Marine murmured a pious word as the tower loomed high above them, then, with no further interest in the architecture, let the curtain fall again and gestured to Chaia to do likewise. Two guards in the grey and gold of Imperial service recognized the coach’s device and opened the gates to let them through, and the horses slowed to a sedate walk as they entered the Academy precincts. The sound of the hooves and wheels changed, suggesting that the walls to either side were closing in, and at last the coach rumbled and squeaked to a halt.
The coachman had been given instructions to avoid the Academy’s public courtyard and instead deliver his passengers to the more private reception square of the Sanctum itself. High walls, again adorned with religious carvings, surrounded them on all sides, and the only sign that this was a place of any significance was the blue canopy that arched over the door, surmounted by the Lady’s own emblem of a stylized snowflake. Servants were waiting to escort them; as they passed under the canopy Marine bowed her head over clasped hands and murmured reverently, “The tears of the Lady are the blessing of the snow,” then looked sharply at Chaia to ensure that she did not forget the ritual obeisance. She was already feeling better. And, for the first time since the westward journey had begun, her sense of curiosity and interest in the reasons behind her summons to the Metropolis was reawakening.
The door closed behind them, enveloping them in a sense of warmth and opulence, which surprised Marine until she remembered that austerity was not practiced in the city as it was in more rural districts. They were conducted along a carpeted and lamp lit corridor, then up two flights of elegantly balustraded stairs that took them into the heart of the Sanctum complex. Sisters of every grade glided efficiently about their business, the lower ranks pausing to curtsey to Marine as she passed. Somewhere in the distance girls” voices were raised in the massed harmony of a Sanctification Chant; they paused while a single woman’s voice spoke firmly for a few moments, then after a brisk clap of hands the singing began again, fading behind the party as they walked on.
They reached a secluded part of the building, aloof and remote from the comparative bustle, and stopped outside an ornate door. The servants knocked respectfully; from the far side a voice called crisply, “Enter!” and Marine walked in.
Grand Mother Beck was sitting in her favorite armchair, behind a desk designed to daunt more timid spirits. A fire blazed in the grate, making lamplight unnecessary; at a hearth table two postulant Little Daughters were setting out wine and biscuits under the gimlet eye of a chatelaine. Beck looked up from a ledger on the desk before her, and her stern expression relaxed into a formal smile.
“High Sister Marine—welcome. Come in, come in. Thank you, Chaia; I’ll have no need of you now, so you may be excused until after the refectory hour.”
Chaia curtseyed and left, and at a nod from her superior the chatelaine also departed, chivvying the Little Daughters before her. The door closed, and Beck exhaled a sigh that combined relief with faint vexation.
“Sit down, Marine, do,” she said. “I don’t need to ask how you fared on your journey; your face tells me all. There; take that chair by the fire, and I shall move from this infernal desk and join you.”
Marine perched on the edge of the chair and pulled off her ermine gloves one meticulous finger at a time. “I’m glad to see you looking well, Grand Mother,” she replied. “Sister Chaia gave me to understand that recent events have proved a little…stressful for you.”
Beck knew Sister Chaia well enough to be sure that she had told Marine precisely what she had been instructed to tell her, no more and no less, and understood what lay behind this genteel probe. Marine’s curiosity had been aroused—and that was precisely what Beck had intended. For twelve years Marine had been her official amanuensis when she herself was head of the First Eastern Sanctum, and during that time she had also become, at least in private, Beck’s closest confidante. Four years ago, when Beck had been elevated to her role as the highest female religious in the kingdom, Marine had succeeded to her place in the east, and since then they had met only on a few occasions. But old ties did not weaken with distance.
Father Urss would have had grave doubts about this meeting, had he known of it. He had made it clear that he did not wish Beck to involve any new players in this particular game. But Urss was not a realist—very few of the Fathers were, Beck reflected cynically—and he was not the one who would be obliged to deal with the practicalities. That, as always, would be left to the Sisters. Beck saw no reason why she should be expected to shoulder the burden alone. Besides, whether the Fathers liked it or not, Marine was indirectly involved.
