How Firm a Foundation (85 page)

“All right, I
will
come to the point,” he replied, and inhaled deeply.

“Irys, I know you blamed Cayleb Ahrmahk for your father’s death. We haven’t discussed it in some time, but it’s seemed to me your confidence that he was responsible for it may have
 … waned a bit over the past year or so.”

He paused, one eyebrow arched. After a moment, she nodded ever so slightly.

“I’ve … entertained the possibility that there could be other explanations.”

“I thought that was what was happening,” Coris said. “I haven’t pushed you on it, for a lot of reasons, but one of them, frankly, was that if my suspicions were correct, then having you publicly and
vocally suspicious of Cayleb was your best protection. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like it was protection enough.”

“What do you mean?”

Those eyes were even more like her father’s, and he sighed.

“Irys, Cayleb and Sharleyan of Charis didn’t have your father murdered. Zhaspahr Clyntahn did.”

For a moment, her expression didn’t even flicker. Then her eyes widened, less in disbelief than in
surprise at the flat confidence in his tone, he thought. She looked at him in silence, and then it was her turn to draw a deep, slightly shaky breath and sit back in her chair.

“You have proof of that?”

“Proof that he personally ordered your father’s assassination, no,” Coris admitted. “Very strong suggestive evidence that he planned it, yes.”

“What sort of evidence?” she asked in a cold, dispassionate
voice which had no business coming from a young woman who wouldn’t be twenty years old for another month yet.

“First, let’s think about his possible motives for doing something like that,” Coris responded. “Your father was losing, Irys. No, he wasn’t losing; he’d
lost,
and he knew he had. I wasn’t there, because he’d sent me away with you and Daivyn, but I have reports from trustworthy agents
which all confirm Cayleb and Earl Anvil Rock are telling the truth when they say Prince Hektor had contacted Cayleb to open surrender negotiations. I’m not going to tell you Cayleb of Charis is a saint, because I don’t really believe in saints. And I won’t argue that your father wouldn’t still be alive today if Cayleb hadn’t invaded Corisande, since that almost certainly created the circumstances
which led to his murder. But I will tell you Cayleb Ahrmahk was about to get everything he’d invaded to get, and that he’s clearly smart enough to know that killing your father in that fashion at that time would have been the worst, stupidest thing he could possibly have done.

“But the things that would have made it stupid from
Cayleb’s
perspective would all have been positive outcomes from
Clyntahn’s
viewpoint.”

Coris held up his index finger.

“One. If your father had reached an accommodation with Cayleb, even if he’d planned on denouncing it as non-binding at the first opportunity, since any promises would have been made to an excommunicate, it would have made him another Nahrmahn in Clyntahn’s view. That would have been enough by itself to drive him into a frenzy but there was
even worse from his perspective. The way he would have seen it, it wouldn’t simply have been a case of the prince the Group of Four had anointed as Mother Church’s champion against the ‘Charisian blasphemer’ cutting a deal with the blasphemer in question to save his own crown, it would have encouraged others to do exactly the same thing.”

He extended the second finger of the same hand.

“Two.
If your father reached an accommodation with Cayleb and decided, for whatever reason, that he had no choice but to abide by it, Charis’ conquest—or control, at least—of Corisande would have been enormously simplified.”

He extended his third finger.

“Three. If Cayleb
assassinated
your father, however, or if someone else did and Cayleb simply ended up blamed for it, then instead of becoming another
traitor to the Group of Four and another example of someone reaching an accommodation with Charis, your father became a martyr of Mother Church.”

His fourth finger rose.

“Four. Your father may not have been much beloved outside Corisande, but he was remarkably popular with his own subjects. If Cayleb had him murdered, it would arouse intense resentment among those subjects. That would lead to
unrest, which would require substantial numbers of Charisian troops to suppress, and that would almost certainly lead to incidents between those troops and the people of Corisande, which would only strengthen your people’s resentment and anger. Violent confrontations and incidents would increase, bloodshed would rise, and Corisande would become a sinkhole for the Charisian military resources that
would be tied down there and not available for use against the Group of Four anywhere else. Of course, hundreds or even thousands of Corisandians would have been killed in the process, but from Clyntahn’s perspective that would simply have been the cost of doing business.”

