A Mighty Fortress (51 page)

“Oh, no, Maikel! We’re not going to trot that particular little discussion out until Merlin’s here to take part in it himself. For that matter, he’s been being a bit mysterious even with Sharley and me, so we’re looking forward to hearing what he’s
really
up to at the same time you do!”

Staynair looked at his monarchs thoughtfully. There were times when he had to remind himself that Merlin Athrawes had his own agenda. Or perhaps it would have been more accurate to say Nimue Alban had
her
own agenda. Better yet, her own
mission
. The archbishop never doubted Merlin’s loyalty to Charis and the people who had become his friends, his family. Yet under all of that—sometimes obscured by that loyalty though it might be—lay the granite purpose which had sent Nimue Alban knowingly to her death so that, nine centuries later, her PICA might walk the soil of a planet she herself would never see. There had to be times, Staynair thought, when Merlin found the imperatives of Nimue’s mission clashing with his own loyalties here on Safehold. It could scarcely be any other way, and the archbishop hoped what ever he had in mind this time didn’t fall into that category. Yet if it did, he knew, Merlin would meet that challenge as unflinchingly as he’d met every other challenge, and Staynair found himself murmuring a silent, heartfelt prayer for the soul which had accepted such a burden.

“Well,” he said then, holding out the whiskey glass which had somehow mysteriously become empty, “I suppose I should probably fortify my nerve a little more before I find myself subjected to such a stressful revelation.”

“Oh, what a marvelous rationale, Maikel!” Sharleyan laughed. “Wait a minute while I finish my glass and I’ll join you!”

“Don’t get too fortified, either of you,” Cayleb said sternly. “Or not before we’re finished with our immediate business, at least.”

“ ‘Immediate business’?” Staynair repeated. “Oh, I know what he’s talking about,” Sharleyan said. The archbishop looked at her, and she shrugged. “Nahrmahn.”

“Nahr—?” Staynair began, then nodded in sudden understanding. “You mean whether or not he should be admitted to the inner circle?” Cayleb nodded, and the archbishop looked at him curiously. “I’m just a bit surprised you want to discuss it when Merlin isn’t here to put in his quarter- mark’s worth.”

“Merlin,” Cayleb said, “has already voted. And, I might add, treated Sharley and me to some fairly... pithy comments on the Brethren. Something about decision processes, glaciers, cranky old men, and watched pots.”

“Oh, my,” Staynair said again, in a rather different tone, and shook his head with a chuckle. “I wondered why he hadn’t been pestering Zhon about it lately. It hadn’t occurred to me that it might be because of something as unMerlin- like as
tact,
though!”

“I wouldn’t go quite that far, myself,” Cayleb said dryly. “I think it may have been more a matter of not trusting himself to remain civil. He’s pretty damned adamant about it, actually. And, to be honest, I think part of that’s because he’s pretty sure Nahrmahn has already figured out even more than we’ve told him.” Staynair’s eyes widened with what might have been an edge of alarm, but the emperor waved his hand in a brushing- away gesture. “Oh, I don’t think even Nahrmahn could’ve gotten too close to guessing what’s
really
going on. For that matter, I’m pretty sure that if he had, you’d have been in a better position than anyone else to notice it, given where the two of you have been for the last few months. But I do think Merlin has a point about his having put together enough to at least be asking himself questions we haven’t gotten around to answering for him yet. And as we all know, Nahrmahn has a distinct tendency to eventually get answers when he goes looking for them.”

Now that,
Staynair thought,
is an
outstanding
example of understatement
. There might have been one or two men on Safehold who were smarter than Nahrmahn Baytz, the archbishop reflected. He was quite certain, though, that there weren’t
three
of them. If he’d ever entertained any doubts on that head, they’d been firmly laid to rest during the long days of the lengthy voyage from Emerald to Chisholm. With Nahrmahn’s cousin, the Earl of Pine Hollow, to keep an eye on matters of state in Emerald, the rotund little prince had been perfectly willing to return to Chisholm. Mostly, Staynair suspected, because that was where the Court was and Nahrmahn simply couldn’t stand being away from the “great game,” even if he had found himself drafted onto someone else’s team after his own was eliminated early in the playoffs. The only thing he’d insisted upon was that his wife, Princess Ohlyvya, join him this time, and watching the two of them together during the voyage, Staynair had understood that perfectly, as well.

As a matter of fact, Staynair had been very much in favor of Ohlyvya’s coming along. He strongly suspected that Nahrmahn’s wife—who was one of the shrewdest women the archbishop had never met—helped to keep the sometimes potentially too- bright- for- his- own- good Nahrmahn centered, and that was a very good thing. Of course, it could present a few additional difficulties of its own, under the circumstances.

“As a matter of fact, Cayleb, I agree with your assessment of Nahrmahn,” he said out loud. “And with Merlin’s, for that matter. And, unlike Merlin, I have been pressing Zhon for a decision. Which, I might add, he hasn’t given me yet.”

“No?”

Cayleb sat back, gazing at the archbishop. The short silence seemed considerably longer than it actually was, and then the emperor grimaced.

“He may not have given you an answer
yet,
Maikel. This time, though, I think he’s going to have to.”

At that particular moment, Staynair thought, Cayleb looked a great deal like his father. There was very little humor in his brown eyes, and—at least as importantly—Sharleyan’s expression was as serious as her husband’s.