“Pour me a glass of wine, Marine, if you please. And take one yourself.” She waited until Marine had complied, then cupped the delicate, faceted vessel in her hands and gave the younger woman a shrewd look. The fire lit her heavy face and a thin tendril of hair that had escaped from her linen head-cap; for a moment she looked as old as the temple itself.
“The nature of this summons,” she said, “was, I know, peremptory in the extreme. I called you here without notice or warning, and now that you have arrived you find yourself hurried to my office with barely a moment to catch your breath.”
“I’m sure there’s a good reason, Grand Mother,” Marine replied.
“There is.” A faint, hard smile touched Beck’s mouth. “You’re not entirely out of touch in the east, are you, Marine?”
Marine bridled slightly. “I hope not. We try to keep abreast of developments—”
“And I don’t doubt you have your own thoughts on what lies behind the public façade. Thoughts that you don’t necessarily reveal to the Sisters under your care.”
Marine leaned forward slightly, her blue-grey eyes suddenly and acutely alert. Beck continued to regard her for a few moments longer, then continued.
“I have sent for you, High Sister Marine, because I have a task to entrust. And trust is the key word, for what we are about to discuss now must not, and I repeat not, be divulged to another living soul. Do I have your assurance?”
“Of course, Grand Mother.” Marine was avid now, which was all to the good. Beck nodded.
“Very well. You know, presumably, that the Imperator has been ailing this past year or so. It’s a degenerative illness, and one which neither prayer nor physic has been able to arrest. The fact is that His Majesty is unlikely to see another spring.”
Marine’s tongue appeared and licked cautiously around her lower lip. “That is very sad news.”
“Indeed. We shall all morn him. However, it is not the Imperator’s impending death that concerns the Fathers of the Exalted Council most deeply. It is the question of the succession.”
Marine said, “Ah…” There was a pause, then she added carefully, “But the succession is not open to selection…”
“Indeed,” Beck agreed. “However much anyone might wish it otherwise, the Imperator can’t choose who shall follow him. The eldest son must take the throne as always.”
“But—” Marine’s voice cut off swiftly, but she had given away enough to satisfy Beck. Marine knew. That was the one uncertainty Beck had had, and abruptly it was dispelled.
“You’re aware of the problem, then.” Her voice was level. “It has been kept from the populace at large, of course; to reveal the truth would have been unthinkable. But there is no such thing as an impenetrable secret.”
Marine smiled faintly. “You trained me yourself, Grand Mother. I hope I’m worthy of you.”
Oh, you are, Beck thought. Aloud, she said, “Unfortunately, the fact that Prince Osiv isn’t fit to rule makes no difference whatever to law and custom. He is the heir apparent, so he must succeed to the throne when the Imperator is called to his final rest.”
Marine nodded. “I’ve never seen the prince for myself, of course,” she mused. “Is he truly beyond redemption?”
Beck sighed. “I’m afraid he is. He’s twenty-seven years old now, but he has the mind of a little child, and a child’s tempers a
nd tantrums to go with it. How can one hold an intelligent conversation with a young man who understands nothing beyond playing with toy bricks, and who cries and screams if any attempt is made to take his toys away from him? More to the point, how can such a creature be instructed or even cajoled to perform the Imperator’s duties? The sheer practical problems, aside of anything else, would be an unimaginable nightmare.”
Marine stared at the fire, and chose her next words with the greatest care. “It pains me to say it, naturally, but it seems a pity that Prince Osiv’s physical health is so much greater than his mental health. If he had not survived into adulthood…” She let a small moue say the rest.
“When his condition was first realized,” Beck said, “the incumbent Grand Mother suggested to the Imperator that perhaps it would be better for all if his life were terminated—without pain or suffering, of course—and an end be made of the whole matter. The Imperator might have agreed at that time, I think, but the Imperatrix wouldn’t hear of it.” She tapped the glass” stem, producing a small, cold, ringing sound. “She was a very stubborn woman, and while she was alive the Imperator paid her opinions altogether too much attention.”
