The Godspeaker Trilogy

by Karen Miller

  Oh God. Please help me . “Your Eminence, I implore you, do not mistake my intent. I come to you seeking … clarification. I have met Lord Rulf but a handful of times, and that some while ago. I would never go so far as to say I know him. But in our rare and brief encounters I did receive an impression of him.”

  “Yes?”

  Rank sweat was coursing beneath his plain robe. He could smell himself, it was a mortification. No matter what he did, what disgusting herbs he swallowed, still his sweat stank like a cow in the byre.

  I have to say this. I have to say it. Rollin commands us to be truthful and never parlay with deceit.

  “Eminence, forgive me … Lord Rulf is a simpleton.”

  “If by that you mean he is not a sophisticated courtier, you are correct. I count that very much in his favour.”

  Helfred stared at him. Say yes, fool. Say that’s what you meant. Nod and bow and get out of this room . His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth.

  His uncle smiled. “Is that what you meant, Helfred?”

  “No,” he whispered. “I meant Rulf is an idiot. He would make Rhian miserable. He’d be a disaster as king.”

  Marlan’s cordial expression did not change. “If I hear those assertions repeated beyond this chamber, Helfred, you will regret it. You will know suffering beyond the torments of blessed Rollin. Our blood tie will not save you. God will not save you. Am I making myself clear, Nephew Helfred? Do you understand? Or would you like more … clarification?”

  There was something dreadful in Marlan’s eyes. Weak-kneed with horror, Helfred stepped back. “No. That’s not necessary. I understand you perfectly, Uncle.”

  “Good,” said Marlan, and returned to his manuscript.

  “Uncle—”

  Marlan looked up. Helfred stepped back another pace.

  “ Your Eminence . I think I should tell you: the princess is not at all bent towards marriage with Rulf.”

  “Then I suggest that you bend her, Helfred.”

  Bend her? Bend her how ? She wasn’t a tree . “Eminence …” he said helplessly. “She is the princess .”

  With an impatient sigh, Marlan discarded the manuscript. “No, she’s a woman. A young woman, Helfred. A ward of the Church. She is our responsibility, as is the future of this kingdom.”

  But what of Rhian’s future? “Eminence, I must be candid. I am not comfortable at the thought of—”

  “Comfortable?” said his uncle. “Have you lost your mind, Helfred? What has your comfort to do with anything? The girl is a menace, to herself and to the kingdom. Eberg has spoiled her disgracefully. You know it. He has spoiled her unto the risk of her soul. It is our job to save that soul before she is damned entirely. Before she chooses some fool duke’s man who will bring us all to ruin. You will bend Rhian, Chaplain. You will do whatever it takes to see her meek and compliant, obedient to my will and marriage to Lord Rulf. For if you do not…”

  Helfred felt a wave of icy-cold dread rush through his hot body. He didn’t need Marlan to finish his threat.

  “Yes, Eminence,” he whispered. “I understand, Eminence.”

  Marlan smiled. “I thought you might. Now get out. You have work to do.”

  Standing again on the other side of his uncle’s sanctum door, Helfred found himself close to tears. Without a word to Ven’Martin, still diligently working, he escaped from the Prolates Palace into its manicured grounds. Gasping for clean air, feeling the foetid sweat dry on his skin, he clasped his trembling hands and stared beseechingly at the blue sky.

  Oh God. Oh God. What do I do now?

  CHAPTER TEN

  Have you heard, Jones?” said Ursa, striding unannounced through his open kitchen door. “King Eberg is dead. Heralds are spreading the news through town. Has it reached here yet? I thought it might not have. Poor man. At least his suffering’s over now.”

  “Dead?” Dexterity took his frying eggs off the hob before they burned. “No. I hadn’t heard. I haven’t stepped foot past the front gate since you were here yesterday. I’ve hardly even left the house. I was afraid Zandakar might wake and need me.”

  She unslung her physicking bag from her shoulder, dropped it to the floor then leaned her hip against the kitchen table. “And did he?”

  “No. He hasn’t stirred so much as a finger. That concoction of shuteye certainly did the trick.” He sighed, panged with sorrow. “Eberg’s dead, you say? Well, well. There’s an end to an era.”

  “And a start to trouble,” she added, inspecting his pan. “You’ve too much butter in there, Jones. Do you want to get fat?”

