Irys nodded, although she had no idea what the empress was talking about, and folded her hands in her lap. For some reason she felt even younger than her age at that moment.
“Daivyn, Irys, Earl Coris,” Sharleyan said, nodding gravely to each of them in turn. “I know you’re all more than a little nervous about this meeting. In your places, I would be, too. However, I’ve been thinking a great deal about what you said to me aboard Destiny, Irys, and I can’t quite shake the conviction that the name of that ship may have been more appropriate than her builders realized when they bestowed it.”
She paused, and Irys glanced up and to her left, looking at Coris’ profile, then back at the empress.
“I think I’d like to believe that, Your Majesty,” she said finally. “Daivyn and I have been buffeted about enough. I’d like to think we do have a destiny somewhere we can find. On that doesn’t leave us drifting at the mercy of the storm forever.”
“I remember something Seijin Merlin said to me once,” Sharleyan told her, looking levelly into her hazel eyes. “He said destiny is what we make it. That it’s our own choices, our own decisions, that lead us through life. There are other factors, sometimes—often—elements we can’t control. But we can always control our own decisions. Sometimes they’re good, sometimes they’re bad, but they’re always ours, and no one can take them away from us … unless we let them.”
“That’s undoubtedly true, Your Majesty,” Coris said. “But sometimes all the decisions in the world can’t change what happens to us.”
“No, they can’t, My Lord.” Sharleyan’s eyes rose to his. “But they can change why we do what we do, and in the end, on the most basic level, isn’t that really all that matters?”
Coris looked back at her for several seconds. Then he inclined his head silently, and she looked back to Irys and Daivyn.
“Daivyn, I know you’re young, and I know you’re worried, and I know you’re wondering what this is all about. Well, I’m going to tell you, and then you’ll have a decision to make. Irys and Earl Coris can advise you, they can try to help you, but in the end the decision will be yours.”
Daivyn’s brown eyes went huge, and Sharleyan smiled slightly.
“It’s okay to be nervous,” she told him. “I was only about a year older than you are now when I became Queen, you know.” His eyes went even rounder as he tried to digest the preposterous proposition that someone as obviously aged as the empress had ever been that young. “No, it’s true,” she assured him. “I was. And for the first few months?” He nodded. “I threw up before every council meeting.”
His jaw dropped, and she dimpled as she smiled much more broadly.
“It’s true,” she repeated in an almost conspiratorial tone. “I promise. So if you’re feeling nervous right now, I understand entirely. But please, if you think you’re going to need to throw up, warn us ahead of time, all right? I’d like to ring the bell and get Sairaih to bring us a basin, first.”
Daivyn goggled at her for a moment, then surprised himself with a bright little spurt of laughter.
“I promise, Your Majesty,” he said, and she winked at him. Then she looked back at Irys and Coris, and her expression turned serious once more.
“My Lord, I haven’t spoken directly with you about this, but I know you and Irys have talked about it at length. I know she’s also discussed it with Archbishop Maikel, and he’s discussed with me the portions of their conversations she authorized him to share with me. I assure both of you that he did not, and would not, violate her confidence by discussing anything more than that with me or with anyone else.”
She paused until Irys nodded, then continued.
“First, let me say I won’t pretend for an instant that I wasn’t delighted by what Irys said to me. Frankly, it was more than I’d allowed myself to hope I might ever hear from her or, to be honest, any other member of her family. Given all the anger and hatred—and blood—that lies between our houses, it took someone with one of what Maikel calls ‘the great souls’ to reach out that far.
“Second, let me acknowledge that I’m fully aware of the implications of this situation—of all the ways in which it could contribute to the safety and the security of the Charisian Empire, and of all the advantages which could stem from it for all of us.
“And third, let me make it clear that where this could lead in the end could be disastrous for all three of you.”
She let that last sentence lay between them, cold and heavy, stinking of danger, before she sat back, wrapped her arms around her daughter, and spoke again.
