The Godspeaker Trilogy (64 page)

Oh. Of course. He never came to see Marlan unless it was to tell tales of Rhian. “Not exactly, Prolate.”

Marlan’s eyebrows lowered. “Then what do you want?”

An explanation . But he couldn’t say that, he’d be thrown out on his face. “Your Eminence, I have learned from the princess you wish her to consider your former ward Lord Rulf as a husband. Indeed, as Ethrea’s king. I thought I might have misheard her.”

“No,” said Marlan. His smile was unpleasant. “Though your ears be full of wax, Nephew, yet you have heard her correctly. She will marry Lord Rulf. He will be Ethrea’s next king.”

“Ah.” He shifted a little on the rich, Keldravian carpet. Scented oil lamps warmed the room’s timber panelling and struck expensive highlights from the gold-and- jewelled chalices and reliquary boxes displayed around the walls. “I thought she also said she was given an entire list of names to consider, Eminence. Candidates recommended by Ethrea’s dukes.”

Marlan dismissed the list with a flick of his fingers. “It is nothing, a sop to the other councillors. I have made my choice, Helfred. Rulf will be king.”

And that settled the matter? Helfred blinked. “Oh.”

“You have an opinion, Chaplain?” Marlan rested his folded hands on his desk and leaned forward. His expression was cordial, his tone gently enquiring.

Helfred thought he might faint on the spot. “No, Prolate. No, I—that’s to say, at least, I—” He swallowed, hard. “No.”

“I disagree. I think you have come here with a view,” said Marlan. “Do enlighten me, Chaplain. I am eager to hear your erudite discourse on the subject.”

Oh God. Please help me . “Your Eminence, I implore you, do not mistake my intent. I come to you seeking … clarification. I have met Lord Rulf but a handful of times, and that some while ago. I would never go so far as to say I know him. But in our rare and brief encounters I did receive an impression of him.”

“Yes?”

Rank sweat was coursing beneath his plain robe. He could smell himself, it was a mortification. No matter what he did, what disgusting herbs he swallowed, still his sweat stank like a cow in the byre.

I have to say this. I have to say it. Rollin commands us to be truthful and never parlay with deceit.

“Eminence, forgive me … Lord Rulf is a simpleton.”

“If by that you mean he is not a sophisticated courtier, you are correct. I count that very much in his favour.”

Helfred stared at him. Say yes, fool. Say that’s what you meant. Nod and bow and get out of this room . His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth.

His uncle smiled. “Is that what you meant, Helfred?”

“No,” he whispered. “I meant Rulf is an idiot. He would make Rhian miserable. He’d be a disaster as king.”

Marlan’s cordial expression did not change. “If I hear those assertions repeated beyond this chamber, Helfred, you will regret it. You will know suffering beyond the torments of blessed Rollin. Our blood tie will not save you. God will not save you. Am I making myself clear, Nephew Helfred? Do you understand? Or would you like more … clarification?”

There was something dreadful in Marlan’s eyes. Weak-kneed with horror, Helfred stepped back. “No. That’s not necessary. I understand you perfectly, Uncle.”

“Good,” said Marlan, and returned to his manuscript.

“Uncle—”

Marlan looked up. Helfred stepped back another pace.

“ Your Eminence . I think I should tell you: the princess is not at all bent towards marriage with Rulf.”

“Then I suggest that you bend her, Helfred.”

Bend her? Bend her how ? She wasn’t a tree . “Eminence …” he said helplessly. “She is the princess .”

With an impatient sigh, Marlan discarded the manuscript. “No, she’s a woman. A young woman, Helfred. A ward of the Church. She is our responsibility, as is the future of this kingdom.”

But what of Rhian’s future? “Eminence, I must be candid. I am not comfortable at the thought of—”

“Comfortable?” said his uncle. “Have you lost your mind, Helfred? What has your comfort to do with anything? The girl is a menace, to herself and to the kingdom. Eberg has spoiled her disgracefully. You know it. He has spoiled her unto the risk of her soul. It is our job to save that soul before she is damned entirely. Before she chooses some fool duke’s man who will bring us all to ruin. You will bend Rhian, Chaplain. You will do whatever it takes to see her meek and compliant, obedient to my will and marriage to Lord Rulf. For if you do not…”

Helfred felt a wave of icy-cold dread rush through his hot body. He didn’t need Marlan to finish his threat.

“Yes, Eminence,” he whispered. “I understand, Eminence.”

Marlan smiled. “I thought you might. Now get out. You have work to do.”

