A sharp jab in his ribs brought Sol out of his thoughts. Sergio nodded imperceptibly toward the far end of the table. Galo was surrendering the speaker’s position to Alamar, the topic of Giron’s troubles with Talamh brought to an end Sol hadn’t heard. After yesterday’s revelations of a desire for unity, Sol felt a spark of guilt at not paying attention, but Eloisa’s neat writing filled several pages, meticulously noting the discussions.
“Our next topic is a petition,” Ibarra announced. “Princess Alegria Immaculada Garnez Tovar de Ramon y Sarabia comes before us in a matter of personal trouble.”
Sol suppressed his private turmoil and focused on the room as the doors opened and the princess entered.
Alegria, young and untrained for the twists and turns of politics, paused just inside the doors as if she didn’t know what to do or where to go. Long, dark hair framed her pale face, her eyes large and vulnerable. Her gown was rich and she seemed uncomfortable in the lace and silk, slender fingers tugging at the hem of her corseted bodice. She was beautiful in a gentle, soft way, making Sol want to stand up and be her champion. He felt her loneliness. Her children taken away from her, her husband a mere shade of his former self and standing here, unsupported by her church, desperate in this unfamiliar place.
Alamar nodded to her. “Princess Alegria de Ramon y Sarabia, welcome to the Council of the Second Estate. Each duchy of Delaluz is appropriately represented and waits to hear your petition.” He stepped back from the head of the table. “The table is yours, Princess.”
As Alamar sat, Alegria swallowed hard, threw her shoulders back and marched to the head of the table. Once there, she stared resolutely down the length of the table and beyond to the doors she’d entered through. She was close to running, but Sol saw the grim fight in her eyes, the will that had seen her stand before the gathered Abbots and Abbesses and plead her case.
“Thank you, Duke Ibarra. Your Graces,” she addressed the entire table with a fleeting look that didn’t touch any of them. “I come before you today to ask for your aid even though it is not a matter of grave importance to Delaluz, or of dire threat to our people. As I am certain most of you are aware, my husband, the heir to Valdes Duchy, is no longer the man he once was. It has been a long three years since his accident and we are always hoping Eduardo’s condition improves so he may retain his role as heir. Yet, despite the very best efforts of our finest Bone Mages and the constant prayers to Luz and Saint Damacia, I believe it is time we accepted the truth. Prince Eduardo Bertoldo Sarabia Najera de Valdes has abdicated his right to the ducal throne of Valdes.”
The reaction to the news was subdued. It was nothing they hadn’t expected, though it should have come from Valdes’ council representative. Marquis Sarabia accepted the few questioning glances thrown his way with a small nod. They had planned it this way, a move Sol congratulated them for.
Abdication of a throne was a matter for the First Estate to sort out. The Second Estate could petition the First with candidates or arguments against certain propositions, but the final decision resided with the highest authority—the saints. By bringing word of Eduardo’s abdication to the Second Estate, Valdes stole some of the immediate pressure from the church. Here, before the dukes and duchesses, Alegria could speak her piece without the influence of the First Estate or the advice of the saints weighing on each thought or argument.
“In light of Eduardo’s decision,” Alegria continued, “the fate of our children becomes of vital importance. In the past, orphans and foundlings were given to the church to raise. They were given an education and a name, Exposito. Yet over the years, this system was proven inadequate. The churches, while they are places of calm contemplation and communion with our revered saints, are hardly homes. The Deans and monks, kind and faultless, are not a family. We’ve all heard of those children the church failed, the ones they couldn’t calm, couldn’t tame. We all know the story of the Immortal Soldier. Though his birth name is lost to the years, we know he was an Exposito, a product of the upbringing a church is capable of.”
A small sting of alarm went through Sol. Was it coincidence Alegria mentioned the Immortal Soldier after Saint Sevastian had spoken of him? Could this be what the saint had meant by saying the Immortal Soldier was awake?
