"You will announce only what I tell you. You will report any gossip, rumor mongering or unrest to Lord Holbrook upon your return. Should there be more serious problems, you will dispatch a person of your choice to the palace to inform us. Is that clear?"
Forty blond heads nodded in unison.
"Good." Nicholas's throat was dry. He had been dreading this moment. "You will announce that King Alexander the Sixteenth died on the way to Kenniland Marshes. He is succeeded by his son, King Nicholas the Fifth. Repeat that."
Forty young, powerful voices recited Nicholas's words verbatim. The sound was deafening. As they spoke, Nicholas looked over their heads at Holbrook, who smiled proudly. He and his men had trained them well. Nicholas would not have been able to repeat so much accurately so quickly.
When they finished, he said, "Nicely done. Now for the rest of the announcement."
The boys turned their attentive faces toward him. It seemed odd that they all looked alike: they were all small and fine boned, with a tendency toward squareness. He was getting too used to looking at the faces of Fey.
"Because of the suddenness of the King's death, the advisors have decreed that the coronation of Nicholas the Fifth had to proceed with haste. Nicholas the Fifth received the Roca's blessing on the tenth day of the fifteenth month when the sun reached its zenith. Repeat that."
They did with equal accuracy. The crush of voices made him shiver, and he hoped it didn't show. That, and his coronation, only two days away. He still hadn't chosen the venue.
"There will be a formal ceremony celebrating the coronation in the second month, after mourning is complete. The ceremony will take place on the sixth day at sundown in Jahn. Repeat that."
The boys spoke in unison for a third time, a single reedy voice speaking with great power.
"Good," Nicholas said when they were finished. "Add the traditional closing, and recite the entire announcement."
The boys recited all three parts, pausing between them as if inserting a new memory. Holbrook mouthed the words with them, apparently committing them to his own memory as well so that he could help them if they needed it.
They ended with, "May the Roca guide you in all things."
The words made Nicholas start. This was where Matthias had always claimed Nicholas had his failings — his lack of understanding of Rocaanism. Nicholas had never turned to the Roca for help. He had never asked the Holy One's help in finding God's Ear. Such things, he had always thought, were for simpler people, and now, at a time he could use comfort, he didn't believe in the one thing that others would have used.
The boys had stopped speaking. The silence in the room as deafening. They all tilted their heads toward him, as if waiting for his comments. Holbrook looked at him too, his grizzled features pressed into a frown.
"That was right," Nicholas said half a beat too late. "That was good. Well done."
He nodded to Holbrook, suddenly tired of talking with these children, these boys who were going to go from village to village announcing the news of his father's death. They would see more of the land than Nicholas ever had. One of them would have stop at the base of the Cliffs of Blood, another speak to the people who lived near the Slides of Death. Such wonderful adventurous names, such unknown places, places he wouldn't be able to travel to for years, not after what had happened to his father.
"You did well, boys," Holbrook said. "Meet me in the courtyard for your assignments. I will be there shortly."
The boys bowed again to Nicholas, then filed out of the chamber. Finally he saw differences. Some boys were taller than others. Some walked quickly, others hesitated. Still others glanced over their shoulders at Nicholas himself, as if they couldn't believe they had stood before the king.
Had his father been alive, they never would have. Some criers grew into young manhood and were reassigned jobs through the kingdom without ever seeing the king.
Holbrook waited until the last boy had closed the door behind him before coming up front. "You could have relayed your message, Sire, and I could have told the boys."
Nicholas shook his head. "One wrong word and I would worry. No. It's better that it came from me. Even then, there will be trouble."
"How do you know?" Hidden in Holbrook's question was another: Did she tell you?
"It's logical," Nicholas said. "Blue Isle is a different place from the one we were born into, milord."
"The Fey, Sire."
Nicholas nodded. "The Fey. The Tabernacle. Here, even the palace. Everything is different. Nothing will ever be the same."
Holbrook put a hand on the arm of the throne. "We'll all miss your father, Sire."
Nicholas made himself smile, although he had never felt less like smiling in his life. "I suppose we all will."
"Tis a good decision you made, having the coronation in two days."
Nicholas shrugged. "We have much to do before that."
Holbrook apparently heard the dismissal. He took his hand off the throne, and bowed. "I have boys to tend, Sire."
"I know. Thank you. Make sure they have enough supplies."
"We've done this before, Sire. We know how to send them."
"I'm sure you do," Nicholas muttered. Holbrook didn't hear him, and even if he had, he wouldn't have understood. The lords were having trouble realizing that Nicholas was no longer the boy who played at their feet. They had to listen to him now, and they had treat him with respect. But they also had to stop assuming that he didn't know anything about the Kingdom. He did. A comment like the one he had made about supplies would have sounded like a natural reminder coming from his father. From Nicholas, it sounded like ignorance.
