by Jaine Fenn
He must have seen her expression, as he half raised a hand. “Please, do not think I harbour any… inappropriate emotions, m’lady. It is just that I have known you all your life, seen you grow and change. I respect and admire you, even as – and I hope I may speak freely here – you sometimes perplex me; your mind is extraordinary, if you do not mind me saying so.”
“I… do not. I am flattered. And I think we should practise speaking freely to each other. We need to get used to that.”
“As m’lady wishes.” He spoke with a shy humour, something she had not seen from him before.
“You know that you will have to learn to call me Rhia.”
“That thought had occurred.” He cleared his throat. “There will never be a good time to ask this, so I will say it now, before we are committed further. Would I be able to draw on a small fraction of the House’s funds to help make my family more comfortable? My sister’s husband has been ill for some time.”
“I had no idea.” Why would she? Before now Markave’s personal life had been a closed book to her. “You could have asked anyway.”
“That would not have been appropriate.”
“I suppose not. This illness, is it… treatable?”
“It is not rain-fever but a condition he has had some time. There are herbs that alleviate it but they are unfortunately somewhat beyond my sister’s means.”
“Of course I will make funds available to your family. They will be my family too, after all.” What a peculiar prospect. With a sudden swerve not unlike that she had felt after the Council, she saw this union from her steward’s point of view, of the amazing good luck it represented for an ordinary family in the middle city. But that did not change what marrying Markave did for her, and her House.
“Thank you. I imagine there are preparations to be made.”
“Preparations? Oh, for our wedding.” How odd to say those words. “It will not be a sumptuous affair, Markave.”
“I am glad to hear it, m’lady.” Then he coloured, and corrected himself. “Rhia.”
CHAPTER 39
“We come into the world with nothing. And so do we leave it.”
Although Sadakh intoned the words with the expected gravitas, in this case they were somewhat inaccurate.
The four poliarchs whose duty it was to bear Numak’s bier stepped forward with slow reverence, although Vemmat, the lastminute replacement, was not quite in step with his brethren. The assembled advisors, courtiers and nobles stood silent and reverent as the late caliarch’s funeral procession passed them. The normallyempty Hall of Eternal Guardians felt claustrophobic with so many living souls crowded in to see the dead ruler take his place amongst his ancestors.
Although the poliarchs’ burden was precious, it was not heavy. One of the many rites Sadakh had officiated over during the month of state mourning was the removal of the caliarch’s inner organs. He could not help thinking that Numak’s brain, at least, might have been better left where it was rather than fed to the gyraptors; both the enquirers’ writings and his own experience suggested that the brain was the seat of the intellect, if not the very soul. But some traditions were not to be questioned. Numak’s husk of a body had then been filled with the traditional mix of consecrated and preserved plant matter brought from all parts of Zekt, his skin dried and waxed, and finally, his finest robes arranged on his reclining form.
So now, far from going to a possible heavenly reward, the late caliarch was tied to mundanity forever, his much-reduced but still recognisable body transformed into a lovingly conserved anchor to the world.
“May the First bless his favoured son, as we set him to watch over the lands he ruled so well.” Numak had not been a bad ruler, by Zekti standards. He had been a gentle soul, if somewhat naive and eccentric. A better ruler than his nephew would be, for sure. Had Numak’s final end been hastened by Mekteph? Quite possibly. What was certain was that the serum had not saved him – just as it had not saved Ritek, or Ereket, whose health had continued to deteriorate until she passed away last week. Just as it would not save him.
The poliarchs had reached the niche reserved for Numak. It had already been dressed in fine fabrics and set out with representations of those persons and items that had mattered to him in life. In the former case, this was a pair of carved models of his long-dead wife and son. The latter consisted largely of objects he had made, the odd, intricate items he had crafted alone in this Hall in his long dotage.