“This Exposito, a foundling raised by the Church of Ciro, was asked one thing in return. Fight for Ibarra. He refused, saying he wouldn’t kill for them. Anything but that. When they insisted, he ran away. They hunted him down and when they caught him, they punished him. Flogged and then forced to march off to war. But they didn’t break his spirit. He ran again, straight across the frontlines and into the arms of Ibarra’s opponent. They were beaten and Ibarra took back the Exposito. This time he was whipped and imprisoned, tortured until he said he would fight for Saint Ciro. But once more, he ran. He got no further than the gates of Ibarra City before they caught him. Death, he said then, would be better than being forced to do something he didn’t want to do. So they denied him death. This Exposito, who began life as an innocent child, forced against his will to kill, was cursed to fight forever for Ibarra, his debt never to be paid in full.”
Alegria paused. She had caught their attention. It was a story they all knew, a tale of caution—be gracious to all who offer you a gift, but most of all, obey your church and saint or perhaps you’ll be cursed as well. But Alegria had turned it into a story where the Immortal Soldier was tragically doomed.
“Your graces,” Alegria said, finally looking each of them in the eyes, “the church has taken my children away from me. My baby girls. Nieve Estella and Emelda Nevara. They have done this because they believe they are more capable of raising them than their father and I. We are not even allowed to see them. Abbot Guillermo said my daughters are likely to be afflicted with the same problems Eduardo suffers.”
“Preposterous,” Caritina spat, her eyes ablaze.
Again Sol wanted to congratulate Alegria. Abbots didn’t marry or have children, unlike the dukes and duchesses whose duty it was to rule and produce heirs. Alegria had called to the passionate, protective mother in the otherwise unruffled Duchess of Navarro. Similarly, Bolivar was grinding his teeth. Childless he might be but the ferocity with which he pursued the ideal of children was legendary. Sarabia was nodding in grave approval. Galo was married but it was a widely renowned marriage of inconvenience. He’d done his part to produce a pair of heirs and then refused to have anything more to do with his wife. Sol didn’t know how Galo felt about his children, but the Duke of Giron had lost his habitual expression of boredom and replaced it with something strange and unreadable. Alamar was turned inward, perhaps recalling the recent trauma his daughter had suffered. Even Isabel lowered her gaze.
“We have consulted with as many Bone Mages as we can,” Alegria said, “and most say Eduardo’s disabilities will not affect our children. Yet, the Council of the First Estate voted against my petition to bring my girls home. They agreed the Church of Damacia should raise the twins. Can you imagine, your graces, the size of the debt in this case? I have no doubt my girls will grow up unaffected by their father’s condition. I have no doubt, that when they are old enough, one of them will rule Valdes. I have no doubt, that when that day comes, Valdes will not be ruled by the Second Estate, as the saints decreed. Like the Immortal Soldier, the debt my daughters’ incur will never be paid in full.”
Alegria stopped to gather her composure. This time, the silence she left was thick with emotion. Caritina was barely holding back her sympathetic anger, and there was a similar heat in Sol’s chest. He’d thought knowing this prior to hearing it from Alegria would give him some immunity. He hadn’t accounted for the emotion the young woman would bring to the table. Sergio swallowed hard, trying to keep some feeling from bursting free. Bolivar was tortured, hands clenched and eyes fierce. Galo’s lips twitched, but on his face, this small motion was a violent giveaway to the anger simmering under the surface.
Princess Alegria cleared her throat. “When I started, I sa
id what I brought before you was not of grave importance to Delaluz, nor a threat to our people, but I hope you will consider it as if it were. For while the repercussions for Delaluz as a whole may seem like they are far in the future, I would remind you I am a mother whose children are her world. They are my Delaluz, and they are threatened. I ask you remember that when you consider my petition. I have come before you today to ask the aid of the Second Estate in overturning the decision of Abbot Guillermo and allow my children to come home.”
Tears brimmed in her dark eyes as she stepped back from the table and bowed, low and long, taking the time to regain some calm. When she straightened, she was composed.
“Thank you for hearing me. I await your decision.”
Head held high, Princess Alegria de Ramon y Sarabia left the council hall with more respect than when she had entered it.