“Irys, you told me you can no longer support Mother Church. That you believe you have no choice but to fight against Clyntahn and the rest of the Group of Four in any way you can. I think there’s a way for you—for all of us—to do that, but if you do—if Daivyn does—you make yourselves the declared enemy of the Inquisition, of the Group of Four, of every Temple Loyalist in the world, and of Mother Church herself. I think you understand that, but before I go any further, I need to know you do.”
Irys fought down an almost overpowering need to look up at Coris. This was a question she had to answer herself—not just for Sharleyan, but for herself, as well. And so she looked levelly into the eyes of the most powerful woman in the world and nodded.
“I do, Your Majesty.”
She was a bit surprised by how clearly those four words came out. Like Sharleyan’s statement, it lay between them, yet this was clean, with the cold, sharp taste of ice and an edge of polished steel.
“But the Inquisition and Mother Church have already declared themselves our enemies,” she went on. “I know the official story is that Seijin Merlin kidnapped us on your orders and Phylyp sold us to you. It could hardly be anything else, with Clyntahn in the Grand Inquisitor’s chair. And I’m not so foolish as to believe for a moment that Daivyn or I would ever be allowed the opportunity to tell anyone the truth.” She smiled without humor. “Under the circumstances, whether we openly fight the Church and lose or simply wait for his inquisitors to dig us out of our final burrow, the outcome will be very much the same, don’t you think?”
“I suppose so.” Sharleyan rocked Alahnah gently. “Another thing Seijin Merlin once said to me—I’m sure he was quoting someone else; he’s very wise and well-informed, but not really the fount of all knowledge—‘If we do not hang together, we will all surely hang separately.’ It does rather cut to the heart of the matter, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does.”
“Very well, here’s what I propose.”
Sharleyan stopped rocking the little girl in her lap and her expression had become deadly serious.
“Understand that I’m speaking now not just for myself but for Cayleb. We’ve told the world we’re co-rulers, and we are. If I pledge the faith of the Empire of Charis to you, Cayleb will honor that pledge, even if the whole world goes to ruin in the process.”
She looked at all three of them, and Irys felt a strange shiver run through her bones. What must it be like, she wondered, to have that kind of faith in another human being? For two people, be they ever so close, trust one another however deeply, to bind themselves to each accept the other’s decision, even in a choice that was life or death for an entire empire? No wonder people spoke of them not as Cayleb or Sharleyan but as Cayleb-and-Sharleyan, as one being with two hearts, two minds … and one soul.
And no wonder they’d already entered the realms of legend.
“I propose to allow the three of you to return to Corisande aboard a Charisian warship—I think Destiny would serve quite well for the purpose. You’ll travel with Archbishop Maikel as he continues his pastoral journey. His will be the only official Charisian presence in your party, and you’ll be under his protection until you touch Corisandian soil. At that time, Daivyn, you’ll meet with your Regency Council for the first time, and the members of that council will become your protectors.”
She looked up over the suddenly very still prince’s head to meet Coris??
? eyes.
“Messages will be sent ahead to General Zhanstyn. They will inform him that no Charisian military forces are to be present at the time you land in Manchyr. That Prince Daivyn’s Regency Council is to have full freedom to determine where he will be housed, who will be assigned to protect him, and where and when he will travel within his own princedom. Should the Regency Council or General Gahrvai desire assistance from General Zhanstyn or any other Charisian soldier, Marine, or seaman, it will be provided. If he does not desire it, that will be his decision and the Regency Council’s, and—if the Regency Council is guided by my advice, My Lord—yours as the legal guardian designated for Prince Daivyn by his father, and Princess Irys as his sister.
“The terms of the armistice arranged between Cayleb and Earl Anvil Rock and Earl Tartarian on behalf of the Regency Council will stand. I cannot compromise on that point. For Daivyn to be recognized by us as the legitimate, reigning Prince of Corisande, he must accept those terms. If he chooses not to, and the Regency Council crowns him Prince anyway, the Empire of Charis will feel justified in using military force to compel obedience to those terms … and it will. That decision, however, will be made by Corisandians. I hope it will be the right decision, but for better or worse, it must be yours, and it must be seen by your people to be yours. There will be those in Zion and elsewhere who will denounce any decision you make if it isn’t to resume open warfare against Charis. Our only defense against that can be, must be—and will be—the truth, and that truth must be as widely known in Corisande as possible.
