“I’m sure you could survive even under such atrocious conditions, Your Eminence,” she said now. “Personally, however, I’m much more comfortable here in the ostentatious luxury of your current domicile. I suspect the same is true of Daivyn, as well, although it’s hard to be certain what he thinks when I so seldom have a chance to speak to him. I’m afraid he spends too much time playing basketball on your private court with Haarahld Breygart and Prince Zhan for any long and meaningful conversations with a mere sister. When he’s not swimming with them in the Royal Palace’s pool, that is. Or running madly about the baseball diamond in Queen Mairah’s Court with them, for that matter.”
“It does the boy—I mean, His Highness—good, Your Highness.” Staynair’s smile broadened, then softened. “Forgive me, but it seems to me your brother’s had very little opportunity to simply be a boy since your exile from Corisande. I think it’s important we give some of that boyhood back to him, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Irys replied softly. But then she gave herself a mental shake and tilted her head, hazel eyes taking on an edge of challenge. “Yes,” she repeated, “and it doesn’t hurt Charis’ position with him one bit for him to play baseball and basketball with the boy who’s still second in line to the Charisian Crown, does it, Your Eminence?”
“Of course it doesn’t. And I won’t pretend that consideration isn’t a part of Their Majesties’… calculations where you and your brother are concerned. But do you truly believe they wouldn’t have done the same thing anyway?”
Irys locked gazes with him for a moment. Then she shook her head.
“No,” she admitted. “I think they would’ve done exactly the same thing. And”—she confessed—“they’ve given him a degree of freedom here in Tellesberg he never would’ve had in Manchyr.”
“But not without seeing to his security very carefully, Your Highness.”
“No, not without that,” she agreed, and her lips quirked almost against her will. “Seeing three boys, the oldest barely fourteen, playing baseball with two complete teams of Marines and Imperial Guardsmen in full uniform—including the Guardsmen’s armor—is … not something I would’ve seen back in Manchyr. And it’s amazing how good Colonel Falkhan is at losing after absolutely playing as hard as he possibly could.”
“Ah, well, Your Highness, he was Emperor Cayleb’s chief bodyguard when Cayleb was crown prince himself, you know. And the truth is that I suspect Zhan would be having rather a harder time of it if it weren’t for the younger boys. Colonel Falkhan had quite a lot of practice doing the same thing with Cayleb, but it began to change somehow when Cayleb turned fourteen or fifteen.” The archbishop smiled in memory. “At that point, Cayleb suddenly discovered it was far more difficult to beat his armsmen than it used to be. He’s one of the brighter fellows I know, and it didn’t take him long to realize they’d been—I believe the term is ‘throwing’—the games when he’d been younger. Which only made him even more determined to beat them fairly now that he was older. Not a bad lesson for a future monarch to learn early, I think.”
“Probably not,” Irys said thoughtfully. “Especially the bit about people letting him win because he was a prince. People get—or some of them get, at any rate—more subtle about it as they get older, but there are always plenty of flatterers and toadies around. Learning to watch for that sort of thing would be a useful lesson for any ruler.”
“Actually, Your Highness, you’re missing the point,” Staynair corrected gently. She looked a question at him, and the archbishop shrugged. “Every child is allowed to win, at least sometimes, by adults who truly love him. It gives him the confidence to try again, to become steadily better, to master challenges. It’s important that he not realize the adults in his life are deliberately losing to him, because he needs that sense of accomplishment. And it’s important for them to challenge him even when they let him win, so that he truly does gain in proficiency and capability. But for someone destined to wear a crown, it’s even more important for him to realize those who truly care for him are willing to beat him, to force him to stretch to the very limit of his capabilities, and to show him the difference between glib-tongued sycophants and those he can trust to be honest with him. That’s a valuable lesson for anyone, Your Highness, but especially for someone destined to rule. And one reason it’s especially valuable for a ruler is because it also teaches him to cherish those who are honest with him, to encourage them to tell him when they disagree with him or when he’s making a mistake. And to listen to them when they tell him that.” He shook his head. “That’s the lesson young Crown Prince Cayleb learned from Lieutenant Falkhan all those years ago, and it’s stood him—and the Kingdom and Empire of Charis—in very good stead since King Haarahld’s death.”
