How firm a foundation

OCTOBER, YEAR OF GOD 895

Tellesberg Palace, City of Tellesberg, Kingdom of Old Charis

“I, Nahrmahn Gareyt Baytz, do swear allegiance and fealty to Emperor Cayleb and Empress Sharleyan of Charis,” the young man said, kneeling before the side-by-side thrones with his hand on the cover of the Holy Writ, “to be their true man, of heart, will, body, and sword. To do my utmost to discharge my obligations and duty to them, to their Crowns, and to their House, in all ways, as God shall give me the ability and the wit so to do. I swear this oath without mental or moral reservation, and I submit myself to the judgment of the Emperor and Empress and of God Himself for the fidelity with which I honor and discharge the obligations I now assume before God and this company.”

Cayleb and Sharleyan looked down at him, seeing the unshed tears behind those brown eyes, hearing the grief in the young voice which refused to remain completely steady despite all its owner could do. Cayleb felt his own throat closing, and he glanced at Sharleyan, saw the tears glistening in her eyes, as well, as they stretched out their hands to cover the boy’s.

“And we, Sharleyan Ahdel Alahnah Ahrmahk and Cayleb Zhan Haarahld Bryahn Ahrmahk,” Sharleyan said, her voice clear but soft, “do accept your oath. We will extend protection against all enemies, loyalty for fealty, justice for justice, fidelity for fidelity, and punishment for oath-breaking. May God judge us and ours as He judges you and yours.”

There was a moment of intense silence as the three of them gazed into one another’s eyes, their hands still joined atop the Writ. Then Cayleb cleared his throat.

“There was a day,” he told the young prince kneeling before him, “just over three years ago this month, when another Prince of Emerald named Nahrmahn knelt where you are today, Your Highness. He came as a defeated foe, making the best terms he could for his House and his people, knowing my wife and I, as his sworn enemies, might well have demanded his head in return. He came anyway, despite that danger, and knelt on the same cushion and swore the same oath you’ve sworn this day. I’d been raised all of my life knowing Emerald was the enemy of Charis. There’d been decades of spying and maneuvering for position and-finally-war between us. We had every reason to hate one another, and very little reason not to.

“Last month, that prince died.” Cayleb had to pause and clear his throat again, and despite himself his voice was husky when he continued. “He died protecting his wife-and your mother-with his own body. He died at the hands of an assassin who murdered thirty-seven other people with the same bomb. He died having fought with all his marvelous intelligence and wisdom, at my side and Sharleyan’s, for three years. Having fought for that in which he believed, for that which he loved… and for that for which he gave his life. And my lifelong enemy died not simply as our vassal, but as my friend, my ally, and my brother. In a few more years, my younger brother will wed your older sister, but know this-our Houses are already joined, and while Sharleyan and I weep at bidding your father go with God, we rejoice at welcoming you to the throne you now assume. I know how much your father loved you, Nahrmahn Gareyt, and I know how much you loved him. Remember him, as we will, and follow the example he set for you. If you do that you’ll become not simply a prince to be respected and obeyed, but a man to be loved and celebrated.”

The young man who would be sixteen Safeholdian years old-fourteen and a half, in the years of Old Terra-in four more five-days gazed up at his emperor and empress. Then he bent his head, his forehead on their clasped hands until Sharleyan withdrew hers and rested it on his dark, curly hair. Nahrmahn Gareyt’s shoulders quivered, ever so slightly, and the empress’ smile trembled as she stroked his hair. Then she drew a deep breath.

“Rise, Prince Nahrmahn Gareyt, Nahrmahn III of Emerald. You are summoned to our Imperial Council, and we have much of which to speak.”

Nahrmahn Gareyt was already taller than his father had been. He was also athletic and muscular, without Nahrmahn the Elder’s undeniably portly physique. His eyes were much the same, however-dark and sharp. It remained to be seen if the brain behind them was the equal of his father’s, but the signs were hopeful, Sharleyan thought. The young man had never expected or wanted to take a throne so young, yet his parents had trained him well, both as a potential ruler and as a boy growing steadily into manhood, and those sharp eyes drank in every detail of the council chamber.

