There was a despairing confidence that the Arnhander threat would never fade.
Thousands came out. Lumiere slept most of the time. Escamerole and Guillemette took turns carrying him so people could see. There was much shouting of blessings and offering of gifts. Brother Candle insisted that Socia accept the latter. They meant a great deal to the givers. She saw innumerable faces excited about the future. Their blessings made it clear that the Widows had the people believing that they no longer must despair over the certain evil in the north.
“That was what I meant about terrible expectations,” Socia told Brother Candle as Castreresone fell behind. “They don’t just want a champion, they want a redeemer. In real life Kedle and I are thugs in skirts.”
“Thugs in skirts who have gained the favor of the Night.”
A man had come to Socia, last night, unnoticed by her lifeguards. He had explained the situation in Arnhand: Kedle had captured Anne of Menand and Serenity. The new Arnhander king was there, making peace. That would be enforced by the Righteous. The Righteous had had a scrimmage with the Vindicated. That had left the latter stunned and disinclined toward further argument.
The man walked out when she started to ask questions. She mentioned him to no one but Brother Candle.
“Was his right hand damaged?”
“You think…? Let me think. I don’t know. I don’t remember anything but his eyes. They were hypnotic.”
“I don’t suppose his identity matters. His message does, however. Let’s keep that to ourselves. Travel will be difficult enough without having to manage seven score drunken celebrants.”
Progress did remain slow. Their best day, after departing Castreresone, saw nine miles put behind. Two days of no travel followed when rain made the roads impassable. Rain came frequently. That season had arrived. It made up for the more clement weather farther east.
A drizzle was in progress when Socia and the Perfect finally sighted Khaurene’s northern and eastern faces. It was just past noon. No rain was falling on the city, which sat in an island of sunlight, glistening, surrounded by the thousand greens of spring.
Socia said, “Let us hope that is an omen.”
News of their approach had run ahead. People began to come out while the travelers were still hours away. Socia whispered, “I’m spoiled. I can’t help thinking that I could be there in ten minutes if I flew.”
“That must stay secret. Never give in to the urge to brag or show off.”
“I know. I know.”
“People will be afraid, not impressed.”
“I know. I’ll burn if I can’t tame my flamboyant side.” The old man chuckled.
The company entered Khaurene as day faded. The streets were bright with torchlight. People wanted to see the new rulers. Lumiere obliged by being awake and fussing.
Brother Candle noted some sullen faces. Despite all, a few Episcopal Chaldareans remained, of the sort who believed that the Society for Suppression of Sacrilege and Heresy, and burning people, were good ideas.
He might actually pine for Bernardin’s no-nonsense justice.
The Archimbault family, less Guillemette and Escamerole, and those Maysaleans who had come back to Khaurene, left the company to reclaim their homes. Socia sent mounted soldiers to help evict squatters. She meant to make clear from the onset that she would be partisan. Her friends would be well treated. She would rule fairly but those who did not offer friendship should not expect kindness in return.
Brother Candle stayed with Socia. He would do so till she settled in. He would introduce her to the influential men of Khaurene and would lend moral support in her dealings with the Direcians. He feared the Direcian nobility would be disinclined to surrender the power they had acquired.
Soon, though, he told Socia, “This may be easier than you expect. Isabeth is here. The Navayans love her as much as the Khaurenese do.”
“How do you know she’s here?”
“The troops at the intersections are wearing Navayan livery.”
The remnants of the company entered Metrelieux after nightfall, in a drizzling rain, with Lumiere vocalizing prodigiously. The situation was outside normal protocol. The new Duke should have made his entrance in the morning, on a sunny day, to the blare of trumpets, amidst great pomp and ceremony.
The travelers dismounted in the bailey court. Servants hustled everyone off to appropriate quarters, where meals, baths, and other luxuries awaited, including real beds. The pomp and ceremony could wait.
“Very practical, usually, Isabeth,” Brother Candle told Bicot Hodier. The ducal herald had insisted on visiting while the Perfect lay back in warm water in a hammered copper tub. Brother Candle asked, “Why aren’t the public baths used anymore?”
Hodier said, “True religion came to the Connec. Good Chaldareans don’t expose their flesh to the eyes of strangers.”
“And most shouldn’t.”
Hodier got the jest. “Speak for yourself.”
“I am. What do you want?”
“I am terrified by this savage woman from Antieux. But, first, where did you get those bizarre tattoos? And why?”
“Where would be Antieux. I wasn’t given a choice. A thing of the Night took hold of me. When she turned loose I had the snakes. You didn’t come to gawk at my bony old corpse. Get to the point.”
“Seeing that, it’s a bit hard to remember.”
Brother Candle was inclined to be sharp but the servants remained within earshot. The city would simmer with rumors because of what he had said already.
“Please, Bicot. We’re too old to waste time.”
“Of course. I have no actual agenda, other than to tell you what’s happened since last you were here.”
“Do, then. Without trying to enlist me in anyone’s fantasy. I’m a Seeker After Light. The things of this world…”
“All right! Listen!” The old herald described social adjustments that had taken place. “You fled east because you thought Anne would throw the full might of Arnhand at Khaurene.”
“She would have if she could have.”
“Yes. But her support was evaporating. And the Vindicated forced her onto the defensive.” Then Hodier described a resurgence of the local Brothen Episcopal party, which he applauded.
Brother Candle warned, “Don’t expect another reign like Tormond’s. Socia will make mistakes but she won’t be indecisive. She won’t tolerate the usual squabbling.”
“She may be in for some surprises, Master.”
“As may be Khaurene, Bicot. I’ll let you in on a secret. The Vindicated are coming. You’ll hear the full story soon. The salient point is, Kedle Richeut, the Kingslayer, is on her way. Those who irritate the Countess won’t do so for long.”
Brother Candle had ignored his own advice. He excoriated himself silently. He rationalized by telling himself that Khaurene would make a more peaceful transition under threat of the Vindicated.
Bicot Hodier was at sea now. His mission, whatever it had been, was dead. As seconds passed he looked ever more like a cornered rodent.
He blurted, “Where are the tokens Tormond gave you? There can’t be a new Duke…”
“Bicot, calm yourself. Why are you so upset?”
“The tokens! The seal! Where are they, heretic?”
“Where they belong. With the Duke. What wickedness have you fallen into, Bicot? Confession is good for the soul.” Brother Candle extended his left hand.
Hodier blurted, “Extinguishing heresy is food for the soul!” He pulled a knife.
The Perfect’s serpent tattoo wriggled, slithered forth, poised to strike.
Hodier moaned.
The snake faced the servants. They went rigid.
The herald could not move but he kept babbling. “It’s true. You Perfect are marked by the Adversary.”
“Not at all. But this Perfect has been touched by the Night. And I want to know why Bicot Hodier, herald, is determined to thwart his sovereign. Are you an agent of Anne of Menand?” The servants heard him.
Just suspicion could become a death sentence.