The Godspeaker Trilogy

by Karen Miller

  He knew how it felt, to have enemies wanting you dead.

  When he finished training his shell they were sweating and exhausted. He was sweating also but his strength was not gone. Rhian came to dance with him, Alasdair king and the loyal dukes came to watch.

  “Do you mind?” said Rhian as she stretched her body slowly in the first hotas, her blue eyes gazing at her sharp straight blade.

  “Wei,” he said. “Do you?”

  “Well …” She sighed. “A little. Dancing the hotas is time for myself. Time I needn’t worry about being watched. And now …”

  He snorted. “You queen, Rhian. You sun in sky for your people. You always watched. You wei like?” He shrugged. “You wei be queen.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, warming her muscles, making them fluid. “Of course I’m the queen.”

  “Then you be watched.”

  “I know that!” she said, her eyes angry. “I was a princess before I was a queen. I grew up being watched, Zandakar. But at least in Kingseat I had the castle, I had my own room where I could be alone. I haven’t been alone and unwatched since I set foot in the clerica. All I want now is a little time for myself when I can take off my mask. Tcha . Anyone would think I was asking for the world.”

  He frowned. “Mask?”

  “It’s the face you wear when people are watching.” Abandoning her hotas, she stood up straight, head high, shoulders back, and her expression changed from frustration to pride and confidence and strength. “The face you wear when you want other people to believe in you. Zho? ”

  Yuma had always loved being watched. She loved dancing in the god’s eye and where the people could see her. She was never truly happy unless she was seen. As the warlord’s son, and then the warlord, he had been watched too and he had enjoyed it. Rhian was strange, not to like being watched.

  “Zho . But face not make people believe, Rhian,” he said, and turned a slow cartwheel. Upright again, he looked at her. “They believe when you smite enemies.”

  “How often must I tell you?” she said, and turned her own slow cartwheel, hand … hand … foot … foot, she did not drop her knife as once she always did. He had not slapped her in training for many highsuns now. When the cartwheel was finished she pressed her forehead to her knees. “I’m not smiting anyone .”

  Alasdair king and the loyal dukes stood at a distance, talking softly, waiting for the fast hotas to start. “Enough stretching. Striking snake,” he instructed. They were here for dancing, they could not talk until night.

  “Bully,” she said, and positioned herself opposite him for the hotas that strengthened legs and back and heart.

  As she raised and lowered her arms above her head, focusing her concentration, he said, “Then they are not your enemies? Marlan? Damwin? Kyrin?”

  “No. Well, Marlan is,” she said, and began her first long, slow lunges, knife extended in her hand as though she would pierce him through the heart. “And Damwin and Kyrin certainly don’t support me. But I don’t believe they’re truly enemies. They’re just misguided. They’ve let themselves be blinded by Marlan and foolish ambitions they have to know will never come to anything.” Limber now, she began to lunge and thrust more swiftly, demanding greater effort from herself. “They may try to bluster me, but they know the law. They know they’ve no basis to challenge my accession.”

  “Alasdair king thinks this?” he said, lunging in time with her now, letting her set the pace, letting his knife-tip stop a whisper from her breast.

  “Alasdair ?” Sweat was beading on her brow. “Alasdair thinks I’m being naïve. Alasdair says I can never trust them. He wants me to tear down their Houses, to disinherit their sons, to—” She breathed out hard. “And I won’t do it. I won’t be that kind of queen.”

  “What if Alasdair king is right?”

  “He’s not,” she insisted, eyes narrowed with concentration. “Why? Do you think he is?”

  “I think Rhian is stupid to trust enemies. Dukes must die if not loyal to Rhian.”

  “There’s a word for people who rule with fear and brutality. I’m a queen, not a tyrant. I’m not killing anyone !”

  He shifted the angle of his blade, and its tip scored a shallow groove across the back of her hand. “Then Rhian not be hushla for long.”

  “Zandakar—” Snatching her hand back, she pulled out of her lunge and sucked the welling blood from the cut. Then she turned and waved to Alasdair king, who was staring. “It’s all right!” she called out. “I’m not hurt! I just wasn’t paying attention!” Turning back, she stabbed him with a glare. “You did that on purpose!”

