Hammer Of God (27 page)

“Come,” said Alasdair. “You've done enough for one day.”

She let him guide her into the carriage and sagged into her cushions as he sat opposite. The footman closed the doors. A moment later she heard the thud, felt the jolt, as he leapt onto his travelling step. The coachman cracked his whip and the carriage rolled forward. She closed her eyes, and still saw the crowd.

Dear God, they look at me as though I am Rollin reborn.

The clip-clop of the horses' hooves was oddly soothing as the carriage made its careful way through the most populous part of the township, heading for Kingsway which would take them back to the castle. It was expertly sprung, jouncing gently over the cobbles. A pity it couldn't jounce the memories from her mind.

“Rhian,” said Alasdair. “Are you all right?”

“When I was twelve,” she said, with her eyes still closed, “Papa, the boys and I attended a wedding in Meercheq. It was my first grown-up outing, and I was ever so proud of my brocade and pearls.”

The dress had been one of her mother's, expertly altered to fit her girlish form. The fabric had smelled faintly of rosewater, Mama's favourite scent. She could remember that much of her long-dead mother. Queen Ilda always smelled of roses.

“Something happened at the wedding?” said Alasdair.

She rolled her head against the cushions behind her. “No. On the way home. It was autumn and the weather was still fine, so we were riding in an open carriage. I remember that journey so clearly: the sun on my face, Simon teasing Ranald over some girl who'd spent the whole wedding making sheep's eyes at him. Papa trying not to laugh.” She felt her lips curve in a remembering smile. “Ranald threatening to hang Simon over the side of the carriage by his heels if he didn't shut up. Simon used to pester him unmercifully, you know.”

She heard Alasdair chuckle. “I know. That never changed, even when they were grown.”

He was right. It didn't. “We passed a ploughed field,” she continued, and felt her smile fade. “There were pheasants in it, exploring the tilled soil for any abandoned seeds. Their plumage was brilliant. Iridescent. They were beautiful. So innocent. The field was bordered by a copse…and on its far side I saw a group of hunters, with their game dogs and their slingshots and their bows and arrows. I wanted to leap from the carriage and run back to warn the pheasants. I was twelve, and I knew I'd seen them in their last living moments. I knew they'd soon be dead, strung up in a larder somewhere. I wanted to cry. To scream. I was so angry.”

“Why? Birds die so men can live, Rhian.”

She opened her eyes. “I knew that, Alasdair. But I didn't want to know it, I hated knowing it, knowing those pheasants were about to die…when they were so innocent of the knowledge.” She blinked hard. “When I stood on the chapel's steps and looked at Kingseat's people, the memory came flooding back. I was twelve years old again, helpless to save those innocent lives.”

Alasdair raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “You're not helpless, Rhian. You're not twelve. And you're not alone.”

“In my head I know that. But in my heart…” She sighed. “When Papa died so soon after the boys, all I could think about was protecting the kingdom from Marlan. The only thing that mattered was keeping the crown, because it was my birthright and he had no business trying to take it. Not him. I was prepared to die for my cause. Now those weeks seem almost insubstantial.”

In his plain, bony face, Alasdair's dark brown eyes were fierce. “They're not.”

She tightened her fingers round his. “I had a dream last night. I dreamed I stood on the castle battlements looking over the water to the horizon. I saw a terrible storm approaching. I couldn't stop it, couldn't turn it back. All I could do was stand there, and wait for it to strike.”

“Rhian…” Alasdair shifted to sit beside her. “I have bad dreams, too. Dreams that you die because I can't protect you. They're our fears talking, they're not the future. I can protect you. I will protect you. And you'll protect Ethrea. Yes, Mijak is a terrible storm. But we can weather it. We will weather it.”

“Do you truly believe that?” she said eventually. “Or are you just saying so to soothe me?”

“I believe it,” he said firmly. “I'll never lie to you, Rhian.”

“Nor I to you. But, Alasdair, we won't win this fight without Zandakar.”

He turned his head to look out of the carriage window. The last of the town's lights were slipping behind them; they'd reach the castle soon. “You're so certain of him. Despite everything you've learned of him, the slaughters and the brutality, the blood, the destroyed cities, who he is, who his family is, my God, what they're doing even now, you have no doubt he can be trusted.”

How could she answer that? How could she tell him: “From the moment Zandakar picked me up and carried me from the clerica at Todding I've felt safe with him. I've trusted him. What he's done is not who he is. Not all of who he is. Another man dwells inside him, a man yearning to be free of violence and bloodshed. Who looks to me to set him free.”