He was also clearly aware of his youth as he sat in the chair which had belonged to his father. There was a definite nervousness in the ever so slightly too erect posture, in the way he watched whoever was speaking. There was still too much grief in that youthful face, as well, and every so often his left hand touched the black mourning band on his right arm. Yet he showed far more composure than many a man twice his age might have, and Sharleyan remembered a girl child, even younger than he, who’d also come to a throne untimely because her father had been assassinated. She’d always felt close to Nahrmahn Gareyt, and now that common bond of murder had drawn them closer still.

“I meant what I said in the throne room, Nahrmahn Gareyt,” Cayleb said, looking down the table to where Nahrmahn Gareyt sat at its foot. “I didn’t expect even to like your father before we met, but both of us were rulers, both of us knew the survival of our realms and our people required us to find an accommodation. I never anticipated how much we’d come to treasure one another, or how valuable his wisdom and counsel would be. I’m sure you know Sharleyan and me well enough by now to realize how sincerely attached we were-and are-to your entire family, little though any of us expected that outcome. And despite your youth, you’re a full voting member of the Imperial Council. You are the Prince of Emerald, the second ranking noble of the Charisian Empire, and we’ll value your input and opinions. I’m sure you’ll be more hesitant than your father was to offer an opinion.” Despite the solemnity of the moment, Cayleb’s lips twitched. “God knows Nahrmahn was never shy about offering opinions! ”

A mutter of laughter ran around the council chamber, and even Nahrmahn Gareyt smiled at the emperor’s wry expression.

“That hesitancy is only to be expected, given the combination of your age and how recently come to your throne you are,” Cayleb continued more seriously as the moment’s humor ebbed. “When you do wish to speak, however, you have not only the right but the responsibility to do so. I trust you understand I mean every word I’ve just said?”

“I do, Your Majesty. And Your Grace,” Nahrmahn Gareyt said, bowing down the length of the table to Sharleyan. His voice hadn’t yet settled completely into its adult register, but he met his monarchs’ eyes steadily. “And you’re right. For at least a while I’m going to take my mother’s advice.”

“Oh?” Sharleyan cocked her head. “And what advice did Princess Ohlyvya give you, Your Highness?”

“To keep my mouth shut in official settings even if I think people are going to assume I don’t know what they’re talking about rather than open it and prove I don’t,” Nahrmahn Gareyt told her with something approaching his normal grin. “She, ah, suggested it would be wise of me to mostly listen until I actually have a clue what the people around me are discussing.”

“A wise woman, your mother, Your Highness,” Cayleb observed with an answering smile.

“I think so most of the time myself, Your Majesty. Although there have been times when her idea of ‘wisdom’ and mine weren’t exactly the same.”

“I can imagine,” Cayleb said feelingly. Then he shook his head and looked around at the other councilors seated at that table, and his amusement-welcome though it had been-disappeared.

Some of the faces had changed. Nahrmahn’s left a painful gap, but much as Cayleb would miss the plump little Emeraldian, the gap where Sir Rayjhis Yowance had sat for so long was even more painful to him. And yet, as bitterly as he missed the man who’d been his friend, mentor, unofficial uncle, adviser, and, finally, servant, he felt no qualms when he looked at the man who’d replaced him.

Trahvys Ohlsyn, the Earl of Pine Hollow, had been Prince Nahrmahn’s first councilor for many years, but he would be unavailable to Prince Nahrmahn Gareyt in that role, because Cayleb and Sharleyan had stolen him for the Empire. Quite a few Charisian noses had been put out of joint by their decision to name Pine Hollow to succeed Gray Harbor, yet no one had complained too loudly. Partly that was because the people who might have done the complaining suspected how little patience the emperor and empress would have shown their protests. Perhaps equally importantly, however, was the irreproachable job Pine Hollow had done managing Emerald’s affairs while Nahrmahn was distracted by his responsibilities as Sharleyan and Cayleb’s imperial councilor for intelligence.

In the process of doing that job, Pine Hollow had also spent a great deal of time in Tellesberg, conferring with Gray Harbor and the council members permanently based there. He’d gotten along particularly well with Gray Harbor himself, and they’d carried on a lively correspondence even when he wasn’t in Tellesberg. As a result, he was very much a known quantity, with a command of the issues he would confront in his new position which very few of his new colleagues on the council could have matched and none could have excelled.