It would be inauspicious to say the least for the poliarchs to slip up in transferring the body from bier to niche. Sadakh was glad now that he brought in an additional pair of priests to assist in sliding the caliarch’s bound form into place. Once he was sure the delicate operation had been concluded with the requisite dignity he said, “Before the lamp is lit, let us each send our thoughts of Numak to the First, in prayers of thankfulness and love.”
From the corner of his eye Sadakh saw Mekteph’s mouth twitch where he stood close to his uncle’s resting place: this part of the ceremony allowed for some improvisation by the eparch and no doubt the prince and others had expected Sadakh to lead them in a formal prayer. But heads still bowed, and hands were clasped under chins.
Sadakh closed his eyes but could not summon the inner peace to pray. With Ereket dead, he had moved Taklew permanently into the launderers’ house but, unsure whether the prince knew of his hideaway, he had left a rota of trusted guards to watch over the place from outside. He had already relocated some of his work, but there were limits to what could be done within the priory walls.
Then there was poor Hekmat. Determined never to need one, Sadakh had given little thought to a successor. Once he was sure all twelve poliarchs were individuals he had both vetted and won over personally, he had been happy to let the Order run itself from day to day. But he had to acknowledge that he would not be eparch forever; he had already been living on borrowed time before he took the probably-ineffective serum. And though he trusted any of the twelve to do his will, none was an obvious successor, and one of the best candidates was even now succumbing to old age himself.
He’d had no more news of Lord Harlyn, nor of Rhia Harlyn’s trial, but events in Mirror were enough to keep him occupied.
Some of those nearby were fidgeting. He peered up through halfclosed eyelids to see several courtiers squinting or openly looking round, uncertain whether this unexpectedly freeform part of the ceremony was over yet. They did not look their best. No one here did. During the official mourning period everyone in the city had shown their grief in acts of communal piety and austerity; tunics went un-pleated, faces unpainted, hair unoiled. He had to admit he was looking forward to having his own hair dressed after so long; a vanity, yes, but the body needed its small indulgences. He opened his eyes fully; others followed suit with suspicious speed.
“I now call on the keeper of the lamps to step forward and kindle the light that will burn eternally for our beloved caliarch.”
The eunuch in question, Fidekh, was one of Sadakh’s few overt allies in the palace. His assigned duty, that of keeping the hundreds of lamps in the Hall of Eternal Guardians topped up with oil and burning bright, had kept him close to the late caliarch, who all but lived in the Hall in his final years. His slight nod as he raised the taper to light the green glass globe by Numak’s niche was an acknowledgement of their shared values. But although this particular immortal advisor might not like the prospect of Mekteph’s rule, he acknowledged its likelihood. Others amongst the advisors and courtiers had come to accept its inevitability; the more traditionalist eunuchs would want to consolidate whatever royal blood remained in Mirror, in the hopes that a new generation would emerge which would serve the shadowland better. Fools and madmen with that very blood might have brought Zekt to this pass, but Zekt would endure.
When Fidekh stepped back Sadakh raised his arms in blessing – it felt odd doing so indoors amongst the state’s power-brokers, rather than under the open sky before a loving congregation – and said, �
�Be assured that Numak now watches us. We are blessed by his guardianship, and that of all his illustrious ancestors. Knowing this, go in peace and return to your lives. Your caliarch is gone. Your caliarch lives on.”
People left in order of political precedence and Sadakh was surprised to find Mekteph waiting for him on the terrace outside the Hall. His entourage had gone ahead down the steps but a few eunuchs still loitered within sight. A very scripted meeting.
Sadakh composed his face into an open smile, ignoring Mekteph’s more rapacious one. The prince gestured for them to step back from those still passing, to the far end of the terrace outside the Hall; just out of earshot if they kept their voices down.
The prince even managed a convincing obeisance for the observers. “Such a fitting and moving service, if a little, ah, ad-hoc at points.”
“I am glad you were moved, Highness.”
“You must have a lot on your mind right now, of course.”
“As always.” He’d let the prince work his way to the point. He had behaved with passable decorum during the mourning period and Sadakh was reasonably certain he was not about to push him off the edge of the terrace now.
