Wings of Wrath (12 page)

She exhaled sharply in frustration. “All the Aurelius kings have worn this stole at their coronations, since the first one that claimed a crown. Each has added his own signs to it. His accomplishments. These—” she indicated a section of the intricately embroidered piece near one end of the stole “—these are all your father's triumphs. The victories that brought the High Kingdom into existence. Without them you would have nothing to rule over.”

“I understand all that, Mother.” His tone was infinitely patient. “But we will have to find some other means of honoring Father's work.”

“I had all the sacred symbols removed,” she said, still not taking it from him. “You know that, yes? There is nothing here that speaks of any god but yours. Only human history—centuries of it—reaching back to the First Age of Kings—”

“And that time was many things to many people, Mother—we could argue over it for years and reach no agreement—but one thing cannot be argued. Whatever the First Kings did, ultimately demons were sent to punish them so that mankind was driven back into the darkness for centuries. Some would argue we are only just now recovering from that blow. Yes?” When she did not answer he asked, “Do you wish me to begin my reign by tying myself to that disastrous age?”

“Your father did,” she said coldly, “and he was a great king.”

For the first time since his arrival at the palace, a shadow of anger passed over his face. “My father's last days were lived in the shadow of a demon. Let us never forget that. Nor the fact that demons have now been seen in other places as well. This world is on the brink of utter devastation and I for one do not intend to forget it.”

He drew in a deep breath then, and shut his eyes for a moment as he muttered a prayer under his breath to settle his spirit. Then he held out the stole to her. “Forget past glories. We will make new ones. Commission a stole to be crafted that celebrates my father's triumphs, and those of the kings that came before him. But not back past the Dark Times. That is all I ask.”

She hesitated, then nodded tightly and accepted the stole from him. “You will at least wear silk, yes? Something appropriate to your rank? Not that . . .” She indicated his monk's robe. “. . .
burlap
.”

A flicker of a smile softened his expression. “It's wool, Mother, but, yes. Never fear. I shall wear the most expensive silks you can procure, and a feather in my hat besides, if you so desire it. Festoon the ground with priceless gems and I will walk on them in golden shoes while dancing girls strew rose petals upon the ground for me to crush underfoot. All this I will do if you deem it appropriate.” His expression darkened; he put his hand upon the stole. “But not this. I cannot celebrate the age of sin, not without inviting the Destroyer to punish us again. Is that how a new king should begin his reign?”

She bit her lip for a moment. Then, with a sigh, she began to fold the stole, her pale fingers smoothing the delicate embroidery with every turn. “You are as stubborn as your father was, you know that?”

“Aye.” He nodded. “And you would not have asked me to take up his crown if I were anything less. Would you?”

“We have space enough in the palace for your vassals,” Jan Cresel told him, “providing they do not bring large retinues with them. Some may prefer to remain in the field for that reason. It should not be seen as an insult. Nor should your invitation be framed in any way that will cast aspersions upon those whose might choose such a course, or make them feel pressured to do otherwise. Some princes do not travel ten miles from home without a veritable army to accompany them; they will want the space to spread out and put on a show worthy of their retinue.”

“To build their towers,” Salvator said quietly.

“The invitations will be rendered with suitable diplomacy,” Gwynofar promised. “As always.”

“You have other names on the list,” Salvator pointed out.

Cresel nodded. “Allies of Danton, who will be looking for a clear sign that you mean to continue in his footsteps, at least where they are concerned. Offering them rooms in the palace will be seen as a sign of favor that will help keep them focused upon you rather than upon the blandishments of your enemies. But do bear in mind that any of those who accept your invitation will be doing so in the hopes of catching a private moment with you sometime during the festivities. Some will simply want reassurance from you, others. . . .” He hesitated.

“Others will wish to see if the new High King will be easier to manipulate than his father.” He smiled slightly. “You see, Master Cresel? I do understand the game.”

“You can expect every noble house with a marriageable daughter to arrange for an introduction sometime during their visit. Needless to say you should remain as neutral as possible in all such meetings. Should you so much as twitch an eyelash in some girl's direction, the gossipmongers will see it transformed into a marriage proposal within an hour. Which can sometimes be as much trouble as the real thing.” He smiled dryly and offered Salvator a leather portfolio. “I have assembled reports for you on the candidates worthy of your attention . . . and a few warnings regarding those that are not.”

“And what do you advise?” Salvator asked. “Regarding marital prospects.”

Cresel hesitated. Clearly he was not accustomed to being asked for this sort of advice. “I would advise waiting,” he said finally. “Neither allies nor enemies know what to make of you just yet. For so long as a man believes that his kinswoman might win your favor, he must act to keep that option open. The moment you make a choice in such matters—or even appear to be swayed in the direction of a particular choice—he is free of that obligation. So for now, let them dream their dreams while you take stock of your options. And try not to be too . . .” He paused uncomfortably, seeking the proper word. “. . .
affected
by their charms.”