  Suddenly he’d lost his appetite. Eberg dead. That meant Rhian was alone. He put the pan on the bench, heedless of scorch marks. “The poor princess. What a terrible time this is.”

  Ursa shoved her hands in her blue smock’s baggy pockets and started pacing the small kitchen. Dexterity watched her, surprised. He’d never seen her so openly agitated.

  “Yes, truly terrible, Jones, and not just for her. A kingless kingdom is ripe for unrest. So for all our sakes she’d best throw a stone out of the nearest window and hope the man it hits is unattached and passably attractive. The quicker she marries, the safer we’ll be.”

  Ursa was right. But even so … He moved to stand in the open doorway and let his troubled gaze rest on the cottage’s dew-pearled back garden. It was a beautiful morning, sweet smelling and fresh. “She shouldn’t be rushed to the altar,” he murmured. “She’s a young girl with her whole life ahead of her.”

  “She’s nothing of the kind, Jones,” Ursa retorted, standing behind him. “She’s a princess first, last and always. Her duty’s clear: she needs to marry and have a clutch of sons as quickly as nature will allow.”

  He shook his head. “It’s unfair.”

  “Life’s unfair, Jones! Nobody knows that better than you.”

  No, they didn’t. But even so … Poor Rhian. Nearly all hope of happiness snatched away . But there was nothing he could do about that. The kingdom’s great men would see to her welfare now. With an effort he wrenched his thoughts from their melancholy bent and turned.

  “Ursa, since you’re here, would you mind checking on Zandakar? I should see to Otto. Take him down the lane to his field. The poor chap’s been cooped up in his stable since I got back from the harbour.”

  “All right,” said Ursa, rolling her eyes. “Just don’t take all day. I’ve a laundry list of people to physick but I thought you’d want to know about Eberg, so I came here first.”

  He smiled. “And I appreciate it. Truly.” A fresh wave of sorrow washed the smile away. “Eberg dead. I know it was expected, but still … He was a good man. A good king. When Queen Ilda died I thought he might remarry. He must have loved her very much. So sad that he outlived his sons. That he died knowing he was leaving behind him such turmoil.”

  “There’ll only be turmoil if the princess doesn’t marry,” said Ursa. “And the council won’t sit still for that. Jones, are you going to eat those eggs?”

  He considered the frypan with sour disfavour. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Then give them to me. Can’t abide to see good food go to waste. I’ll eat, look in on your Zandakar then be on my merry way.”

  He handed her the frypan. “Help yourself. I won’t be long.”

  Otto greeted the sound of his footsteps on the flagstoned path with an ear-shattering bray.

  “Yes, yes, I know, I’m sorry,” he said as the donkey strained over the stable’s half-door, long ears pinned back and top lip curled. “It’s not the end of the world, Otto. You’re warm and dry and you’ve plenty to eat. Now stop complaining. There’s donkeys I could show you who’d think themselves in luxury.”

  Another indignant hee-haw, and a bang as Otto kicked his manger.

  Dexterity waggled a finger at him. “Don’t you use that language with me!”

  Otto shook his head, long tongue poked out derisively.

  The donkey’s halter was hung up in the lean-to beside t
he stable, where his hay, oats, harness and little cart lived. As Dexterity reached for it, Hettie said:

  “Wait, Dexie love. We need to talk.”

  Heart pounding, he turned to face his dead wife.

  She was sitting on the bench under the flowering hasaba tree. Her favourite spot in the garden, where she used to bring her mending. The pale blue blossoms drooped towards her as though glad of her company after so long.

  “Eberg’s dead,” he said stupidly, dazzled anew by the heart-warming sight of her.

  She nodded, not smiling. Sunlight dappled her beautiful face, her golden hair tied up in pink ribbon, her sprigged muslin dress. “I know, Dex. It’s why I’ve come.”

  “I found that Zandakar,” he said, and took a step closer. Would he be able to touch her this time? Hold her? Kiss her? “I’ve settled him in the nur—the spare room.”

  Still she did not smile. “I saw,” she said. “Take care of him, Dex. He’s more important than you know.”

  Even though this was his beloved Hettie, and he’d been desperate to see her again, he felt a tiny spark of crossness. “I’d know if you’d tell me!”

  “Dexie, Dexie …” Her sigh was sorrowful. “I tell you what I can.”

