"Nor to think that this candidate for royal consort may soon be dead," Alisande said, acid in her tone.
"Your Majesty truly must make some provision for the succession," the Archbishop answered. "I entreat you! For what should hap to us all if you were to die before your time, without an heir?"
He thought he had done a rather good job of avoiding the question.
The guard heard the boom of imploding air, and turned to stare at the place where Matt had been. The manacles jangled, empty, against the stone. He gazed wide-eyed for a moment, then pushed his jaw back into place, heaved a sigh, and turned away to knock on the wicket and call for the captain of the guard, shaking his head.
The captain of the guard duly reported to the seneschal, who wasn't having any and told him it was his job, so the captain settled his sword belt, squared his shoulders, and turned to face the throne room with a heavy heart, reflecting that he hadn't really thought he was going to get out of it anyway.
"The brightest hope for my providing a succession, has just been cast into my dungeon, Lord Archbishop," Alisande retorted. "An you do wish me to bear an heir, you had best bethink you of ways to assure his return!"
The Archbishop seemed dubious. "Misunderstand me not, Majesty—Matthew Mantrell is a good man and noble. Natheless, he is not of royal blood."
"And is therefore unfit to be consort to a queen," Alisande finished for him. "Yet it is ironic, milord, that though that doubt has lingered in my heart these three years, I find it banished of a sudden—but only by the knowledge that Lord Matthew may be taken from me!"
The Archbishop felt his heart sink.
"Nay," the queen said, "be assured, I'll marry no one else—and surely, his service to the crown, and his finding favor in the eyes of Saint Moncaire, should have made me see his worthiness! He is the hope of Merovence, now and in the future." And of herself, she added silently. "I prithee, Lord Archbishop, tell me this understanding I have gained is the accomplishment God wished, by this vow of Lord Matthew's. There must be some way to negate his oath—for surely, he did not truly intend to take arms against Ibile, alone!"
The Archbishop sighed, with a sad shake of his head. "Majesty, I cannot—for why else would a wizard, one who knows the nature of geas and compulsions, have so bound himself?"
"He had forgot the power of words, here in Merovence," Alisande replied, "for they have no such strength in that other world he hails as home. In the heat of his passion and his anger, he thought words to be idle, only an expression of his feelings."
"Would you have me believe that the highest wizard in the land had forgot that what he swore to, in this land of Merovence, he was bound to?"
"Aye." Alisande's smile curdled. "If we had told him so, he would have protested that we did take his words too literally."
The Archbishop nodded, understanding. "Yet on reflection, Majesty, he would know that was the precise nature of the problem."
"Problem!" Alisande looked up, the color coming back into her face. "Why, 'tis but a riddle after all, is't not? And has a solution like to any other!"
"Majesty?" The Archbishop definitely didn't like the sound of what he was hearing.
"He cannot be bound by that oath! For three years ago, he did swear to serve me! How then can he leave my presence, if I do require his service here? For I most earnestly do!"
The Archbishop pursed his lips. "You mean that, at the worst, his two oaths might counter one another?"
"Nay, better—I mean that the second can have no effect, for it cannot displace the first!" Alisande actually smiled. "He cannot undertake a quest unless I command it—and I do not."
But the Archbishop was giving her the sad smile again, and shaking his head. "I regret, but I must inform you, Majesty, that the vow cannot be broken, unless Heaven and the saints really do not wish Lord Matthew to attempt the purification of Ibile. In truth, if God did wish, this later vow would overbear the first—yet I think the occasion does not arise."
Alisande's scowl was enough to make his heart quail. "How so?"
"Why," the Archbishop said, "Ibile has ever been a threat to the welfare of Merovence, to her borders and her people, since ever the first sorcerer Grosso overthrew the rightful king of Ibile and brought the reign of evil down upon the whole kingdom. Nay, Majesty, by seeking to fulfill this oath, Lord Matthew does not only God's work, but yours also!"
"Yet it is not my will!" she cried, as if it were torn out of her.
"It is Heaven's, though." The firmness of authority came back into his voice. "And you are sworn to uphold the will of Heaven, Majesty, so far as God reveals it to you."
Alisande slumped, a moment's despair evident in every line of her body.
The Archbishop acted almost automatically, reaching out to the aid of a soul in need. "Be of good cheer, Majesty. Lord Matthew goes not alone into this kingdom of wickedness—he goes with the might of Heaven to strengthen him. I doubt not that Heaven will give him all the aid it can, of saints and angels, for they must surely want him to erase from Ibile this foul blot of a king, yea, Gordogrosso and all his minions."
"Yet will he prevail?" she moaned. "For Heaven works through us, Lord Archbishop, in this world—but so can Hell, if we wish it to. Has Matthew enough goodness to stand against the sorcerers? For he was never a saint!"
"He may become so, in this striving," the Archbishop pointed out, "or come much closer to Heaven, at least. Besides, Majesty, be mindful—if Matthew Mantrell can topple Gordogrosso and purge the wickedness from Ibile, he will most surely have proved his worthiness to be a lord—and your consort."
Alisande lifted her head, a strange light coming into her eyes. "True," she said, "if he still will love me."
The captain of the guard stepped through the archway, caught her eye, and bowed.
Alisande's mouth went dry; somehow, she knew he had bad news. "Approach, Captain!"
The young knight strode forward, trying not to look for a place to hide.
"What news have you for me?" she demanded.
The Captain bowed, and reported, wooden-faced, "Your Majesty, the Lord Wizard is not in his cell."
Alisande took it well, you had to say that for her—she sat still as a statue for a minute, then asked, "Was he bound?"
"Aye, Majesty."
"And gagged?"
"Aye, Majesty!"
Then Matthew had managed the impossible again, working a spell without speaking it aloud. Admiration for the man welled up within her, with an almost covetous longing for him—but too late, too late. Still, she managed to push the thought aside while she nodded crisply and said, "Thank you, my captain. You may go—and the rest of your guardsmen with you."
"I thank Your Majesty." And the captain meant it, nodding to his soldiers with relief and turning to march out. They followed unhappily, feeling that they should have done something more—but who could have, against the Lord Wizard?
Alisande turned to the Archbishop and inclined her head. "I thank you for your words of comfort, milord. And I will entreat you to pray for Lord Matthew."
"With every Mass." The Archbishop bowed and turned to go—he knew a dismissal when he heard one.
The great doors closed behind him, and Alisande let herself collapse, with the fleeting, vagrant thought that Matthew could at least have waited until after she had dined, so that he wouldn't have spoiled her appetite.
Then the fact of his absence really hit her, and she felt the anger mount. Good, good! It would help her through this, might almost drown the feelings of desertion and remorse...
But what else could she have done? Really? As queen, she was blessed—cursed?—with Divine Right, always knowing which course of action was best for the welfare of her people, and never hesitating to take it—even if any action would prove useless. It was just her bad luck that what had been the best decision for the monarch had been the worst for the woman.