The Godspeaker Trilogy

by Karen Miller

  Alasdair frowned. “Are you all right?”

  Have faith, Rhian. You're not betrayed.

  “Yes,” she said, slowly smiling. “I'm fine.”

  She didn't tell Alasdair of the voice she'd heard while in her bath. He'd think she imagined it, that her affection for Dexterity and her stubborn belief in Zandakar blinded her to difficult truths. But she knew what she'd heard. Somehow Dexterity and Zandakar would return to her, and when they did the truth would be told.

  “What will you say of this business to the council?” asked Alasdair as they snatched a swift breakfast together the next morning.

  “Only what I must,” she said. “In truth, I wish I needn't mention it at all.”

  He looked at her. “Rhian—”

  “I know, I know! I can't keep it secret. But I don't wish to start a panic, either. Or sit through an hour of tedious, prosy lecturing, especially from Helfred.”

  Sharp answers chased across Alasdair's face, then. Answers like: Then you shouldn't have let Zandakar leave the castle with only Mister Jones to guard him, should you? You shouldn't have made such an important decision without consulting your privy council. You should at least have spoken with me .

  She touched her fingers to his hand. “I never thought this could happen,” she said softly, burned with shame. “I was foolish, I admit it. An arrogant Havrell. I'll not be so foolish again, I promise.”

  “Good,” he said. “So what do we do?”

  “What can we do but wait, and have faith? God will see Dexterity and Zandakar return to us, I'm sure of it.”

  Alasdair wasn't. His eyes were full of doubt. But he didn't contradict her, and they finished breakfast in silence.

  Edward and Rudi returned to Kingseat mid-morning, and the privy council met late into the night. The first thing Rhian did was announce Dexterity and Zandakar's vanishing, with strict instructions that the news be kept privily between them. Her council was vastly unimpressed, and said so loudly and at length. She endured their dismay and their displeasure, knowing she deserved it. When their voices at last ran down, she folded her hands on the table and considered them.

  “Gentlemen, I have heard you. Now please, hear me. I trust God to keep our friends safe. I urge you to do likewise. Now, if we might turn our attention to the humdrum business of Ethrea?”

  Reluctantly, her council obeyed. There were still no rumours of trouble abroad. Kingseat harbour was as busy as ever. The trading enterprises of the duchies continued without hindrance. Under the watchful guidance of Helfred's clergy, Hartshorn and Meercheq showed no signs of unrest.

  On the surface, then, all was well in Ethrea.

  Next they discussed, in painstaking detail, the condition and readiness of each duchy garrison. Of course Edward and Rudi had said nothing of the threat from Mijak to the garrison commanders, presenting themselves as inspectors for Her Majesty, their queen.

  The dukes had nothing but encouraging news to report.

  “In short, Majesty,” said Edward, looking tired after so much hard travelling, “your garrisons stand well ready to form the backbone of an army. Of course, without Zandakar…”

  An exchange of dark glances around the council table. Rhian watched her interlaced fingers tighten, and strove to modulate her voice. “Yes, Edward. But let's not belabour the point again.”

  “It's a mistake, doing nothing,” Adric muttered under his breath. “We should—”

  “ No , Adric,” she said flatly. “The ambassadors watch us as closely as we watch them. The slightest hint something's amiss and they'll lose what little confidence they have in me, and in Ethrea. Any hope of an alliance will be dashed. So we can't send Idson and his men scouring the countryside. We can't raise a flap and fuss in the township. We hold fast, my lords , until Dexterity and Zandakar come back.”

  “If they come back,” said Adric.

  Rhian held his gaze until his nerve broke, and he looked down. “Not if, Adric. When .” She cleared her throat. “Now, speaking of the ambassadors, let's consider our next meeting with them.”

  “You're sure there'll be a next meeting?” said Ludo. “I thought the ambassadors were being coy.”

  “Coy or not, they don't dare refuse to meet with me altogether,” she replied. “We still have business dealings, they can't ignore them.”

  “And if they do,” said Alasdair, “at least we'll know where we stand.”

  “Yes. Alone,” said Rudi, pulling a face. “In which case God help us.”

  Sombre silence then, as the weight of events pressed everyone in the chamber into their seats. Rhian looked briefly at Alasdair, then let her gaze sweep round the faces of the other men on her council.