“I was only a Low Sister at the time. I knew nothing of it, of course.”
“Oh, there was quite a furor. Grand Mother Borne even petitioned the Fathers to have the Imperator’s marriage pronounced void and a more docile wife found for him. But they were still debating the appeal when the Imperatrix bore a second son, so the question was shelved.” Beck’s eyebrows lifted eloquently. “That caused a second furor, at least in a few dark corners. It was whispered that the Imperator’s line had been so tainted by inbreeding over the centuries that he was incapable of producing anything but idiots. He and the Imperatrix were first cousins, of course. So there was a rumor that she had looked elsewhere, shall we say, for the source of a healthy heir.”
Marine was shocked. “You mean that the second child wasn’t the Imperator’s son at all?”
“As I say, it was a rumor.” Beck shrugged noncommittally. “But the Imperator didn’t hear of it; he accepted the new child as his own. The baby bore a passing resemblance at least to its putative father, and the tale died away as such things do. Pragmatically, the truth hardly matters, does it? All that Vyskir needed was a wholesome new prince to carry on the line. And at that time Prince Osiv wasn’t expected to live beyond his fifth birthday.”
“But he did,” Marine said quietly.
“As you say; he did. And he’s continued to confound the physicians ever since. Which leads us back,” Beck looked directly at Marine now, knowing that it was high time they both stopped procrastinating, “to our present problem, and the unfortunate new development. You see, Marine, it has become necessary for the Imperator’s younger son, Prince Kodor, to be married.”
Marine’s eyes narrowed as she stared at her superior. “Ah, yes,” she said. “There have been rumors that, possibly, Sekol might be involved…?”
She let the words trail off on a diffident interrogative, which was what Beck might have expected. Marine was too well schooled to ask bluntly for the facts, but she had made a shrewd guess at what those facts were. And she was right.
Beck smiled thinly. “The intended bride is Pola, Duke Arec of Sekol’s daughter.” A note of sour irony crept into her tone. “She is his only legitimate child, and he chooses to style her with the title of Marchioness.”
“I see.” Marine paused, then: “Grand Mother…you used the word, necessary.”
“So I did. Oh, there’s been no impropriety; to my certain knowledge Prince Kodor and the Marchioness have never even met. But Duke Arec is very anxious that the marriage should take place without delay. In fact, one might say he is most insistent. And, unfortunately, the Imperator and the Exalted Council are not in a position to argue with him.”
“Ah,” Marine said again. “I believe I understand.”
Beck nodded. “Sekol has always been a potentially dangerous neighbor; they covet our fertile land and kinder climate, and for the past century they’ve been militarily far stronger than we are. Duke Arec succeeded his father less than two years ago, as you know, and he is of a very different mettle. He has a martial attitude and little subtlety, and the mountains between our countries are too riddled with passes to present any real obstacle to a determined invader. Sekol has always been a threat in potential, and now the potential has turned into a reality. Duke Arec has offered a proposition to the Imperator which, shorn of its fine diplomatic language, amounts to an ultimatum. He wants Sekol and Vyskir to become, effectively, a single kingdom. His arguments are very persuasive; I could recite you a dozen or more of them without pausing to draw breath. But what he’s really offering, of course, is a simple choice: alliance, or invasion. The more accurate term for it is blackmail.”
She could tell from the look in Marine’s eyes that she had tacitly grasped a good deal more of the situation than had yet been spoken, and after a short pause to allow the information to be digested she continued.
“It is Vyskir’s good fortune that our Imperator has sons while Duke Arec has a daughter, and not vice versa. This way the match will give the Sekolians what they want without threatening the security of our own kingdom. So four days ago the Sekolian ambassador arrived in the Metropolis, and the details of the marriage contract are even now being finalized.” She paused. “However, there is one complication.”
“Prince Osiv,” Marine said thoughtfully.
“Exactly. I don’t need to spell out the nature of the dilemma, do I? Obviously, even though Osiv is the Imperator’s heir there can be no possible question of the Sekolian girl marrying him.” “Duke Arec knows of his affliction, then?”