“Ridiculous,” Caritina snapped the moment the doors closed. “I can’t believe the Council of the First Estate upheld Abbot Guillermo’s decision to take those babies away from their mother. Does anyone else here believe those girls could grow up with the same disabilities of their father?”
“I do believe,” Alamar said, “that Abbess Morales consulted with several Bone Mages during their consideration of Princess Alegria’s petition. The Valdes mages could simply have been telling Alegria what she wanted to hear. I wouldn’t doubt the impartiality of a de Ibarra Bone Mage in this instance.”
Bolivar snorted. “Eduardo broke his neck, not his balls. The only thing conceivably wrong with those twin girls is the ease with which they’ll burn in the sun. Hair as red as a sunset, but we can forgive the Najera family their greenman blood. What we can’t forgive is Guillermo’s conceit in thinking he can raise those girls better than their parents.”
Alamar hadn’t said enough for Sol to guess at how his vote might swing, but Bolivar sounded certain he would vote for Alegria, as did Caritina.
“But is that truly the case?” Isabel asked. “Do any of us honestly think the princesses would be better off raised by their family? With all due respect, Marquis Sarabia, the Valdes ruling family is not strong. Duchess Najera is elderly and ill, as evidenced by her absence from this meeting, and, may her saint preserve her, not going to see her grandchildren into their adolescence. Eduardo is incapable of being a father. He can barely walk, hardly talk, can’t remember his whole Name without prompting and falls into unpredictable fits. Quite rightly he has abdicated, leaving the inheritance of Valdes’ throne to a pair of babies. Babies whose only remaining familial guide is their mother. Little more than a girl herself, not raised in court and unlearned in such manners. Is Alegria the best option those babies have of growing up with even a chance of ruling Valdes capably? I say Abbot Guillermo was correct.”
The first argument against but Sol wasn’t surprised. Isabel was rarely compassionate. It was a given Sarabia would vote for Alegria, and Sol would as well. Two definitely and two likely to vote for the princess was a good beginning.
Galo gave Isabel a sidelong glance. “While you do raise pertinent points regarding the suitability of the Najera family as it stands at present, I do agree with Alegria on the point of what influence the church will have over those girls when they’re adults. I would never deny the vital role of the church or its authority...” He looked around the table with lazy confidence. “But I wouldn’t hesitate to say no one here hasn’t questioned the action of the First Estate at least once.”
“We’re not here to discuss every Abbot,” Alamar said. “Just Guillermo and just this one decision.”
“Indeed,” Galo murmured, “but think about it. There have been times when we’ve all wished to question a command from the church. I mean, old chap, not all of us have a chance of managing it by ourselves, unlike you. Didn’t you refuse to give that de Roque Bone Mage to Abbess Morales when she declared him a demon?”
“What?” Sarabia demanded at the same time Caritina turned to Sol, her jaw dropped.
“Does he mean Gabe?” Sergio asked Sol.
“Yes,” Sol muttered to Sergio as every set of eyes around the table focused on him.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Sol hissed, “We’ll talk about this later.”
“Sol?” Bolivar leaned across the table. “It’s true?”
Sol glared at Galo. How had he found out about Gabe? “Yes. A de Roque Bone Mage was involved in an incident here in Ibarra, and yes, Abbess Morales wished to take the mage for her inquisition. Thankfully Duke Ibarra talked her down and the Bone Mage is...” He hated having to admit Alamar’s solution was the best possible outcome. “He’s being punished.”
“The matter of the Bone Mage is between myself and Sol.” Alamar’s voice worked as Sol’s words hadn’t to ease the tension in the room. “While I do see Galo’s reason in raising it now, I would encourage you all to disregard it in this discussion. The agreement between myself and Abbess Morales on this topic has nothing to do with Princess Alegria’s disagreement with Abbot Guillermo.”
“Be that as it may,” Sarabia said, “I think it does illustrate the point Duke Rendon was making. I know anything I say is going to be weighted by personal feelings. This is my family we are discussing, and might I remind you, Duke Ibarra, your family as well.”