She couldn't. Alasdair would never understand. And this fragile moment would shatter irredeemably.

“I'm certain we need him,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “I have no doubt of that.”

Alasdair looked at her, his eyes resigned. “Then for your sake I'll try to work with him, Rhian. But please don't ask me to befriend the man, or lose all my mistrust, or for one moment cease my scrutiny of him. As your husband – as Ethrea's king – to do less would be the worst kind of betrayal.”

“I won't.” She smiled, and he kissed her, and for that brief moment their world was at peace.

They returned to the castle to find that Ven'Cedwin had been admitted to the foyer of their privy apartments, and was waiting for them. He stood at their approach, his lined face creased further with concern.

Feeling her belly twist, Rhian glared at the guards…but in fairness knew she couldn't complain. Cedwin was a venerable, he was her secretary, they knew he had the freedom of the castle.

“What now?” she muttered, and moved forward to meet him. “Ven'Cedwin? This can't wait till the morning?”

Her secretary glanced at Alasdair, then shook his head. “Sadly I fear it cannot, Your Majesty.”

“The ambassadors?” said Alasdair. “I take it you saw the letters dispatched to them?”

“Indeed, Majesty, I did,” said Ven'Cedwin. “Each was delivered, and each has received a reply.”

“Which I'm not going to like,” said Rhian. “Am I?”

“No, Your Majesty,” said Ven'Cedwin. “I feel it's likely you'll be greatly displeased.”

God give me strength…She looked at Alasdair. “He's right. This can't wait.”

Alasdair opened the door to their apartments. “Then by all means, let us withdraw and be displeased in private.”

Ven'Cedwin collected his leather satchel and followed them inside to the parlour. As he closed the door behind them, Rhian began to pace. Alasdair, frowning, stood beside the bookcase.

“Let me guess,” she said, passing Ven'Cedwin in a swirl of green velvet skirt. “They decline to attend any meeting tomorrow.”

Ven'Cedwin fumbled open his satchel and withdrew a sheaf of papers. “Yes, Majesty. All but one.”

“Ambassador Lai.”

“That's correct, Majesty.”

She glanced at Alasdair, hard put not to shock Ven'Cedwin by swearing. “I do hope our friends, the ambassadors, are struck down by a sudden plague.”

“A plague of excuses, perhaps,” said Ven'Cedwin. He shuffled through the notes in his hand. “A previous engagement – that's Arbenia. Religious observances – that's Keldrave, Haisun, Barbruish and Slynt. Icthia claims to be unwell—”

“Now Athnïj I'm willing to believe,” she said, still pacing. “If I were him I'd be sick too, knowing my homeland's been conquered by Mijak. What of Dev'karesh?”

“Dev'karesh also pleads a previous engagement.”

“With Arbenia?” Alasdair snorted. “I suppose anything's possible.”

Halting, Rhian whirled to face Ven'Cedwin. “Are you saying not even Voolksyn will come? I thought he supported me. He stood up to Gutten.”

Ven'Cedwin shook his head. “No, Ambassador Voolksyn has also declined. But of them all, he's the only one to give an honest answer.”

She held out her hand. “Show me.”

Ven'Cedwin gave her the note from Voolksyn. Harbisland regrets absence, it read. Harbisland respects Ethrea but we are sovereign.

“Well?” said Alasdair.

Rhian watched her fingers crush the note. “Harbisland doesn't care to dance to our tune.” She threw the ball of paper across the room. “Damn them! Those arrogant, fools! Do they think this is a game?”

“They think they have more to fear from losing face before us, and each other, than from Mijak,” said Alasdair. “The threat of Mijak's not real to them yet.”

“Not real? My God, Alasdair! I told them. Han told them. Zandakar told them. Dexterity told them!”

Alasdair shrugged. “Words, Rhian. If you don't wish to believe them, words are easy to dismiss.”

“What, they'll not believe the threat is real until they see themselves spitted on a Mijaki sword?”

“It would be more convincing.”

“Fools!” she said again, and dropped into the nearest chair. “I can't leave it like this. I can't let them defy me so openly. If Han thinks I'm not capable of holding this alliance together—”

She didn't dare think of it. Without Han's witch-men they were doomed. If he lost faith in her he might abandon Ethrea and everyone else to Mijak. His witch-men's power might well save Tzhung-tzhungchai, if Tzhung-tzhungchai was all they had to defend.