  “Well it isn’t enough! You know, you’re asking a great deal of me, Hettie. This Zandakar cost me a fortune . And do you know something? I think he might be dangerous . Ursa thinks he might be dangerous, too. She’s convinced he’s some kind of heathen warrior. He’s certainly got some mysterious scars. And then of course there’s the whole question of how he came to be a slave in the first place. I think you owe me an explanation, Hettie.”

  She didn’t answer. Just looked at him sadly. Abandoning the idea of seeing to Otto, he threw himself at her feet.

  “Hettie, please , you have to tell me. What is happening ? And why, of all people, is it happening to me ?”

  “Because you’ve been chosen, Dex,” she said. Her hands stayed in her lap. “Now listen to me carefully. I don’t have long. Eberg’s death spells the beginning of the end. Princess Rhian is in grave peril. Wicked men seek to use her for their own misguided, selfish desires.”

  “Wicked men? What wicked men? Do you mean the—”

  “I mean Prolate Marlan, Dex,” said Hettie sternly. “And others like him.”

  The prolate ? Surely not. “Now, Hettie—”

  “Hush, Dex! Let me finish. If these men succeed, Ethrea is lost … and as Ethrea goes so goes the world. And these men will succeed … unless you do as I say.”

  He felt his jaw drop. “Me? Hettie, what can I do? I’m not important, I’m a toymaker !”

  “A toymaker who’s made a princess his friend,” she said. “Now listen . You must go to the castle without delay, find Rhian and convince her to run away with you.”

  “Run away with me? Hettie! Have you gone quite mad ?”

  “No,” she said. Shadows danced, flirting with her hair. “Dex, please. Don’t fail me now.”

  He leapt to his feet. “That’s not fair! You know perfectly well I’d do anything for you!”

  “Then do this,” she said, her voice gently remorseless. “The most important thing I’ve ever asked. Oh, Dexie, my love. I never said it would be easy. But for countless tens of thousands of innocent souls it will mean the difference between life and death. Surely that’s worth a little inconvenience?”

  There was a terrible tightness in his chest. He pressed the heel of his hand against his breastbone and rubbed hard, trying to ease it. Oh dear, oh dear. Life and death? Toymakers didn’t deal in matters of life and death. Not beyond the safety of a puppet-show, at least.

  But Hettie was looking at him, and he loved her so much …

  “All right,” he sighed, almost groaning. “Let’s say, for the sake of argument, I go to the castle. Say against all likelihood I’m granted an audience with Princess Rhian and she listens to my suggestion without tossing me out again on my ear. Say she agrees—oh, this is nonsense —to run away with me. Where exactly do you suggest we run?”

  “The princess will know,” said Hettie. “When she realises escape is possible, she’ll know where to go, Dex, and what to do next.”

  “Well, that’s a relief!” he retorted. “At least one of us will!”

  Hettie ignored that, as she’d always ignored his rare spats of temper. “There’s something else, Dexie. When you do leave Kingseat you have to take Zandakar with you.”

  “Take Zandakar ?” He clutched at his beard. “Hettie, you are mad. He’s a black man with blue hair who doesn’t speak a word of Ethrean. How am I supposed to explain him away?”

  She stood. All of a sudden he could see hasaba blossoms through the bodice of her dress. “You’ll manage it, my love. You must. Zandakar is a vital piece of the puzzle.”

  “Is he really?” he said, not caring how waspish he sounded. “I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me why ?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t. Not yet. You’ll just have to trust me.”

  “Of course I trust you, Hettie, but—”

  “Good!” she said. “Now go to the castle. Rhian needs you.” She shooed him with her transparent hands, just as she used to bustle him out of the kitchen before dinner. “ Hurry, Dexie! There isn’t much time!”

  A breeze blew through her, and she was gone.

  “Well, this is ridiculous,” he said, glaring at the empty garden bench. “Do you hear me, Hettie? It’s all complete poppycock!”

  Except in the cottage behind him slept a man with blue hair. And overlooking the harbour, in the king’s castle, was a sweet young girl who’d just lost her father, the last of her kin. Who was all alone now and trammelled about with men who would see her as nothing more than a pawn for the furthering of their grand ambitions.

  And if I don’t do my best to help her, what kind of a man does that make me?

