Part 6 (1/2)
”Mother.” Enguerrand glared at her.
”What could possibly be more important than drawing up a list of potential brides for you? What about Astasia Orlova of Muscobar?”
”That young lady is already taken,” said Ruaud, ”by the Emperor Eugene. She was crowned Empress in Mirom at what was, by our amba.s.sador's account, an impressive ceremony.”
Alienor's plucked eyebrows shot up but she carried on, undaunted. ”I've always thought that Esclairmonde de Provenca, my cousin Raimon's elder daughter, would make an excellent choice.”
”I'm not ready to get married yet,” said Enguerrand.
”Or there's her younger sister Aude-”
”Mother!”
”This really is most inconvenient. We shall continue our discussion after dinner tonight, Enguerrand.” Alienor rose at last and swept out of the chamber.
”I'm sorry.” The flushed look of embarra.s.sment on Enguerrand's face was revealing; the king had not yet learned to hide his feelings very successfully.
”I imagine that her majesty is merely anxious to see you happily settled,” Ruaud said, unable to stop himself from adding, ”with a bride who will give Francia a healthy heir to the throne.”
The flush deepened. ”The urgent state business?” Enguerrand said, swiftly changing the subject.
Ruaud repressed a little smile as he handed the decrypted letter to the king. Enguerrand was learning fast. ”It's from Fabien d'Abrissard, our amba.s.sador to the New Rossiyan Empire.”
Enguerrand looked up. ”These Tears of Artamon-what do we know about them, Ruaud?”
Ruaud had asked Pere Judicael to research the ancient history of Artamon's reign. ”It seems that the Emperor Artamon's sons fought so bitterly over the succession that his empire was divided into five and the ruby in the emperor's crown was also divided into five, and one fifth given to each of the princes.”
”So Eugene's claim is legitimate?”
”So it seems.”
”But if anyone else were to seize the rubies, his claim to the throne would be equally valid?”
”That might prove difficult, sire,” said Ruaud, smiling openly at his pupil's line of reasoning. Enguerrand was beginning to think like a statesman. ”But technically, legally, yes.”
CHAPTER 2.
”Pilgrims?” The Rossiyan officer looked up from the travelers' papers to see a dark-haired priest and his servant-a fair-haired youth, pretty as a girl. ”You've come a long way, Pere Jagu. All the way from Francia! And you've got an arduous journey ahead of you. I hope you're both used to roughing it.” He let out a brusque laugh as he stamped their pa.s.sports. ”Don't expect a warm welcome from the locals, either. They don't like foreigners-and they don't hide their feelings!” He handed the papers back. ”Can't blame 'em, I suppose. They didn't ask to be part of the new empire. But be on your guard.” He stared pointedly at the youth, who had not said a word, although his blue eyes had widened at the warning. ”There're robbers... and worse... out there in the wilds.”
”What a wretched place,” Celestine muttered to Jagu as they set out, Jagu leaning on his st.u.r.dy metal staff. Dilapidated warehouses and wooden sheds lined the quay; every building they pa.s.sed was weather-battered, with peeling paint, exuding a reek of damp and rotting timber.
”What can you expect? It's completely cut off by the ice all winter.”
But just around the end of the quay, they found themselves caught up in a surging tide of people.
”Fish market,” said Celestine as they pa.s.sed fishwives, hoa.r.s.ely crying out their wares. The stink of pickled herrings was making her eyes water. Jostled by traders, she was soon separated from Jagu, confused by the babble of voices in different tongues, mingled with the raucous screaming of seagulls overhead.
Jagu grabbed hold of her by one arm and pulled her into the doorway of a tavern. ”Wis.h.i.+ng you hadn't volunteered to come?”
”It's a little late for that. You know how important this mission is to me. And ever since the news leaked out about Lord Gavril's arrest-”
”Be careful what you say here.”
She glowered up at him. ”With the New Rossiyan Army in control, the Drakhaon's imprisonment isn't exactly a secret anymore.”