“Ah yes, your ageing poliarch. Hekmat, isn’t it? I understand he’ll soon be going to his own eternal rest.”
Sadakh forced himself not to react. Of course the prince knew that one of his most senior poliarchs was unwell. Hekmat’s health had not been good for some months now. Sadakh had diagnosed an ailment of the inner organs, perhaps the liver or spleen; he had done all he could but given the poliarch’s advanced years, it was unlikely he would recover. Poison was not out of the question, but it would take more resources than the prince had on the isle to get at one of the resident poliarchs; poison being very much the prince’s style, Sadakh had long-ago instituted a system for tasting all food served to himself and those closest to him. “I continue to pray for his recovery.”
“How compassionate. And optimistic.” The prince made a show of gazing out over the islets of the city, golden and calm in the early evening light. “When he does go to his rest, I have just the replacement.”
We should have seen this coming. Now they were outside the mausoleum of dead caliarchs, his ghost was back. And correct. “I will of course consult you in your capacity as his young majesty’s regent when I make my choice.”
“You misunderstand me. I have chosen for you.”
“Ah. A new poliarch is elected from amongst serving priests of sufficient seniority. As a respecter of tradition, I am sure you would not want to change that process.”
“Oh, I have a priest in mind. From the provinces. He has the relevant experience, though.”
“Would this be Sholrew by any chance?” Sadakh had to hand it to Mekteph: he was persistent. “He was sent away from Mirror after some unsavoury allegations.”
The prince waved a hand. “Never proved. Possibly politically motivated. He’s my choice.”
You should have killed that disloyal weakling when you had the chance. He feared his ghost was right. His compassion had come back to bite him. “But not mine.” He kept his tone light.
“You would be wise to heed my will, Holiness. I believe we discussed the importance of continuity, tradition, and stability. Sholrew is a great lover of such things. He will serve you well. And when the time comes, he will ensure our Church gets back its strength.” Mekteph leaned in close; Sadakh resisted the urge to recoil. “I can see how this talk of personal responsibility and independent thought you’ve introduced into the First Light might appeal to someone with your humble background, but this is the state religion. Systems of belief are there to be rigidly followed by the masses, not ‘questioned’ or ‘explored’.”
Say nothing! Sadakh hardly needed the reminder, though he schooled his face to stay neutral. But his mind was in turmoil.
Mekteph not only meant to replace him with a puppet eparch, he meant to turn the First Light religion back into a mere tool of social control. And he wanted Sadakh to know his life’s work would be undone. But the prince had to act legitimately, to keep Sadakh in power long enough to see the conventions were adhered to; to do otherwise risked losing what support he had amongst the eunuchs. And why resort to open violence when you can achieve your ends as easily with unseen manipulation? The prince was obviously learning… unfortunately. Sadakh took a deep breath, and finally managed, “On that matter, we may differ. However, I shall consider your offer.”
“You do that.” The prince waved a dismissive hand, then as an afterthought for any remaining witnesses, gave another obeisance, before turning away to survey the vista of the city he would soon rule in all but name.
Sadakh just had to hope that Mekteph’s current fondness for diplomacy would give him enough breathing space to find some way out of this mess. If not then he would have to accept that, far from being an eternal leader shepherding questing and willing souls to enlightenment, he had been but a brief aberrance in the spiritual history of this shadowland, a misguided fool who had made the mistake of trying to make people think for themselves.
CHAPTER 40
“A what?” Cardinal Vansel’s high brow furrowed.
Sur Lectel replied, “A demonstration, Your Holiness.”
Rhia kept silent. They had agreed the request needed to come from her lawyer, not her.
“Of what, precisely?”
“The theory which you and the other esteemed judges have spent this week reading about.”
“And which, before you made this unorthodox request, we were about to discuss with the defendant.”
Rhia liked the word “discuss”. It implied a reasoned exchange.