There were other reasons to name him to that position as well, of course. One was to demonstrate Cayleb and Sharleyan’s willingness to step outside their own realms of Old Charis and Chisholm to fill such a vital position. It was another proof they’d genuinely meant it when they declared that the Empire of Charis was to be an empire of all its peoples. In addition, Pine Hollow had the advantage of having understudied one of the most skilled, cunning, and devious rulers in Safehold’s history, which would undoubtedly prove valuable. And, finally, in the wake of Nahrmahn’s death, the Brethren of Saint Zherneau had finally (if tardily) accepted the Emeraldian’s recommendation that Pine Hollow be added to the inner circle.

Cayleb would have given literally anything to have Gray Harbor still sitting in that chair, but if he couldn’t have that, at least he had someone who was every bit as determined and every bit as intelligent as Gray Harbor had been himself. And one who knew the full truth about the struggle they confronted… and who had access to Owl and the coms which tied the inner circle together.

Now if we could only get those lovable old fossils to let us bring Ironhill fully on board, Cayleb thought. Then he snorted mentally. Just like you, isn’t it, Cayleb? Never content, never satisfied! Why don’t you just concentrate on the things the Brethren have managed to do right and contemplate some of the things they may have kept you from doing wrong, instead?

“Bynzhamyn,” he said out loud, turning to where Bynzhamyn Raice sat next to Nahrmahn Gareyt, “I suppose we should start with you.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

Baron Wave Thunder looked as weathered and solid as ever, yet it was clear he’d taken the suicidal attacks hard. His expression was grim, and the mood of the entire council darkened perceptibly as its members turned their attention to him. All of them knew they weren’t going to like what he had to report, but only those who were also members of the inner circle knew there was even worse he couldn’t report yet.

“As of my most recent figures,” he said, “the death toll from all of the attacks stands at one thousand seven hundred and sixteen. Over half of those were from the Gray Wyvern attack. In addition, according to the Order of Pasquale, we have at least another twenty-five or thirty in hospital who may yet succumb to their injuries. And over ninety who are expected to live, although some of them have lost limbs.”

His voice was harsh, and his eyes met Cayleb’s. Both of them knew those numbers were low, although neither could say so, since no reports had come in as yet from Chisholm. That meant there was no acceptable way for them to know another three hundred plus people had died in Sharleyan’s kingdom. Baron Green Mountain, her own first councilor and beloved mentor, might still be one of them, too, although the healers seemed to have him stabilized.

“The only good news is that we did manage to take at least one of Clyntahn’s agents alive,” Wave Thunder continued. “It was only blind luck, of course.” In fact, it had been Owl’s SNARCs and Merlin Athrawes’ ability to sprint halfway across Tellesberg under cover of darkness at superhuman speeds, but, again, that was something he couldn’t very well explain to the council at large. “We were all lucky Captain Athrawes happened to be outside the Patent Office to notice the wagon approaching the building. If he hadn’t become suspicious and overpowered the driver before he could reach the detonating mechanism-”

“Captain Athrawes does seem to have a talent for that sort of thing, doesn’t he?” Sharleyan observed, deliberately pitching her voice to lighten the mood as she turned her head to smile at the sapphire-eyed Guardsman standing just inside the council chamber door.

“He has proved a moderately useful fellow upon occasion, I suppose,” Cayleb agreed in a judicious tone.

“One tries, Your Majesty,” Merlin replied respectfully, and the entire council laughed. A mere bodyguard might not have been expected to reply to an emperor that way in most realms, but this was Charis, the bodyguard was Merlin Athrawes, and they needed that cleansing laughter.

“At any rate, Your Majesties,” Wave Thunder said, “the one man we’ve managed to capture hasn’t been the least bit reticent about who he is or why he’s here, or even who sent him. In fact, Master Ahndairs is proud to have been personally selected by the Grand Inquisitor as one of his ‘Rakurai.’ His only regret seems to be that he was captured before he killed himself blowing up the Patent Office and as many people who worked in it as possible-and Father Paityr, in particular-and he’s boasted to anyone who would listen that he and his companions were only the first wave of the attacks Clyntahn intends to launch.”

There was no laughter this time, and faces hardened all around the table.

“I suppose something along these lines was only to be expected, eventually, given how uniformly unsuccessful they’ve been in regular military confrontations with us,” Pine Hollow said quietly. “Given the timing, it was probably the Markovian Sea that actually pushed Clyntahn into this strategy, I expect.”

