“Your old friend Brother Avelyn,” King Danube remarked. “When will that Church get around to canonizing him? Did not the time of plague convince them? Did it not convince every man and woman in all the kingdom? In all the world?”
It did Jilseponie’s heart good to hear the King of Honce-the-Bear speaking so highly of her lost friend, even more so because she understood the sincerity behind Danube’s words. He was not just saying these things to please Jilseponie.
“I could, perhaps, speak with the current Abbot of St. Honce,” Danube offered. “Though I doubt that the voice of Ohwan carries much weight within the Church—at least, if the Church has grown wiser since the days of Markwart’s rule.” He laughed at the little joke, but Jilseponie, who did not know of Abbot Ohwan, didn’t understand it.
“The process of canonization is well under way, I have been told,” she replied. “Even those in the Church who do not favor the teachings of Avelyn cannot dispute the miracles at Mount Aida, not the second one, at least. Not a single man or woman who entered the covenant and tasted the blood of Avelyn was subsequently touched by the rosy plague, and all those who went there already ill were cured.”
“It would seem that if any have ever been truly worthy of the title of saint, Avelyn Desbris certainly is,” Danube said with a smile. He glanced up at the sky then, noting that the sun had well passed its zenith, and his smile turned into a frown. “You must be away to St. Precious,” he said. “We meet again tonight, perhaps?”
Jilseponie considered the invitation for a moment. Her first instinct was to refuse—hadn’t she been spending too much time with King Danube already, and in a relationship that was fast edging toward a deeper, more uncomfortable level? But, to her surprise, she found herself accepting.
Danube’s smile seemed as bright as the sun itself. “This time you’ll not beat me back to Chasewind!” he cried, and he turned his horse and thundered away.
Jilseponie honestly considered letting Danube finally beat her that day; after all, hadn’t he just filled the second level of Chasewind Manor with flowers for her? It was a fleeting thought, though, one that washed away as soon as she put her heels to Greystone’s flanks.
She had already dismounted and was walking Greystone by the time King Danube joined her at the small paddock behind the mansion’s stables.
His smile had not diminished at all.
“He will ask for your hand this season?” Abbot Braumin asked. Jilseponie looked at him hard, wondering why he was so pressing her this day. “Every indication is that King Danube will seek to make Jilseponie his queen before the turn of the year.”
“Then he has told everyone save Jilseponie,” she replied rather sternly.
“Well, of course, he must be certain of your answer before he dares ask,” said Braumin. “It would not do for the King of Honce-the-Bear to have such a proposal refused!”
Jilseponie shrugged and looked away. Of course, Braumin was correct in all his reasoning, as those apparent rumors were, she believed, truthful. All the indications were that King Danube was indeed heading down a trail that would lead to the altar of St. Honce.
“And what will you say?” Abbot Braumin asked bluntly.
“Have we not spoken enough of this already?” Jilseponie returned, shooting him a perfectly exasperated look.
“I fear that we have not, if you know not the answer,” said Braumin. “Is it not my place to guide you through this difficult decision?”
“As the abbot of St. Precious?” Jilseponie asked.
“As your friend,” Braumin corrected.
“Then speak to me as a friend,” said Jilseponie. “It is obvious that you desire that I accept him—do not even begin to try to deny such a preference—and yet you skirt the issue with pleasantries and subtle hints, one after another.”
Abbot Braumin looked down at the floor and sighed deeply. “True enough,” he admitted. “I do wish the union, because in that union, Jilseponie will have a much greater voice, with a much greater potential to make the world a better place, and to elevate Avelyn and Jojonah to the status they so rightfully deserve. For me, all other missions seem to pale beside that reality.”
“But you are not the one who must then share your life and your soul with the King,” Jilseponie reminded. Again Braumin sighed, openly admitting defeat.
“There is another possibility,” he said a moment later.
“I have not yet told you that I mean to decline Danube’s proposal, should it come,” Jilseponie reminded.
“But in the meanwhile, there is something that we might be able to get King Danube to agree to that would give you a greater voice in the city and in all the region.”