“My apologies for complicating the proceedings but we are, as I’m sure you’ll agree, in unknown territory here.”
“Why did you not make this request at the outset, Sur Lectel?”
“Perhaps we should have. However, in order to understand the reason for, and timing and location of, the demonstration, it was necessary for you to have a firm grasp of the nature of the defendant’s theory.”
That and the fact that she had only completed the celestial model late the previous night. Fortunately the judges had not wanted to reconvene particularly early.
“What do you mean by the ‘timing and location of the demonstration’?”
Sur Lectel took half a step back, leaving Rhia free to explain the complexities. “I have built a model to demonstrate my theory.”
“Have you now?” Cardinal Vansel’s tone implied he doubted that was possible.
“Aspects of it, yes. It is a delicate and cumbersome item, so cannot be moved from my study.”
“Your study is in your townhouse, yes?”
“That’s right. Also, I would like to show you the night sky, so you can link what you see in the world to the model, and also back to my theory.”
“I think we have all seen the night sky, Countess.”
“Ah, yes. I mean, as viewed through my sightglass. You will have read about that in my notes.”
“Indeed we did.”
Rhia knew that tone, and pre-empted the cardinal’s next question. “It is a built device but breaks no prescriptions. It does not move under its own power and has no interaction with a person’s body.”
“Save by changing what they see?”
“Magnifying, yes. But that… I have brought the sightglass with me, if you wish to examine it.”
“That would be acceptable.”
Rhia returned to the desk and fished out the short ironwood tube from her satchel. She walked back to the table and handed it to Vansel. He took it with a mixture of curiosity and caution, holding it at arm’s length for examination, then turning it over in his hands.
“As you see, there are two tubes, set inside each other. Moving the smaller one up and down focuses the lenses at either end.” Lenses which, she noted with dismay, his bony fingers had splayed across.
“If you say so.”
“May I see?” asked Tethorn. The apo
thecary had a surprisingly gruff voice.
Vansel handed the sightglass over. Tethorn examined it with more care than Vansel had, and did not touch the lenses. He half raised it then looked to Rhia. “I just look through it, do I?”
“Uh, yes. The other end though.”
He turned the sightglass and tried again. “I see only blurred colours.”
“It is designed to focus on objects far away.”
Tethorn lowered the sightglass. “I see. I for one would be most interested in this demonstration, Holiness.”
“Hmm. Lord Jertine, did you wish to examine the object?”
“Why not?”
Vansel handed it across. The viscount gave the sightglass a cursory look, and shook it – Rhia managed not to wince – then said, “It seems a simple enough piece of work. I’d be interested to see what it does too.”
“Then perhaps we should agree to this demonstration?” Vansel did not sound enthusiastic.
“Ah, but it has to be after dark you say?” said Jertine.
Rhia nodded. “It does, yes.”
“Then it cannot be tonight. I fear I have a prior engagement.” Jertine gave the cardinal an apologetic look. “Had I know my duties would extend into the evenings, Holiness, I would have left them free, but…”
“Quite. This is not an ordinary situation by any means. Hmm. But maybe we could spare the time for this demonstration tomorrow night, if that is agreeable to my fellow judges.”
Jertine nodded and Tethorn said, “It is, Holiness.”
“Good.” He handed the sightglass back to Rhia, who returned to stand by her lawyer. “Now, if we may get back to the matter at hand. I was summarising the evidence presented which we three have now gone through, both separately and with some conferring. However, before we move onto detailed questions I would like to discuss the matter of the submitted testimonials.”
“What about them?” Rhia tried not to sound too defensive.
“All speak highly of you, and some do not even make mention of your being of the gentler sex.” Rhia felt her hands tighten their grip on her sightglass, and made herself relax. “It is obvious they come from diverse sources, both from the handwriting and from the travelworn nature of some of the documents. Most, I note, use peculiar titles, though they all refer to you by name.” Just as she had requested. “It does seem odd that you should know so many erudite individuals in distant lands by these strange titles, yet they know your name…”