“I agree, Your Majesties,” Baron Ironhill said, his expression grim. “Granted, it never occurred to any of us, since we tend to think of wars as something in which you try to minimize carnage among civilians and innocent bystanders. We should have remembered that as far as Clyntahn’s concerned, there are no ‘innocent bystanders’ in Charis. He doesn’t give a damn who he slaughters.”

His voice went hard and ugly with the last sentence, and not just because of the carnage Clyntahn’s “Operation Rakurai” had wreaked. The official report of the murder of Sir Gwylym Manthyr and his remaining men had reached Tellesberg, as well. In fact, the version of their deaths the Inquisition was trying hard to suppress across Haven and Howard had come to Tellesberg, courtesy of the tiny, highly stealthy, purely passive remote Merlin Athrawes had deployed to within visual range of the Plaza of Martyrs. That remote had seen Gwylym Manthyr’s final gesture of defiance, and the propaganda broadsheets going up throughout the mainland realms contained a detailed etching of Manthyr’s spittle hitting Clyntahn in the face to give the lie to the Grand Inquisitor’s claim that Manthyr had confessed to all of the crimes and blasphemies charged against him.

Yet that remote had also recorded the agony in which those Charisians had died. Ironhill hadn’t seen it, but he didn’t need to. Cayleb and Merlin had seen it, driven by their loyalty to Gwylym Manthyr, and wished with all their hearts they hadn’t. Sharleyan-wiser, perhaps, than either of them-had refused to look. She honored Manthyr’s dauntless courage, yet she preferred to remember him as he had been, unshadowed and unmarred by the hideous death he’d died.

“You’re right, of course, Ahlvyno,” Cayleb said now. “And we’ll be watching for similar attempts, I assure you. I just pray we can protect ourselves against this kind of thing without turning into some kind of suppressive tyranny ourselves.”

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to put at least some additional precautions in place, Your Majesty,” Wave Thunder replied unhappily. “They succeeded in large part because we weren’t expecting it, and I think future attacks on the same scale are unlikely. I doubt they’re going to be rolling around the city with wagonloads of gunpowder again, for example, especially with our new licensing and inspection systems in place. No system’s perfect though, and we obviously can’t guarantee they don’t have the men and materials in place to keep testing it for weak spots when we still don’t even know how they got the gunpowder into the assassins’ hands to begin with!”

“We still don’t have any clues about that, My Lord?” one of the other councilors asked, and Wave Thunder grimaced in disgust.

“No,” he admitted flatly. “And I’m reasonably certain the one ‘Rakurai’ we managed to capture doesn’t know how they did that, either. No one’s going to torture any confessions out of him, but we haven’t been especially gentle and understanding about questioning him.” He smiled thinly. “He’s told us where he went to collect his explosives, but they were delivered to him by another of Clyntahn’s agents-the one who detonated the Gray Wyvern Avenue bomb, unless I’m mistaken. He got the gunpowder from a source-a pickup point-here in Old Charis, but our prisoner doesn’t know where that was. What we do know, unfortunately, from examining the wagon Merlin kept him from blowing up in Queen Frayla Avenue is that the powder originally came from us.”

“What?!” the other councilor demanded, sitting up sharply in his chair, and Wave Thunder grimaced.

“Forty pounds of it were still in its original kegs,” he said, “and they carried the markings of the Hairatha Powder Mill. I think we have to assume that’s why the powder mill was blown up. My current theory is that Commander Mahndrayn, Baron Seamount’s assistant at King’s Harbor, noticed a discrepancy somewhere in one or more of the shipping manifests from Hairatha. Most of you may not know that Captain Sahlavahn, the commanding officer at Hairatha, was Commander Mahndrayn’s cousin. It would have made a certain degree of sense for him to take any suspicions to his cousin in an effort to handle things as quietly as possible, and it seems likely that whoever was responsible somehow realized Commander Mahndrayn and Captain Sahlavahn had become aware he’d diverted powder from the mill. I don’t know how that happened, how the Commander and Captain Sahlavahn might have given away their suspicions, but if I’m right about what happened, he blew up the entire powder mill to conceal his actions.”

“That’s speculative,” Cayleb observed, “but it does make sense. And it suggests that getting large quantities of gunpowder into the Empire isn’t going to be as easy for Clyntahn as simply sending in lunatics willing to blow themselves up as long as they get to kill as many Charisians as possible. Of course, the reverse side of that mark is that we don’t know how much powder was diverted from Hairatha. There could still be tons of it sitting around somewhere.”

