“It is right,” Northam stressed. “But it is not easy. Not for you. Not for me.”
Powl’s head was now shaking. “No, your Grace. It is not right. How can it be? For decades you have trained me for this.”
“I have never said so,” Northam said defensively.
“Your intent was unmistakable,” Powl said. “You were not grooming me simply to be your secretary.”
“You were a good novitiate, Father. You gained the attention of all your superiors. But you exceed your learning in believing you knew my thinking.”
Powl fixed Northam in the eye. “Look at me, your Grace, and tell me you did not intend for me to be primate in your place when you passed on to God’s kingdom.”
Northam could not. He averted his gaze, but saved some of his pride by not trying to lie about it again. “It was the queen,” he said hurriedly, then closed his eyes in shame. It was no longer any of Powl’s business how the decision had come about, and he should not have mentioned her in this business.
“Areava?” Powl said disbelievingly. Not his Areava, surely...
“Usharna,” Northam said. “She told me you could not be primate. She would not tolerate it.”
“Usharna?” Powl looked mystified. “Why? And why are you obeying her now, when she is dead? What does her daughter say about this?”
“Her daughter will not know. I promised Usharna I would nominate someone other than you to be my successor. She died before I could.”
“Who ... who have you chosen to succeed you?”
“I have not made up my mind. Not entirely.”
“You have, your Grace, or else you would not be telling me this.” And suddenly, as if someone had turned a light on in a darkened room, Powl knew. “It’s Rown, isn’t it? That is why you have let him supplant me as the queen’s confessor.”
Northam said nothing.
“But why?” Powl insisted. “Why did Usharna stop you from nominating me?”
“She never properly explained,” Northam said, and Powl saw he was telling the truth. “She did not like you. She did not trust you. She never said why.”
Powl slumped in his chair, and Northam hated to see it. “You have great honor in the church,” he said consolingly. “And you are a member of the queen’s council. I will see to it that you do not lose the seat. The church needs hard working, dedicated, and intelligent men like you to help guide its way in the world. I hope you will believe me when I say that I wish it could be you who succeeds me. It had been my fervent wish. I want you to continue as my secretary, and... and I would like to resume our friendship.”
Powl made no answer; he did not even look at the primate.
“If you think that might be possible,” Northam added sadly.
Areava made time for Olio after her time with Hansen Beresard. He had specifically asked to be alone with her, the only one in the kingdom other than her husband who had the right to ask it, and she had granted it. He walked up and down her chamber nervously, wringing his hands.
“There is something wrong,” Areava said.
Olio looked at her. “There is?”
She shrugged. “Why else are you pacing like a great bear with a burr up its behind?”
He shook his head. “No. There’s nothing wrong.” He stopped. “Actually, that’s not true. There is something wrong. I’m to be general of the army you’re sending north in the spring.”
Areava blinked in surprise. “What’s wrong with that? You’re a Rosetheme. I cannot go. Someone must lead it.”
“I’m not the b-b-best choice.”
“Are you afraid?”
“Of course I’m afraid,” he said, not even offended by the question. “But that isn’t why I don’t want to be your general.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m not the m-m-most qualified, Areava. I am not a soldier. I am at m-m-most adequate with a b-b-blade. I haven’t an angry b-b-bone in my b-b-body. You don’t want someone like m—m-me to lead the attack against Salokan.”
“Then who do I want?”
Olio looked at her squarely. “You want someone like Sendarus.”
“No,” she said curtly.
“B-b—but Areava, look at the differences between us—”
“No.”
Olio sighed and started pacing again.
“That is why you asked to see me?” she asked him.
“Yes. I don’t think it’s a good idea for m-m—me to lead the army. I think it does your cause m-m-more harm than good.”
“The council doesn’t think so.”
“The council wouldn’t know,” Olio countered. “How m-m-many of them were on our m-m-mother’s council during the Slaver War?”
“Umm, Orkid and the primate.”
“Exactly. Only two, and neither of them soldiers. M-m-most of them know less about war and strategy than m-m-my tailor. Who was it who actually suggested I be general?”
Areava had to think about that. “Father Powl,” she said at last.
“Your confessor?”
Areava nodded.
“You m-m-made your decision b—b—based on the advice of your confessor?”
“His advice seemed sound to everyone there.”
“They did not want to put you in any danger.”
“That only left you,” she said reasonably.
“Not any m-m-more. There is now Sendarus.”
Areava opened her mouth to say no again, but closed it before she could say the word. She realized Olio was right. Sendarus was the best man to lead the army, not her brother.
“Sendarus would not understand—” she began.
“Of course he would,” Olio interrupted her. “He would leap at the chance to demonstrate his loyalty to the kingdom. M-m-more importantly, he would leap at the chance to p-p-perform some b-b-brave service for you.”
“And you would not?”
Olio snorted. “I would die for you, if necessary. Not as willingly as your b-b-beloved, I grant, b-b-but I would rather that than see you harmed.”
Areava smiled at her brother’s words; she knew they were true. If she took the generalship from his shoulders and gave it to Sendarus, some would suggest it was because Olio was a coward, but the two of them would know better.
“Your idea has merit,” she said.
Olio stopped in front of her. “Then you’ll do it?”
“I didn’t say that. But I will think about it.”
Olio’s shoulders drooped in relief. “It would b—b-be b-b-best.”
“It is a great risk. What if the army should lose? They would blame my husband.”
“Under Sendarus the army will not lose; he is no fool. Under m-m-me, it could, and then the p-p-people would b-b-blame you.”
* * *
Father Powl wondered about the name of God. He wondered how many letters it had, and whether or not it had more than one syllable, and if it had more than one syllable where the stress was placed. He wondered most of all whether or not Primate Northam had written it down somewhere, had written down that most sacred word in case he forgot it. Or in case he died before his time.
Knowing what was to come, Powl was unable to sleep. His apprehension grew and grew until it was almost intolerable; when at last the flood came, it started with the hurried footsteps of Northam’s attendant, a novitiate of some promise but little initiative. Although Powl knew where the attendant would go first, when the door rattled with the knocking, he flinched in surprise. Powl answered it, dressed only in a nightshirt, rubbing pretend sleep from his eyes.
“Brother Anticus. What time is it?”
“Early, Father.” The novitiate looked at Powl with wild eyes.
“Brother, what is wrong?”
“It is Primate Northam.”
Powl frowned. “Something is wrong with his grace?”
Anticus grabbed for Powl’s hand, but Powl moved it out of the way. “Brother, please tell me what’s wrong.”