  “Courage, gentlemen,” she said quietly. “Above all things, courage.”

  Grudgingly, suspiciously, the ambassadors finally agreed to a second meeting.

  At noon on the day after her dukes' return from the kingdom's garrisons, Rhian and her council welcomed them again to the castle's Grand Ballroom.

  Zandakar and Dexterity still hadn't returned.

  Magnificently dressed in bronze velvet sewn with pearls and bullion, crowned with the circlet that had seen her defeat Damwin and Kyrin, Rhian ruthlessly thrust aside her gnawing anxiety and sat on the dais, watching as one by one the ambassadors arrived.

  Ambassador Lai came last, and alone.

  “Where is your emperor?” she said. “I expected to see him.”

  “Alas,” said Lai, his expression blandly polite. “His Imperial Majesty is indisposed, Queen Rhian.”

  Indisposed, or unable to face her? She believed with all her heart Zandakar and Dexterity hadn't betrayed her…but that didn't mean Han wasn't somehow involved in their mysterious disappearance.

  For he's the only man I know who can appear and disappear at will, in broad daylight.

  She wanted to seize Lai, to shake him, to shout. She wanted to dance hotas with him until he bled the truth.

  Does Han have Dexterity? Does he have Zandakar? Has he used witch-man powers against them?

  “My sympathies to His Imperial Majesty, Ambassador Lai,” she said, not showing him anything but friendly concern. “Should he require it, I can send my royal physick to aid him.”

  “Thank you,” said Lai. “But it will not be necessary.” And then he stepped back, neatly ending their conversation.

  Rhian raised a hand, drawing everyone's attention. “My lord ambassadors,” she said, making sure her voice was gentle and melodious, the epitome of feminine pleasantry and grace. “Thank you for your attendance here today. I am well aware you are all busy men, with various time-consuming duties. Be sure you enjoy Ethrea's deepest regard.”

  Squashed behind a small desk in the nearest corner, Ven'Cedwin pressed the first of many inked quills to his parchment and faithfully began to record the event.

  As the ambassadors preened themselves, just a little, she did glance at Alasdair. His eyes warmed, the only smile he could give her in public. He must have asked Dinsy which dress she'd chosen for this meeting. He wore bronze too, trimmed with pearls, so they were a pair.

  “Ambassador Athnïj,” she continued. “If I may address you first?”

  Athnïj's coat was misbuttoned. His hair was uncombed. “Majesty,” he said, sounding dull and broken-spirited. “How may I assist?”

  “My harbourmaster reports there is still no ship from Icthia arrived in Kingseat. Have you received any word from your home at all?”

  “No word, Majesty,” he replied. A tic was spasming beside his bloodshot right eye. “But I have not abandoned hope completely.”

  The privy council, ranged behind her, stirred as though to comment unfavourably on his claim. Rhian raised her hand, demanding their silence.

  “I am sorry, Ambassador,” she said, allowing her genuine sympathy to show. “You are of course welcome to remain in Kingseat under our protection. We can discuss particulars in private later, perhaps.”

  Particulars like how he could afford to maint
ain his ambassadorial residence, with no funds arriving from his master in Icthia.

  Athnïj bowed again, relieved and grateful and struggling with emotion. “If that is convenient, Your Majesty.”

  “It is.” She turned next to Gutten of Arbenia, carefully framing her next words. If she didn't have to mention the trade winds, she wouldn't. With any luck Gutten had come to his senses since the last time they met. One look at poor Athnïj must surely convince him. “Sir, I know it's too soon for you to have heard from your count regarding ships for an armada, but I wonder if you'd given thought to my desire for an Ethrean army?”

  As she expected, Gutten looked first to Voolksyn of Harbisland, then to Alasdair, and lastly herself. His jaw worked as though he chewed unpalatable words. After a long pause he spat them out. “Talking war with women? This is not Arbenia.”

  “No, it's Ethrea,” she said, and let her voice acquire a less feminine edge. “Where I am queen.”

  Gutten's eyes narrowed, contemptuous. “Yes.”

