“Hush.”
Few things could disturb Queen Hailyn’s even-tempered world, but her husband’s occasional criticisms of Mother Church-and especially of the Inquisition-were among them. She looked around the dining room, then relaxed as she realized there’d been no servants to hear the injudicious remark.
“Saying things like that isn’t going to help, dear,” she said much more severely than she normally spoke to her royal spouse. “And I really wish you’d be a little more sparing with them. Especially”-she looked straight across the table-“these days.”
Zhames grimaced, but he didn’t protest, which was itself a sign of the times. Despite the distant nature of his relationship to the Archbishop of Chiang-wu, he’d never cherished many illusions about the inner workings of the vicarate. There’d been times when he’d been hard put to visualize exactly how those workings could serve the interests of God, but he’d been wise enough to keep his nose out of matters that were none of his affair.
Until, of course, his wife’s cousin dumped his two surviving children into Zhames’ lap and simultaneously dumped the king into the Temple’s business right up to his royal neck.
It had seemed like a situation with no downside when Hektor first requested asylum for his daughter and younger son. The request had come with promises of a very attractive subsidy in return for the king’s hospitality. And given the fact that Hektor had become the Temple’s anointed paladin in its struggle against the Charisian heretics, it had offered Zhames an opportunity to cement his relations with that dratted distant kinsman of his, as well. It wasn’t likely to make his relationship with Charis any worse, either, given that business in Ferayd. And in a worst-case situation (from Hektor’s perspective, that was) it would give Zhames physical control of the rightful ruler of Corisande. Best of all, he’d had absolutely no responsibility for getting the royal refugees to Talkyra; all he’d had to do was offer them reasonable quarters (or as close to it as the old-fashioned fortress of his “palace” permitted) if they succeeded in getting there.
Then Hektor managed to lose his war against Charis. And to get himself assassinated.
Suddenly Zhames found himself in the middle of what looked like turning into a nasty situation. On the one hand, he was forced to recognize-or at least deal with-Prince Daivyn’s Regency Council in Corisande despite the fact that it had signed a peace treaty with Cayleb and Sharleyan of Charis and sworn to abide by its terms. Vicar Zahmsyn, speaking as Chancellor Trynair, had made Mother Church’s position on the legitimacy of that council abundantly clear, but at least he’d recognized certain pragmatic constraints on Zhames’ position and stopped short of threatening the king for his “dealings” with the proscribed council. On the other hand, Vicar Zhaspahr, speaking as Grand Inquisitor Clyntahn, had made it equally abundantly clear Zhames dared not give any formal recognition to the Regency Council, which forced him to squirm through all sorts of convoluted hoops just figuring out how to phrase his correspondence with it. Yet, simultaneously, both Vicar Zahmsyn and Vicar Zhaspahr had informed him, speaking as Knights of the Temple Lands, that they very much desired for him to retain physical custody of young Daivyn for the foreseeable future.
Zhames often found himself wondering exactly why that was. Surely the boy would be safer in the Temple’s direct custody in Zion, where no Charisian assassin could get at him! And if the Temple intended someday to restore him to his father’s throne, then wouldn’t it have made more sense to see to it that he was trained up from childhood in a spirit of proper respect for (and obedience to) Mother Church in Mother Church’s own imperial city?
The contemplation of those questions had led him to certain unhappy conclusions. Indeed, to conclusions unhappy enough that he hadn’t shared them even with his wife.
“I’m just saying,” he said now, “that we’re in a sticky situation and this squabbling and bloodshed isn’t going to make it any better. Langhorne only knows how the Charisians are going to react when those prisoners Rahnyld captured get to Zion, but it’s not going to be pretty. We’ve had our own demonstration of that, haven’t we?”
His wife frowned the way she always did whenever someone alluded to the “Ferayd Massacre.” She’d never been happy about the part Delferahkan troops had played in the original incident, and despite what she’d said a moment ago, she’d had some tart words of her own for the Inquisition following the murders. The Empire of Charis’ reprisal against the city hadn’t made her one bit happier, although she recognized that the Charisians had actually been rather restrained in their response, however it had been reported by the Inquisition.
“We’re lucky they’ve been too busy elsewhere to go on raiding our coasts,” Zhames continued, “but that can always change, especially now that they’ve settled things with Tarot. Everything they had committed to blockading Gorjah is available for other enterprises now, you know. And leaving that completely aside, the more settled things get in Corisande, the more… awkward they’re likely to get for us here in Talkyra.”
It was the closest he’d yet come to broaching his suspicions about who’d really murdered Prince Hektor and his older son. From the flicker in Hailyn’s eyes she might have been entertaining a few of those same suspicions herself.
“This ‘Regency Council’ of young Daivyn’s is starting to sound far too conciliatory where Charis is concerned for my peace of mind,” he continued, deliberately steering the conversation to one side. “I’m not sure how much longer Vicar Zahmsyn’s going to go on allowing me to correspond with them, and what do we do about Daivyn then?” He shook his head. “The most likely outcome I can see is for the Temple to take him into its direct custody.”
Hailyn’s eyes widened and one hand rose to the base of her throat.
“Whatever else Daivyn and Irys may be, they’re my cousins,” she said, “and prince or not, Daivyn’s only a little boy, Zhames! He only turns eleven next five-day, and Irys isn’t even nineteen yet! They need family, especially after all they’ve already been through!”
“I know,” Zhames said more gently, “and I’m fond of them myself. But if the vicarate”-he saw her grimace slightly, proof both of them knew he was actually speaking about the Group of Four-“decide we’ve gotten too cozy with the Regency Council, and if they decide the Regency Council’s gotten too cozy with Charis, that’s exactly what they’re likely to do. And in the meantime, they’re more or less ordering me to go on corresponding with the Regency Council! And they’re insisting on receiving true copies of every document from the Regency Council to me or to Coris. So if anyone in Manchyr commits anything… indiscreet to writing, that’s likely to come home to roost here in Talkyra, as well!”
“Surely they realize that as well as you do, dear.”
“Is ‘they’ the Regency Council, Coris, or the vicarate?” Zhames inquired just a bit caustically, and her brief, unhappy smile acknowledged his point.
“Well, I suppose all we can do is the best we can do,” he continued. “I’d prefer not to’ve made an enemy out of Charis in the first place, but since it’s a little late to do anything about that, I think we’ll just concentrate on keeping our heads down and staying out of their line of fire. As far as Daivyn and Irys are concerned, we’re just going to have to go on playing it by ear, Hailyn. I don’t say I like it, and I don’t say I’ll be happy if the decision is made to take them out of our custody, but it’s not as if we’ll have a lot of choice if that happens.”
And, he added silently as his wife nodded unhappily, as much as I don’t wish them any ill fortune, it would still be a vast relief to see them somewhere else.
Somewhere where no one could possibly blame me for whatever happens to them.
“So what do we do with this one?” Sir Klymynt Halahdrom asked dourly.