“Ah, it wanted only that. Hasn’t anyone told you yet? Royse Teidez died about midnight last night, of his infected wound.”
Palli’s face abruptly sobered; his mouth formed a silent “O.” “That changes things in Chalion.”
“Indeed. Let me dress, and then come upstairs with me.” Hastily, Cazaril splashed chill water on his face and shrugged into yesterday’s clothes.
In the chambers above, Cazaril found Betriz also still dressed in last night’s black-and-lavender court mourning. It was plain she had not yet slept. Cazaril drew the dy Gura brothers out of sight of the corridor and closed them in his office antechamber. He and Palli entered the sitting room.
Betriz’s hand touched a sealed packet waiting on a small table. “All the letters are ready to go to”—she glanced at Palli and hesitated—“Valenda.”
“Is Iselle asleep?” Cazaril asked quietly.
“Resting only. She’ll want to see you. Both.” Betriz disappeared into the bedchambers for a moment, from which floated low murmuring, then returned with a pair of books under her arm.
“I sneaked down to the roya’s library and found two identical volumes. There weren’t many true duplicates. I thought I’d better take the biggest, so as to have more words to choose from.”
“Good,” said Cazaril, and took one from her. He glanced at it, and choked back a black laugh. Ordol, read the gold letters on the spine. The Fivefold Pathway. “Perfect. I need to brush up on my theology.” He laid it down with the packet of letters.
Iselle emerged, wrapped in a heavy blue velvet dressing gown from which the white lace of her nightgown peeped. Her amber hair cascaded down across her shoulders. Her face was as pale and puffy with lack of sleep as Betriz’s. She nodded to Cazaril and to Palli. “My lord dy Palliar. Thank you for coming to my aid.”
“I, uh . . .” said Palli. He cast a rather desperate glance at Cazaril, What am I agreeing to?
“Will he ride for you?” Betriz asked Cazaril anxiously. “You should not attempt this, you know you should not.”
“Ah . . . no. Palli, instead I’m asking you to swear service and protection to the Royesse Iselle, personally, in the names of the gods, and especially the Lady of Spring. There is no treason in this; she is the rightful Heiress of Chalion. And you will thus have the honor of being the first of her courtiers to do so.”
“I, I, I . . . I can swear my fealty in addition to what I have sworn to your brother Orico, lady. I cannot swear to you instead of to him.”
“I do not ask for your service before what you give to Orico. I only ask for your service before what you give to Orico’s chancellor.”
“Now, that I can do,” said Palli, brightening. “And with a will.” He kissed Iselle’s forehead, hands, and slippers, and, still kneeling before her skirts, swore the oaths of a lord of Chalion, witnessed by Betriz and Cazaril. He added, still on his knees, “What would you think, Royesse, of Lord dy Yarrin as the next holy general of the Daughter’s Order?”
“I think . . . such great preferences are not yet mine to give. But he would certainly be more acceptable to me than any candidate from dy Jironal’s clan.”
Palli nodded slow approval of her measured words and rose to his feet. “I’ll let him know.”
“Iselle will need all the practical support you can give her, all through the funeral for Teidez,” said Cazaril to Palli. “He is to be buried in Valenda. Might I suggest she select your troop from Palliar to be part of the royse’s cortege? It will give you good excuse to confer often, and will assure that you are by her side when she rides out of Cardegoss.”
“Oh, quick thinking,” said Iselle.
Cazaril didn’t feel quick. He felt his wits were laboring along after Iselle’s as though in boots coated with twenty pounds of mud. Each. The authority that had fallen to her last night seemed to have released some coiled energy within her; she burned with it, inside her cocoon of darkness. He was afraid to close his eyes, lest he see it blazing in there still.
“But must you ride alone, Cazaril?” asked Betriz unhappily. “I don’t like that.”
Iselle pursed her lips. “As far as Valenda, I think he must. There is scarcely anyone in Cardegoss I would trust to dispatch with him.” She studied Cazaril in doubt. “In Valenda, perhaps my grandmother may supply men. In truth, you should not arrive at the Fox’s court alone and unattended. I don’t want us to appear desperate to him.” She added a trifle bitterly, “Although we are.”
Betriz plucked at her black velvets. “But what if you fall ill on the road? Suppose your tumor grows worse? And who would know to burn your body if you die?”
Palli’s head swiveled round. “Tumor? Cazaril! What is this, now?”
“Cazaril, didn’t you tell him? I thought he was your friend!” Betriz turned to Palli. “He means to jump on a horse and ride—ride!—off to Ibra with a great uncanny murderous tumor in his gut, and no help on the road. I don’t think that’s brave, I think it’s stupid. To Ibra he must go, for want of any other equal to the deed, but not alone like this!”
Palli sat back, his thumb across his lips, and studied Cazaril through narrowing eyes. He said at last, “I thought you looked sick.”
“Yes, well, there’s nothing to be done about it.”
“Um . . . just how bad . . . I mean, um, are you . . .”
“Am I dying? Yes. How soon? No one knows. Which makes my life different from yours, as Learned Umegat points out, not at all. Well, who wants to die in bed?”
“You did, you always said. Of extreme old age, in bed, with somebody’s wife.”
“Mine, by preference,” Cazaril sighed. “Ah, well.” He managed not to look at Betriz. “My death is the gods’ problem. For me, I ride as soon as a horse can be saddled.” He grunted to his feet, and collected the book and the packet.
Palli glanced at Betriz, who clenched her hands together and stared beseechingly at him. He muttered an oath under his breath, stood, and strode abruptly to the door to the antechamber, which he jerked open. Foix dy Gura, his ear to the other side, staggered upright, and blinked and smiled at his commander. His brother Ferda, leaning on the opposite wall, snorted.
“Hello, boys,” said Palli smoothly. “I have a little task for you.”
Cazaril, Palli at his heels, strode out the Zangre gates dressed for winter riding, the saddlebag slung over his shoulder heavy with a change of clothes, a small fortune, theology, and arguable treason.
He found the dy Gura brothers already in the stable yard before him. Sped back to Yarrin Palace by Palli’s urgent orders, they had also changed out of their blue-and-white court dress into garb more practical for riding, with tall and well-worn boots.
Betriz was with them, wrapped in a white wool cloak. They had their heads close together, and Betriz was gesticulating emphatically. Foix glanced up to see Cazaril approaching; his broad face set in a sober and rather intimidated expression. He made a motion, and said something; Betriz glanced over her shoulder, and the conversation abruptly ceased. The brothers turned around and made small bows to Cazaril. Betriz stared at him steadily, as if his face were some lesson he’d set her to memorize.
“Ferda!” said Palli. The horse-master came to attention before him. Palli withdrew two letters from his vest-cloak, one sealed, one merely folded. “This”—he handed the folded paper to Ferda—“is a letter of authorization from me, as a lord dedicat of the Daughter’s Order, entitling you to whatever assistance you may need to draft from our sister chapters on your journey. Any costs to be settled up with me at Palliar. This other”—he handed across the sealed letter—“is for you to open in Valenda.”
Ferda nodded, and tucked them both away. The second letter of hand put the dy Gura brothers under Cazaril’s command in the name of the Daughter, with no other details. Their trip to Ibra was going to make an interesting surprise for them.