“Of course, my Lady. Absolutely.”
“You might do some forgetting of your own while you’re at it.”
“I’ll never say a word. But I will cherish the memory.” His smile was mischievous.
Socia snorted.
* * *
Despite her determination and that of Escamerole and Guillemette, Socia overslept. She was late to her audience with the Navayans. Neither Bernardin nor Brother Candle was able to stall the Queen’s men.
The entire delegation was waiting, irritated, when Socia hustled in to join them. She had dressed in haste. Her toilet had been sketchy. She had not eaten. She looked like a woman who had clambered out of a sickbed to meet her obligations.
She halted several steps short of her formal audience seat. She had recognized one of the Queen’s men, Hercule Jaume de Sedulla, Count of Arun Tetear, one of the most important Navayans and one of the Queen’s favored generals.
The Count was not in charge, despite his exalted standing. The man who held that honor was Count Diagres Aplicova, Isabeth’s closest confidant, advisor, and operative. Rumor suggested that he might have become more since King Peter’s death. It was no secret that Aplicova worshipped his Queen.
Isabeth’s feelings were less well known. There had been no scandal while Peter lived.
Socia began to shiver. The presence of those men guaranteed that this would not be some pro forma scolding about provocative behavior. This was serious.
Though this was her court Socia was junior to both Direcian counts. She strained hard to avoid giving offense.
In particular, she prayed that she had done nothing to rouse the ire of the Queen, whose will was about to change her world. Her personal war with Arnhand should not trouble Isabeth, though. Isabeth’s Peter had yet to be avenged.
Brother Candle stayed close. He helped her seat herself once ceremony allowed her to do so. His presence kept her focused. He whispered, “Stay calm. The news isn’t bad.”
Once everyone was in place Count Aplicova beckoned the Count of Tetear. Count Hercule stepped up, bent a knee, astonishing Socia. His outstretched palms presented a roll of fine parchment tied with a scarlet ribbon and sealed with wine-colored wax bearing the impress of the Navayan royal signet.
This would be something from the Queen herself. It might be written in her own hand. Isabeth was known for her penmanship and her willingness to show it off.
The Count and Brother Candle alike urged, “Open it. Read it.”
Socia started to slide the ribbon off the tube of parchment. Brother Candle whispered, “Untie it.”
Of course. Sliding the ribbon off the wrong end could bring bad luck.
She had not had contact enough with diplomacy to know its special superstitions.
She read the rescript while everyone waited expectantly. This could not be possible.
Raymone Garete had been named Duke of Khaurene, with the title to remain in his line. The Patriarch himself had agreed. The new Patriarch, not the devoted enemy hiding somewhere in Arnhand.
Socia did not know how to respond. The parchment slipped from her hand. She had trouble breathing. Her heart raced. She tried to ask for help but could not form words that made sense.
She thought she might be dying.
Consternation swept the chamber.
The Perfect got in front of her, talked to her, soothed her, did not cease blocking all else until calm reasserted itself.
She regained her breath. “Thank you, Master. That was such a huge shock.”
* * *
The old man faced the Navayan counts. “She’ll be all right. That was too much of a shock in her weakened state.”
Aplicova said, “It might have been wiser to send an informal advisory beforehand, but Her Majesty insisted the news be closely held.”
“I understand.” He surveyed the party behind the counts. He knew most of those men. “So large a delegation.”
“Khaurene has operated without a Duke for some time. These are the men Her Majesty wanted to explain the state of affairs there.” Aplicova sounded like he did not quite approve of Isabeth’s thinking.
He might not. Among those the Perfect recognized were leaders from minority religious factions, senior guild officials, and Mas Crebet, consul again despite his less than savory past.
The Perfect asked, “How pressed for time are we? The Countess has fallen behind because of her indisposition. She will need time to make arrangements. Advance notice really would have been useful.”
Aplicova said, “It’s winter. Nothing is pressing. But the sooner assailed the sooner Khaurene will be tamed.”
Ah. An angle hitherto unconsidered. Kedle and Socia were the sort to tame that fractious polity. “Of course. Socia? My Lady? Are you back with us?”
“I am, Master. Yes. I do not believe I’ve ever suffered such a grand shock.”
“But a positive one this once. Yes?”
“Yes. Positive.”
The old man wondered what all had happened way off in Arnhand. Socia must have seen some unhappy sights there.
He would not press. She would come to him when she was ready.
24. Alten Weinberg: St. Miniver, Martyr
“What is this place?” Hecht asked.
He had been tangled in a dream featuring Helspeth and himself absent all constraints, with all the time they wanted, and no one would ever know. Then he wakened, paradise gone sudden as a candle snuffed. He was in a big place where the ceiling was lost in shadow. There were limestone pillars. A rack of votive candles stood to his left.
A church. The only light came from the candles. Those had not been lighted by Chaldareans presenting special appeals. Every candle was aflame.
Hecht was surrounded by Shining Ones.
Hourli said, “Aldi will be here soon.”
Hecht’s mind cleared. He was seated on the marble bench occupied by the assisting priest when he had no active role during services. He asked, “What is this?”
“This is the chapel where you and your lover will meet. It should be the last place anyone will look for you. We have time to talk.”
Hecht suffered an absurd urge to defend his conduct toward Helspeth. No defense was necessary. He had done the right thing.
“For the wrong reasons,” Hourli said. “You aren’t controlled by your conscience. You just don’t want to get caught. You would be here with her every night if you believed the secret would stay safe. But you know that nothing happens in a vacuum. That someone always knows. If that someone said anything to someone else, the scandal would be loose.”
Yes. That was why he did not surrender to the endless aching beat of his desire. People would be hurt. People for whom he cared.
Hourli said, “But that is incidental. For now.”
The scrutiny of the Shining Ones intensified. They leaned in slightly. “You have me at a disadvantage.”
“Possibly. We brought you here because it has been impossible to talk otherwise. When I do get to see you there are constant interruptions. It’s irksome.”
“It is frustrating. When you’re in charge everyone wants some of your time. Usually, they want it right now.”
“And that is why we have stolen time. We can handle our business without you missing much sleep.”
That caused smirks. Must be an inside joke.
Hecht understood. It was obvious enough. Those candles were not flickering. Shadows refused to dance.
The Shining Ones had stopped time. Almost. It moved on at an imperceptible pace. An observer outside the time bubble would see nothing because those inside would be moving too fast.
Hourli nodded slightly. “Close enough. It takes a great deal of power to manage this, Commander. We can do so only a short while.”
“Then talk to me.”
“We have been as industrious as ants, preparing for your spring campaign. You will find the weather clement most of the time. Most of the roads will be in good shape. Princes and nobles will be well disposed and helpful, so long as you treat them well in turn. We got started too late to improve last year’s harvests but the spring lambing, kidding, and calving will be the best in living memory. Most of the ewes and cows will drop twins. Mares will foal well and camels will calve better than usual but twinning won’t be common.”