The party dismounted. Jaryd took the bridle of Sofy's horse, looking warily at the soldiers. He did not need to tell her how little he liked the situation. She saw, and felt it herself, in her bones.
“Just guard the horses,” she told him in Lenay. “We'll need them if we're to go somewhere fast.” Jaryd nodded. His eyes flicked to Sofy's surrounding knights. They were her protection, supposedly…but if circumstances had changed as word had it, she'd be a fool to believe that would be their only function.
Sofy indicated to Jeddie, and the two women walked to the temple steps, accompanied by Bacosh knights, armour rattling as they went. Her knights took up station at the entrance to the temple as the women walked on, into the musty air and dull light. Sofy smelled incense, and saw that before the altar a tall chair had been placed like a throne. Upon it sat a very fat man in black robes and a tall hat. In a half-circle before him sat more priests in more chairs, beneath tall stands of scented candles.
Sofy walked toward them with gathering dread. To the Archbishop's right stood Dafed and several of his favoured lords. The priests all stood as she approached. The Archbishop stood also, with groaning effort. Sofy walked within the half-circle, and curtseyed. All bowed.
“Princess Sofy,” said Aesol Turen, Archbishop of Larosa. He was the second in authority throughout the Verenthane world, deferring only to the Archbishop of Torovan. With Larosa's recent successes at the head of a conquering army, some rumoured that even that authority may be shifting.
“Archbishop Turen,” said Sofy. “A pleasure.”
“We shall sit,” said Turen, and some men brought chairs for Sofy and Jeddie. Jeddie sat further back, while Sofy sat alone before the arc of priests. Dafed looked on, his broad face grim. “I hear interesting tales of your conduct, since your arrival in this city,” the Archbishop continued in Torovan.
“The Larosan court is filled with interesting tales,” Sofy replied, in Larosan. The priests all glanced at each other, surprised at her fluency. She'd been practising. Larosan was the tongue of all Bacosh noble courts, spoken by all the nobility, regardless of region. In the presence of most Lenays, those nobles would stoop to speak Torovan, the language of trade and the only regional tongue most Lenays would understand-a condescension often granted with a smirk.
Sofy's mouth was dry, and her heart thumping unpleasantly. It was a risk, to insist upon a less familiar tongue. But she could not allow them to condescend to her here, after the news that she had heard.
“Indeed,” said the Archbishop. “Today I come bearing most interesting tales. Would you like me to tell them? You have no doubt heard rumour, by now.” His tone was arch, and superior. Yasmyn had hated him on first meeting. Sofy had been more tolerant. Now she found herself conceding to Yasmyn's judgement.
“I have heard that half of the Army of Lenayin has changed sides,” said Sofy. She pressed her hands firmly together in her lap, lest they should tremble. “My sister leads them.”
“Changed sides,” pronounced Turen. There was deathly silence in the small temple. Turen smiled unpleasantly. “Turned traitor, one might more correctly say. And rather more than half, I hear.”
Sofy knew the divisions better than anyone here, save for Jaryd, who remained outside. She could guess the lines upon which the split had occurred. Led by Sasha…so the three northern provinces of Hadryn, Ranash, and Banneryd would have done the precise opposite. The rest would have divided largely on noble lines, the nobility with the northern provinces, the common folk with Sasha. Except (as everything in Lenayin was “except”) for the Taneryn. And possibly even the Isfayen, whose nobility disliked their so-called peers and had grown recently fond of Sasha.
“Do you have news of my siblings?” Sofy asked, unable to quite keep the fear from her voice.
“Your brother the king remains loyal,” Turen conceded. “The younger brother too, Myklas. The others, not so much.”
Sofy let out the small, tight breath she'd been holding. “So they are well?”
“Quite,” Turen pronounced, curtly. “The last I heard.”
Sofy tried to think. What could have caused such a calamity? She knew that Sasha had been unhappy, as many Lenays had been unhappy. And she wasn't completely naive, she knew that her husband had been shielding her from the worst atrocities of the invasion. Lenayin had suffered greatly in battle, she had lost her own father, and Lenay morale had suffered…but in Lenayin, honour was all, and honourable behaviour, as Sofy understood it, did not entail changing sides in the middle of a war. Sasha's more extreme flights of emotion did not surprise her at all…but for the Army of Lenayin to follow her in such numbers…
What had happened to make them hate their new allies so much? Seated here before the circle, Sofy felt the wall of accusing eyes upon her. Beneath those stares, she understood her own danger.
“We would all here be most intrigued,” Turen said into that silence, “to hear your appraisal of these events. We of the Bacosh had heard many stories of the fearsome warriors of Lenayin, but we had not heard that they were so disloyal.”
“You still have a considerable portion of the Army of Lenayin with you,” Sofy returned.
“As I said, rather less than half.”
“A less-than-half that includes the heavy northern cavalry, always the most formidable portion.” Sofy injected a note of cold reprimand into her voice. She understood very well that here she must fight, or quite possibly die. “Many Lenays fought and died so that my husband's forces could attain their current position. Indeed, our very presence in Tracato has been purchased with the lives of many thousands of Lenay warriors. It is the Verenthane code that one should never show disrespect upon ground stained with the blood of martyrs. I know that you do not mean to sound disrespectful, Archbishop Turen.”
“The forces of the Free Bacosh won victory over Rhodaan upon Sonnai Plain,” said Dafed, from the Archbishop's right. “I fought upon the Sonnai, and I did not see any Lenays there.”
There was a muttering of approval from his fellow lords.
“You fought one Army of the Steel at odds of better than five to one against,” said Sofy. “You barely won. Upon your flank, Lenayin fought another Army of the Steel at odds of one to one, and barely lost. Were Lenayin not upon your flank, you would have faced two armies of the Steel together, and been annihilated like so many of your forebears.” Dafed's lords glared at her.
“By my calculation,” Sofy continued mercilessly, “if you still possess the strongest formation of the Army of Lenayin within your ranks, then you still possess a force more than twice the value of all the rest of your armies combined.”
“Ludicrous!” someone exclaimed.
“Ask the Enoran Steel how it is ludicrous,” Sofy snapped. “All agree they came within a hair of defeat, something your Bacosh Armies have never achieved in two hundred years with many times the force. Lenays do not require odds of five to one to win our victories.”
If they no longer need me, if they no longer fear me, I'm dead.
Observing the angry faces around her, the thought formed quite clearly. Most had never liked the alliance. Now they had true cause not to. She was an impediment, as her marriage to Balthaar Arrosh blocked access to that most valuable thing that all others craved-wedlock to the future King of all Bacosh. She had to impress upon them how important she still was, and how deadly her family and allies would be to offend.
“Now, now,” said Turen, raising a calming hand. “Let us not descend into crude allegations and counter-allegations. I would hear the princess's assessment.”
Sofy swallowed and calmed herself. “Lenayin is a land only recently united,” she said. “There are many lines of fracture amongst my people. Many of us feared this outcome from the start. My brother the king did advocate this war in part to unite our people, to meld them together in the forge of war. He was counselled of the possibility that it may have an alternative effect. Now it seems those fears are realised.”