“For reasons I’m sure you and Earl Coris, at least, understand fully, Irys, it simply isn’t possible at this time for Corisande to be independent of Charisian control. We’ve tried—at the cost of Charisian blood, on occasion—to control the violence in Corisande with a minimum of Corisandian bloodshed, to promote peace and tolerance, and to obey the rule of law rather than govern with an iron rod. I hope you’ll see for yourself when you reach Manchyr that that’s the plain, unvarnished truth. Yet I can think of no circumstances under which we could possibly agree at this time to Corisandian independence. That’s why the terms of the armistice—at a minimum—must stand.”
Irys swallowed. Sharleyan’s tone was measured, deliberate, almost harsh. Irys wasn’t certain what she’d expected to hear, but if the terms of the armistice—the armistice which subjected Corisande to military occupation, to disarmament, to control by Charis—were the minimum Charis could accept, what more must Sharleyan be about to propose?!
“There is an alternative to occupation and foreign control, however,” Sharleyan said, almost as if she’d read Irys’ mind. “That alternative is the same one Cayleb and I offered to Nahrmahn of Emerald and Gorjah of Tarot. Membership in the Empire of Charis—not as an occupied territory, but as an integral unit, with internal autonomy under the constitution which governs the existing Empire. With representation in the Imperial Parliament. With Daivyn on the throne of Corisande as his father’s heir, sustained and supported by the Imperial Charisian Navy and the Imperial Charisian Army. With Corisandian troops and seamen raised, trained, armed, and integrated into the imperial military at all levels. With full Corisandian participation in imperial markets, trading routes, and banking houses—with full access to Charisian manufactories and innovations. The full integration of the Corisandian Church into the Church of Charis. And with Daivyn as the third-ranking noble of the Charisian Empire after the heir to the throne herself, second only to Nahrmahn Gareyt of Emerald and Gorjah of Tarot.”
Irys’ eyes had gone as huge as Daivyn’s, and Daivyn himself sat almost paralyzed on the edge of his chair. Behind her, she heard Coris inhale sharply.
“Our policy, our desire, from the very beginning has been to expand the Empire not by conquest but by covenant,” Sharleyan said softly. “What’s conquered by the sword is owned only so long as the sword stays sharp. What’s brought together in amity, in recognition of common needs and purpose—of common enemies—has the strength to stand even after swords are no longer required. As Cayleb said to me in his proposal letter, what we need isn’t an alliance which can and does change as the tides of chance dictate, but a union. A common identity. An empire strong enough to survive the hurricane sweeping over our world—one in which prosperity and freedom are the common property of all, and where the corruption of those evil men in Zion can never triumph. We conquered Corisande because we had no other choice; now, perhaps, we have one after all, and if we do, we choose to take it. We choose to risk what you may do in Corisande outside our custody because we believe the prize we offer both to you and to ourselves is amply worth that risk.”
She sat back in her chair, cradling her daughter, and looked at them levelly. For what seemed an eternity, Irys could only look back at her, stunned by the offer. Then Daivyn reached out and touched her on the knee.
“Irys?” His voice sounded very small, and she saw the wonder and confusion—and the trust—in his brown eyes. “Irys?” he repeated. “What should I say?”
“Oh, Daivy,” she said, and reached out both hands to him, gathering him up, holding him on her lap as she had when he was much younger and she herself had been only a girl. She laid her cheek against the top of his head, hugging him tightly. “Oh, Daivy, I don’t know. I know what I want to say, but I just don’t know. This … this is more than I expected.” She looked over her shoulder. “Phylyp?”