Holbrook let himself out of the chamber. Nicholas stood and rubbed his buttocks. The throne had been hard. He would ask for a cushion. He didn't know how his father had stood it — sitting in a chair like that for hours every day, listening to business and complaints. But Nicholas would have to do the same, whether he did it in the Great Chamber or the Audience Room didn't matter. He was no longer free to roam at will. Everyone depended on him now.
The door to the Great Chamber opened, and Matthias bowed to him. "Forgive me, Sire, but I would like a moment."
Nicholas nodded and waved Matthias in.
Matthias entered and closed the door behind him. "Are we alone?"
"As alone as we can be." Nicholas would explain no more than that. After his father died, he had ordered guards to listening posts throughout the palace. Four were stationed at posts now, watching all that transpired in the Great Chamber. Nicholas would never be completely alone, but he would probably live through any attack.
He had ordered the guards for himself only. He left Jewel and his son unprotected, an act which he could not bear to contemplate too closely.
The guards had all taken vows of secrecy which, of course, Nicholas had reiterated as he set up this plan with their superiors. Nicholas, however, threatened a harsh and unspecified retaliation should any information escape. So far nothing had leaked, but Nicholas wanted to prevent any discussion, even among the guards themselves.
"We need to talk before your coronation," Matthias said.
"Yes," Nicholas said. "We need to plan the location."
"More than that." Matthias came deeper into the chamber. The room seemed empty without the criers in it. "We need to discuss your future."
Matthias had said those words to Nicholas many times in a thousand different ways. Matthias had been Nicholas's religious supervisor, and had often approached Nicholas with those same words when Nicholas was not doing his coursework or attending the Sacraments enough.
"Do we?" Nicholas asked. He retreated to the throne and sat in it as his father would have, feet together, hands gripping the arms.
"Yes." Even though Nicholas was sitting on the platform, Matthias was taller. His unnatural height and thinness made his red robes hang on him. The small swords hanging like tassels from the sash marked his narrow, almost girlish waist. He didn't look like the Rocaan. He lo
oked like a devil of a man dressed as the Rocaan.
Nicholas didn't encourage him to say any more. Matthias was going to be trouble. He had never thought well of Nicholas. Matthias was a scholar and Nicholas had never been. Nicholas preferred swords, horses, and the smell of battle to pens, books, and the clash of minds. Now a former student become King. Matthias would never take him seriously.
"Before we plan the coronation itself, I think we must discuss Jewel."
Nicholas stiffened. Matthias had opposed the marriage from the beginning. He believed the Fey to be as evil as the Soldiers of the Enemy, the mythical people who had cut down the Roca before he was Absorbed. Matthias only agreed to perform the ceremony because Nicholas's father had talked him into it somehow. And Matthias had done the minimal amount of work on it, giving the ceremony a brevity that wasn't normal.
"Shall I ring for her?" Nicholas asked.
Matthias shook his head. He wasn't wearing his biretta and his blond curls fell in disarray around his face. "This is between us, Nicholas."
"Sire," Nicholas corrected him.
"As long as I am Holy Sir to you," Matthias said.
Nicholas nodded. "Point taken. A meeting of equals then, Matthias."
"Exactly," Matthias said. "And as your spiritual advisor, I would like you to hear me through on this one."
"If you're going to disparage Jewel —"
"I merely want you to think of other possibilities."
"She is right, you know, about her own behavior. She has been completely trustworthy since she has come here."
Matthias held up one hand. "Let me speak my part. Then throw me out if you have to."
Nicholas sighed. If he didn't give Matthias the chance to speak, Matthias would speak anyway. Or take matters into his own hands, as he had always done. "Quickly, then. I have other matters to attend to."
Matthias templed his fingers in front of his lips, bowed his head as if he were thinking how to approach this topic, and then said, "Five years ago, when the Rocaan died, the Fey lost a major opportunity of a kind we don't completely understand. They tried to learn the secret to holy water, they tried to infiltrate the Tabernacle, and these things did not work."
"You don't have to rehash history with me," Nicholas said, allowing irritation into his voice.
"I'm merely setting the situation," Matthias said. "What happens if, after that meeting, the Fey decided to take a different approach with us."
"You've mentioned this before, Matthias. You have no evidence."
"Your father's death." Matthias let his hands drop. "That's my evidence."
"We don't even know who killed him."
Matthias took a deep breath, as if he were deciding how candid to be, and then let it out in a great sigh. "Nicholas, I served as a Danite in the Kenniland Marshes. It was one of the most miserable experiences in my life. I was only there for two years, not enough to make an impression on them, but enough for me to gain an understanding. Your father died on the entrance to the Marshes. You've never been there. I have. There are few trees. The land is flat for miles. A man could not hide there. A Fey could."
"That's not evidence," Nicholas said. "That's speculation."