He paused for a moment, and then, slowly, extended his thumb, as well.

“And five. By killing your father after he’d sent
you and Daivyn out of Corisande to keep you safe, and by making sure your brother died at the same time, Clyntahn created a situation in which the legitimate heir to the throne of Corisande was a minor child, outside the princedom, and under the Church’s direct or indirect control. Daivyn’s exile from Corisande
guaranteed
the fragmented authority and legitimacy that led to the ‘Northern Conspiracy,’
Irys. It contributed directly to the bloodshed and executions in Corisande. And it left Daivyn conveniently parked where the Group of Four could make whatever future use of him seemed most valuable.”

He let his hand fall, and Irys sat, gazing at him silently. From her expression, he was confident he hadn’t told her anything which hadn’t already crossed her own mind. But still she sat looking
at him, then cocked her head.

“That’s not proof, Phylyp. It’s a description of why it might have made sense to a man like Clyntahn to murder Father and Hektor. A very convincing description—I’ll grant that. And after watching what he did to the Wylsynn family and his other rivals in the vicarate, I’m certainly not prepared to argue that the fact that he’s a vicar of God would have slowed him
down for a moment! The man’s a butcher, a tyrant, a murderer, and a monster.” The flat, almost emotionless detachment of her voice only made it even more terrible, Coris thought. “Yet none of that constitutes ‘proof’ he had Father and Hektor killed. I’m willing to admit it’s time to consider the possibility that
Cayleb
didn’t do it, but that’s a long way from deciding Clyntahn
did
.”

“Your father
taught you well,” Coris said with a small, sad smile. “Always look for the other possibility, the less obvious one. Never decide something must be the truth simply because you
want
it to be.”

“Father also taught me never to trust anyone completely,” she said, looking into his eyes. “That was his very first rule, his most important single axiom. But he set it aside in your case, and I’m willing
to do the same. Only I’m not prepared to accept that simply because I trust you, you have to be right.”

Coris’ heart swelled with pride as he looked at her, and he nodded.

“My God, what a queen you would have made,” he said softly. “Your father and I talked about that once. He hated Sharleyan, you know, though it wasn’t really personal. She was just … in the way, and he knew she’d never rest
until she’d avenged her father’s death. But he admired her, too—deeply—and I think he’d seriously considered trying to change the law of succession in Corisande.” The earl shook his head with a smile. “Only he told me he’d decided against it because he didn’t think Safehold could survive you and Sharleyan at the same time unless you were both on the same side, and that wasn’t going to happen.”

Irys’ eyes softened and her mouth trembled ever so slightly, but then she shook her head and unfolded her arms to point a finger at him.

“No courtier’s tricks, Phylyp! You’re not going to distract me that easily. You said you had ‘strong suggestive evidence.’ Show it to me.”

“Of course.” Coris gave her a seated bow, then turned his head towards the closed library door. “Rhobair, Tobys!”

The
door opened a moment later and Tobys Raimair and Coris’ valet, Rhobair Seablanket, walked through it. Seablanket was a thin man, with stooped shoulders and a long nose. His brown hair, touched with white, was beginning to thin, but the neatly trimmed beard he favored to hide the scar on his jaw was still dark and full. Irys had always thought he was one of the most lugubrious men she’d ever seen,
and she’d never really warmed to him.

“I’m sure you recall my hiring Master Seablanket when we passed through Shwei on our way here,” Coris said, turning back to Irys as Seablanket and Raimair crossed the library and halted behind him. “I was fortunate to find a Corisandian suitable to my requirements that far from home, wasn’t I?”

“The thought had crossed my mind, yes,” she replied slowly.
“And, if you’ll pardon my saying so, it seemed a little suspicious.” She looked across the earl’s shoulder at Seablanket. “It struck me that if someone wanted to plant a spy on you, that might’ve been one way to go about it. On the other hand, I’ve known you since I was a little girl. It seemed … unlikely that same possibility wouldn’t have occurred to you.”

“I’m afraid there are times even I
can be a bit gullible and overly trusting,” Coris said with a sigh. “And this, alas, was one of them. In fact, Irys, Rhobair is an agent of the Inquisition.” He watched the young woman’s eyes widen in sudden alarm but continued unhurriedly. “He was, in fact, specifically assigned to worm his way into my employment by Wyllym Rayno himself. Unfortunately for Archbishop Wyllym, however, when Rhobair
first entered the Grand Inquisitor’s personal service, he already had an employer … your father.”