“We have to try again,” she said grimly. “I have to write another letter, I have to – to find a way to convince Gutten and Voolksyn to take me seriously. If I can convince them, the others will follow. And if I can't…” She heard her voice break. Saw Ven'Cedwin lower his gaze, discomfited.

“Rhian,” said Alasdair, crossing to her. “I'll write the letter. Now. Ven'Cedwin and I will go to his office and we'll—”

She shook her head. “No, no, I should do this, I—”

“Rhian,” said Alsadair, and took her cold hands in his. “You're exhausted. We'll show you the draft before it's sent out in a fair copy, I promise. But you need to stay here, you need to eat and rest.”

She pulled her hands free. “You need to eat, too. You need rest. Alasdair, I'm—”

“Queen of Ethrea, I know,” he said. “With a king who is telling you, enough is enough. Once, this once, you will be ruled by me.”

Her eyes burned and for a moment she feared she'd weep before Ven'Cedwin.

“Very well,” she said, when she could trust her voice. “Inform Ambassador Lai there's been a slight delay. Impress upon the other ambassadors my sincere need for their aid. Ask them to consider our treaty, the ties between our nations. Ask them—”

“I will,” said Alasdair, and nodded to Ven'Cedwin, who collected his satchel and tactfully moved to the door. “And when the venerable and I are done, you'll see the letter. But now I want you to rest.”

The door closed behind him and Ven'Cedwin, but instead of withdrawing to her inner chambers she continued to sit, hands loose in her lap, her aching head spun about with calamitous thoughts.

I am failing. Ethrea will be destroyed. Why won't they listen? Why won't they believe—

And then she heard raised voices beyond the parlour's closed door. Someone was challenging the guards on duty in the foyer. Groaning, she pushed out of the chair to discover who was responsible for this latest disturbance.

“Dexterity?” she said, standing in the open doorway. “What's this?”

The senior guard, Bowman, spun round. “Your Majesty! Forgive me, I tried not to disturb you but—”

She raised her hand. “It's all right, Bowman. Mister Jones is a friend, and welcome. But don't disturb me hereafter, is that clear?” She stepped back. “Come in, Dexterity. I can spare you five minutes.”

“Thank you, Majesty,” Dexterity said. “I'll not need longer, I hope.”

“You hope?” she said, shutting the door much harder than was necessary. “Do you presume on our friendship, Mister Jones?”

Dexterity pushed his hands into his baggy jacket pockets. He looked as rumpled and unkempt as ever, and unhappy too. “Not without good cause.”

“Dexterity…” After all they'd been through, there was little point in trying to keep up appearances. She slumped into her chair again. “What is it? Has Hettie sent you another vision?”

“No. This is about Zandakar.”

Oh. Of course. “He told you? About—”

“Yes, and it's dreadful, but that's not why I'm here.”

Though her bones were aching, she sat a little straighter. Temper was stirring. “Really?”

If Dexterity was chastened by the ice in her voice, he didn't show it. “Yes. Really,” he replied. “I want you to let Zandakar free of this castle.”

She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“It's not right, the way he's living here,” he said, his cheeks touched with colour. “Locked up in his chamber, trammelled about with soldiers. After all he's done for you, Rhian, how can you repay him by keeping him a prisoner? Can't you see he's miserable? Like – like an eagle crammed in a cage. It's not right, I tell you. Rhian, it's cruel.”

The accusation stole her breath. She was on her feet before she realised it, fists clenched, heart pounding. “Mister Jones, you do presume! How dare you—”

“How can I not dare?” he retorted. “Who else is there to speak for him? Aside from me he's friendless in the world. If I don't champion him, nobody will!”

“That's not true, he's not friendless!” she snapped. “I am his friend.”

Dexterity jutted his beard at her. “Then you've a ragged way of showing it, Majesty! Rollin's mercy, he's sworn to shed his blood for you. For you and for Ethrea, and he's a stranger here. All that moves him is the desire to save lives.”

Oh, he was unfair. He was monstrous unfair. “The saving of lives is all I desire, Dexterity. And one of the lives I want to save is his. Are you mad, to think I can leave him to wander freely about Kingseat? Looking as he does? With the skills he possesses?”

“What are you afraid of?” said Dexterity. “That he'll come to harm, or run away to sea?”

“Both, if you want the truth!” she replied, goaded. “And I'd be a poor queen if I didn't consider either possibility. He might be all that can save us from Mijak, you know that as well as I!”