Standing again on the other side of his uncle’s sanctum door, Helfred found himself close to tears. Without a word to Ven’Martin, still diligently working, he escaped from the Prolates Palace into its manicured grounds. Gasping for clean air, feeling the foetid sweat dry on his skin, he clasped his trembling hands and stared beseechingly at the blue sky.

Oh God. Oh God. What do I do now?

H
ave you heard, Jones?” said Ursa, striding unannounced through his open kitchen door. “King Eberg is dead. Heralds are spreading the news through town. Has it reached here yet? I thought it might not have. Poor man. At least his suffering’s over now.”

“Dead?” Dexterity took his frying eggs off the hob before they burned. “No. I hadn’t heard. I haven’t stepped foot past the front gate since you were here yesterday. I’ve hardly even left the house. I was afraid Zandakar might wake and need me.”

She unslung her physicking bag from her shoulder, dropped it to the floor then leaned her hip against the kitchen table. “And did he?”

“No. He hasn’t stirred so much as a finger. That concoction of shuteye certainly did the trick.” He sighed, panged with sorrow. “Eberg’s dead, you say? Well, well. There’s an end to an era.”

“And a start to trouble,” she added, inspecting his pan. “You’ve too much butter in there, Jones. Do you want to get fat?”

Suddenly he’d lost his appetite. Eberg dead. That meant Rhian was alone. He put the pan on the bench, heedless of scorch marks. “The poor princess. What a terrible time this is.”

Ursa shoved her hands in her blue smock’s baggy pockets and started pacing the small kitchen. Dexterity watched her, surprised. He’d never seen her so openly agitated.

“Yes, truly terrible, Jones, and not just for her. A kingless kingdom is ripe for unrest. So for all our sakes she’d best throw a stone out of the nearest window and hope the man it hits is unattached and passably attractive. The quicker she marries, the safer we’ll be.”

Ursa was right. But even so … He moved to stand in the open doorway and let his troubled gaze rest on the cottage’s dew-pearled back garden. It was a beautiful morning, sweet smelling and fresh. “She shouldn’t be rushed to the altar,” he murmured. “She’s a young girl with her whole life ahead of her.”

“She’s nothing of the kind, Jones,” Ursa retorted, standing behind him. “She’s a princess first, last and always. Her duty’s clear: she needs to marry and have a clutch of sons as quickly as nature will allow.”

He shook his head. “It’s unfair.”

“Life’s unfair, Jones! Nobody knows that better than you.”

No, they didn’t. But even so … Poor Rhian. Nearly all hope of happiness snatched away . But there was nothing he could do about that. The kingdom’s great men would see to her welfare now. With an effort he wrenched his thoughts from their melancholy bent and turned.

“Ursa, since you’re here, would you mind checking on Zandakar? I should see to Otto. Take him down the lane to his field. The poor chap’s been cooped up in his stable since I got back from the harbour.”

“All right,” said Ursa, rolling her eyes. “Just don’t take all day. I’ve a laundry list of people to physick but I thought you’d want to know about Eberg, so I came here first.”

He smiled. “And I appreciate it. Truly.” A fresh wave of sorrow washed the smile away. “Eberg dead. I know it was expected, but still … He was a good man. A good king. When Queen Ilda died I thought he might remarry. He must have loved her very much. So sad that he outlived his sons. That he died knowing he was leaving behind him such turmoil.”

“There’ll only be turmoil if the princess doesn’t marry,” said Ursa. “And the council won’t sit still for that. Jones, are you going to eat those eggs?”

He considered the frypan with sour disfavour. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Then give them to me. Can’t abide to see good food go to waste. I’ll eat, look in on your Zandakar then be on my merry way.”

He handed her the frypan. “Help yourself. I won’t be long.”

Otto greeted the sound of his footsteps on the flagstoned path with an ear-shattering bray.

“Yes, yes, I know, I’m sorry,” he said as the donkey strained over the stable’s half-door, long ears pinned back and top lip curled. “It’s not the end of the world, Otto. You’re warm and dry and you’ve plenty to eat. Now stop complaining. There’s donkeys I could show you who’d think themselves in luxury.”

Another indignant hee-haw, and a bang as Otto kicked his manger.

Dexterity waggled a finger at him. “Don’t you use that language with me!”

Otto shook his head, long tongue poked out derisively.

The donkey’s halter was hung up in the lean-to beside the stable, where his hay, oats, harness and little cart lived. As Dexterity reached for it, Hettie said:

“Wait, Dexie love. We need to talk.”