Jilseponie looked at him curiously.
“I have been offered the position of presiding over the initiation and first year of the Chapel of Avelyn,” the abbot admitted. “And while that would seem a demotion—and, indeed, in the purest sense it would be—it would grant me the power to oversee the very direction of that soon-to-be abbey, and soon-to-be, unless I miss my guess, very influential abbey. That would leave a void at St. Precious that none above Jilseponie would be capable of filling.”
“But I am already the baroness,” she started to reply, but the words trailed away as she came to comprehend what Braumin was talking about. “Another bishop?” she asked skeptically. “After the debacle of Markwart’s lackeys?”
“That was different,” Braumin assured her.
“King Danube would never agree to the appointment of another bishop, not after the disaster that was Marcalo De’Unnero,” Jilseponie said confidently.
“In both previous cases, with Brother De’Unnero and Brother Francis, the position originated within the Church, not the State,” Braumin explained. “In this instance, the Church would be offering an expansion of King Danube’s power, not the other way around. He may indeed agree, especially considering the trust he has in the person in question.”
“But then the Church would never agree to it,” Jilseponie argued.
“It was Master Fio Bou-raiy of St.-Mere-Abelle who proposed it to me,” Abbot Braumin admitted. “Yours is a voice that many in the Church have long craved to hear speaking from the pulpit.”
While Jilseponie could not deny the truth of that statement, especially after her work in discovering and then precipitating the covenant of Avelyn, she had never numbered Fio Bou-raiy of St.-Mere-Abelle among the “many” that Braumin now spoke of. The mere fact that Bou-raiy had suggested the significant power shift set off alarms within her mind. Perhaps Bou-raiy and others were accepting the seeming inevitability of a union between her and King Danube and were trying to stake a claim to her voice now, while they still might find some level of influence.
Of course, such a union would send Jilseponie to Ursal, and would thus leave a void in Palmaris.
“You are trading on my good favor with the King,” Jilseponie suddenly accused, a dark side of this discussion coming into focus. “I become bishop, then go off to become queen, and who then—”
“I do none of this for personal gain!” Abbot Braumin interrupted dramatically. He rushed forward and grabbed her by the shoulders, squaring to face her. “I would never do such a thing. If you go to Ursal to become queen of Honce-the-Bear, then, yes, I would be your likely successor as Bishop of Palmaris.”
“Then I am just a means for you, or for Fio Bou-raiy, to once again entrench your Church in Palmaris?” Jilseponie stated as much as asked.
“Hardly entrenched if King Danube, with Jilseponie whispering into his ear, decides that there will be no bishop should you leave to become queen,” Braumin reminded her. “I do none of this for personal gain, on my word.”
Jilseponie paused before replying and looked hard at her dear friend, and knew at once that, of course, he was speaking truthfully. “But for the gain of your Church,” she did say.
“For the gain of the people of Palmaris,” Braumin corrected. “Better that you lead both spiritually and secularly wh
en I go north than have Master Fio Bou-raiy handpick another from St.-Mere-Abelle—one, likely, who knows nothing of Palmaris and her needs. And better, then, if I return to lead both spiritually and secularly in your absence than to have King Danube appoint one such as Duke Kalas, or Duke Tetrafel, as baron. This is not taking advantage of your relationship with King Danube, but rather it is seizing an opportunity presented to us. Can you deny the gain to our cause, and that our cause is for the betterment of the people?”
Jilseponie took her time again to digest the words. The whole thing held a bit of a stench to her, seeming somehow unseemly, but despite all that, she did agree with Braumin’s assessment that it was her place and his and everyone else’s to do what they might to make the world a better place. And as bishop of Palmaris, she could certainly implement some changes that would better the lives of the common folk of the region.
“Allow Master Bou-raiy and me to go and speak with King Danube on this issue of appointing you as bishop,” Braumin begged her. “We will say nothing of your involvement—indeed, it would be better if you do not tell me of your final decision on the matter until and unless it is formally offered you.”
“If that is the case, then why do you need my permission to go to King Danube?” Jilseponie asked.