Irys’ eyes had narrowed while the archbishop was speaking. When he finished, she stood for a moment, still gazing up at him, and then, slowly, she nodded.
“I hadn’t thought of it exactly that way, Your Eminence,” she confessed, and a shadow touched her expressive eyes. “And I wish my father had had the opportunity to have this conversation with you years ago,” she went on very softly. “I think … I think it might have served him in good stead where my brother Hektor was concerned.”
“Perhaps.”
Staynair captured her right hand in his, tucking it into the bend of his left elbow as he stood beside her and they both turned to look out over the city once more.
“Perhaps,” he repeated. “But perhaps not, too.”
He turned his head, gazing at her profile as the breeze cracked the banners flying from the cathedral’s façade like whips.
“I can’t speak to your father’s relationship with your brother, of course,” he continued. “But I can say that looking at you and Daivyn, who you are and who you’ve become despite everything that’s happened, gives me a far better opinion of Prince Hektor than I ever had before.” She twitched in surprise at the admission, and he smiled. “I still have … significant reservations about him as a ruler, you understand, Your Highness. But he—or he and your mother, perhaps—obviously did something right as parents where you and your younger brother are concerned.”
“Flattery won’t win you anything with me, you know, Your Eminence,” she said lightly, trying to mask how deeply his last sentence had touched her. “Father may not’ve allowed my armsmen to beat me at baseball, but he did make sure I understood how dangerous honeyed words can be!”
“I’m sure he did, and if he hadn’t, Earl Coris would’ve repaired the deficiency long since,” the archbishop said, so dryly she chuckled. Then he turned to face her more fully, and his expression turned more serious.
“I must confess, Your Highness, that I didn’t follow you out onto the balcony this morning simply to enjoy the sunlight and the breeze with you. I’ve just received word from the Palace, and it concerns you and Daivyn.”
“It does?” Irys felt a quick stab of anxiety, but it didn’t touch her tone, and her eyes were level as she gazed up at him.
“It does,” he replied. “I’m sure you’re aware that the marriage treaty between Cayleb and Sharleyan not only established a joint Imperial Parliament but requires that the government spend half of each year, minus travel time, in Tellesberg and the other half in Chisholm?”
He crooked an eyebrow, and she nodded.
“Well, I’m afraid they’re off schedule.” He grimaced. “What with that affair in the Gulf of Tarot, and the need to get you and Daivyn—and Earl Coris, of course—safely out of Delferahk, and now this business in Siddarmark, Cayleb’s been here in Tellesberg for almost an entire year, and Sharleyan’s been here for the better part of eight months. They should’ve departed for Chisholm four months ago, and even though everyone in Cherayth understands why they haven’t, they really can’t justify putting it off any longer. Or, rather, Sharleyan can’t. She’s going to be returning to Chisholm in the next few five-days, whereas Cayleb is going to be sailing for … well, to coordinate with Duke Eastshare and,
possibly, for a personal meeting with Lord Protector Greyghor. In any case, neither of them is going to be here in Tellesberg very much longer, and you and young Daivyn will be accompanying Empress Sharleyan when she leaves.”
Irys’ eyes widened.
“But—forgive me, Your Eminence, but I thought Daivyn and I had been placed in your custody.”
“As you have been.” He patted the hand tucked into his elbow. “I’ll also be accompanying the Empress. One of the ways in which the Church of Charis differs from the Group of Four’s Church is that the archbishop travels to the constituent states of the Empire rather than reigning imperially here in Tellesberg and requiring all those other prelates to come pay homage to him. We haven’t yet established a firm schedule for my pastoral visits, however, and I’m rather behind. So I’m taking this opportunity to sail with you and Daivyn at least as far as Cherayth. From there, I’ll continue to Zebediah and Corisande, before I return home, possibly by way of Tarot. I imagine I’ll be gone for the better part of a year myself, but you and your brother will still be under my protection.”