“I don’t want to get up on my Emperor’s high dragon with the Brethren any more often than I have to,” Cayleb continued, “but in this instance, I think I do have to. They’ve been debating this particular decision for months. They started on it well before you ever left for Emerald, for God’s sake, and I can’t afford to let it go on any longer. I’m going to have to insist they give me a decision—now.”

Staynair looked at both of his monarchs for a long, silent moment, then dipped his head in an unusual formal gesture of respect. But then he looked up again, meeting their eyes steadily.

“If you wish a decision, Your Grace, then you’ll have one,” he said gravely. “But you have considered the consequences if the Brethren agree and it goes . . . poorly?”

“We have,” Sharleyan said, grimly, before Cayleb could reply. Staynair turned toward her, and she returned his regard with equal steadiness. “If we tell Nahrmahn the truth, and it turns out we’ve misjudged his reaction, we both know what we’ll have to do, Maikel. I pray it won’t come to that. And if it does, I’m sure I’ll spend the rest of my life regretting it, and asking God’s forgiveness. But if the decision has to be made, we
will
make it.” She smiled bleakly. “After all, we’ve faced the same possibility with everyone we’ve ‘brought inside.’ So far, we’ve ‘come up golden’ every time, as Cayleb likes to put it. And, to be honest, part of that is probably exactly
because
the Brethren’s first instinct is always to go slow and think things through as thoroughly as possible. But we’ve always known that, sooner or later, we’re almost certain to be mistaken. And we’ve always known what the price of that mistake will be . . . just as we’ve accepted that there are some people we’ll
never
be able to tell the complete truth.”

“Very well, Your Majesty. You’ll have your answer, one way or the other, this very day.”

“That, Harvai—as always—was delicious,” Sharleyan said with simple sincerity, several hours later, as the servants finished clearing the dessert plates. “You spoil us shamelessly, you know. You and all the staff. Which is probably why we appreciate you all so much. Thank you... and please pass that on to Mistress Bahr and the rest of the kitchen staff, as well.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Sir Harvai Phalgrain agreed with a smile and a deep bow. Phalgrain, the palace’s majordomo, saw to it that its organization ran with the sort of smooth efficiency any military command might have envied . . . and few could have attained. Given the identities of the emperor and empress’ dinner guests, he’d taken personal charge of to night’s supper to make certain
nothing
went wrong, and he was obviously pleased by Sharleyan’s compliments.

“And now,” Cayleb said, “I think we can take care of ourselves for a while, Harvai. Just leave the bottles on the side table, and we’ll ring if we need anything else.”

He smiled as he spoke, and Phalgrain smiled back. Then the majordomo bowed once again—this time a more general courtesy, directed at all of the diners—and withdrew.

Cayleb watched him go until the door closed behind him, then returned his attention to his and Sharleyan’s guests.

In some ways—many ways, if he were going to be honest—he wished there were only two of those guests, not three. He supposed they could have insisted this would be a “working supper” to which Princess Ohlyvya was not invited. In fact, they’d started to do exactly that. But then they’d thought about it a bit more and realized just how unwise that might have proved.

First, it would have been uncharacteristically rude. He and Sharleyan would have regretted that, but they could have lived with it. Unfortunately, Ohlyvya Baytz was a very, very smart woman. If she’d been excluded from the invitation and . . . something happened to Nahrmahn, she was more than capable of asking exactly the sorts of questions Nahrmahn himself would have asked. It was entirely possible she’d get answers to them, too, and even if she didn’t, turning
her
against Charis would be only marginally less disastrous than turning
Nahrmahn
into an enemy would have been.

Second, though, Nahrmahn and Ohlyvya, in their own ways, were at least as close as Cayleb and Sharleyan themselves. The steadying influence she exercised upon him grew out of that closeness, the strength of that commitment and love. Not telling her after they’d told Nahrmahn would put the portly little prince in a position just as invidious as Cayleb’s had been before Sharleyan finally learned the truth. And, on top of all that, it was distinctly possible that telling both him and Ohlyvya at the same time would make it easier for both of them to accept the truth.

Neither Cayleb nor Sharleyan were entirely happy with the decision they’d finally reached, but, in the end, it had been the only one they could reach.

Well, if Merlin’s right about both of them, it’s not going to be a problem,
Cayleb told himself yet again.
Of course, Merlin would be the first to admit that he
has
made a mistake or two along the way
.

Speaking of which... “Why don’t you come over here and join us, Merlin?” he invited, looking over his shoulder at the tall, blue- eyed guardsman standing just inside the dining-room door.

Merlin Athrawes smiled slightly as Ohlyvya Baytz looked up just that little bit too quickly from her quiet conversation with Sharleyan. Princess Ohlyvya had spent de cades married to a reigning head of state. Along the way, she’d learned to conceal little things like surprise far better than most mere mortals ever did.

Normally, at least.

Nahrmahn, on the other hand, had had ample opportunity to watch Cayleb and Merlin interact during the Corisande campaign. In fact, he’d already been informed that the
seijin
saw “visions.” That his function as seer and adviser was even more important than his function as Cayleb’s personal bodyguard. Along the way, he’d also come to understand that Captain Athrawes’ relationship with both Emperor Cayleb and Empress Sharleyan was even closer than most other people would ever have surmised.