“Because you are my friend,” Abbot Braumin answered without the slightest hesitation. “And while I do agree with Master Bou-raiy on this issue, and while I do wish to be free to go and preside over the beginnings of the Chapel of Avelyn, I would flatly refuse the offer if I thought that it would, in any way, bring harm to our friendship.”
Jilseponie looked away, staring vacantly, her mind rolling back over the years to her youthful days in Dundalis; to her time in Palmaris when she was Cat-the-Stray, a lost young woman with no memory of the tragedy that had stolen her family, her friends, and her youth. How far she had come! Here she was now speaking of events that would change the lives of perhaps thirty thousand people! Perhaps more! And if she became queen of Honce-the-Bear, she would hold the second voice in the greatest kingdom in all the world. Cat-the-Stray, Jilseponie, guiding the lives of hundreds of thousands.
The mere thought of it made her knees weaken and sent her stomach into flip-flops. And yet, she had to fight past those fears and doubts. She could not deny this opportunity that fate had put before her. No, when she had returned from Dundalis to do battle with the rosy plague, when she had thrown off the nickname of Pony and had become Jilseponie to all the world, she had firmly told herself that she would accept her responsibilities, that she would give of herself to better the world, however she might. This was who she was now, a person in the service of the common folk, a person who had decided that her duty would supersede her personal desires.
Perhaps there was some nefarious plotting behind the scenes at St.-Mere-Abelle—not with Abbot Braumin, though, for Jilseponie knew her friend better than to believe that! But even if that was the case, she could not refuse the invitation, should it come. The people would gain by her accepting and then by honestly telling King Danube that he would be doing the folk of Palmaris a good turn by allowing Braumin to succeed her, should it come to that.
“He has not asked for my hand,” Jilseponie quietly reminded him.
Abbot Braumin smiled widely. “Perhaps then your reign as bishop will be long indeed.”
Jilseponie didn’t return the smile, just narrowed her eyes and looked hard at him. “How long do you plan to remain out of the city?” she asked. “A few months if I go to Ursal? Or forever if I stay here?”
Abbot Braumin laughed. “I would remain in the north if you remained as bishop, ’tis true,” he said. “But only because I would know in my heart that the folk of Palmaris would be better served if I did so. And only because I feel it my calling to oversee the transformation of Avelyn to sainthood.”
Jilseponie couldn’t retain her stern expression against her dear friend, and she shook her head and chuckled helplessly, then bent over and kissed Abbot Braumin on the cheek, hugging him close. “Whatever the good to the world, my own private world will be emptier without you at my side.”
“Caer Tinella’s not so far,” said Braumin, though both of them understood that Jilseponie was really referring to the distance that would separate them should she decide to marry King Danube. Ursal was a long way from Palmaris.
Jilseponie’s thoughts were whirling when Abbot Braumin left her. She had known of the rumors that King Danube would ask for her hand this year, of course, but hearing it spoken so openly and matter-of-factly had made it so much more tangible, so much more real.
For the first time, Jilseponie honestly sat back and considered how she might answer such a proposal from the King of Honce-the-Bear. Agreeing to become bishop was one thing, and not really a difficult choice. But becoming queen entailed so much more.
She blew a dozen deep breaths as she sat there alone, letting her thoughts spin and spin.
Not one of those breaths even began to steady her.
King Danube Brock Ursal sat, staring at his two guests, thinking it fortunate that Duke Targon Bree Kalas had decided against coming to Palmaris this year. For if the volatile warrior-Duke had come north, then surely he would be at King Danube’s side now. If he was, then surely he would be trembling with rage at the suggestion of these two Abellican monks that King Danube appoint yet another bishop of Palmaris!
“You do not begin to doubt Jilseponie’s ability in this,” Abbot Braumin said rather bluntly. “And, yes, you are right in assuming that the Church is trying to steal a bit of her away from the State. And why should we not? Was it not Jilseponie who found the covenant of Avelyn and brought the word, not to the castle door in Ursal, but to the front gate of St.-Mere-Abelle? Was it not Jilseponie who accompanied Brother Avelyn Desbris, who will likely soon be declared a saint, to Mount Aida to do battle with and destroy the demon dactyl? The Church has desired her voice for many years, my King.” He ended with a great laugh, though he noted that Master Bou-raiy was scowling at him in angry disbelief.