  Shifting into a deep sideways lunge, he absorbed her anger without flinching. “You not kill, you not queen. You think enemies listen to weak word please? Rams fighting hotas, zho? ”

  “I think any ruler who rules by fear and bloodshed is a wicked tyrant who should be thrown down,” she said, the new hotas flowing from her like sweet breath. “My father never ruled with violence, nor his father before him, nor his father before him. Not since the time of Rollin has a king ruled Ethrea by the sword. I won’t be a queen who rules with blood and terror, Zandakar. I won’t shame the House of Havrell like that.”

  He knew enough Ethrean words to understand she still did not grasp what it meant to be a ruler. She thought her proud face was enough to stop her people’s wicked defiance. She was wrong.

  Without a god like Mijak’s god, and godspeakers who can hurt as well as heal, the people of Ethrea can defy her if they want to and she is powerless to stop them. They will defy her if she pretends she has no knife.

  It made his heart hurt to think of her pretending.

  “I know our ways seem strange to you,” she said, as they danced the pattern of the hotas . “I can only imagine how harsh life must be where you come from if you believe I must rule with fear. But if it’s the only way to keep my crown, then … I’m not sure I want it.”

  Aieee, the god see him. She was so like his Lilit! Gentle and compassionate, overflowing with love.

  She stumbled out of the hotas, he did not correct her. Her eyes were distressed, her pain was his. “Marlan wants to rule with fear,” she said, standing straight and catching her breath. “He wants to terrify the people with the threat of God’s anger if they don’t do what he tells them. He wants to use God as a whip and beat them with his mean interpretations of scripture. I have to be different. I have to be strong, I know that, but I can’t be like him . And I won’t kill in God’s name, just for a crown.” She shook her head. “I may not be the most devout person in the kingdom but if I did that I’d lose my soul for sure.”

  And if you do not fight to keep your kingdom you will lose it to this Marlan or someone like him and then what will happen when Yuma and Dimmi come with the god?

  The thought terrified him, and terror edged his tongue. “Then why you dance hotas ?” he demanded. “Hotas teach Rhian how to kill.”

  She looked away again to where Alasdair king and the dukes watched them. Were they admiring her? Or did they disapprove? She should not care for them. She was queen. They were beneath her.

  “They teach more than that, Zandakar,” she said. “And they help keep me fit. Now shall we continue? Or is it your opinion that I’m wasting your time?”

  She was angry, she was hurt. He was sorry for that. He was afraid she would learn he was right too late.

  He nodded, sharply. “Zho, Rhian. We dance.”

  And in the hotas they lost themselves. They forgot their disagreement. They danced with their knives like two halves of one shadow … and no-one was watching. They danced alone.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Late that evening, private in her royal pavilion, Rhian sat cross-legged on an overstuffed cushion and dabbed more of Ursa’s ointment on the cut from Zandakar’s knife-blade. Alasdair was hunched on a leather stool, staring at the letter from Ludo he’d received that morning.

  “My love, rest your eyes,” she said. “That’s the tent
h time you’ve read it. The words won’t change. Nothing will change until we reach Kingseat.”

  “I know,” he grunted, but kept on staring.

  She wished she could pluck the letter from his fingers and fling it in the campfire, but that would only upset him. He’d been so tense since they left Linfoi. So curt and swift to snap.

  “No news doesn’t mean bad news, Alasdair. There’s no reason to think harm’s come to Henrik.”

  He nodded. “I know.”

  “Your uncle will be all right,” she said, for what felt like the thousandth time. “Marlan won’t dare—”

  “A cornered animal will dare almost anything,” said Alasdair. “He dared beating you and that was before you made yourself queen.”

  She stared, her heart thumping. “Made myself queen? Alasdair—”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.” In the lamplight his face was shadowed. She couldn’t see its expression. “You know what I mean.”