All the inns surrounding the harbor at Arkhelskoye were filled with merchants and sailors. Jagu and Celestine tramped from one to another, only to be turned away every time.
”What did you expect, Father?” said the landlady of the last hostelry on the quay as she poured out ale for her noisy customers. ”Once the thaw comes, this place is overrun. Now with the Tielens here as well...” She raised her eyes heavenward. ”You could try the Osprey's Nest. Take the cliff path from the northern end of the harbor. Better hurry; looks as if sea fog's setting in. You don't want to miss your step; it's a long drop to the rocks down below,” she added, wheezing with laughter at her own joke.
Celestine looked up at Jagu. He shrugged, as if to say, What choice do we have? What choice do we have?
Celestine stubbed her toe on a loose stone as they tramped up the cliff path. Jagu caught her as she lost her balance and righted her.
”Thank you.”
”Watch where you place your feet,” he said sternly. ”One false move and you're in the sea.”
Did he think she wasn't aware of the sheer drop down the rugged cliff face to the churning White Sea below? Was he already wis.h.i.+ng that Kilian-or dependable Viaud-had been his partner for this mission?
It had been difficult enough having to hide the fact that she was a woman aboard s.h.i.+p, especially when the curse of her monthly bleed arrived. She had taken special herbs to suppress its effects and to calm the cramping pains, but having to pretend that she had eaten something that disagreed with her could only convince Jagu for so long. As she had lain curled up in her little bunk, it had occurred to her that this pretense was probably as much for her own benefit as his. Though she had never heard him mention sisters, he must have guessed that she was as vulnerable to ”women's troubles” as any other girl.
She was determined to see the mission through, if only to prove to herself that she was strong enough to cope with its challenges. And because the Faie had whispered to her that there were ancient mysteries hidden in the wilds of Azhkendir.
It took a good quarter hour's tramp up the cliffs to reach the Osprey's Nest-a dilapidated little inn overlooking the White Sea. The keen breeze off the rough sea below was a constant reminder that the spring thaw had only just melted the ice and Celestine was soon s.h.i.+vering.
”It's rather remote,” she said, gazing at the single lantern glowing in the gathering dusk.
Jagu set down his bag on the rocks and took out two of the books of prayer he was carrying. ”Let's not take any risks,” he said. Concealed within a secret compartment in each book lay a pistol, powder, and shot. ”Here.”
”Lucky the Tielens didn't search us too zealously,” Celestine said, priming the second weapon. ”Or should I call them Rossiyans now? That officer was a Tielen; I could tell from his accent.”
”According to our sources, the troops currently occupying Azhkendir are from Field Marshal Karonen's Northern Army.” Jagu finished loading his pistol and tucked it beneath his priest's robes. ”Let's hope we're not obliged to use these.”
The smoky fug in the inn made Celestine's eyes water. Blinking, she saw men staring at them from around the large tiled stove. A strong, unsavory odor a.s.saulted them from a bubbling cooking pot. Fish, Fish, thought Celestine, her empty stomach contracting at the thought. thought Celestine, her empty stomach contracting at the thought. And none too fresh either. And none too fresh either.
An old woman was stoking the stove and a gust of smoke billowed out from the glowing coals inside. She slammed the door shut, securing the latch with the handle of the shovel, and pushed herself to her feet, grunting with the effort.
”Priests?” she said in the common tongue.
”Can you put us up for the night?” Jagu asked, in a mild tone of voice. Was Jagu actually enjoying acting out the role of a shy, scholarly priest? ”All the taverns in Arkhelskoye are full.”
The old woman hobbled closer and stared up at him, hands on her hips. ”You don't sound sound like Tielens,” she said suspiciously. ”Tielens aren't welcome here.” like Tielens,” she said suspiciously. ”Tielens aren't welcome here.”
”We're from Francia. Our order was founded in memory of Saint Serzhei.”
”Francia? That's all right, then. I can give you a room. Don't expect anything fancy, though. You're not in Azhgorod here. Oh, and you pay me first.” One gnarled hand shot out, palm upward. ”Dinner's herring stew. Extra for bread. And ale.”