“Indeed there could, Your Majesty.” Wave Thunder nodded. “Which is why I have my best agents and all of our resources looking for it.” He didn’t add that “all of our resources” included Owl’s SNARCs. “In addition, we’re trying to make all City Guardsmen aware of the need to look for anything out of the ordinary. They don’t have to use wagons to get bombs into position, especially if they can work out some reliable way to set them off with a delayed timer of some kind, and even a fairly small explosion in a crowded market square will inflict a lot of casualties. This time around, Clyntahn ordered his ‘Rakurai’ to specifically target senior clergy and secular leaders; all the dead and maimed civilians were simply a happy side effect of that, according to Master Ahndairs. Next time, the bastards may simply choose to go for as much death and destruction as they can inflict.

“At the same time, we have to be on the lookout for completely different techniques. For example, if they could get their hands on our own gunpowder, they may manage to get access to our grenades, as well. For that matter, they could make grenades or similar small explosive devices of their own without much trouble. An attack like that couldn’t kill anywhere near as many people as their… wagon bombs, but they’d also be harder to detect, and they’d probably be better at penetrating any security we set up.”

Heads nodded soberly, and Cayleb’s expression was grim. He wondered how the rest of his councilors were going to react when they discovered that a “Rakurai” with four grenades under his tunic had entered Cherayth Cathedral less than twenty-six hours before this very meeting, waited for Archbishop Pawal Braynair to arrive to celebrate mass, and then seized one of the processional candles and used it to light the fuse. He’d managed to kill only three people… but that was only because Braynair and two other men had tackled him and smothered most of the explosion with their own bodies.

“I’m afraid one of the precautions we’re going to have to take-and you’re not going to like it, Maikel,” Wave Thunder, who did know about Braynair’s death, said, looking directly at Maikel Staynair, “will be stationing guardsmen outside all public buildings, including cathedrals and churches, and requiring anyone entering to demonstrate he’s not carrying a bomb under his tunic.”

“I won’t have armed guards outside God’s house,” Staynair said flatly, but then even the redoubtable archbishop jerked in his chair as Cayleb’s open palm slapped the tabletop like a gunshot.

“Perhaps you won’t, Maikel,” the emperor said even more flatly, “but I will!” Their eyes locked, and the index finger of the hand which had slapped the table tapped it in emphatic time with Cayleb’s words as he continued. “You may choose to risk your life in the service of God, and I’ll respect you for it, even as I cringe inside every time I think about how readily you expose yourself to murderers like these ‘Rakurai’ of Clyntahn’s. That’s your option, though, Maikel, and I won’t dictate to you. But you have no right to expose other people to that same risk. We’re not talking about three men with knives this time-we’re talking about people who blow up entire city squares! I am not opening the doors of God’s house to that kind of wholesale murder and massacre. Don’t fight me on this one, Maikel; you’ll lose.”

Silence hovered tensely for long, still moments. Then, finally, Staynair bowed his head.

“I… hadn’t thought of it exactly that way,” he admitted. “I still don’t like it. In fact, I hate the very thought, but you’re right, I suppose.”

“We don’t like the thought either, Maikel,” Sharleyan said gently. “And if we can find a better way, we will. But for now, it has to be this way.”

Staynair nodded silently, and Cayleb inhaled deeply as the council chamber’s tension eased perceptibly.

“We’ll look forward to hearing anything more you turn up on this front, Bynzhamyn. In the meantime, though, we can’t afford to let our concern over these murders divert us from other problems. I’m sure that’s at least partly what Clyntahn hopes to accomplish. So since we’re not going to let that bastard have anything he wants, I suggest we turn our attention elsewhere. For one thing, I’d like to hear anything you and Trahvys can tell us about the situation in Siddarmark.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Pine Hollow said, after a glance at Wave Thunder. “Bynzhamyn and I have been looking at reports from certain of our sources in the Republic.” Pine Hollow hadn’t yet had as much experience as his predecessor in not looking at Captain Athrawes when he made comments like that, and his eyes flicked briefly in Merlin’s direction. It was only a very brief glance, however, and he continued calmly. “We don’t have anything like detailed information, I’m afraid, but it would appear the Group of Four intends to strike at the Republic very soon now.”

Expressions turned grave once more, and the new first councilor shrugged.