  She knew he was angry and frightened for Henrik. She knew he was overwhelmed by what they’d started. What I’ve started. He was prepared to let me go without a protest so I could be married to another man. If I hadn’t forced things he wouldn’t be king . Was he wishing she hadn’t forced them? Was he sorry she’d run to him? I can’t ask him. Not now. Perhaps not ever. What’s done is done. It’s too late to turn back .

  He stood, shoving the stool aside, and restlessly paced around the small space. “Your Zandakar worries me.”

  “He’s not my Zandakar,” she said, feeling her spine stiffen.

  “Well he’s certainly not mine . All that talk of killing … that’s not our way. Is it your way now? Is that why you train with him, to learn the art of slaughter?”

  She pressed her fingers to her temples where pain throbbed like a drum.

  I shouldn’t have told him what Zandakar said. I thought it would reassure him, to know Zandakar thought Damwin and Kyrin were enemies too. Instead …

  “No. Of course that’s not why,” she said, striving for patience. “I’ve told you why, must I explain it again? I agreed with you about Nyngdon, didn’t I?”

  “You agreed then,” he said. “Perhaps you’ve changed your mind.”

  She took a deep breath and forced back the tears. “I haven’t, Alasdair. I think you’re right and that’s what I told Zandakar. No killing . Please, let’s not fight. We’re both weary, we’re both worried for Henrik and the others Marlan’s imprisoned. Tomorrow we cross into Hartshorn and anything could happen. Can’t we just sit quietly tonight? Hold hands and pretend just for a little time our world is at peace?”

  He stopped pacing. “How can we pretend that? It’s not at peace. Despite Mr Jones’ miracles not all the people are rushing to support you. For every chaplain who’s renounced Marlan’s interdicts we’ve met three others who scream ‘anathema’ and curse your name.”

  “I know, but many do support me,” she said. “And those who haven’t yet will, once I’m confirmed on the throne. They’re ignorant and backward and they’re listening to lies. Once Marlan is silenced—”

  “And how will you do that ?”

  She watched her fingers clench, feeling her hand sting beneath Ursa’s green ointment. “I don’t know,” she said. There was iron in her voice. “But I will.”

  He shook his head. “You’ve changed, Rhian. You’re not the girl I—” he looked away “—knew, in Kingseat.”

  He’d been going to say the girl I fell in love with . She’d seen it in his eyes. Her heart hurt her so badly, as though Zandakar’s knife had plunged right through it. Blinking away the weak tears, she lifted her chin.

  “Of course I’m not. A lot’s happened since we were last in Kingseat. I’m not that carefree princess any more.”

  “No,” he said, softly. “No, she’s gone.”

  “Go on. You can say it. I’ve become hard.” She scrambled off the cushion to face him, her own anger kindling. “And I think that’s not so bad. You might not like Zandakar, Alasdair, but you can’t deny he’s right about one thing: if I want to defeat Marlan and the others I can’t be soft. Being soft with Marlan would be fatal and you know it.”

  “I’m not saying you should be soft !” he protested. “I’m saying I don’t like his careless talk of killing. And I don’t like how easily you trust him. He’s good with a knife and that’s all you know. You don’t know how many men he’s killed or why he killed them. Rhian, there are questions about Zandakar that haven’t been answered. If there weren’t you’d have told your dukes the truth of him, not made up that story about tavern brawls and—”

  “Keep your voice down!” she hissed. “I told the dukes what they needed to hear. And you agreed with me!”

  “I didn’t contradict you,” said Alasdair. “That’s not the same thing. God save me, Rhian. For all you know, Zandakar could’ve killed innocents ! Why won’t you accept that he might not be—”

  “Oh, Alasdair. Please. I’m not asking you to trust him, I’m asking you to trust me . Are you saying you can’t do that?” She stared at him, stricken. “Are you saying you won’t ?”

  Alasdair had a royal face he could put on at will. He wore it all day, every day, but it was discarded now. Now he looked exhausted and hurt and overwhelmed.

  Just like me.

  “Rhian …” He folded his arms across his chest. “Be fair. See this from my side. One minute I’m sitting with my dying father, preparing to be duke of a poor, disregarded duchy, and the next you’re on my doorstep, running from the Church, ordering me to marry you so you can be queen, and your new best friends are some old physick, a foreigner who thinks of nothing but bloodshed and a toymaker who bursts into flames and heals the dying on a whim! It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s—well, can’t you see how this looks ?”