King Danube, after staring at him blankly for a few moments, managed a chuckle of his own. “I am not used to such honesty from your Church, Abbot Braumin,” Danube remarked in a friendly tone.
“Perhaps it was the lack of politics that confused you, my King,” said Braumin, very aware of the fact that Master Bou-raiy was sitting back in his chair more comfortably then, willingly following his lead. They had been speaking for nearly an hour and had found no movement in Danube at all—until now. “For we have come here speaking simple truth,” Braumin went on, “and offering you an opportunity that will favor us both in the end, because it will favor the people of Palmaris.”
“And how long might we expect this … situation of bishop to hold?” the King asked, rolling his hand in the air as a signal for Braumin to continue.
“For as long as Jilseponie desires it,” the abbot of St. Precious replied. “Until, perhaps, she finds her way to another title in a more southern city.”
King Danube sat up very straight in the blink of an eye, and Master Bou-raiy, too, came forward in his seat, both of them obviously stunned by the abbot’s forwardness.
“What do you know of it?” the King demanded.
“Nothing more than the rumors that every man and woman in Palmaris has been whispering for more than two years,” Abbot Braumin said with a chuckle.
“And you have spoken with Jilseponie on this … on these, matters?” the King asked, his voice suddenly shaky.
“He has not!” Fio Bou-raiy interjected, and Braumin had to bite his lip so he wouldn’t laugh at the sincere horror in the master’s voice. Bou-raiy was afraid that Braumin might be stepping too boldly here and might therefore alienate the King. A logical fear, the abbot had to admit, except that he was seeing something else in Danube’s eyes. Yes, he was the king, and a fine and heroic leader, but he was also a man, plain and simple, and Jilseponie had stolen his heart. Thus, King Danube was a man vulnerable.
“If I
have spoken with her, then obviously I cannot divulge any of that to you, my King,” Braumin said. “Jilseponie Wyndon is my dearest friend in all the world, and I’ll not betray her.”
King Danube started to stutter a retort to that, but Braumin cut him short.
“But, my King, rest assured, for your own reputation and for the sensibilities of my friend, if I knew that she would refuse your proposal, then I would tell you plainly and privately,” the abbot said.
“Then you know she will not,” King Danube reasoned.
Abbot Braumin shrugged. “I believe that she does not know,” he admitted, “but I can assure you that she holds nothing but fondness and respect for you.”
“And love?” the King asked.
Again Braumin shrugged, but he was smiling warmly, and it seemed as if that answer was good enough for King Danube.
“I will offer her the position of bishop, then,” Danube decided after a few moments of quiet contemplation. He continued with a sly look. “We will see how long she holds the title.”
As soon as they left King Danube, Master Bou-raiy turned sharply on Braumin. “Whatever possessed you to take such a risk?” the master from St.-Mere-Abelle demanded. “One does not become personal with the King of Honce-the-Bear!”
“This is not about politics, Master Bou-raiy,” Abbot Braumin casually replied. “This is about the future of my dearest friend. I’ll not barter her happiness for the sake of your election to succeed Father Abbot Agronguerre. And be warned now that, whatever the outcome, Jilseponie will indeed be a strong voice at the next College of Abbots, and that Abbot Braumin of St. Precious holds a strong voice with Jilseponie.”
That set Bou-raiy back on his heels, for he hadn’t imagined that Braumin would so turn his own plan back on him!
Braumin stopped walking then and turned to face the stern man directly. “I agree to this, as does Jilseponie, because it is the right thing to do,” he explained. “I desired to see if King Danube would agree for the same reasons, because Jilseponie should know his heart on the matter. And so I took what may be construed as a great chance, but only construed that way if one is viewing the potential gain or loss to the Church.”
DemonWars Saga Volume 2: Mortalis - Ascendance - Transcendence - Immortalis (The DemonWars Saga) Page 76