  “Sorry, Otto,” he said, turning to his long-suffering donkey. “It seems there’s been a change of plans.”

  Ursa was scrubbing the frypan when he returned to the kitchen. “That was quick,” she said over her shoulder. “You must’ve galloped to Otto’s field and back.”

  “Ah …” He cleared his throat and tried to charm her with a smile. “I didn’t go, actually. You see—well—Ursa, I need a favour.”

  “ Another one?” She frowned. “Jones, this is what’s known as stretching the friendship.”

  The smile wasn’t working, so he let it die. “Please. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. I need you to stay here a little longer. I’ve an errand to run.”

  Ursa pulled the plug from the sink then put her soapy hands on her hips. “What kind of errand?”

  He couldn’t tell her. She’d never believe him. He still wasn’t sure he believed it himself. In the kitchen’s corner sat an open trunkful of repaired dolls and toys he’d worked on through the night, while keeping an ear out for Zandakar. He gestured at them. “I’m a nodcocky fool. I completely forgot I’m supposed to deliver these back to the castle.”

  “The castle ?” Ursa hooted. “Jones, the king just died. What makes you think they’ll let you in?”

  “Eberg may be dead, Ursa, but life still goes on,” he said. “I’ll just join the other castle provisioners at the tradesmen’s entrance. And you know, I do need to get these toys back. I was supposed to have delivered them the other day but I had to wait for supplies before I could finish the repairs. And truth be told, I need the money. I’ve Tamas’s wages to pay and, well … Zandakar didn’t exactly come cheap.”

  “That’ll teach you to buy strange men off foreign slave ships,” she said, typically unsympathetic. “And what about my patients, Jones? They’re waiting for me. I suppose you’ve forgotten all about them !”

  Oh. Yes. Her patients. He had forgotten. Embarrassed, he stared at the floor. It needed sweeping, curls of pale pinewood and driftings of sawdust. How Hettie would grumble if she were here to see it. “I won’t be gone so terribly long,” he mumbled. “And I can
’t leave Zandakar alone. I’m sorry, Ursa. I know I’m a nuisance.”

  “You’re a sight more than a nuisance, Jones,” said Ursa. “You’re a trial and a ’cumbrance, that’s what you are.” She shook her head. “So what are you waiting for? Get out of here, would you? The quicker you leave, the quicker you’ll be back!”

  He nearly kissed her. “Oh, thank you, Ursa!”

  As he and Otto clopped and rattled through the sleepy streets, heading for Kingseat township and the road up to the castle, he saw the news had finally reached his neighbourhood. People milled on the pavements and gathered around gateways. He could hear muffled weeping, see the wringing of hands.

  By this time tomorrow we’ll be a kingdom in mourning. And if Hettie’s right there’s more sorrow on the horizon. And I’m supposed to prevent it? Oh dear, oh dear.

  He shook the reins at Otto. “Come on, you. Do get a move on. Ursa will skin us both if we take too long.”

  Otto flattened his ears and grudgingly picked up the pace. And as the donkey trotted, Dexterity turned his thoughts to Ethrea’s current trouble, trying to unravel it like a knot in wool.

  “Your Highness. Please . You must come away. This is most unseemly … and you don’t want the prolate to find you here like this.”

  Rhian shrugged Helfred’s encroaching hand from her shoulder and continued to stroke her father’s hair. She hadn’t been with him when he died. His face was peaceful now, but what was the truth of his last living moments? Had he suffered? Had he missed her? Had he called her name in vain?

  I should’ve been with him. Marlan should’ve let me stay.

  But Marlan had refused her pleas for more time. He’d granted her a mean half-hour by her father’s side, after chapel, then sent her away as though she’d done something wrong.

  He’s a thief, that Marlan. He stole the last of my father from me. I’ll never forgive him. I’ll never forget.

  “Leave me alone, Helfred,” she said, her voice gritty with grief. “I’m a princess in mourning. Have you no respect?”

  Helfred stomped to the other side of the bed and glared at her across her father’s cooling corpse. “Have you no respect, Highness? The king must be taken to the Great Chapel, he must be bathed and oiled and dressed according to his rank, so when he is laid out in state the world will know his great majesty. But so long as you sit here the devouts cannot fulfil their sacred task. Would you leave Eberg in his rumpled bed, Your Highness, soiled and unkempt, in a ruined nightshirt like any common man?”