” he asked slowly. He still had trouble getting his tongue around the words. “All right, Ursa?”

  Not really. Not now. But what could he say? “ Zho . All right.” He reached out and patted Zandakar’s arm. “We worried you. Yatzhay, Zandakar.”

  The tension went out of the tall man’s face. “ Yatzhay . All right.”

  Dexterity looked at the wood Zandakar had carved. “Gracious. What’s this?” He picked it up and examined it. “Some kind of creature? Ursa, have you ever seen anything like this before?”