“It seems evident from the reports that someone-almost certainly agents of the Inquisition-is skillfully fanning public unrest and anger directed first and foremost at the Charisian community in Siddar City and the other eastern provinces, but also at Reformists in general. The most telling aspect, in my opinion, is that the propaganda we’ve become more recently aware of directly links Lord Protector Greyghor and his government to the ‘support and protection’ of ‘heretics and blasphemers’ throughout the Republic. And you may find this of particular interest, Ahlvyno,” he said, glancing at Ironhill, “but they’re also emphasizing the way in which the Charisian immigrants are ‘taking food out of our babies’ mouths’ and somehow managing to simultaneously make the consequences of Clyntahn’s embargo our fault.”

“That’s insane,” the Charisian Keeper of the Purse said, and Pine Hollow chuckled harshly.

“And you were of the opinion propaganda has to make sense to be effective? ”

“No, I suppose not,” Ironhill sighed.

“And what happened at Iythria-especially the destruction of the port-is going to play into their propaganda efforts, as well,” Sharleyan observed. “I’m not sure how, but no doubt they’ll figure out a way to suggest we’re about to do the same thing to the Republic -with Stohnar’s connivance!-for some nefarious reason of our own.”

“Probably,” Cayleb agreed. “And that being the case, what do we do?” He looked around the council table. “Suggestions, anyone?”

Royal Palace, City of Talkyra, Kingdom of Delferahk; Tellesberg Palace, City of Tellesberg, Kingdom of Old Charis; and HMS Destiny, 54, Thol Bay, Kingdom of Tarot

“What is it, Phylyp?” Irys Daykyn asked, looking up from the flowers she’d been arranging to greet the Earl of Coris with a welcoming smile as he entered the library.

Spring was coming on apace, and the early-season wildflowers crowning the hills around the castle above Lake Erdan reminded her-fleetingly-of the brilliant blossoms of her homeland. They were a pallid substitute, yet they echoed at least the ghost of Corisande, and she’d spent several hours collecting them that morning, escorted by Tobys Raimair and one of his men. She’d been arranging them ever since, and singing softly-something she seldom did, since her father’s death-as she worked.

Phylyp Ahzgood knew that, which was one of the reasons he hated having to disturb her… especially with this.

“I’m afraid something’s come up, Irys,” he said. “Something we need to talk about.”

Her smile faded as his tone registered. She laid the flowers on the table beside the trio of vases she’d been filling and wiped her hands on the apron she wore over her gown.

“What is it?” she repeated in a very different tone.

“Sit down,” he invited, pointing at one of the well-upholstered but worn-looking chairs. “This may take a while.”

“Why?” she asked, sitting in the indicated chair and watching him with intent hazel eyes as he turned another chair backwards and sat straddling it, forearms propped on the top of its back.

“Because we have to discuss something we’ve both been avoiding,” he said gravely. “Something you’ve been dancing around, and that I’ve let you dance around.”

“That sounds ominous.” Her effort to inject a light note into her voice failed, and she folded her arms across her chest. “But in that case, I imagine the best way to do this will be for you to come straight to the point,” she said.

In that moment, she looked very like her father, Coris thought. She had her mother’s eyes and high yet delicate cheekbones, but that hair came straight from her father, and so did the strong chin-softened, thank God, into a more feminine version in her case. And the look in those eyes came from Hektor Daykyn, as well. It was the look Hektor had worn when the time came to set aside theories and nuanced understandings. When it was time to make decisions by which men lived or died. It grieved Coris, in many ways, to see that look in Irys’ eyes, but it was a vast relief, as well.

“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.”

“Daivyn?!” Irys gasped. She jerked up out of her chair, her face pale, and one hand rose to the base of her throat.

“That’s my ‘strong suggestive evidence,’ Irys. I’ve been sent orders to help clear the way for a party of assassins to murder Daivyn. What my orders don’t tell me is that after Daivyn is dead, I’m going to be killed, as well. That will both remove any unfortunate witnesses who might know a little too much about how the tragedy came to occur and allow Clyntahn to argue that-just like your cousin Anvil Rock and his friend Tartarian-I’ve betrayed Corisande in return for some promised reward from Cayleb and Sharleyan Ahrmahk. Unfortunately for Clyntahn, the man who’s been charged with denouncing me to King Zhames and the Inquisition is none other than my valet, who will-unfortunately-have become aware of my treasonous intentions just too late to prevent your brother’s murder. Oh, and as a crowning touch, the murderers-all of whom will either perish in the attempt or die under the Inquisition’s urgent interrogation-will be Charisians. Or, at least, all of them were born Charisians, although most of them have grown up and spent most of their lives here on the mainland. That’s a nice refinement, don’t you think?”