  Acutely aware of Alasdair at her side, his temper barely held in check, she leaned forward just a little and fixed Gutten with her coldest stare. “Ambassador, do you continue to dispute we face danger from the east?”

  “Yes,” grunted Gutten.

  Rhian felt her insides cramp, and sat back. “Very well. As a sovereign nation Arbenia is free to ignore any warnings given you. But is it your contention that I must agree with your position? Do you intend to hamper my efforts to protect this kingdom…and your interests here?”

  Gutten glanced again at his fellow ambassadors, his gaze lingering longest on Voolksyn. Then he fixed his gaze on her, everything about him unfriendly. “An army of Ethrea threatens Arbenian interests. It threatens every trading nation.”

  “I disagree,” she said, as mildly as she could. “My lords, I am sensible of the fact that an army in Ethrea directly violates our ancient trading charter. But we all know, surely, such an army could never hope to endanger the least of you. Your nations have made of warfare an art. You are experts in killing. God's mercy, most of Ethrea's army will consist of men and women defending themselves with nothing more menacing than pitchforks and sheep shears.”

  Halash of Dev'karesh snorted clove-scented breath. “Farmers? Farmers and their wives do not worry us, Queen Rhian. But you gild the truth with clever words. Ethrea has soldiers. They have swords and bows. They have arrows. They have pikestaffs.”

  “And they'll wield them against Mijak, Halash, not against any man of yours. They'll wield them in defence of their homes and children. Facing the threat that we face, would the people of your lands do any less?”

  Lalaska of Barbruish smoothed his oiled ringlets. “You say this now. Your intentions could change.”

  “They will not change, my lords! Must I sign an oath in blood before you'll believe it?”

  As her privy council stirred and stared with unfriendly eyes at the ambassadors, and the ambassadors glared back, Rhian throttled the despair rising in her throat.

  God, God, how is it they still distrust me? What must I do to prove I have no sinister intent?

  She pushed to her feet. “This is madness. I did not request your presence here today that we might bicker and squabble while Mijak's deadly shadow creeps ever closer to my kingdom. I need your help in the defence of this realm. I want to know how you will help us!”

  “You and your privy council, you talk and you talk,” said Istahas of Slynt. He gestured at his fellow ambassadors, save Lai of Tzhung. “We talk also.”

  She knew that, of course. Those quiet men and women paid to watch the ambassadors discreetly had told her of the flurried comings and goings between their residences.

  “I understand that, sir,” she said. “Our last meeting was full of incident. But—”

  “We wish to see this prince of Mijak,” said Istahas. “We wish to talk to him alone. No Queen of Ethrea. No council. No burning men to make fear. You bring us this Zandakar, we talk. Then we talk, Queen Rhian of Ethrea.” He gestured again at his fellow ambassadors. “We talk armies. We talk armadas. We talk Mijak. After the prince of Mijak tells us things alone.”

  Oh, Rollin help me. Let them not call my bluff.

  “Ambassador Istahas,” she said coldly, “your tone is discourteous, your insinuations insulting. Allies do not treat one another like enemies. If you wish, you are free to withdraw from the league of trading nations. Of course, that means you'll forfeit all ties with Ethrea. Your ambassadorial residence will be closed, the contents of your warehouses and treasury vaults confiscated, all your citizens now present in the kingdom collected and escorted into open waters and Slynt's access to Ethrea revoked in full.” She stabbed each staring ambassador with a look. “The same choice is open to each and every one of you. Mijak is coming. Do you stand with Ethrea against it, or do you stand alone…and risk a great fall?”

  Uproar.

  Papa used to say, A cornered stag will always charge, and a huntsman unready is a huntsman empty-handed – or dead .

  Well, this stag might be a doe…but that didn't mean she was meek and helpless. Impetuous, arrogant, haughty…but never meek. Never helpless.

  She stood, raking them with her most imperious glare. “You dare come to me and make petty demands? You may leave my castle, gentlemen! Return to your residences and ponder my words! The next time I request your attendance here do not come if you lack the will or intent for an honest alliance. You have wasted my time – and I am most displeased! Now get out .”

  Turning her back on them, she faced her astonished privy council, one hand on the back of her throne. Ignored the rabble of voices as they protested their dismissal. To a man, her council engaged with them, refuting their arguments, supporting their queen.