Alamar bowed his head to Sarabia. “My late wife, Rosario, was sister to Eduardo.”
“The twin princesses are your nieces, cousins to your own children. You’ve questioned the decision of Abbess Morales, Alamar. Surely you can sympathise with this part of your family as they question a decision by Abbot Guillermo.” Sarabia stood, his shaking hands planted on the table for support. “The words of our saints are the words we live by, and we trust to the church to hear those words and pass them on to us. But does that mean the church is always right?”
“Yes,” Isabel interjected with uncommon heat. “The saints sacrificed the respite and peace of the Shadows so they might stay and guide us. We have followed their advice for centuries and look at Delaluz! Strong, stable, powerful enough Alarie dare not provoke more than one duchy at once. Are you saying we should not have listened to our saints? That we should have stayed as primitive and backward as Talamh?”
Not sure if he should be shocked or amused by Isabel’s outburst, Sol looked to Sarabia for his response.
His confidence clearly as shaken as his train of thought, Sarabia hesitated, looking around the table for a hint as to how to follow that. “Of course not,” he finally managed, both hurt and aghast she would suggest such a thing. “Imagine the chaos we would be in if we didn’t have our saints’ counsel! But at the same time, can we let our faith be as blind as Alarie’s? Alegria reminded us all about the story of the Immortal Soldier. Can any of us imagine the suffering that man went through because the church decided he must be a soldier? As scared as we are of dying, how much more frightening must it be to never die? If the Church of Ciro could curse a man to endless pain, what else might they, or any church be capable of, if there is no power within Delaluz to question them?”
“The story of the Immortal Soldier is just that,” Isabel said. “A story. We don’t know if, a thousand years ago, a man was cursed to fight for Ibarra forever. We don’t know of any power able to lay such a curse. It certainly hasn’t been done since.”
“Maybe the story isn’t real,” Caritina said, “but it does make a point. The power of the church as it stands is absolute. We may rule our duchies, thinking the choices we make are our own, but the church has the right to overrule any decision we make.”
Alamar sat back in his chair. “Are you suggesting, Caritina, that we should overthrow the church?”
Isabel chuckled but no one else found it amusing.
“Of course not,” Caritina snapped.
“No one mentioned revolution.” Bolivar’s voice strained against some emotion Sol couldn’t identify. “The only question raised was the one about how much influence one body should have over another.”
“The starting point of
a mutiny, I should think. But, isn’t it up to you to determine how much influence another has on you? Are we not all thinking, reasoning beings in control of our own lives?” Alamar asked pointedly.
Bolivar glared at Alamar, that seething emotion revealed as anger. Before Sol’s distant cousin could act on that rage, Galo spoke up.
“So, in the case of blackmail, who has the power, Alamar? The victim or the blackmailer?”
The undertow of tension turned into a raging tide, dragging them all out into the deep waters of open hostility. Sol nudged Sergio and his cousin nodded minutely, aware of how quickly things could change. Eloisa eased her chair back. If things went bad she could dive for the floor and reach for the power of the earth.
Alamar smiled. “The one who holds the truth, Galo. It’s only when the truth is hidden that it becomes dangerous.”
“No, Alamar. A hidden truth is not dangerous. Only when it’s discovered does it become dangerous.” And with that, Galo turned away from Alamar and the interchange ended, though the tension remained.
“I think,” Sol said, “there are two things we need to consider in this petition. One is the immediate ramification for Prince Eduardo and Princess Alegria. Isabel, you’re right in that Eduardo can’t be a perfect example of fatherhood, but the fact remains, he is their father. He has a right to know his children, to see them grow up. He might not always remember himself, or them, but when he does, he should be able to talk to them, to show them he cares. Alegria mightn’t have been raised to rule but that doesn’t mean she’s incapable. We don’t have to decide if Abbot Guillermo’s reasons for taking the twins away from their parents were right or wrong. What we have to decide is if we ourselves can find a reason to break up this family.”
“Hear, hear,” Caritina called and Sarabia nodded his thanks to Sol.
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