Irys sank slowly back into the chair, eyes huge, and Coris shrugged.

“I could be making all of this up, lying to you, but I think you know I’m not. And even though I can’t show you a written order from Clyntahn to have your father and young Hektor murdered, I think the pattern we’re seeing is clear enough, don’t you?”

“We can’t let him kill Daivyn, Phylyp!” For once, Irys Daykyn looked as young as her years, her eyes filling with tears. “ Please. He’s all I have left, all the family I have! And he’s such a little boy. He doesn’t deserve any of this!”

“I know.” He reached out and took her hand. “I know, Irys, and Rhobair and Tobys and I will do anything we can to protect him-and you. But we’re going to need help, and lots of it, or all we’ll be able to do is to die in your defense. And I hope you’ll forgive me for saying it,” he smiled a small, crooked smile, “but I’d really prefer not to do that. Especially not if there’s a chance of getting away alive in a way that will piss Zhaspahr Clyntahn off badly enough pure apoplexy might just kill the son-of-a-bitch. Pardon my language.”

“Help?” she repeated, ignoring the last three words, her expression confused. “Who’s going to be able to help us now?”

“Well, it happens that if you’re willing to let me ask for assistance, I have a… friend who might just be able to do a little something for us after all.”

“You’re joking!” Trahvys Ohlsyn said, looking back and forth between Merlin Athrawes and Bynzhamyn Raice. “Aren’t you?”

“Does he look like he’s joking?” Baron Wave Thunder demanded, jabbing a thumb in Merlin’s direction.

“No, but…” Earl Pine Hollow’s voice trailed off, and Wave Thunder chuckled.

“All this new information access takes some getting used to, doesn’t it?”

“You can say that again!” Pine Hollow shook his head. “And, to be honest, the fact that I’m still playing catch-up in so many areas doesn’t help. I haven’t had as much time to practice with this ‘com’ as I should have because I’m so busy discovering all the balls Earl Gray Harbor had in the air.” He shook his head again. “I always respected the Earl, but I hadn’t even begun to guess everything he’d been up to!”

“You do have a hard example to live up to, My Lord,” Merlin agreed soberly. “I think you’ll do well, though. And I hate to say it, but having you as a member of the inner circle’s going to help a great deal in the long run.”

“I’ll grant you that it’s not going to hurt any,” Pine Hollow said with an off-center smile. “I do wish I’d known about it while Nahrmahn was still alive, though. And I wish I could tell Baron Shandyr about it now.” The Emeraldian earl chuckled. “Hahl still hasn’t figured out why your counter-espionage efforts here in Old Charis were so damned effective!”

“Hopefully someday we’ll have the chance to explain that to him,” Merlin said with an answering smile. “For right now, though, there’s this other minor matter…?”

“Of course there is!” Pine Hollow gave himself a shake. “I’m still having a little trouble believing it, though!”

“Well, the messenger wyvern’s on its way right now.” Merlin shrugged. “The SNARC Owl has keeping an eye on Irys and Coris picked up on the key words ‘Charis,’ ‘Cayleb,’ ‘Clyntahn,’ and ‘assassination’ when they discussed what to do. That was enough to flag the entire conversation to me and Bynzhamyn. I’ll ask Owl to shoot the visual and the audio over to you later tonight, but the key point is that they’re asking for asylum. I don’t think Irys is quite prepared to promise she or Daivyn will swear fealty to Cayleb and Sharleyan or accept Corisande’s permanent incorporation into the Empire, but from what I can see she’s at least confident we won’t murder her baby brother. From her perspective, that’s a major step up from the situation they’re in.”

“I can see where that might be true,” Pine Hollow said feelingly. “The question is what we do about it.”

“I think the first order of business is probably to discuss it with Cayleb and Sharleyan,” Merlin replied. “On the other hand, I’ve discovered there are times when a little preparation work before you get around to the ‘ first order of business’ is indicated. Having a policy ready to suggest strikes me as an especially good idea in this case.”

