Sovereign

CHAPTER 9

Powl was late for a meeting with some of the Church's parish priests and took a short cut through the library. His path was intercepted by a novitiate with a vexing theological question that took so long to posit that Powl leaned one hand against a book rest to listen to it. When the novitiate finished, the prelate, who had neither the time nor the inclination to answer, put off the youth with a polite promise to talk to him at some later date. The novitiate bowed and scurried off. Powl sighed in a mixture of frustration at the delay and vague memories of his own time as a novitiate, and lifted his hand from the rest. That's when he saw the book. For a second he did not recognise it, and then he saw the handwriting.

'I pray for guidance,' he read, 'and for the souls of all my people; I pray for peace and a future for all my children; I pray for answers and I pray for more questions. I am one man, alone and yet not lonely. I am one man who knows too many secrets. I pray for salvation.'

His last words, Powl thought. The reminder of his predecessor made his guilt rise in him like black bile, but he suppressed it with the force of his will. Still, the memory of Primate Northam would not disappear from his mind so easily, and Powl found it possible to remember how much he had loved him once. Northam had been his teacher and father, his example and his spiritual guide. Lastly, Northam had been his betrayer and his victim. It is so strange one of God's creatures can be all of these things.

He read the passage again and realised he did not entirely understand the prayer. I have no right to understand, he told himself, but a part of him knew he should still be able to understand prayer, the most basic element—the very heart—of all faith. He tried reading the passage again but came no closer to its mystery. He noticed, too, that the rest of the page and its opposite were completely blank.

This was the Book of Days, he realised with surprise, and the pages were blank after Northam's last entry because it had been his duty as Northam's successor to write new entries. How could he have forgotten? How could he have so grievously neglected his duty? He looked up and saw the shelf that held all the black-bound Books of Days. Without knowing, he had broken the tradition, a tradition maintained since the earliest time of the Church of the Righteous God, and for a fleeting moment he felt despair. How could he have so seriously neglected his responsibility as primate? How could God have let him do this? How could his fellow priests have let him do this?

'Father?'

Powl looked around. It was Father Rown, his secretary and successor as Queen Areava's confessor. Rown was regarding him with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

'Yes?'

'The parish priests are waiting.'

'Of course.'

'Father, are you well? Would you like me to handle the meeting?'

Powl shook his head to clear it. Rown misinterpreted the gesture.

'Then shall I tell them you are coming?'

'Yes.'

'Are you sure you are alright?'

Powl straightened. He frowned at Rown. 'Thank you, I am fine.' Rown turned to go but Powl called him back. 'After this meeting, I would like to discuss something with you. Something important.'

Rown nodded. 'Of course, Father. In your office?'

'No. Here. Right here.' He tapped the Book of Days lying on its rest. 'Right here.'

Orkid was busy rushing between his office and that of the queen's secretary, Harnan Beresard, organising the first council meeting since the disasters that had visited Grenda Lear. He had been able to put it off for a while, but pressure from Kendra's great families and commercial interests to resume the regular meetings was growing daily: they wanted to know Areava was healthy and still able to rule the Kingdom and they wanted to see her for themselves. It had taken him a full week of cajoling and arguing to bring Areava around, but in the end she had agreed. He now had a workable agenda that Areava had approved and was on his way to instruct Harnan to send out the summonses to the council members. His way was blocked by the imposing figure of Dejanus. Orkid glanced up from his notes, nodded curtly, and went to move around him.

Dejanus held out a hand to block his way.

Orkid stopped. 'What is the meaning of this, Constable?'

'I need a word,' Dejanus said. Orkid could smell the wine on his breath. This was a bad sign, and something to worry about.

'Of course, but can't it wait? I have to see Harnan Beresard about sending out the queen's summonses to a council meeting.'

'About time,' Dejanus said gruffly. 'In part, that's what I want to talk to you about. The summonses can wait a short while.'

'You want to talk here? In the hallway?'

Dejanus looked around him. 'No one roundabout to overhear us. Safer here than in your office or mine, where secretaries and guards can interrupt at any moment.'

Orkid breathed deeply. 'Very well. What is it about?'

'Like I said, it's part to do with the next council meeting.'

'What about it?'

'We'll be discussing the raising of a new army to send north against Prince Lynan.' It was a statement, not a question.

'Of course.' Orkid frowned, guessing where Dejanus was heading.

'I want its command.'

Orkid shrugged. 'Such decisions, naturally, are the queen's prerogative—'

'It's only that I should have had command of the last one instead of that miserable Amanite husband of the queen's.'

'Careful what you say about Sendarus, you oaf. He was my nephew as well as Areava's beloved—'

'Don't tell me what I can and cannot say!' Dejanus shouted.

'For God's sake!' Orkid hissed. 'Keep your voice down!'

Dejanus looked as if he was going to shout again, but common sense seemed to calm him. 'We have a pact, you and I, Orkid Gravespear, a pact sealed in King Berayma's own blood. You held the king's hands when I drove my blade through his neck. I can say what I bloody well like about Sendarus, or the queen for that matter.' He jabbed Orkid on the chest with one huge, blunt finger. 'I want command of the next army. It's owed me.'

Orkid did not answer, but his mind was racing. Dejanus was getting out of control. For the first time in a long time, Orkid was afraid for his own personal safety.

'When it comes up in council, I want your support.' Orkid nodded. 'I will see what I can do for you.' Dejanus grunted. 'You'll do it, Chancellor. You've more at stake here than I have. If Areava learned what we did to her brother, we'd both lose our lives, but Aman would lose everything.'

Again, Orkid said nothing, but Dejanus could see the colour drain from the chancellor's face. He smiled grimly. 'Nice to have that little chat,' he said, patting Orkid on the shoulder. He walked away, leaving Orkid as still as a rock.

As had become the norm, Edaytor Fanhow visited Prince Olio on the south gallery with its magnificent views of Kendra and its harbour. Often they would just stand side by side, silent, aware of each other's company but not enforcing it. When they did talk it could be about anything, but eventually Edaytor would bring the conversation around to the Key of the Heart. Olio sometimes got angry at this, but usually it seemed as if he was aware there was something important—something very important—about the subject, and he would try and answer any question Edaytor put to him, and try and think of some questions in return.

On this occasion Edaytor started the discussion by raising the matter of his mother, another of his favourite subjects.

'Have you seen her?'

Olio sighed. 'Oh, no. She is far too busy. Grenda Lear is a very big Kingdom, and she is in charge of everything.' He looked at Edaytor sideways. 'Did you know Mother has a navy?'

Edaytor feigned surprise. 'With ships?'

'Of course with ships. That's what a navy is. Warships. Lots of them. You can see some of them from up here.' He pointed down to the military quays in the harbour. 'Well, when they're in dock you can see them,' he added a little flatly.