“I can’t say it’s … totally unexpected,” Coris said slowly, meeting her eyes and then looking over her head at Sharleyan. “The scope of it, yes. And the degree of autonomy Her Majesty’s offering. But something like this, the inclusion of Corisande in the Empire, is inevitable, Irys. As Her Majesty says, Charis has no choice. And the truth is that Daivyn doesn’t, either. The men in Zion who ordered him killed can’t—they literally cannot—allow him or you to live. It’s that simple. I suppose a good, devious spymaster really ought to recommend that you pretend to accept Her Majesty’s terms. Let Daivyn swear whatever oaths they require, because an oath sworn under duress—and how could it not be under duress, under the circumstances?—can’t be binding. As far as that goes, Her Majesty and His Majesty have both been excommunicated by the Grand Vicar himself, so any oath sworn to them is automatically void in Mother Church’s eyes. So, by all means, accept her terms and prepare to be bound by them only so long as it’s convenient.
“But this isn’t the time for good, devious spymasters.” His voice was soft, his eyes level as they met Sharleyan’s over the head of the prince and princess he loved. “This is a time for truth, and for me to speak not as your father’s spymaster, but as his friend, who’s been allowed to see things he … couldn’t. As the friend he asked to protect you and Daivyn. And what that friend has to say to you tonight is that, despite a lifetime of cynicism and calculation, I really can recognize truth when I hear it and generosity of heart when I see it. I’m not blind to how advantageous it would be for Charis to have Corisande willingly become part of its empire. I’m not blind to the way in which this diminishes Daivyn’s authority as a sovereign prince, free to make his own policy as he pleases, to make war when he chooses. But what it offers him—what it offers all of Corisande—is a chance to live the way God meant men and women to live. Not as the slaves of some petty secular tyrant, and not at the whim of some psychotic in an orange cassock in Zion, but following their own consciences in peace and security.”
He drew a deep breath and looked down at Irys once more, meeting those hazel eyes of her dead mother, and he smiled.
“My advice is to accept Her Majesty’s terms, Your Highness,” he said simply.
There was silence for a long, still moment, and then Sharleyan cleared her throat.
“There is one other small, minor point,” she said, and Irys felt herself stiffen, wondering if this was the velvet-draped dagger all the rest of Sharleyan’s offer had been designed to hide. She didn’t want to think that, but she was her father’s daughter, and so she made herself face the possibility.
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
She was pleased her voice sounded so level.
“Corisande and Emerald have in common that they were both the avowed enemies of Charis—Old Charis, I mean—well before the Group of Four sponsored the attack upon King Haarahld. Since that’s indisputably the case, I’m afraid we’re inclined to require one additional surety from you.”
“And that surety is … what?” Irys asked.
“No more than we asked of Prince Nahrmahn,” Sharleyan told her. “We believe it’s particularly important to bind our house to its allies in a case such as this one. I considered proposing a marriage between Daivyn and Alahnah, but upon contemplating it more fully, I decided the age differential was simply too great. And that, unfortunately, left me with really only one option, I’m afraid.”
She looked at Irys with a regretful expression.
“The only alternative I can see, Irys, is to require you to marry my stepson Hektor.”
Irys felt a sudden, bright bubble—one whose strength astonished her—welling up within her, and Sharleyan shook her head, her expression sad but her eyes twinkling.
“I realize it’s a great sacrifice to ask of you, but I’m afraid I’m really going to have to insist.”
JUNE
YEAR OF GOD 896
.I.
HMS Delthak, Charis Sea
“It looks like not everybody got the word, Sir,” Lieutenant Pawal Blahdysnberg said dryly as yet another schooner put her helm hard over and sheared off wildly. He shook his head, his expression a mixture of amusement and resignation. “I wonder if this one thinks we’re demon spawn or just hopelessly on fire?”
“Judging by how hard he jibed, my money’s on demon spawn.” Captain Halcom Bahrns’ tone carried more disgust than amusement, and he shook his head. “He almost had the mast out of her. And that’s a coaster, not somebody who’s been off in Siddarmark or Chisholm for the last six months. Haven’t the idiots spent any time getting drunk ashore and listening to the sea stories about us?”