“And you want me to do the suggesting. I see.” Pine Hollow smiled. “Do you really expect them to react that adversely?”

“On the contrary, I expect them to endorse the suggestion wholeheartedly. I just thought that as the Empire’s brand-new first councilor, with this opportunity to demonstrate your mettle coming along, you might want to take advantage of it.”

“That’s Merlin for you,” Wave Thunder snorted. “Always looking out for opportunities by which we can advance ourselves. Remind me to tell you about the first opportunity he gave me someday, My Lord.”

“Now, Bynzhamyn! Let’s not be bringing up the past,” Merlin said severely, and turned back to Pine Hollow. “What I’ve been thinking, My Lord-”

“Sir Dunkyn?”

“Yes, Hektor?” Admiral Sir Dunkyn Yairley looked up from the captains’ reports in front of him as Lieutenant Aplyn-Ahrmahk stepped into his day cabin.

“A messenger from the Port Admiral’s just come aboard, Sir. He has a dispatch for you.”

“And I presume there’s some reason you haven’t already handed it to me?”

“As a matter of fact, Sir, I’m afraid you’ll have to sign for it. Personally.”

Yairley’s eyebrows rose. He considered his young flag lieutenant for a moment, then shrugged.

“Very well, I suppose you should ask this messenger to step into the cabin.”

“Aye, Sir.”

Aplyn-Ahrmahk disappeared for a few seconds, then returned escorting a full commander.

“The plot thickens,” Yairley murmured at sight of the “messenger’s” seniority.

“Commander Jynkyns, Sir Dunkyn,” Aplyn-Ahrmahk said.

“I see. You have a dispatch for me, Commander?”

“Yes, Sir. I do.” Jynkyns saluted, then opened an attache case and extracted a heavy canvas envelope. A paper label was stitched across the open end to hold it closed, and he laid it on Yairley’s desk.

The admiral looked at it for a moment, then dipped his pen in the inkwell and scribbled his name across the label.

“Very good, Sir Dunkyn. Thank you,” Jynkyns said, retrieving the envelope and examining the signature briefly but closely. Then he drew a small knife and carefully slit the stitches which had closed the envelope. There was another smaller envelope inside, and he withdrew it and handed it to Yairley before returning the outer envelope to his attache case.

“I was instructed to inform you, Sir Dunkyn, that Admiral White Ford requests an estimate of your readiness to deal with this matter within the next two hours.”

“I see.” Yairley weighed the envelope in his fingers. It didn’t seem all that heavy, but then again, orders never did… until the time came to carry them out.

“Hektor, would you please see Commander Jynkyns back to his boat?”

“Of course, Sir Dunkyn.”

“Thank you. And, Commander,” Yairley’s gaze moved back to Jynkyns-“inform Admiral White Ford that I’ll report to him as quickly as possible.”

“I will, Sir Dunkyn. Thank you.”

The commander saluted again and withdrew, escorted by Aplyn-Ahrmahk. Yairley watched them go, and when the cabin door closed behind them, opened the second envelope, extracted the half-dozen sheets of paper, and began to read.

“Yes, Sir Dunkyn?” Aplyn-Ahrmahk said, stepping back into the day cabin ten minutes later. “Sylvyst said you wanted to see me?”

The lieutenant, Yairley observed with some amusement, was clearly on fire with curiosity about the mysterious dispatch. It was equally obvious that nothing on earth could have prevailed upon Aplyn-Ahrmahk to admit his curiosity.

“I did,” he acknowledged. “I think we’re going to be a bit busy for the next hour or so, Hektor.”

“Of course, Sir. How?”

“I am requested and required to report to Admiral White Ford within no more than two hours’ time the squadron’s readiness state and whether or not we can depart Thol Bay with the evening tide.”

Aplyn-Ahrmahk’s eyes widened slightly. Destiny had only officially left dockyard hands the day before, and-as always happened these days-she’d hemorrhaged manpower while she was being repaired. Captain Lathyk was almost seventy men short of a full complement, and the chance of his coming up with that many men in the next six hours ranged from non-existent to something somewhat less than that. Then there was the minor problem of how they provisioned and stored the ship in that same six hours… which, frankly, sounded impossible to him. There could, however, be only one possible response from any king’s officer to such an order.

“Of course, Sir,” Lieutenant Aplyn-Ahrmahk said calmly. “I’ll just go and find the Flag Captain, shall I?”