Irys’ heart leapt when he mentioned Corisande, but she tried—almost successfully—to keep that response from showing in her expression or her eyes. Was it possible she and Daivyn would be permitted—
Don’t be silly, she told herself. Yes, the Archbishop—and Cayleb and Sharleyan—have treated both of you far more gently than you expected. But they aren’t going to let you return home without first making damned sure you won’t do anything to … destabilize their control. Archbishop Maikel may travel to Manchyr, but you won’t.
She knew it was true, and she knew the logic which made it so was irrefutable. That she would have made exactly the same decision, no matter how kind she might have wanted to be. She even knew Daivyn would be far happier to be allowed to remain a boy a few months longer, rather than be trapped in the role of a child monarch in the hands of a Regency Council over which he had no control. But it still hurt.
Maybe it does, but at least you’ll still be together, you’ll both still be alive, and Chisholm’s much closer to home. Maybe it won’t feel quite as lonely there as it did in Delferahk.
“Thank you for telling me, Your Eminence,” she said finally. “I appreciate the warning. Can you tell me when we’ll be departing?”
“Not for certain, Your Highness. There are several details that still need arranging. Lady Hanth’s travel plans, for example.”
“Lady Hanth’s? Lady Mairah is coming with us?” Irys heard the happiness and relief in her own voice, and Staynair smiled.
“Yes, or that’s the plan right now, at any rate. Emperor Cayleb’s recalled Earl Hanth to active duty—you knew he was a Marine before he became Earl, I believe?” He paused until she nodded, then shrugged. “Well, it seems Their Majesties have decided his services could be very useful in Siddarmark, and to be brutally honest, the Empire’s going to need every experienced Marine it can lay hands on for the summer campaign. So, since he’s going to be out of the Old Kingdom anyway, Lady Hanth is taking her stepsons to meet her parents and her cousin, Baron Green Mountain.” His expression saddened. “She may not have another opportunity for them to meet the Baron, I’m afraid.”
Irys nodded in understanding. Mahrak Sahndyrs, Empress Sharleyan’s first councilor in Chisholm, had been savagely wounded in one of the terrorist attacks which had swept through the Empire. He’d been too badly injured to continue as first councilor, and he’d been replaced by Braisyn Byrns, the Earl of White Crag, who’d been Sharleyan’s Lord Justice. White Crag had been replaced in turn as Lord Justice by Sylvyst Mhardyr, the Baron of Stoneheart, and although she and Phylyp Ahzgood had enjoyed a quiet chuckle over a kingdom’s chief magistrate being known as “Lord Justice Stoneheart,” he was actually an excellent choice, an intelligent and humane man with a strong legal background and over twenty years’ experience on the Queen’s Bench.
“I didn’t realize Baron Green Mountain had been injured quite that severely,” she said now.
“Well, reports at this distance tend to get garbled or exaggerated. It’s quite possible we’re being overly pessimistic. But I won’t deny that the Baron’s health is one reason the Empress is determined to set out for Chisholm as soon as possible.” Staynair smiled again, with a sort of wry sadness. “I doubt she’d be leaving, despite that, if Cayleb weren’t going to be called away from Tellesberg, as well. The amount of time they have to spend apart from one another to make the Empire work is hard—very hard—on both of them. It’s not often a marriage of state turns into the kind of love match that litters so many children’s tales, but in this case, it truly has.”
Irys nodded again. She’d seen enough of the emperor and empress to know what Staynair had just said was no more than the simple truth. And everyone in Charis seemed to know it as well as the archbishop did. In fact, Irys had come to the conclusion that the deep and obvious love between them—and the fact that they were so willing to let that love show—was a huge part of the magic which bound their subjects to them like iron. And the fact that Sharleyan had willingly come from distant Chisholm to stand beside their youthful king in the teeth of the Inquisition and hell itself had forged a fierce, fiery devotion to her in the hearts of Old Charisians of every kind, clergy, commoners, and peers alike.
