“What’s an apple belly?”
“A dash of cinnamon and sugar, a spoonful of butter, all wrapped up in sweet dough and twisted at the end. Oh, and the slices of peeled apple at the center, I can’t forget to mention those.”
“But why the name?”
Jurgen smiled, lifting his pastry by the twists at either end. “See how it dips low, like the belly of a pig?”
Nodding, she took a bite and savored the rich flavors. The taste reminded her of the apple cobblers she’d enjoyed on numerous occasions at the inn, but more buttery.
Having already finished most of his by the time she had started, Jurgen waited until the last bite passed her lips. “You seem troubled.”
“My dreams trouble me. I can think of nothing but the dagger which pierced my father’s heart.”
“The nightmares will fade in time. I have them myself, but I keep faith.”
She dipped her head, swallowing the last bit of her breakfast. “Do you think we’ll make any headway today?”
Jurgen frowned. “You say that as if we’ve done nothing. Blocking Andolis from becoming Protector was an important step.”
Andolis. Tristan IV. “He still rules. Though he does not possess the title, he remains in power, right?”
“Indeed, but the powers of a Protector are sweeping and total. As Grand Vicar, he suffers some restrictions. Only through small steps can we hope to make a change, and the first was yesterday. Today, we continue along the path. We can do nothing more.”
She leaned back to take the pressure off her full stomach. “I fear for the future, near and far away. If we don’t do something soon, the war will claim more and more.”
“I know, and I share your concern. Come now to the consulship; we’ll make no progress sitting here.” He slipped on his ceremonial garb and led the way out the door.
* * *
She sat at Jurgen’s side, and again the drums roared throughout the chamber as the Grand Vicar made his entrance. Valyrie glanced at him, and then she stared at the onyx ring on his finger. The pulsing, shimmering glow didn’t come from the sun or the candles and torches ringing the auditorium. The stone itself glowed with an unnatural light. How can that be?
“Brothers and sisters,” Tristan said, then waited until the assembly grew silent. “I must apologize for my hasty exit yesterday. The stress of how best to serve our most holy church has weighed heavily on my mind of late, and the path is unclear at times. I spent the night in my private chapel praying that Azura would guide my hand, and I believe I have come to a solution.
“Vicar Jurgen is correct. Anointing a Protector will do us little good in these times, and we have yet to exhaust all of our options.”
Valyrie did her best to keep her face from telling her feelings of confusion and doubt at his words.
Tristan opened his hand to Jurgen. “You were right, my brother. Rise and be recognized.”
Jurgen stood, then bowed to the other vicars. A light applause echoed throughout the room. Valyrie could tell by the looks on the vicars’ faces that they were just as bewildered as she.
Tristan turned to the assembly. “Azura has shown us through her actions that even in the most dire of times, we must demonstrate our restraint and faith. Consuls, I yield to Vicar Forane, who has news for us from Balfan.”
“Thank you, Grand Vicar.” Forane emerged from the sea of consuls, and Valyrie was able to match a face to the voice she had heard the previous day. “It has come to my attention by way of a messenger that we are now under siege. The Arcanist ships we refitted for battle were unable to break the blockade, and Sorbian troops…” She lowered her head for a moment. “Forgive me, for this news may be difficult to bear. Soldiers from Sorbia have landed and surrounded Balfan in the night.”
Valyrie felt fear tainting the once-serene halls of the Vicariate. The vicars gasped and muttered profanities. Even Jurgen, who she had thought unshakable, seemed to be uneasy.
“Those are the facts,” Forane continued. “The city isn’t expected to resist for long since they haven’t any walls or a force capable of repelling the enemy.”
“Master Greathis,” Tristan said, sitting on the throne. “Pray tell, how long we can expect to hold out?”
When she heard heavy footsteps, Valyrie turned to view Master Greathis. He was adorned in Falacoran armor and spoke with the throaty, dense accent of that country. “A few months, I should say.” Greathis walked to the center of the chamber just below the Grand Vicar’s perch. “The militia can keep them out for some time, but we won’t last forever, and we won’t force out or dislodge a professional army.”
Tristan quickly rose to his feet. “Then, we must raise an army of our own.”
“We cannot,” Jurgen said, standing. “The procurement of soldiers is not the church’s business.”
“You would see us destroyed, our hallowed ground trampled underfoot of the invaders, our great cities lying wasted?” Tristan asked. “The enemy has now come to our gates, Jurgen, and we must do something about it!”
Jurgen cleared his throat. “Can we not negotiate? Make a compromise with the Sorbians?”
“Negotiate with the aggressor?” Tristan asked. “Why would they speak with us? The way I see it, their plan goes quite well for them. They have declared war and invaded us, and they are making progress.”
Valyrie recalled Laedron’s story of the attack at the Sorbian mage academy. The Grand Vicar lies, or he does not know the truth. Gustav… Andolis must know the actions of his own brother.
“And who would we recruit for our fledgling army, Your Holiness?”
“Well, people from the city. They would have no problem coming to the defense of their homes.”
Jurgen walked from behind his desk. “Yes, the young ones of our own capital. The untrained children, strangers to battle and war. They would be slaughtered outright, and that would be an atrocity, one committed by us, not our enemies.”
“Then what else is there, Vicar Jurgen? I’m all ears for a solution.”
Jurgen rubbed his chin, standing in the center of the hundred or more people in the consulship, all of them silent and still. Valyrie likened him to a defenseless animal in a cage surrounded by hungry hunters preparing to make a kill.
“Tell them, Your Grace,” Valyrie said, standing. “Tell them of what we discussed earlier of your service as an emissary.” She tried her best to conceal the lie with a concerned tone.
Jurgen eyed her for a moment. “Yes. I had discussed the option with my clerk earlier.”
“Well, tell us more of this great plan,” Tristan said.
“Your Holiness, if it pleases the consulship, I could go to Balfan and negotiate with the Sorbian commander to get them to leave our lands peacefully.”
Tristan stood and shook his head. “The only thing they would accept is surrender. We both know that.”
“Perhaps, but perhaps not. A nation such as Sorbia does not rise to its status by being barbaric and unreasonable to compromise.” Jurgen clasped his hands. “I feel such a course would be better than sacrificing our inexperienced young men to the jaws of war.”
“It can’t be permitted,” Forane said, walking onto the main floor across from Jurgen. “Azura stood on the battlefield against insurmountable odds once, and now we must follow her example. Send the defilers to the hells where they belong!”
“Forane and I are in agreement.” Tristan returned to the throne. “I request a vote on the question, Chamberlain. All those who would be in favor of raising an army to defend our most holy church, respond ‘yes.’ Those who would oppose, and see us destroyed outright, respond ‘no.’”
Jurgen sighed, then returned to his desk. “We, of course, will respond with ‘no,’” he whispered to Valyrie.
The chamberlains collected the votes with the same efficiency as the previous day. The room became silent while the chief chamberlain counted and tallied the votes.