Heart pounding, he turned to face his dead wife.

She was sitting on the bench under the flowering hasaba tree. Her favourite spot in the garden, where she used to bring her mending. The pale blue blossoms drooped towards her as though glad of her company after so long.

“Eberg’s dead,” he said stupidly, dazzled anew by the heart-warming sight of her.

She nodded, not smiling. Sunlight dappled her beautiful face, her golden hair tied up in pink ribbon, her sprigged muslin dress. “I know, Dex. It’s why I’ve come.”

“I found that Zandakar,” he said, and took a step closer. Would he be able to touch her this time? Hold her? Kiss her? “I’ve settled him in the nur—the spare room.”

Still she did not smile. “I saw,” she said. “Take care of him, Dex. He’s more important than you know.”

Even though this was his beloved Hettie, and he’d been desperate to see her again, he felt a tiny spark of crossness. “I’d know if you’d tell me!”

“Dexie, Dexie …” Her sigh was sorrowful. “I tell you what I can.”

“Well it isn’t enough! You know, you’re asking a great deal of me, Hettie. This Zandakar cost me a fortune . And do you know something? I think he might be dangerous . Ursa thinks he might be dangerous, too. She’s convinced he’s some kind of heathen warrior. He’s certainly got some mysterious scars. And then of course there’s the whole question of how he came to be a slave in the first place. I think you owe me an explanation, Hettie.”

She didn’t answer. Just looked at him sadly. Abandoning the idea of seeing to Otto, he threw himself at her feet.

“Hettie, please , you have to tell me. What is happening ? And why, of all people, is it happening to me ?”

“Because you’ve been chosen, Dex,” she said. Her hands stayed in her lap. “Now listen to me carefully. I don’t have long. Eberg’s death spells the beginning of the end. Princess Rhian is in grave peril. Wicked men seek to use her for their own misguided, selfish desires.”

“Wicked men? What wicked men? Do you mean the—”

“I mean Prolate Marlan, Dex,” said Hettie sternly. “And others like him.”

The prolate ? Surely not. “Now, Hettie—”

“Hush, Dex! Let me finish. If these men succeed, Ethrea is lost … and as Ethrea goes so goes the world. And these men will succeed … unless you do as I say.”

He felt his jaw drop. “Me? Hettie, what can I do? I’m not important, I’m a toymaker !”

“A toymaker who’s made a princess his friend,” she said. “Now listen . You must go to the castle without delay, find Rhian and convince her to run away with you.”

“Run away with me? Hettie! Have you gone quite mad ?”

“No,” she said. Shadows danced, flirting with her hair. “Dex, please. Don’t fail me now.”

He leapt to his feet. “That’s not fair! You know perfectly well I’d do anything for you!”

“Then do this,” she said, her voice gently remorseless. “The most important thing I’ve ever asked. Oh, Dexie, my love. I never said it would be easy. But for countless tens of thousands of innocent souls it will mean the difference between life and death. Surely that’s worth a little inconvenience?”

There was a terrible tightness in his chest. He pressed the heel of his hand against his breastbone and rubbed hard, trying to ease it. Oh dear, oh dear. Life and death? Toymakers didn’t deal in matters of life and death. Not beyond the safety of a puppet-show, at least.

But Hettie was looking at him, and he loved her so much …

“All right,” he sighed, almost groaning. “Let’s say, for the sake of argument, I go to the castle. Say against all likelihood I’m granted an audience with Princess Rhian and she listens to my suggestion without tossing me out again on my ear. Say she agrees—oh, this is nonsense —to run away with me. Where exactly do you suggest we run?”

“The princess will know,” said Hettie. “When she realises escape is possible, she’ll know where to go, Dex, and what to do next.”

“Well, that’s a relief!” he retorted. “At least one of us will!”

Hettie ignored that, as she’d always ignored his rare spats of temper. “There’s something else, Dexie. When you do leave Kingseat you have to take Zandakar with you.”

“Take Zandakar ?” He clutched at his beard. “Hettie, you are mad. He’s a black man with blue hair who doesn’t speak a word of Ethrean. How am I supposed to explain him away?”

She stood. All of a sudden he could see hasaba blossoms through the bodice of her dress. “You’ll manage it, my love. You must. Zandakar is a vital piece of the puzzle.”

“Is he really?” he said, not caring how waspish he sounded. “I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me why ?”

She shook her head. “I can’t. Not yet. You’ll just have to trust me.”