Sovereign

But Tomlin's real love was the pigeons themselves. He knew them all by name, and could recount their pedigree back generation after generation. His father had made sure he learned to write so be could keep perfect records in case his memory failed him, and these he maintained scrupulously.

He had finished distributing the feed for the day and was checking the water in each coop, when there was a commotion in the fourth level.

'Bloody One Leg!' he cursed, drew his Jong knife and rushed down the two flights of stairs to get to the level. But the terrible one-legged crow who regularly tried to catch his pigeons was nowhere to be found. Tomlin had almost caught the bloody black bird once, which is why it only had one leg, but it was a clever beast and seemed to delight in tormenting him. His first thought was the crow was teasing him, perhaps to draw him away from one of the other levels, but then he heard the commotion again in several of the coops on the north wall.

That surprised him. He could have sworn they were empty earlier in the morning. Still, holding onto his knife he opened the little wooden catch to one of the coops and saw that indeed one of his pigeons had returned. 'White Wing!' he said in surprise, for there was no message on its leg. He opened another catch, and there was Chevron, also without a message. He peeked inside two more coops, and they were occupied as well.

'All from Daavis,' he said aloud to himself, mystified.

He sheathed his knife and went up to the sixth level to retrieve the feed bag and water flask and then back down to the fourth level to care for the returned birds.

The routine helped to settle his mind, and slowly it unravelled the mystery. The answer gave him no comfort, however, for he knew what it meant for the Kingdom of Grenda Lear.

Powl had stayed up most of the night composing a brief paragraph he hoped would do for the Book of Days. That morning, straight after prayers in the Royal Chapel, he went to the library with the piece of paper he had written on and copied the paragraph into the book in his best hand.

'We must always strive to find God inside us,' he read softly as he wrote. 'To fill ourselves with nothing but our own life is to fall short of His expectation for us, and to fall short of all that we can achieve. To have God inside us is to be complete.'

He sealed his ink bottle and put it and the pen back in his pocket. The piece of paper he put over a candle, letting it go only when the flames burned the tips of his fingers. Black smoke curled to the roof of the library, and he watched it until it had completely dispersed.

I am like that, he thought, striving to reach God but disappearing into air instead. How can one reach Goi without knowing his name?

He read again his first contribution to the Book of Days and realised it read more like the beginning of a sermon than something that was in itself complete. He had failed this test as well, and was embarrassed to think his priests would read it and wonder. Some would not understand the message and think it was their fault because they were not smart or holy enough. And yet Powl knew it would be his fault. His sin was multiplying, staining the innocent under his care.

Father Rown entered the library carrying an armful of papers. 'It is almost time for the council meeting, your Grace. I took the liberty of bringing your papers.' He held out half his load.

'Thank you, Father,' Powl said, accepting them. 'Have you studied the agenda?'

'Yes, your Grace. The most important item concerns the raising of a new army. It is the first on the list.'

'Yes,' Powl said vaguely. He wanted to say he had thought on the issue deeply. After all, the first army had come about largely because of his advice in council while still nothing but his predecessor's secretary. And because of that Sendarus is dead, he thought to himself, and then quickly, No! I wanted Olio to command it. It was not I who sent Sendarus to his death.

'Your Grace?'

'This will be the first council meeting since the death of the princess.'

'Little Usharna?'

'And your first as my secretary.'

'Yes, and I thank you for the honour. I was not expecting—'

'You must not be afraid to speak up,' Powl interrupted him. 'You are there to present your opinion.'

'Thank you, your Grace, I will endeavour—'

'But never forget you are the queen's subject, not the council's. Follow my lead on any vote. If for some reason I am not at a council meeting, Orkid will guide you, and you will have my proxy.'

'Yes, your Grace.'

'Very well. Lead on. We mustn't be late.'

Father Rown hurriedly left; Powl lingered for a moment, glancing once more at the Book of Days and wishing he had not written his little paragraph.

Orkid Gravespear had risked a great deal to rouse Areava out of her depression. He had worked hard to get her to call her council together, knowing that the work of the Kingdom was the only thing that would occupy enough of her time to stop her falling into grief every time she thought of her dead husband and child and her wounded Olio, or worse, falling into rage every time she thought of her outlawed brother, Prince Lynan. But now he knew Dejanus would put himself forward as commander of the new army Areava must create to defend the Kingdom, he wished the council was not meeting at all. Orkid had to support Dejanus or risk the constable revealing to Areava how they had murdered her brother to set her on the throne. After the initial shock of their last meeting had worn off he had believed Dejanus had been bluffing, but his spies reported the constable was drinking almost constantly, and a drunk Dejanus might do anything without fear of consequence.

Orkid thought Dejanus had trouble leading himself to the lavatory let alone leading a Kingdom army into battle against Lynan and his Chetts, but he did not know what to do. The thought of getting one of his people to assassinate the constable crossed his mind constantly, but if the assassin should fail Dejanus would not hesitate to take revenge or—in an act of suicidal rage—tell Areava the truth about her brother's death.

He had never consciously worked against the interests of the Kingdom, believing even Berayma's murder had been for the long-term benefit of Grenda Lear, but Orkid knew supporting Dejanus in his bid for command would be a betrayal of everything he loved and strove for. Yet there was no choice.

He checked the sand clock on the windowsill and saw it was time for the council to convene. He stood up heavily and gathered his papers together. He was about to leave when there was a disturbance in his secretary's office.

'I must see him! It is urgent I see him! They won't let me see the queen!'

He did not recognise the voice, but the distress of the speaker was obvious.

'The chancellor is very busy,' his secretary replied 'And he is late for a meeting—hi! Hold on there!'

A man strode into his office, followed by Orkid's harried-looking secretary. He was middle-aged, short and smelled of something foul. Orkid was about to call for a guard, but the man grabbed Orkid by his coat and shook him.

'Your Eminence! You have to listen to me!'

'I'm not anyone's eminence!' Orkid put down his papers and wrenched at the man's hands. 'And please remove—'

'It's Daavis, your Eminence! It's fallen!'

'—your hands…' Orkid stopped struggling.