They really are the kind of characters you only meet in legend, aren’t they? Larger than life, beautiful, fearless, determined, beloved by their subjects … no wonder so many of their people are ready to walk straight into the fire at their heels, face even the Inquisition and the Punishment of Schueler at their side! Father’s subjects loved him, too, but not the same way. They respected him, they trusted him—in Corisande itself, at least—but they didn’t love him the way Charisians love Cayleb and Sharleyan. And whatever the Inquisition says, it’s not sorcery, it’s not some malign influence from Shan-wei or any of the other Fallen. It’s just who they are— what they are. And I wish … I wish some of that same magic would touch me.
Her eyes widened as she realized what she’d just thought, yet it was true. She envied them—envied them their love and their obvious courage, the depth of their faith and the strength of their combined will. The love of their subjects, the loyalty of their followers … and the certainty of their purpose. Their steadfast, unflinching commitment to all they believed and held dear. They might yet prove wrong, might yet discover that whatever they thought, they truly had served Shan-wei and not Langhorne. But mistaken or not, they served their beliefs with a bright, ardent intensity Irys Daykyn could only envy in a world in which so much certainty had disappeared into confusion and hatred and bloodshed.
No wonder she wanted some of that magic, that flame of reflected legend and bright honor, to touch her. It was, she realized wonderingly, what bound all their followers to them—that aspiration to be worthy of them as they had proven they were worthy of their crowns. The intensity of that awareness shook her to the bone, like some silent whirlwind, and in that moment, she recognized its seduction. To seize upon something, anything, that gave purpose and certainty and honor to a life in the midst of all the bewilderment and doubt—who could not crave that? How could anyone not long to say as Cayleb Ahrmahk had said into the teeth of the Grand Inquisitor himself, with scorching, fearless honesty “Here I stand; I can do no other”?
Back away, Irys, she told herself. Back away. Yes, you want it, but you need to think about why. You need to understand what’s driving that hunger. It’s too seductive, too strong. Father Davys would tell you you’re succumbing to all the undeniable goodness within Cayleb and Sharleyan, just as they themselves have been seduced into Shan-wei’s service through their very love of their people. It isn’t through the darkness in our hearts that Shan-wei takes us; it’s the light within us that she twists and perverts and uses against us.
“I hope the reports about Baron Green Mountain are wrong, Your Eminence,” she heard herself saying out loud. “Father had very few good words to say about him, I’m afraid
, but even he admitted there’d never been a more capable or loyal first councilor in the entire world.”
“No, there hasn’t. And it’s particularly sad that Cayleb and Sharleyan have both lost the services of first councilors of whom that could’ve been said. But it’s even worse in her case, I think. She hasn’t completely lost him yet, of course, but he was effectively her second father after her own father’s death.”
“I can see that,” Irys said, her heart twisting as she thought of Phylyp Ahzgood and all he’d come to mean to her, and touched the archbishop’s forearm again, impulsively. “I can see that. And would you tell Her Majesty for me, please, that I’ll be remembering the Baron in my prayers?”
“I’m sure she’ll be grateful to hear that, Your Highness.” Staynair patted her hand briefly, then looked back across the crowded harbor.
“There are several other questions which need to be considered, of course,” he said. “For example, Father Davys has many commitments among the Loyalist congregations here in Tellesberg. I think it would be difficult for him to leave the Old Kingdom, that he’d feel he was abandoning those who depend upon him. Neither Their Majesties nor I wish to deprive you of clergy of your choice, however. Would you wish for me to ask Father Davys to nominate a Loyalist chaplain to accompany you on the voyage? I’m sure he’d be able to come up with several possibilities.”
“That … would probably be a good idea, Your Eminence,” Irys replied slowly, her eyes hooded. “I think, if you’ll forgive me for saying it, that it’s important Daivyn not be faced with … competing orthodoxies at this time in his life.”