“Oh, yes. It would hardly have been practicable—or safe—to keep it from him. So she will wed Prince Kodor instead. However, by our law, younger sons of the royal blood are forbidden to marry until the eldest has taken a wife.” Beck made an impatient gesture. “The measure was invented to stop a spate of assassinations and usurpations centuries ago. It’s a complete anachronism now, but it’s so enshrined in custom that there would be a public outcry if the Exalted Council dared depart from it. We do not want to stir up a furor of that kind. So the only feasible way round the problem is to find a wife for Prince Osiv. That, Marine, is why I have summoned you. You see, the bride chosen for Prince Osiv is a member of your own family. Nanta EsDorikye—her mother is your cousin, I believe?”
Marine stared, her face registering shock and incredulity. Given to the religious way at the age of six, she had had little direct contact with her family through all of her life, and could barely remember the faces of her parents and siblings, let alone cousins. But as she racked her memory, a few snippets started to surface. Letters from her eldest sister—years ago now—which had mentioned a cousin’s marriage to an aristocratic landowner. The name, EsDorikye, rang a bell. As did the recollection that there had been one child of the marriage. A daughter, yes. Some small mystery about it as she recalled: hadn’t the couple tried fruitlessly for years, before, suddenly and unexpectedly, a child had come? The details eluded Marine, or perhaps she had never known them, but there had been something special or unusual about it.
Seeing the memory click into place, Beck continued. “The girl is twenty years old now, and a scholar at the Court Academy here in the Metropolis. She is also a member of the Academy choir; junior, of course, but I understand that she has considerable talent and had been earmarked for training as a soloist. She is very comely—even Father Urss of the Exalted Council hasn’t failed to notice that.” Then she remembered that as yet Marine had had no dealings with Father Urss, so the sardony would be lost on her. “These assets, combined with her pedigree, are enough to satisfy the requirements for a royal bride. And according to her tutors she is also very tractable.” This time the pause was long enough to be significant. “Under the circumstances, as I’m sure you appreciate, that is the most vital quality of all.”
Marine saw h
er point immediately. “If she knows nothing of the prince’s affliction, the discovery will come as a shock,” she said.
“Indeed. So we must ensure that when she does discover the truth, she will not create any…difficulties. In other words, she must be thoroughly and carefully prepared for her new role. That, Marine, is the task I want you to undertake.”
A combination of teacher, chaperone and custodian, Marine thought. She nodded. “I understand, Grand Mother. I’m honored that you should consider me worthy.”
Beck smiled dryly again. “Your experience as head of the Sanctum will stand you in good stead. And the fact that you and the girl are related will help to smooth the path.”
“I’ve never met her, of course.”
“That’s irrelevant. Blood still counts. Now: Nanta has not yet been told of her betrothal, and until the negotiations with Sekol have been completed, the Exalted Council would prefer her not to know. However, rumor has a habit of running ahead of fact, so it’s vital that she should be removed from the Academy and placed in seclusion before any whispers start to circulate. She, and you, have been assigned a suite of rooms here in the Sanctum of the Lady, and you will keep her under supervision until the Council send word. It should only be a matter of a few days.”
“Of course, Grand Mother.” Marine hesitated. “She will need to be given some reason for her removal. What should I tell her?”
“I leave that to your judgment and discretion,” said Beck. “Though I see no reason why you should tell her anything. Part of your task is to teach her to obey without question, so that will be a useful lesson.” She finished the last of her wine, then set the glass down and sat back in her chair with a grunt of satisfaction. “I think we’ve covered the bones of the matter, or as many as we need to for the moment, and I don’t doubt you would appreciate the chance to unpack and rest for a while before your duties begin.” She grasped a bell rope hanging by the hearth and gave it a hard tug. “The chatelaine will show you to your quarters, and Nanta will be brought to you early this evening. Ask the chatelaine for anything you need, and convey any messages to me personally or through Sister Chaia. I’m dining at court tonight, so I won’t be available until morning, but in my absence you may entrust Sister Chaia with any queries.”
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