Matthias tugged on the silver filigree sword around his neck. "Perhaps, but you promised to hear me out. Let's assume that after the 50th Rocaan died, the Fey decided to change tactics. Let's assume that Jewel's agreement with you was part of that change. Then she would gain your confidence, become important to you, and over time, work her way into this government. The assassination of Alexander would have been part of the plan. When he died, she would become the Queen of Blue Isle. Sebastian —"
"We won't discuss my son."
"But we have to," Matthias said. "If we suppose this was all a Fey trick, then we assume they would have known about Sebastian before he happened. We have never had mixed marriages here. They have all over the world. Perhaps the Fey conquer because they cannot co-mingle. Sebastian or the possibility of a child like him would make Jewel's job even easier. She would become Queen, then you would die, and she would be Regent. Only her regency would be permanent, because Sebastian could never rule. All legal. A take-over without worrying about the threat of holy water."
Nicholas gripped the arms of the throne even tighter. The smooth wood pressed against his palms. "It would take an incredibly cold heart to do all of that. You haven't seen Jewel with Sebastian. She sits with him each and every day."
"The Fey have a history of betraying their own families. The current Black King stole his position from his brother. There are other stories —"
"No," Nicholas said. His heart was pounding. He didn't want to hear any more. "They had no guarantee that my father would ever be in a position to allow an assassin access. They had no idea that Sebastian would be — as he is. If they did, Jewel would not have allowed herself to carry another child. She talks to it, Matthias, at night when she thinks I'm asleep. She tells it to be smart and strong and the best of both of us. I can't believe that she would betray me."
"That's the beauty of this," Matthias said. "That you will refuse to believe. We still don't understand all that the Fey can do."
"We know," Nicholas said.
"And who did we learn it from? Jewel?" His words echoed in the empty room.
Nicholas sighed. The argument had a curious logic, one that he didn't really want to hear, but one he couldn't ignore. Matthias was twisted, that was all. The death of the Rocaan had put Matthias in an impossible position, and he blamed that on the Fey. He allowed that to fuel hatred instead of creating the best situation he could.
And now he was taking that hatred out on Jewel.
Nicholas wanted him out, but tossing him out would solve nothing. The King and the Rocaan were the most powerful men in all of Blue Isle. If they couldn't work together, then nothing would be accomplished. That much of his lessons Nicholas did remember.
"What do you suggest?" he asked.
Matthias looked up, apparently surprised that Nicholas would even consider his suggestion. "Set her aside. Now, before the coronation. She can't come into the Tabernacle. The marriage isn't one according the Isle tradition. She was never touched by holy water, never Blessed. No one would criticize you for setting her aside. Everyone would understand."
"Except the Fey themselves."
"Even they might. The settlement in Jahn isn't working. They're being threatened daily, and some Fey are returning to Shadowlands. The Fey are as opposed to this arrangement as the Islanders are. It is a false truce. Everyone knows that but you."
The words chilled Nicholas. "Everyone?"
"Yes, Nicholas. You have precedent. Wives have been turned aside before —"
"Not with the Tabernacle's sanction. In fact, the 40th Rocaan released an edict ordering marriage to be an eternal choice. Your office, Matthias. You, the scholar, are telling me to go against it?"
Matthias pursed his lips. "The 40th Rocaan was merely a man. The edict did not come from God or the Roca. No still small voice spoke it. A man simply placed his morality upon the country."
"The Rocaan is supposed to be the Roca's representative on the Isle, with a direct line to God. You told me that I should always listen for the still small voice," Nicholas said. "Has that voice told you to argue against Jewel?"
Matthias studied Nicholas for a moment. Then Matthias licked his lips. "I'm a scholar, Nicholas. It is what I was before the Rocaan died, all I've ever wanted to be. I looked at history, and words, and logic. The still small voice has no place in that kind of world view."
Nicholas leaned back. The wooden throne made his body ache. "You taught it to me."
"Because it is part of tradition."
"But you're saying no Rocaan has ever heard a still small voice?"
Matthias shrugged. "We're men, Nicholas. As fallible as kings, just less willing to admit it."
Nicholas stood and turned his back on Matthias. The loss of his father, the slander against Jewel, the burden of kingship all ove
rwhelmed him, but this was more than he could take. He needed something on the Isle to run well. If it wasn't the palace then it had to be the Tabernacle. And now the 51st Rocaan was confessing that he didn't believe in God.
Nicholas clenched and unclenched his fists until his hands were sore. He was shaking. Finally he turned. Standing on the podium, he was almost as tall as Matthias. Nicholas could look at him straight on without looking up.
"You will say nothing of this to anyone ever again, do you understand me?" Nicholas said. He clenched his fists so tightly the nails bit into his palm. "You will not disparage the Tabernacle's traditions, you will uphold your position as Rocaan and even when speaking to someone as an equal, you will admit to believing all that Rocaanism stands for, including the still small voice. You are the voice of God on this Isle. You defile the name of your predecessor by this kind of blasphemy."
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