Salvator looked sharply at him. “Do you know what my father did, Master Cresel, when I told him I meant to enter the monastery? He brought in a whore to teach me about love. Well, actually, he brought me a bevy of whores. Some earthy and crude, some elegant and sophisticated, the whole gamut of feminine charms. He said that I should experience Woman in all her guises before choosing to forego such pleasures forever.” He shrugged. “Obviously his hope was that after a night or two of unfettered debauchery I would no longer have the heart to go through with my plans. Alas, he did not understand enough of the Penitent faith to realize that he had in fact given my sacrifice greater value, and thus had only fuelled my determination.” The chair creaked as he leaned back in it. “The point of the tale is, Master Cresel, the fact that I rejected the cruder pleasures of this world for four years does not mean I do not understand their power. Quite the contrary. I assure you I will mistake neither passion nor political alliance for love. I know that decisions made in the heat of the night rarely survive the morning's inspection. So please, do not fear that my innocence will lead me down some dark and terrible path. I am better armored than most to face that particular enemy.”

He reached out for the guest list that Cresel had compiled and nodded as he approved its contents. He had spent the last few days studying all the lineages and households of significance, and was pleased to see that most of these looked familiar.

Then he came to one name that surprised him. Raising an eyebrow, he looked up at Cresel. “Siderea Aminestas?”

“Aye, Sire. The one they call the Witch-Queen.”

“I know what they call her. Why is she on the list?”

“Because she is the most powerful monarch in the Free States and bringing her into your sphere of influence would not only guarantee access to the southern shipping lanes, but it would make Corialanus think twice about testing you. Lest it find itself having to defend two borders at once.”

“You are assuming she is interested in such a relationship. As I recall, she was a thorn in father's side. He blamed her for uniting the Free States against him.”

“Her people have communicated her interest. Not directly, of course. But they have been pulling strings behind the scenes to get her this invitation. Which means your options are presumably open.”

Gwynofar raised an eyebrow. “I think I can guess what ‘options' she has in mind.”

Salvator chuckled. “And if so, where is the risk in it? She is too old to bear children, so even seduction has its limits. She cannot become my queen, and I am sure she would not wish to be my concubine. But if she imagines that she can manipulate me with her charms, then she will focus on that game for as long as it has promise and not do other, more destructive things. Why dash her hopes prematurely?”

“This is not one of your father's whores,” Gwynofar said quietly.

“And I am no longer the innocent young boy that those whores serviced, Mother.” He handed the list back to Cresel. “You have done well. I approve these names. And I will study the notes you have given me on all the well-born maidens who will be vying for my favor; thank you for that research.” He pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. “Mother, would you be so good as to work with Master Cresel on the invitations?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

Cresel seemed about to speak again but bit his lip instead. It was an uncharacteristic hesitation. Finally he offered, “Will you be wanting some . . . ah, special accommodation . . . for after the coronation, Sire?”

Salvator blinked. “Of what sort?”

“You have indicated you will not set aside your vows until the ceremony. Which means that immediately afterward you might be . . . let us say, subject to distraction. Not the best state for a new king to be in, when first impressions matter so very much. Perhaps we should arrange for . . . let us say, a private interlude?”

Salvator scowled. “I have practiced self-discipline for four years, Master Cresel. Do you think me so poor in my learning that such things are necessary? What would my father have said to that?”

Gwynofar offered quietly, “Your father would have said that any man who imagined he could set aside four years of celibacy and keep a clear head directly afterward was a creature blinded by his own pride.”

Salvator stared at her for a moment. Then he chuckled softly. “My father did not understand my faith well enough to wield such an argument, Mother. Though I do appreciate your concern. However, I can assure you that I am up to the challenge. If there is indeed some demon of lust inside me that imagines it will be unleashed the moment a crown touches my head, then it is bound to be sorely disappointed.” After a moment's thought he added, “As for this Aminestas—do see that she needs to bribe someone to earn her invitation, will you? I would hate to make things too easy for her.”

“I shall that she is properly challenged,” the castellan promised.

As Salvator left the room he could sense all the questions left unspoken, the arguments unvoiced. And they were not entirely without merit. How sure was he, really, that he could watch while every eligible young woman in the High Kingdom was paraded before him, plying her best seductive tricks, and still remain cool-headed?

It is a spiritual trial,
he told himself stubbornly.
I will be stronger for having faced it
.

But he devoted an extra hour to prayer that night. Just in case.

I
F SHE flew high enough, Kamala could see the Wrath. It had no physical substance, but the same mystical Sight that had enabled her to see Ethanus' sorcery in her childhood was apparently sensitive to it. Even so it was not visible in its own right, more in how it affected the things around it. A subtle dark shimmering in the air that hung low around the horizon, turning the mountaintops to mist. A sense that things were out of focus, when her powerful hawk eyes should have had no problem seeing everything clearly.