Grus gave him a cheerful smile. “Maybe it was. It isn’t anymore, is it? I’ve just created a precedent for it, haven’t I?”
As King of Avornis since he was a little boy—as the descendant of a dozen generations of Kings of Avornis—Lanius naturally had a strong sense of dignity. The idea that his bastard half-brother-in-law should be named Arch-Hallow of Avornis offended that sense.
“Have you ever met this Anser?” he asked Sosia.
His wife shook her head. Before she answered, she yawned. Early in her pregnancy, she was sleepy all the time. “No,” she said. “Are you surprised? I know of him, but that’s all.”
“Has your father—his father—ever met him?”
Sosia shrugged. “I don’t know for certain. I don’t think so, but I couldn’t take oath on it.”
“Well, who on earth would appoint someone he doesn’t even know to such an important job?”
“No one appoints kings at all. They just happen,” Sosia said pointedly. As Lanius was a king who had just happened, that struck home. His wife went on, “The kingdom seems to get through with good kings and bad ones and indifferent ones. Do you think it can’t survive with Anser as arch-hallow?”
“No,” Lanius admitted. “But couldn’t your father have picked a better man for the spot, since he does get to choose?”
“Better how?” Sosia asked.
“Wiser. More holy. Older. Anser can’t even be as old as I am, can he?”
“I don’t think so, not quite,” Sosia said. “Maybe that wasn’t what Father meant by ‘better,’ though. Maybe he cared more that Anser would stay loyal to him. Family counts for the world with Father. If you don’t know that, you don’t know anything about him.”
Lanius started to make a sarcastic remark about Ortalis, but changed his mind at the last minute. Sosia had a point. Bucco, loyal only to himself, had menaced the crown and Lanius’ grip on it as long as he lived. What Lanius did say was, “Well, maybe you’re right. But what am I supposed to tell this Anser when he comes to the city of Avornis?”
“How about, ‘Welcome to the capital’?” his wife suggested. “How about, ‘I hope you do a good job as arch-hallow’?”
Since Lanius had no better ideas, those were the first two things he did tell Anser when, not quite a month later, Grus’ bastard son arrived from the south. “Thank you so very much, uh, Your Majesty,” Anser replied. His eyes were enormous with wonder at where he found himself. But for that, he looked much like a younger version of Grus—looked more like him, probably, than either Sosia or Ortalis, both of whom had a good deal of Estrilda in their features.
“What do you know about the priestly hierarchy?” Lanius asked him, coming up with a question of his own.
“Not much,” Anser said frankly. “I would worship down in Anxa. Everybody down in the south worships hard. With the Menteshe and the Banished One so close, we know the gods are our hope. But I never thought of being a priest, let alone arch-hallow, till… till Father sent word for me to come here.”
He seemed open and friendly and easy to like, none of which Lanius had expected. The king asked, “What did you want to do, then?”
“I was apprenticed to my uncle—my mother’s brother. He’s a miller, with the biggest mill in Anxa. He has four daughters and no son, so I suppose it might have been mine one day. And I like to hunt—I really like to hunt, and I’m a dead shot with a bow—and I’d love to breed horses if I had the money.”
Lanius tried very hard not to smile. He didn’t think he’d ever met such an… ordinary person in all his life. “If the Arch-Hallow of Avornis doesn’t have the money to do whatever he wants, I don’t know who would,” he remarked.
Anser’s eyes got wider yet. Lanius hadn’t thought they could. “Really?” the young bastard breathed. “That never occurred to me. Do you suppose I’d have the time to go out hunting, too?”
“If you want to, I think you might,” Lanius answered. “Except for a king”—he couldn’t say except for the King, not when Avornis had two—“who could tell the arch-hallow no?”
“Really?” Anser said again. “You have to understand, Your Majesty, I never thought about any of this till Father told me to come here. I’ve thought about it since, of course, but I don’t know enough about what I’ll be doing to have my thoughts make a whole lot of sense, if you know what I mean.”
“What do you think you’ll be doing?” Lanius asked.
“Whatever Father wants me to, I expect,” Anser said. His grin made that disarming. “That’s why he chose me for the job, isn’t it?”
“Probably,” Lanius said. “What do you think about it?”
“It’s all right with me,” Anser said. “Father always took the best care of me he could. He didn’t pretend I wasn’t there, the way a lot of men do with their bastards. What else can I do— what else should I do—but pay him back for that as well as I know how?”
Loyalty, Lanius thought. Grus expected to get it. And, evidently, Anser expected to give it. The whole family put a large weight on it. Lanius shook his head. Ortalis? I don’t think so. I don’t think Grus thinks so, either.
He wondered for a moment why Grus hadn’t named his legitimate son Arch-Hallow of Avornis. He wondered for a moment, yes, but no longer. Grus is liable to want Ortalis to be King of Avornis after him. He probably wishes Ortalis were better than he is, but I’m afraid he wants him to be king any which way.
Lanius couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a more frightening thought.
Not even Grus could make the clerics anoint Anser as arch-hallow in one fell swoop—not when his bastard boy wasn’t a priest at the start of the process. If the men who consecrated Anser and appointed him to the priesthood wore sour expressions, they were wise enough to keep their mouths shut except for the necessary prayers. And Grus was wise enough to keep his mouth shut about their expressions.
Having been hallowed, Anser wore a black robe for one day, a green robe on the next, and a yellow one the day after that. Then the clerics could give him a red robe with clear consciences. Grus didn’t see that the quick parade through the ecclesiastical ranks mattered very much, but he was wise enough to keep his mouth shut about mat, too. He was not a man who ran from trouble, but he wasn’t a man who stirred it up for no good reason, either.
Anser’s wide-eyed, openmouthed awe at the royal palace, the great cathedral in the city of Avornis, and, in fact, everything about the capital made Grus smile. He didn’t quite know what to do about discovering his bastard was a much more likable youngster than his legitimate son.
One thing he didn’t do was mention it to Estrilda. One day, though, his wife asked, “Did you think about inviting Anser’s mother up here to see him made arch-hallow?”
“No,” Grus replied at once—he knew a question with more prickles than a porcupine when he heard one.
“Why not?” Estrilda asked.
“Because I didn’t think you’d like it.”
“Ah.” Estrilda considered that, then nodded. “Well, you were right.” He’d thought he’d gotten away as clean as a married man who’d fathered a bastard could hope to with his wife, but then Estrilda asked, “What was she like? Anser’s mother, I mean.”
Grus could have told her in great detail. Before he started to— just before he started to—he realized that question had plenty of prickles, too, even if they were better hidden. As casually as he could, he answered, “Do you know, it was so long ago I hardly remember. I was drunk when it happened, anyhow.”