  Someone stepped around the side of the dais. She let her gaze slide right. “Ambassador Lai.”

  “You play a dangerous game, Majesty,” Han's man said in an undertone.

  “As does Han.” She turned her face a little, so he might see her eyes. Took a dangerous leap. “I have a message for your emperor. Tell him this: I want them back .”

  So swiftly, a betraying flicker in the ambassador's dark eyes. Blood pounding, Rhian stared at him. I was right. I was right . And then Lai had himself in hand again.

  “Majesty, I fail to—”

  “You heard me. Don't pretend to misunderstand.”

  Lai bowed. “Majesty,” he said quietly, and quietly withdrew.

  The ballroom emptied of shouting ambassadors. As the rest of her council discussed events, excited, Alasdair joined her beside her throne. “So you called their bluff: That was—” He hesitated.

  “Foolish?”

  His eyes warmed. “No. I think it was…brave.”

  “Perhaps it was both,” she murmured. “Oh, Alasdair. Hold my hand.”

  He did so, swiftly, then pulled a comical face. “Look on the bright side, my love. At least we didn't have to tell them about Tzhung-tzhungchai's meddling.”

  Almost, almost, she laughed aloud.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “ Icthia,” said Sun-dao, his voice a croaking whisper. “Jatharuj.”

  “You mean we're here?” said Dexterity. He sounded amazed. “And still in one piece? God be praised. I never expected it.”

  As the toymaker leaned over the small boat's side, staring across the dark shifting water at the lights dotted here and there around the distant harbour and above it, Zandakar pressed his palm to Sun-dao's chest. There was a heartbeat, but it was weak and uneven. Salt air rasped in the witchman's throat. His eyes remained open, filmed with exhaustion. His amber skin had paled to dirty yellow, he was stinking with rank sweat. Every bone and muscle in him trembled. Had Sun-dao killed himself to bring them here?

  Zandakar bent close. “You die now, witch-man?”

  Sun-dao did not answer, he stared at the sky.

  “I can't believe we're here and not drowned at the bottom of the ocean,” said Dexterity. “My head's still spinning fro
m that last whirlwind.” He scrambled closer, and pressed his hand to Sun-dao's sweaty face. “He's fevered. Will he be well enough to get us home again, do you think?”

  He shrugged. “ Wei know. You ask Hettie, maybe she send witch-man strength.”

  “Tcha,” said Dexterity, pulling a face. “I suppose I can try. Though she practically never comes when I call.” The toymaker looked up again, across the water. Inky black, no reflection of moonslight. The godmoon and his wife were in their shy time, hiding in the vast sky's shadows. “As far as I can tell we're just outside the harbour's mouth. How do you propose we reach dry land? I hope you're not thinking to swim , Zandakar.”

  He shook his head. “ Wei swim.”

  “Oh,” said Dexterity. “Good.” He looked around. “Then we'll have to row. Do you know what rowing is?”

  “ Zho . Boats on river in Targa. I see rowing.”

  “Good, good,” said Dexterity vigorously. “Except – are there any oars? I never thought to ask. I suppose there must be, though I can't recall seeing them. But every boat has oars, doesn't it?”

  Dexterity was nervous. When he was nervous his words ran like water, he chattered and chattered. Ursa would snap at him, Ursa would say Hold your frippery tongue, Jones, we've enough on our plates without you rattling on . That was Ursa, when Dexterity was nervous.

  I cannot say that. How can I chide Dexterity when I am nervous too?

  “ Wei know, Dexterity. I travel slave ship. I travel Tzhung boat. That is what I know.”

  Dexterity huffed out a frustrated breath. “Well, that's twice the boating experience I've got, Zandakar.” He shivered. “I can't believe we've reached Icthia. How long has it taken us to get here, can you tell?”

  The journey from Ethrea had passed in a blur, in a whirling of cold wind and a wheeling of stars, in snatched mouthfuls of dried salt fish from clay pots and warm brackish water. “ Wei .”

  “No. Neither can I. Rhian must be beside herself by now: poor child. Unless that Emperor Han's told her what he's done. Do you suppose he's told her? Or has he let her wonder, and worry? I'll bet he has, you know. I don't think Emperor Han is a very nice man.”