  “You selfish bastard,” she whispered, as the tears she couldn’t hide spilled down her cheeks. “You think I wanted this? My father dead, my brothers dead, the welfare of a kingdom thrust into my hands? You think I wanted to be given into Marlan’s cruel keeping? Should I have accepted that, Alasdair? Married his former ward and put the crown on his head? Thrown away everything my father fought for throughout his reign? Is that what you’d prefer? Is that the kind of woman you think you married?”

  His face flushed a dull red, all its plain lines turned ugly. “I’m not sure who I married, Rhian. What I know is you don’t smile at me the way you smile at Zandakar. Perhaps if I’d killed six men on the road, perhaps if I could show you a dozen dances of death, show you how to gut a man ten times over with a blade … would that make you smile at me? Would that stir your blood?”

  His attack was so unexpected, so ludicrous, she could only stare, her heart pounding out of control. “Alasdair …”

  “I’ve seen how he looks at you, too. When he thinks no-one’s watching.”

  She almost laughed. “Oh, that’s nonsense ! We’re friendly, I don’t deny that. But I’m not in love with him. He’s not in love with me! I told you, he was married, he lost his wife in tragic circumstances! He still mourns for her. And he’s alone. Would you begrudge him a harmless smile? Are you so mean? How could I not know you were so mean?”

  “Mean?” Slowly, Alasdair unfolded his arms. “You think I’m mean ?”

  And now she’d hurt him. Part of her was glad, he was being so childish, so jealous, so hateful . Most of her was sorry, though. She held up her hands.

  “No. Of course I don’t. Please, Alasdair. We’re tired. We’re worried. And we’re saying things we know aren’t true. Everything’s a mess. It’s such a mess. And it’s going to get messier before it’s over. Let’s not quarrel. Not over Zandakar. Not over anything . It’s late. We should get some sleep. I know we didn’t marry under ideal circumstances but we did marry. You’re my king. I’m your queen. And Ethrea needs us. Can we leave it at that, at least for tonight?”

  His eyes were so wounded. He stood close enough to touch her yet he seemed far away. He offered her a horrible, stiff littl
e bow. “Certainly, Your Majesty.”

  “Oh, Alasdair, no—don’t —”

  But he was walking away from her, walking to the pavilion’s unlaced door. He was walking through it, and she was alone.

  Numb and despairing, she dropped again to the cushion on the floor.

  Oh, Papa. Papa. What do I do now?

  Blessedly solitary, Dexterity sat on the bench in the back of the peddler’s van with a cooling bowl of stew beside him and no appetite to eat it. He had no appetite for anything now save the tainted oblivion of sleep.

  Did I ask to be turned into a miraculous human bonfire? Let me think for a moment. No, I don’t believe I did. I didn’t ask for any of this. I was press-ganged. And I want to stop. Hettie, are you listening? I’ve had enough. If God wants this mess fixed he can fix it himself.

  She didn’t answer. He’d not seen or heard from her since Heddonvale and the miracle of Walder. There’d been so many more miracles since then, they’d all blurred together. All he could remember clearly were the flames. And even though they never hurt him, still he was in pain. He was desperately exhausted … and his soul was in despair.

  So many frightened people. So many Ethreans torn and confused. Who should they believe? Me or their chaplains? Marlan tells them they’ll be interdicted if they follow Rhian, I tell them God says Marlan is wrong. Then I frighten them witless by bursting into flames. And all the sick people … for every one I cure five more are turned away. Ursa does her best to help them but she’s one physick. She can’t save them all. I can’t save them all.

  I can’t even save myself.

  He realised, then, there were tears on his cheeks. He was weeping, silently. Dear God, he was so weary.

  Without warning, the van’s hinged doors pushed open.

  “Dexterity,” said Zandakar, ducking inside. “What is wrong? You need Ursa?”

  Hastily he dragged his sleeve over his face. “No. I’m fine. What’s happened? Is Rhian—”