Despite her formidable self-control, Irys’ jaw dropped. She stared at Coris for a moment, then whipped her eyes back to the valet, who suddenly looked much less lugubrious. In fact, he smiled at her, eyes touched by an amused light she’d never seen in them before, and bowed deeply.

“He worked for
Father?!
” she more than half blurted.

“Exactly.” Coris shrugged. “It’s an interesting thing about the Inquisition, Irys. They plant spies and agents everywhere, and they’re very good at finding disaffected people to inform on others, yet until at least very recently, it never seems to have occurred to them that anyone else might plant spies on
them
. I think it has to do with the arrogance of power.
They’re so busy dealing with all the things they’re doing to other people that they never consider the possibility of what other people might do to
them
. Or what steps those other people might take to protect themselves against the Inquisition’s spies. And they did make a minor recruiting error in Rhobair’s case.”

“They did?” she asked in a fascinated tone.

“Oh, indeed they did,” Coris practically
purred, yet there was an odd, icy edge under his obvious satisfaction. “You see, Rhobair
is
a Corisandian, born and raised, but his mother was born in Harchong … where his grandfather was beaten to death on the very steps of his village church while the local inquisitor looked on. And his crime?” Coris looked into her eyes. “The squire beating him to death had wanted to bed his youngest daughter.
She’d refused, he’d ignored her refusal, and her father had had the unspeakable temerity to protest his thirteen-year-old daughter’s rape. That daughter was Rhobair’s mother.”

Irys’ eyes flitted back to Seablanket and saw the truth as cold, bitter memory—and hate—quenched the humor which had flickered in his eyes.

“I won’t bother you with the details of how his mother and her two sisters managed
to reach Corisande, Irys. That’s not really my story to tell, anyway. But they did get to Manchyr, eventually, where your grandfather employed all of them on the palace staff and she married one of his armsmen. So when Rhobair came to your father and told him he’d been approached by an inquisitor about becoming a spy inside your grandfather’s household, your father told him to agree.

“That was
over thirty years ago. They soon realized what a prize he was and pulled him out of Corisande to use other places before I ever came into your father’s service. He became very valuable to them over the years—valuable enough that it took very little effort on his part to plant the notion that he be sent to Shwei to ‘infiltrate’ Daivyn’s court in exile. After all, he certainly knew enough about Corisande
and about Corisandian politics to be perfect for the job. And he’d been a trusted agent of the Inquisition since long before I became your father’s spymaster, so even though he’d grown up in your grandfather’s palace, I wouldn’t recognize him when I saw him. It was, alas, childishly easy for him to worm himself into my confidence … and he’s been reporting exactly what I wanted him to report
ever since.”

Irys leaned back, shaking her head slowly. Not in denial, but in surprise.

“Phylyp, I’m trying, but it’s a little hard to believe even you could be audacious enough to plant—what? A
double agent
?—on the Office of the Inquisition!”

“I did nothing of the sort, Your Highness! First, he’s not a double agent; technically he’s a
triple
agent,” Coris protested with a smile, raising both
hands in an eloquent gesture of innocence. “Besides, I had nothing to do with his original recruitment by the Inquisition. Your
father
did … when he and Rhobair were both about your age, in fact.”

His smile disappeared, replaced by a far sadder expression.

“I learned a great deal from your father, Irys. I’d like to think he learned a few things from me in return, too. Yet the one lesson neither
of us learned until it was too late is that some things in this world are genuinely more important than the ‘Great Game.’ The truth is, I don’t think your father ever did learn that, but watching what happened to him, seeing what’s happening to this entire world, has taught
me
there are. Your father made mistakes, Irys. Even the smartest man can do that, especially when he’s blinded by ambition,
and—forgive me—he was. I speak with a certain degree of experience, because I
helped
him make a lot of those mistakes and shared a lot of those ambitions. But your father wasn’t simply my Prince. He was my
friend,
and that bastard in Zion had him and his son—my
godson
—butchered on the streets of his own capital just so he could blame it on someone else. And now he wants to murder Daivyn, too.”